Radzig

"The Empire falls not through force, but through the right moves. . ." Johann explains, stroking his chin.

Down the slope of Mont Collier he rode with the Östlunders at his flank, the earth trembling beneath the thunder of hooves. The rout had already begun, men breaking, casting aside what little order they held, their cries lost to the wind and the iron roar behind them. Johann leaned forward in the saddle, gauntleted hand tight upon the reins, the other lowering his lance. His destrier surged beneath him, foam at the bit. Ahead, a man stumbled, turning once, wide-eyed, as if to plead, or curse, or pray. He bore a rough gambeson, matted hair, and by the looks of it he was no older than sixteen. The lance struck true. The force of it carried through bone and cloth alike, hurling the boy from his feet and into the dirt where he lay still. Johann wrenched the shaft free as he passed, already turning his gaze upon the next. To his right, an Östlunder rider brought his steed crashing into two fleeing figures, scattering them like chaff. To his left, another cast a spear into a man’s back, sending him sprawling face-first down the incline. "Drive them!" Johann called. "Let none break past the hill!" At last, as the final straggler fell beneath Östlunder and Alban steel, Johann drew his horse to a halt. The beast stamped and snorted beneath him, streaked with sweat and blood. Then, without a word, Johann von Preussens turned his steed and rode back to the host.

George hauled the porcelain vessel through the mud of the road, his boots sinking into the tracks his father’s carriage had once smoothed over. He felt small beneath the towering oaks of the estate, a pale shadow following the ghost of a giant. He reached the family crypt and set the urn upon the cold stone plinth. Now, even in death, the old man seemed to loom over him from the ashes. George stood in the damp silence of the tomb, his hands stained with the grit of the road, knowing that while he had brought the Chancellor home, he would never truly fill the void his death left behind.

G eorge, distinguished from the elder and younger by stature alone, signed upon himself, a sigh of relief marking the end George William's arrival. His prayers had been answered and a lordling was soon to survey the halls of Highbury.

G eorge folded the missive carefully, smoothing the crease with his thumb, and let his gaze drift over the hall where it had been read. He smiled, straightened his posture, and tucked the letter away, already aware that what had been written was instruction for a life about to begin.

Geoffrey did not flinch when Roger fell, nor when the Imperials jeered, for he knew that to weep was to give them mastery over his spirit. “I will not forget,” he murmured, low enough that only the night heard him. “Not him, nor what was done."

“If God wills Drusco to suffer, then let us bear the lash. If He wills us to triumph, then let us not grow proud in victory.” With that, Geoffrey pressed his palm against the seal of the Empire, feeling the wax crumble faintly beneath his skin.

The dawn spilled its red across the horizon, a color not unlike the memory of blood upon the field. In that moment Geoffrey did not speak, only watched, as if the young heir might find an answer in the rising light cast upon a waning continent.

He sat alone in the upper fields where the grass grew tall and stiff, overlooking the black silhouette of Waldemer. His knees were drawn up, his cloak tight around his frame, though he did not feel the cold. The upper fields were where the boys played at swords, where they'd fled chores and spied on hunts, where Raymond had once pulled him from a hornet's nest. Raymond had lingered for a week, fevered and shrinking, the color drained from his face like dye from wet cloth. He had not spoken much, only breathed through his teeth and clutched the bedding in fits of pain. He thought of how the chamber had smelled, foul with sweat and the staleness of flesh not yet dead but already giving in. And then one morning, there was no breath at all. That shallow, wet hiss. That noise filled the night more than any wind. Raymond lay in the cellars now, wrapped in cloth, at least oilcloth the morning after the boy's passing. Geoffrey had stood there too long, mother in tow, staring down, the flicker of torches on his brother's face making it seem like he might shift or blink. He'd signed a two-barred cross, a rosary, at his chest. The ladder of de Rouen bore one less rung.

RP: Name: John of Balamena Age: 18 Race: Human Reason for Enlisting: Manifest Destiny Past Experience (if any): Wardship under Roger de Rouen OOC: MC Name: RadzigOP Discord Tag: radzig_2011

