Gandhi

i'm super biased in favour, but this (larger) one has always been my fav, you have the vandalore cap in the middle, the crowns of sutica n minitz, sceptre and sword its all pretty representative of something, and I much preferred it over the smaller coa's I had to use at the time as for a simpler barclay 1 I also enjoy this, for the county of kretzen im also game for this (i'm pretty sure its radovanic) and this one 4 @pkdon's prince is cool (his wife has a lannister coa)

ft @Timer@BuilderBagel do you miss this

Name: Otto the Younger Affiliation: Ghaestenwald Relevant Titles or Aliases: N/A

yea i agree ser brandt bashar al barclay number 1

A young boy of dark hair and green eyes wailed in the confines of his room. He reached furiously for a dusty circlet on a desk..

THE LAST MARIAN Thoughts - The Life and Suffering of Sir Brante OST SER ANDREI OF JEROVITZ Emsgrad. The fort on the southern Karoswald that Erik and Emma had erected in their reign, named for Andrei’s mother, Emma. For the time being, it remained—even as the armies of the Holy League pillaged their way through the Aestmarch, laying waste to Koppány, and likewise Furentaliz; or so he was able to surmise with Joren’s withdrawal. The Count of Jerovitz sat, idle in a chair with a well-supplied, crackling hearth, perhaps one of the last times it’d be this peaceful for him and his family. A book lay open, covers held in each hand, a tale of old King Josef—he who returned Hanseti-Ruska to independence, nigh over a couple of hundred years ago. Only a mere couple of months earlier, Joren stood before the people of Haense upon his throne. His declaration was swift. Those who wished to bend the knee to the Holy States may offer their surrender, freed of their oaths – else they may follow Joren into exile in Norland. Throughout the war, he stood loyal, even when their troops were butchered in the Winewoods and oft-loyal vassals chose to take flight. As generations before him did, his house remained loyal to the Kings of Hanseti and Ruska. The last time Andrei doubted himself was when this war first began, when he chose to voice his regret for failing to advise Karl on how else to handle his dealings with Anorhil. It plagued him, the fact that he’d so willfully regret something like that and allow it to be voiced to those who pursued war upon his homeland. All of this mattered little. He had to make his own decision—one that could either leave his family destitute in squalor or a life similar to what he had led. In the absence of Karl or Tomasz, there was Andrey, his oft-absent father-in-law. He opposed their surrender, at least in such a hasty manner. Even still, Andrei never faulted Joren or Nadya for it, especially after House Ivanovich took flight and the lords of the Covenant made pleas for surrender. They agreed enough on Norland, though—how was it to be, that the legacy of House Barbanov would fall beneath the yoke of a pagan King? Defeat was inevitable, but the decision stirred something sad in Andrei’s heart—perhaps due to his failings as a councillor of the King, or the fact that his children would never grow up in a Kingdom of their people like he did. Dima and Andrei argued about it, with rare participation from Andrey. She willed that she’d never bow to an Empire—and perhaps she was more of a Knight than he was for that—but he believed her led by pride, an unwillingness to understand how their world had changed so dramatically. He was more open to the idea, as was Andrey on their behalf. Perhaps it was something of a favour, Andrei never did keep the Norns in his good graces, as Dima would’ve preferred. It was clearly a rift between husband and wife, and he was clueless about how to mend it. That was the past now, relegated only to a mere memory and consideration when going forward. Maybe there wasn’t a way forward for Andrei—the Kingdom and dynasty he so sought to embody with his legacy had floundered, fallen by rite of conquest, and he was left with nothing more than a choice that could split his family. He dwelled on it for hours, days even, and maybe it wasn’t his decision to make. So stuck in the past, Andrei couldn’t see forward beyond only one fate beneath a Burgundian, or clerical King—he didn’t understand the willingness to leave, to leave his homeland deserted and