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Radzig

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Posts posted by Radzig

  1. That Draskovic peered over the missive, a slight frowning. "At least she was an honest girl, that one." He'd begin. "Such I can respect." At that, he'd place the missive on an ornate desk, along with the other papers sprawled about, wet ink drying. 

    Somewhere on the other side of Oren sat a young Raev, pale fingers clasped, and such held at his chin. "Vile." He'd sound, such an utterance coming from his lower jowls with a layer of rasp. "Those who reek of guilt shall face reckoning."

  2. Alas, Henry was safe and sound in his Manor, a good mile or two from where is senile and haggard mother, Natalia @shay, whom was surely in a fit of momentary rage. As that Draskovic looked about the tabloid, a grin kept upon those cheeks. "How foolish. I, Henry Joseph Draskovic-Kovachev, would never court, my cousin. Imagine, that would be truly absurd."  Henry, after exclaiming such to himself (as one does), tucked away that tabloid. "Rather bold of them, though. Respectable, some might say. I ought to find whoever wrote this and offer them the greatest of thanks." At that, Henry would pucker his lips, tuck away his Playman™ guidebook, and head downstairs. 

  3. Surname: Draskovic-Kovachev

    First Name: Henry

    Address of Residence: Draskovic Manor

    Year of Birth: 1805

     

    Are you registered and eligible to vote in the RIght-Bank District? Yes

     

    Do you have any other title, peerage or military service that may conflict with becoming a Member of the House of Commons, as per the Edict of Reform (1763)? No

     

    If yes, do you understand that you will be required to resign or abdicate from this position should you be elected to the House of Commons, and if this does not occur your seat shall be considered to be vacant? Yes

     

    ((MC NAME)) Radzig

     

  4. Henry is simply, and truly, distraught at the news. His mother, whom was not his mother, was gone in a rather disturbing manner in all it's simplicity. A death on the field is a death of honor, a death of old age is a death of peace, a sickly death is a pitiful one. Henry put away the jewelry he had bought his ill Aunt, seemingly too late to gift her such. Henry mourns. 

  5. 51 minutes ago, shay said:

    "HEEEENNNRRRY"

    Natalia, the ever loyal sister to both candidates screeches out from the confines of the common area of Carnatia House. The news of the changing political season within the household seemed to slap the otherwise useless monologuing woman with a sense of dutifulness, loyalty, pride. "HEENRRY, YOU HAVE PROPAGANDA TO DELIVER, HURRY UP" she emitted a gut-wrenching wail once more as she frantically waved campaign posters above head, waiting impatiently for her son to arrive. @Radzig

    The youthful Henry scurries about, the said propaganda clutched tightly in his fists. "Vote for Varon!" He'd exclaim, doubling over to wheeze for a moment before continuing his further efforts in the campaign. 

     

  6. From that purity, the cracked and salted grin spread, up those cheeks like that of a flood. For times were simple, they were, to be truthful, good. That O'Rourke muttered to himself, for the Falcone had arrived. They were all in the same, brothers from those fleeting moments. But that Falcone had done something he could never achieve and for that he was bitter. A sweet, creeping bitterness that swelled from the chest and left through those sunken nostrils. And with such, came a rasp.

    "Laddeh did it, eh?"

  7. From his chambers, Richard Castor Helvets, peers over an already penned missive, his fair skin now ragged, detailing weariness as such was strung upon his skull like the hide of a flayed animal. For his eyes were sunken in his skull, leaving the surrounding areas to take on a sickly shade. All he could muster was a mere frown, such at the state of things. Upside down they were, truly. He peered over the missive he had penned yet again, only to abruptly grasp such, crumpling it in his fingers, leaving only a residue of the ink upon his clenched fist. For he had considered committing treachery of the highest degree, treachery against kin, as a certain Falstaff had, but such would offer no merits. For everything was upside down, the present individuals turned upon their heads like babbling fools, the whole lot of them. The missive was placed aside, for now, condemnation would take place. With a now open hand, he'd rub such on the nearby desk, sighing. 
    "Farewell, Brother." He'd resound. 

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