The road was choked by brittle thickets and the carcasses of once-rich olive trees, branches twisted against a still shining Balian sky. The scent of mud and charred timber clung to the morning mist, and beneath it, something fouler still. The distant silhouette of Balian’s walls was long behind him now. His horse’s hooves thudded against the earth, rhythm steady, though the animal’s ears flicked and nostrils flared as they neared the shallow ditch that bordered the road. John slowed, commanding an armored Pate, with a horse of his own, to do the same. Before him, the earth had been torn by war’s hand, an open wound in the land, half-filled with an assortment of men. Helms, tattered gambeson, and an amalgamation of fixtures acted as grave markers amid the heap of muddied faces. John sat in his saddle, watching. The wind stirred a loose standard caught upon a broken spear, its edge frayed to ribbons. "They chose defiance when we offered them absolution," he uttered, a hand wafting itself towards Pate, his tone doing little mask some brewing commiseration. Pate grunted a response. His gaze lingered on a boy half-submerged in the ditch, no older than sixteen. The boy's face was slack, one hand still grasping a dagger whose blade was dark with the inlay of the earth. John’s hand tightened around the reins. "GOD have mercy on the Arkents," he mused, his expression unreadable, at least from Pate's circumscribed perspective. "For none here shall."

Name: John Alstion Affiliation: Alba

A Maehr with skin of rich indigo, his hair many shades lighter, signed the document . The dim light of the Underdark cast shadows across features, the air thick with the scent of damp stone. Seldszar

John sat beside a man who would be dead by sundown. He hadn’t spoken much that night. Louis had done most of it, between sips of bitter stew and glances toward the hearth. There was something plain in him, almost worn out, and John had let himself forget, for a moment, what the name de Savoie was supposed to mean. He was fifteen. Old enough to hold a sword. Young enough to feel it afterward. He hadn’t touched Louis, not directly, but the silence, the timing, the stillness of his hands, it was his, too. Duty had always been clear when spoken aloud, easier when it came from other men’s mouths. But alone, in the quiet, it turned vague. Slippery. The Lowlands lay sodden in the wake of the storm. Water crept into the low banks, leaving behind a skin of mud and broken reeds. The paths beyond the alleged Wickwald were drowned, horses reluctant to pass, wheels sunk to their rims. Rain still clung to branches, falling in slow, uneven drops, and the wind carried the smell of wet wood and churned soil. Smoke rose from a distant holding, thin and pale against the sky. Nothing moved but water and wind, occasionally John. The land had taken its beating, and now it waited—watchful, slow to forget.

#shake&bake

The ground had trembled, a low groan beneath stone, and in the meeting room, a chalice slipped from the mantel, rolling unheard against the floor. A light, pale and searing, split through the narrow window, casting long shapes upon the walls. In the stillness that followed, eyes turned to the small wedge carved in the stone, where the world itself had shifted. A sign, some whispered, of judgment unseen, a reckoning upon those who had spoken in defiance, whose stance had turned from God and Canondom. August knew what would come was already written and he would play his part as it was meant to be. He was set forth by God’s plan.

August places the head on the pike, driving it deep into the trench outside Elizabeth. The Lowlands sit defiled and bastardized. He watches, uncertain what hands will shape them next.