free for ravaging. Regardless of how Haense fell, Andrei was chained, not foremost to the line of Barbanov, but to those windswept flatlands and the dense forests of the Crothstadt and Karoswald; the lands of Hanseti-Ruska. It was forever his homeland, and there was an eternal shame he knew was to come if he abandoned it. It was a decision not for him to make, but for his wife—she who he felt didn’t have that same tether; instead, she bore it to the rulers, not the land itself. Perhaps if it were Karl, Andrei would follow him to the ends of the earth. His loyalty to Joren and Nadya was unwavering, but never could that brotherly connection be found in another King or Queen. Sorrowful as the concept was, his mind didn’t free him of those chains. His titles themselves meant little, but it was the weight that they carried—what their ties were. He couldn’t stomach or fathom abandoning that hallowed, warm home that he was raised in with his dearest siblings, Markus, Duncan, Karlotta, Primrose and Erika – those last two foremost. Even still he hadn’t seen Erika in years, since the onset of war, but Primrose always stuck around. It always circled back to Dima, though—without her, the halls would be as empty as they’d be if it were a charred ruin. Even still, to Andrei, an empty home was better than no home—being forced to flee his Kingdom and being relegated to living in exile was a fate worse than death. He was not solely a guardian of Barbov’s line, but a guardian of the Edlervik and the Kingdom as a whole. He clapped his ledger shut and pressed it away upon a side table. A palm lifted to take his hat and to settle it upon his head. Andrei stood from his seat and wandered the walls of Emsgrad. Far off to the west stood New Valdev, that same city where he received his knighthood at the hands of Karl, only due to an exception. It was also there that, many years ago he met his wife, the Lady Dima Kovachev. They fought, bickered, and quarreled, but even still, there were many periods of harmony throughout their time together; undisputedly did he love her. Still, his nose only scrunched at the thought, a grimace finding itself pressed over his features—perhaps a long-since discarded yearning for times of peace. So much of his life enveloped that city, built upon two rivers—even down to his education, his time under Ser Belisar, where he learned how to handle a sword, and yet it mattered naught. It would be relegated to mere ruins in the coming years, an eternal reminder of their defeat. It was something that could not be denied or rejected, but instead addressed within himself. That concept of warmth was gone, now that Dima had headed north with Frederik, Martin, and Viktor—only two letters were left in her wake, urging him to follow her north. A land of pagans awaited them, and it wasn’t exactly what Andrei envisioned for his sons—regardless, it felt much too late for anything more. “If you die, I’m going to find you in the Seven Skies and kill you again.” Dima had promised—multiple times, actually. And yet. At the end of the day, it meant little, at least now. His fate should’ve been intertwined with that of his Kingdom, like a true knight of the tales. His stroll came to a brisk conclusion, and Andrei once again settled into his library, wholly absent of staff, servants, or family. Emsgrad, the keep that once bustled with activity, was left almost fully dormant in the wake of Haeseni defeat. That same evening, with Andrei retired to the library, there were a long few hours of silence before the night appeared to grow restless. Silence engulfed the castle, with the few remaining servants concluding their work, at least until flames were spotted within that aforementioned chamber. The fire had time to grow, and it raged with ease, engulfing the library and relegating all who lay within to a fiery death. It took a while for those servants to muster and quell the blaze, but it was already much too late to save their liege within. Letters were received by Dima, Frederik, Martin, Viktor, Joren, Nadya and Ledicort in the coming days. The Count was dead, and with him many records of House Kortrevich. The final Knight Paramount of Hanseti-Ruska, Ser Andrei Otto Kortrevich, 1988-2023. "Fallen Kingdom" - A Minecraft Parody of Coldplay's Viva la Vida (Music Video)

