ItsMrCannibal

"Ah? A shame truly, my heart goes out to the hard-working fishermen of this city having to deal with such a nuisance.." Lly sadly mused aloud as his single cyan eye flickered across the missive pinned up to the notice board. He lofted his left hand up to hold over his heart as a frown crossed his eternally youthful visage.

Name: Llywelyn Amlugol (Lly for short) Age: Old Enough To Be Your Great, Great, Grandpa Young Man! (203) Culture: Something or Another Reason for Enlistment: I'd like to see how this little company plays out through the ages, call it an elven curiosity. Experience (if any): Knowledge of the Voidal Arts, Knowledge about a bit of this and a bit of that, Former Military Officer. ((MC Name)): ItsMrCannibal ((Discord Tag)): ItsMrCannibal#6199

Llywelyn Amlugol would be hit in the back of the head by this missive in the form of a paper glider, which promptly got stuck in his hair bun, reaching up to grab onto the piece of paper with his flour covered hands the redheaded mali read over it for a few moments before a cheerful grin spread across his face! "Oh excellent! I needed some kindling to get the oven's fire going" And with that he scrunched up the missive into a loose ball and proceeded to light it up with a flint and steel to begin the fire within the tavern's oven. He was making delicious baked treats to go with the booze.

Ruben slowly shifted himself to sit up on his bed, reaching towards his living doll to grab the missive as he began reading it. "You mean I hobbled all the way to that shithole palace just to get a slip of paper saying it? Bah I miss the days when the koeng was niet a coward and told you straight.. those were the days." The old knight grumbled and mumbled to himself, before he quieted down, seeing his wife stir in her sleep next to him.

Reserved

Ser Ruben, the father of the bride, groggily grumbles awake at Luisa's gentle shaking. After a moment or two of composing himself and placing his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose, he'd begin reading the letter in his wife's hand. As he finished reading the letter his scarred, aged face grew into a warm smile as he looked to his wife to answer her question. "How about a bear cub? Or perhaps a nice little living doll to help them out?"

Ser Ruben rests his cane against the table as he takes a seat in Reinmar, a proud smile spread across his aged face as he read the slip of paper in tremoring hand. "It certainly took her long enough- though I can't say much with how long my squireship lasted." He muttered out to himself with a cheerful chuckle, gently resting the paper on the table, his tremoring hand reached for a bottle of Carrion Black. "But I could niet be more prouder of my Kleiner Bar. And I'm sure the old man is proud too.." The retired knight remarked to himself as his miscoloured gaze moved down to Ser Ivan's longsword resting on his belt, offering a brief smile as the memories of his teacher came flooding back. "Well Vanquisher, I believe you'll sing once again soon enough."

The grey and aged retired knight sat down at his desk, carefully setting down a saucer and teacup as steam gently billowed from within it, a fresh cup of Barclay Breakfast Tea to start off his morning. In his left hand is a copy of a summons he found in the city. "Oh dear, I wonder who's broken a law this time, it better not be another boring heretic like that old priest." Ruben muttered to himself while his old joints cracked and popped while he sat down in his chair, putting on his reading glasses and reaching for his cup of tea as his miscoloured gaze scan over to paper in his hand, taking a sip of his tea before he spoke to his wife across the room. "Ser Alric var Ruthern assaulted Stefan over mere rumours? Sounds like the Rutherns have become more barbaric yet again." Is all the old man said on the matter, sipping his tea before throwing the summons into his fireplace before continuing to write at his desk.

Ser Ruben sat in his home that evening, having witnessed his old friend and comrade's death. Sitting in front of his fireplace the greying knight drank from a bottle of carrion, recalling his memories of Ser Marcus. "Could cleave a man in half with his Zweihänder, even having his arm ripped off didn't stop the old fock" He murmured to himself with a small chuckle, recalling being on the walls of New Reza with Ser Marcus during the scyfling siege. His mind then shifted back to when he was a squire, learning a thing or two from Marcus as he was nursing bruises given to him by Ser Ivan in training. "You will be missed and you will niet be forgotten, old friend." The greying knight said aloud, raising up the bottle of Carrion black before downing the rest of the bottle in Marcus's memory.

“Very well, brother. We shall begin quite simply. What is your name?” Ivan Barrow “And your age?” 21 “I know it may be clear, heh, but it is for the sake of records. What race of the descendants are you of?” Highlander “You are able to read and write, yes?” Yes I can. “And with that, are you at all familiar with the Holy Scrolls and Catechism of our Church?” No. “You are of course baptized?” Yes. “Good, good. Are you married? Do you have children?” No. “In what way of the clergy do you wish to serve? As a Priest, a Monastic?” As a Priest. “While this may not be accepted by the Prelate, depending on the needs of the Church, in what Diocese would you prefer to serve in? You can simply name a city or Kingdom.” The Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska “A rather personal question, why have you chosen to walk this path in God?” I have not been as good a canonist as I had wanted to be growing up, I wish to make amends for that. “And at last, are you truly devoted to this way of life? Prepared to take any vows involved with ordination and commit oneself to this lifetime bond with the Lord Almighty?” Yes I am prepared. “Wonderful, then that should be all.” he says as he gestures you out of the office with a smile, “This shall be brought to His Eminence, Manfried. You shall hear word of your acceptance and placement soon enough.” he nods before saying finally, “God bless you.” as you walk out and say so in return.

Ser Ruben quietly read the letter of disownment, having already sent the king a letter revoking his Ruthern name. ”I hardly see it to not be fair giving up years as I was simply told to wait and hold off a marriage, and then rightly giving an ultimatum to either accept a fair and equal contract approved by the High Pontiff or to allow myself to marry matrilineally.” He spoke with a calm tone as he sipped Earl Ruthern tea, the tea of his own creation and his closely guarded recipe. ”Tarnish prestige of the house? After I dedicated decades of my life to not only help the Ruthern name be known but to also get good will behind it- and then for him to have the audacity to claim the Rutherns clothed and fed me? I did niet see any Rutherns when my papaj left me homeless at eight, but he happily claimed credit for my doing of becoming a butler, and my doing of becoming a knight and my hard work...” The knight murmured to himself as he peered across the room to his father’s medal. ”And the singular thing I ask for, I am to be told to wait years without reason as I grey and grow older? I sincerely hope that they hold nie begrudge against me- The Rutherns are kinslayers.”

Ruben dips his head, beginning to mutter a prayer at the mention of the fallen Haeseni soldiers. “Amen” He’d say quietly as he finished, continuing to sharpen polish his armour while reading the summon.

Ruben sits with a grin on his face, the thought of pieing the palatine’s face replaying through his head. ”Well it’d be quite foolish to pass up an opportunity”

Ser Ruben raises an eyebrow at the news of his cousin’s trial, a curious and concerned look spread across his face. ”Oh godan, this will surely be an interesting trial.” He said to himself, taking another swig from his carrion black.

Reads over list of activities, narrowing his eye a bit a small grin spreads across his face, walking off to go write some scary stories about the scyfling war.