The standard of the Honourable Free Company of the Lowlands THE PRINCE’S ARMY THE HONOURABLE FREE COMPANY OF THE LOWLANDS “We are a waning people on a waning continent; even so, the Lowlands shall endure.” Words of August of Österland A militia is raised of necessity, oft born of growing discord; and so, one did arise in Alba, wrought by such dire circumstance. Its purpose was the defence of the Alstionite holdings within the Holy Pontifical States. What began as a ragtag band of sellswords, brigands, and commoners was, in time, joined by Österland retainers and moulded into a disciplined force. This missive, therefore, shall stand as law, laying forth the duties and the code of conduct by which this company—to henceforth be known as The Honourable Free Company of the Lowlands—shall be governed, that it may be steadfast in its purpose and ever faithful to its cause. August of Österland Lord Commander of The Prince’s Army CONTRACT The foundation of this host is its contract, as penned by the hand of August von Preussens. It serves as the guiding law of The Prince’s Army, dictating the manner in which they must carry out their duties and fulfill every task set before them. Those who serve within this host are bound to follow this contract, placing it above all else, save the direct commands of the Lord Commander. ARTICLE I — STRUCTURE AND HIERARCHY When inducted, all company men must adhere to the recognized ranks within the charter. Any deviation from the ranks outlined in this document will be grounds for terminations. ARTICLE II — DUTIES AND CONDUCT The company’s foremost duty is to uphold its contractual agreements, be they for defense, assault, or garrison. Its honor lies in the faithful execution of its obligations. ARTICLE III — RECRUITMENT AND ELIGIBILITY Any man or woman of sound body and mind may petition to join the host. All recruits shall undergo a trial period, wherein their skill and loyalty shall be proven. Recruits who prove themselves worthy shall sign a binding contract with The Prince’s Army to ascend to the rank of Man-At-Arms. This contract may only be broken by appeal to the Commander, whose judgment is final. ARTICLE IV — INDUCTION AND FEALTY Upon completion of their trial period, individuals shall be provided with their contract, wherein they are formally inducted into The Prince’s Army. All contracted company men are bound to retain their contract at all times, as it serves as the sole signifier of their charge. Furthermore, upon induction to the rank of Man-At-Arms, company man shall bear the sigil of House Alstion, marking their overarching contractual obligation unto the house and the Prince’s cause. ARTICLE V — DISCIPLINE AND JUSTICE The contract shall serve as the arbiter of justice within the company. A tribunal led by the Commander, with two Captains as witnesses, shall preside over all trials. Punishments Penalties for infractions range from fines and lashes to expulsion or execution, as deemed appropriate by the tribunal. Appeals may be made to the council of Captains but shall rarely overturn a verdict. ARTICLE VI — ENGAGEMENT AND WARFARE The host is bound to carry out its contracts with precision and resolve, adhering to the terms agreed upon without question. While the company does not seek unnecessary cruelty, it shall not falter in the face of grim necessity. Stratagems and subterfuge, when employed, are tools of honor so long as they secure victory. All spoils are to be tallied and distributed fairly, with shares allocated according to rank and contribution. The host shall ensure its patrons receive their due, as stipulated in the terms of the contract. ARTICLE VII — DISSOLUTION AND LEGACY Should the company disband, its members are released from all oaths and contractual obligations, save for the bonds of camaraderie forged in service. The contract shall be preserved as a testament to the company’s discipline and unity, that it may inspire those who come after. August of Österland Lord Commander of The Prince’s Army THE BANNERMEN The bulk of the Prince’s Army—the rank-and-file—are chiefly composed of mercenaries and sellswords, enlisted by the House of Preussens to serve as the standing military of the Duchy of Alba. In contrast, its upper ranks are made up of retainers from Österland, whose discipline and expertise have instilled a sense of order and cohesion among the unruly brigands who make up the milita’s core, shaping them into a formidable fighting force. These soldiers are readily identifiable by their padded leather—dyed in the Alban colors of red, white, and gold—and their daemonsteel armor. The company upholds a rigid hierarchy, one to which all in service are bound by an unwavering loyalty and duty. The ranks are as follows: RANKS LORD COMMANDER Above all ranks within the Prince’s Army stands the Lord Commander, who bears sole responsibility for the upkeep and maintenance of the company. Tasked with the highest duty, the Lord Commander directs the army writ large, ensuring that its men are well-trained, well-supplied, and ever-ready for battle. The Lord Commander’s authority is absolute within the ranks, and none serving within the company may question his command. CAPTAIN The Captain serves as the senior most officer within the Prince’s Army, aiding the Lord Commander in the overall management of the military and providing counsel on matters of strategy and discipline. When the Lord Commander is absent or otherwise engaged, the Captain acts in his stead as well, holding full authority to make decisions and issue orders on the Lord Commander’s behalf. OFFICER Within the Prince’s Army, the Officers serve as intermediaries between the upper command and the rank-and-file soldiers. Either trusted mercenaries of proven loyalties or retainers of Österland, the Officers of the Prince’s Army oversee the daily operations of the army. Tasked with organizing drills, managing supply lines, and ensuring the smooth functioning of all matters, the Officers ensure that every part of the company operates without fail, maintaining order and discipline throughout. MAN-AT-ARMS The Men-at-Arms comprise the bulk of the Prince’s Army, serving as the rank-and-file soldiers of the company. Often mercenaries and sellswords formally contracted in service to the Prince’s