Andrei, Varon's brother in law let naught but a grin cross his features as the invitation was received. It was a brief respite, to see that lone Kovachev finally make his mark through marriage.

Andrei sat within the walls of the Royal Archives - tucked beneath the Kastell Lesanov. He received the missive only mere minutes earlier - it was a relief, finally that the reasonable Bishop Casica spoke out. He rocked quietly in a chair - pondering only further on the peace that could have been, had a moderate penance been offered to the new-King Joren, uninvolved in all affairs before his reign.

Andrei stood at the head of two Haeseni King's retinues; Karl and Joren, back to back. It was unfortunate timing, that a war would engulf his tenure as Count - but that didn't deter him. There was a price to pay, for the transgressions upon their homeland, upon their people. His sword was sharpened, and the Knight Paramount prepared to set out for Koppány with King Joren and the Horenic Covenant, their dutiful allies (mostly) of Canondom.

Andrei stood upon the walls of Emsgrad, a sword dangling by his hip - enwreathed in his Bogatyr scabbard of leather dyed burgundy. He smiled, such a rare occasion over the last year or so - finally had he begun to establish his legacy.

Andrei sat within the vestiges of his estate - better understood as Emsgrad, the former lands of his parents. A cigarette hung by his lips, and the news arrived within hours of the Lord Regent's proclamation. Karl was his best friend; he had been since they were just dumb youths, before the Grand Prince took up his throne, and Andrei took up his sudden obligations. He bore witness to Andrei's faults, to which there were many - but never was he shunned, or rebuked by the King. When they spoke within that Lesanov chapel, Andrei swore that to receive that pardon, that he wouldn't ever falter in his duty to defend Karl, his kin and Kingdom. But those memories wore away in idleness as the King was sent to Ba'as, and Erika fretted about his fate - he believed that whilst it was sickness that took Karl; perhaps something could've been done, an effort taken by the Knight Paramount to ensure his liege and confidant wouldn't succumb to something so fickle. A reign which should've stood the test of time, washed away in only a few months. It felt like a sickening twist, Karl had only taken one life, and it clearly bothered the man deep down - but now, at least there wouldn't be another to weigh him down. And for that - the Paramount wept, with duties fallen onwards to the leal Prince Joren and his cousin Nadya. His faith never waned in them, but instead in himself.

ISSUED BY THE COUNTY OF JEROVITZ c. 570 E.S. “What is legacy? What is duty? What is the future? Oftentimes I found myself asking these questions in my forty-one years as the Patriarch of House Kortrevich. You would think the answers would come clear to me somewhere along the middle, but even to this day I still find myself pondering despite my assurances. There are many life lessons that I’ve learned throughout my years. Family was always an important factor. Whether it was ensuring my siblings had found ample employment, or if my children behaved in public, family was always my deciding factor in most matters. Even as Lord Palatine I considered my family, my Haeseni family that is. The weight of gold on my shoulder both literally and metaphorically took its toll on me. But still, I found myself looking forward to a returned effort in spending more quality time with the family I had created. Thus, I can confidently answer those questions now. A man’s legacy, duty, and future are all the same. Forever and always, they are his family.” - Erik Otto Kortrevich “Through all my trials as Countess of Jerovitz alongside my husband and Lady Emissar of the realm, it was the warmth of Jerovitz’s halls that sustained me. No matter how far I traveled or how heavy the burdens I bore, I knew I could always return to the enduring embrace of my family. Their love was my refuge, their strength my foundation, and for that, I am endlessly grateful. Now, it falls upon the shoulders of our kin to carry the mantle. I have no doubt they will succeed, for they were raised within these very halls, surrounded by the same love and duty that guided me. Jerovitz endures, as it always has, and in their hands, it shall continue to thrive.” - Emma Mariya Kortrevich ⋅ ───────────────⊱༺⠀I⠀༻⊰─────────────── ⋅ I. We, Lord Erik Otto Kortrevich and Lady Emma Mariya Kortrevich, do so declare that, effect immediately, on this 19th day of Wzuvar ag Byvca, 570 E.S, our complete and total abdication of the: - County of Jerovitz - Viscounty of Krusev - Barony of Koravia - Lordship of Emsgrad - Protectorate of the Koravians II. We, the Lord Erik Otto Kortrevich and Lady Emma Mariya Kortrevich, shall henceforth be regarded indefinitely as Count and Countess-Emeritus of Jerovitz as well as retain the honorific of ‘The Right Honorable’. ⋅ ───────────────⊱༺⠀II⠀༻⊰─────────────── ⋅ I. I, Lord Andrei Otto Kortrevich, do assume, effective immediately, the rightful and lawful duties and responsibilities entrusted on to me by His Royal Majesty, Karl IV, on this 19th day of Wzuvar ag Bycva, 570 E.S. as Lord and Protector of his dominions within the respective lands of the: - County of Jerovitz - Viscounty of Krusev - Barony of Koravia - Lordship of Emsgrad - Protectorate of the Koravians II. Per the precedent set by my father and predecessor and through the words of His Royal Majesty Ivan VII, I, Count Andrei Otto Kortrevich, master of my own titles, do empower my wife, Lady Dima Aina Milena Kortrevich, as Countess of Jerovitz and and peer of all other pertaining titles under my dominion. III. We, the Count Andrei Otto Kortrevich and Countess Dima Aina Milena Kortrevich, shall henceforth be regarded as Count and Countess of Jerovitz, as well as claim the honorific of ‘The Right Honorable’. HIS EXCELLENCY, SER ANDREI OTTO KORTREIVCH Count of Jerovitz, Viscount of Krusev, Baron of Koravia, Lord of Emsgrad, Lord Protector of the Koravians, Lord-Captain of ve Bykursain, Knight Paramount of Hanseti-Ruska THE RIGHT HONORABLE, DIMA AINA MILENA KORTREVICH Countess of Jerovitz, Viscountess of Krusev, Baroness of Koravia, Lady of Emsgrad, Lady Protector of the Koravians, Squire of the Marian Retinue THE RIGHT HONORABLE, ERIK OTTO KORTREIVCH Count-Emeritus of Jerovitz, Palatine-Emeritus, Justiciar-Emeritus THE RIGHT HONORABLE, EMMA MARIYA KORTREVICH Countess-Emeritus of Jerovitz, Emissar-Emeritus

Ser Andrei stood on the eastern verge of the Karoswald - gazing out over the vast Verelund. His hand laid idle upon his bogatyr scabbard; and he recalled Oliviya's prophecy which seemed to rang ever-true since his knighting. He spat upon the dirt - and for many years he wished to reject those scales, but it was a duty that came both with inheritance and a life among warriors; and eventually it would be clear to him. To be a knight - one must be brave, just, and fair; and for a second he wondered if that was who he truly was.

INTO THE AESTMARCH A RAID ON WALTONBURG, 1958 In the silent night upon the northern verge of the Haeseni Aestmarch, a squire tugged at the reins of his steed. He pulled them firm, and led his brown, elderly mare down a narrow strip of path, masked otherwise by a blanket of spruce trees; likely a trail rarely used in the region. His satchel hung low at his side, tied to his belt of woven leather; likely originating from a Koravian bull. Accompanying his belt, rested a longsword with a blade of black ferrum - imprinted with a steel guard awash in tones of crimson, molded into the form of a bull’s head with two distinct horns extending out. “El Toro de Fuego” - was the name Erik told Andrei, for the sword. He hadn’t a clue where it originated from, only that Lord Marshal Leonid Kortrevich first wielded it; and Andrei inherited it by rite of strength when he turned eighteen. It didn’t matter - it wasn’t important - neither was the color or state of his steed. He quietly scoffed as his mind was drawn to those menial things; and shook his head to steady himself. Andrei believed himself foolish for traveling so far from home and in such an isolated region, alone. He knew better than to cower from it, for he chose the life of a warrior - but every mile or so in the evening he’d think back on it and sigh. The Aestmarch was not explicitly foreign to him, though - it was a part of the Kingdom, and it had been since the fall of Veletz, long before his birth. But it was still dotted with ruins, which were overgrown and overrun with a trifling sort of folk; or so he guessed. There was one a few miles back, located near a cliffside - now filled with tall grass and overgrown plants; he wondered what it would’ve looked like in its heyday. Before the residents fled, died, or cowered to the Covenant. Veletz was always a tricky story to tell - it wasn’t as far back as something like the Sinners War, or the Brothers War, where the facts and lies would often trickle in and merge; and a definitive story was molded; the Veletz war was something more bleak and unclear, at least in his eyes. A massive nation brought to heel by the Princes of Canondom, for all its merits as a story seemed to grow more diluted with his age. He often wondered what he’d have done if Haense itself was brought to ruin at the hands of Veletz, and that seemed to just spoil the story for him. Eventually, Andrei seemed to phase back into reality, and his eyes were driven forth. The night sky offered just enough illumination of the pathway to continue at a gentle trot - but not a full gallop. He knew what he was looking for, some fallen brush, carved through the prior month on his last, eventful visit to the area; it’d litter the side of the path, and be between two towering spruce trees. Finally, his eyes found those few sticks and thin branches - and the reins were yanked; bringing his steed to a firm halt. He slowly slid his feet from the stirrups of his steed and pushed one leg overtop of the mare, to dismount. He gently took his steed by the reins, and led her to one of the trees - perhaps his confidence in the isolation of the pathway was misplaced; but Andrei didn’t spot a thief hiding among the shrubbery, and he wasn’t going to be in the woods for long. He tied the reins to the tree and side-stepped around it. Finally, Andrei approached the cleared, makeshift entry into the woods with ease, and the twigs crunched beneath his boots as he stepped inwards. It wasn’t long before he found it - and Andrei hadn’t needed to swipe, or annihilate any more branches to reach his objective; like he needed to last month. It was naught but a single tree, surrounded by only a small clearing of grass; which was painted in darkened, dried blood. It felt much different than before, though perhaps that was due to her absence from the scene. He scoffed, and pushed forward to the base of the tree - and his sword was quietly slid from its scabbard. Eyes trailed after the dried blood - he was lucky the treeline grew