Army, these men form the backbone of the company’s strength. As the primary fighting force of the company, the Men-at-Arms are often skilled with a range of weapons and are regularly employed in raids, skirmishes, and defensive actions—driven primarily by coin and loyalty to their commanders. Writ most simply, the Men-at-Arms are the hardened core that ensures the Prince’s Army remains a force to be reckoned with. RECRUIT The Recruits of the Prince’s Army often come from those brigands, sellswords, and mercenaries who have been hired by the company but have yet to fully be inducted into its proper ranks. These men often hail from harsher backgrounds, seeking either coin or cause to fight, but have not yet proven their worth in the eyes of the company. As such, they are relegated to menial roles, assigned to tasks of lesser importance as they prove their loyalty and skill. Only once they have proven disciplined, competent, and loyal will they be fully inducted, and offered a formal contract. COMMON PRACTICES The men who serve in the Prince's Army are drawn from all paths of life; nevertheless, a number of common practices and customs permeate their ranks, owed to the retainers of Österland, whose influence has wrought them into the awesome host which they now stand. These practices are not enforced but rather, stem from a sense of pride and obligation to the tenets of the company. Wherefore, those of lowborn station who serve within the Prince's Army, ranking as Man-At-Arms or above, are known to take upon themselves the name "of Österland" in place of a surname, or for a lack thereof. Often as a show of loyalty, many a recruit undergo this quasi-rite of passage. In this, senior members of the company often anoint them with their new surname, should the recruit desire such an honor. Thus, these men are bound not only by their contract, but by their shared name as well. Furthermore, within the Prince's Army, the painting of helmets is a common practice. It is often performed in private, and is a personal act of individuality. The highborn soldiers or retainers who serve within the Prince's Army are known to paint their helmets in accordance with their charge, that their station may be known. In contrast, the lowborn soldiers often adorn their helmets with symbols, colours, or designs, that they may express their own experiences and beliefs. Some, moreover, are even known to paint upon their helms scriptures from the scrolls, that they might guard themselves against evil. It’s common for one to sew a checkered pattern into their pant leg after contributing to a victory. Soldiers keep track of dispatched enemies during battle, dictating their standing. TRADITIONS For there are a number of common practices amongst the soldiers of the company, the Honourable Free Company similarly maintains a number of formalized traditions, practiced primarily throughout wartime. THE RAISING OF THE BANNER When war is called, be it by contract or by company directive, banners of the Prince’s Army are raised both in fortification and Man-At-Arms. While a clear call to arms and morale, these banners also signify a directive to pool resources and weaponry in preparation for battle. THE CAPTIVE'S YIELD The capturing of enemy combatants, particularly nobles, is a pivotal tradition in the Prince’s Army. Company men are urged to capture in war, be it for imprisonment or ransom, and are rewarded a sum based on the scale of ongoing, involved, contracts. This sum fluctuates based on the tanding of prisoners, payout being equitable regardless of the company man's rank. HONOR DUELS Feuds between company men, be it legal or illicit, are often resolved through an honor duel between the two parties, as permitted by the Lord Commander. These duels often escalate into a spectacle for the Prince’s Army, soldiers placing bets on either member’s loss or victory. THE PUNISHMENT OF COWARDS Simply put, the punishment of cowards is death. Deserters are hunted and killed by company men, as the only lawful voluntary discharge is arranged through an appeal to the Lord Command. THE LAST FEAST The last feast is a traditional practice within the Prince’s Army. Presented before a steeping or consequential battle, company men gather and partake in a “Last Feast”, viewed as a final meal with the certain possibility of upcoming passing. Rousing speeches and parallel spectacles often take place at the feast. THE SPOILS OF WAR After a successful raid or battle, all participants are to gather, so that the spoils of war might be shared. Each man, based upon rank and contribution, will be allowed the chance to survey the war chest, and take something which they desire. Spoils personally acquired on the battlefield are rendered null, as the man who earns his takings has full agency to do with it as he wishes. ENLISTMENT Those who seek contract within the company are encouraged to send word by bird to August von Preussens, having duly filled out the following, that they might begin their training as recruits, and, if of proven merit, be formally inducted into the company’s ranks. RP: Name: Age: Race: Reason for Enlisting: Past Experience (if any): OOC: MC Name: Discord Tag:

perhaps @milkyi& @Emerytoo

@Halt@woke@ncarr@Rilath@libertyybelle@chaotikal@Hephaestus

"Woop woop!" Cheers Pavel.

Pavel considers what was conveyed before the coronation. The Raevir would bob his head as he read, gloved hands pressing at the outlines of the missive. "GOD save them."

Pavel signs a two-barred cross, kicking a frozen chunk of mud from the edge of a riverbank, crusted with the snow of yesterday. He'd make East, cold winds wafting down a slope, to notify his dear friend Tancred of what had transpired. @Emery

𝕱yodor peered towards the war veteran from across the fire, nestled somewhere within the Middelan hinterlands. His folk were still transferring supplies from their old camp back to rural Haense. "Dishonorable men cause dishonorable acts. We were slighted, debts remained unpaid." He'd return, pausing to take a swig of his carafe, which he would pass to the veteran over the fire. "That is why we left in the first place." A pigeon returns after a brief period of time bearing a scroll in response: 𝕸arkus, I will not capitulate to bribery. You give DUMA a bad name!