so extensively, as to mask the rainfall from washing it all away. He stepped after it, and it slowly led him out of the clearing - though in the opposite direction of whence he came. One slash, two slashes, three - he cleaved relentlessly at whatever brush had regrown in that direction; until it led him to the long-departed marks of a steed in another clearing. Andrei was unable to continue further, for only a few meters away the tracks had vanished, stuffed and diluted in multiple directions with pieces of thicket. He wasn’t usually prone to fury - but his sword made its mark in a nearby tree, chipping off a few odd pieces of bark. He turned and dug it from its place. One crazed swing was enough, but Andrei sighed and sheathed his blade. He searched the area for any remaining clues - and when none were found, departed wordlessly. On his trek back to his steed, he recalled the words of his brother, Markus; and the few times Andrei tried to keep him from returning to the wild. It was his room to relax - but for Andrei, there was no respite to be found; perhaps that was a piece of his faulty belief. Anger, or pity, or a mix of both for his brother. Andrei finally returned to his steed and freed the mare of her ties, nicking his bare hand on an odd; before re-mounting and yanking at the reins again. His boots kicked gently into her side in order to speed up, and as the sun began to rise; Andrei departed. From a young age, Andrei yearned for knighthood - enough that his father bequeathed upon him the title of “Little Knight.” But in the years leading up to adulthood, when Karlotta left home - those hopes were squandered. It felt briefly like Andrei was a rodent in the underbelly of Jerovitz, his dream stomped out in a second as if it never existed in the first place. Onto greener pastures, he believed then. But always in the depths of his heart did he yearn for that same goal; and only recently had it unveiled itself again, to full force. Maybe it was his expeditions with the Carrenguard, or his evening talks with Dima, or Primrose, maybe it was even his verbal fights and debates with his uncle Vladrik. But in all honesty, it descended from that one night in Salia; even if Andrei wouldn’t admit it. That evening in Salia, under the moonlight. It was some sort of celebration - Andrei couldn’t remember for the life of him. He did remember their arrival, how he, Dima, and Mikhaila made their way up the steps of Salia; and Andrei found his aunt, Esfir. They made the required introductions, and Andrei was eventually convinced by Dima to take part in fortune-telling. He assumed his relatives in d’Arkent had fetched some foreign mystic, or simply someone who claimed to be; it was likely a fraud in his eyes. A fraud until he sat down in the chair, and the woman’s words piled on like a cartload. Rarely had he felt the same kind of shock he did there - and only one sentence rang vividly through his ears. “Without her - without them, you are nothing.” “Without her - without them, you are nothing.” “Without her - without them, you are nothing.” “Without her - without them, you are nothing.” He was left dizzied, though it seemed everyone else was too after their own experience. The rest of that event was a blur - and he departed soon afterward without a word to anybody but Dima; a noticeable distance lingered in his eyes. He knew what the fortune teller meant, and how she perceived his future. At least it was initially positive, right? On the ride home, he further recalled what Ser Joakim told him - about how he’d have to be capable of protecting her; it extended now to them in his eyes. In his youth - Andrei would be left unsure, stressed, and worried; but he’d changed from his youth, from his days as the “Little Knight” of House Kortrevich. He was sure of himself; of his abilities - he’d resemble his father whenever he chose to march into the Kastell Lesanov... He penned swiftly a letter to King Karl - and perhaps it was the evening at Salia, the words of Ser Joakim, the endorsement of Ser Belisar, and the expeditions of the Carrenguard that revived his aspirations; but it was that bloodied rescue in the Aestmarch that served as the sole catalyst of his letter.

@Timer@BuilderBagel@Bigman31@thirdyeeter out in the boonies NOW.

Andrei assumed his place as heir after a heated conversation with his parents the preceding day. He knelt in prayer in the chapel of Ven. Primrose - for success come his tenure.

Andrei sat in the quiet thicket of the Karoswood. He was only a few dozen feet from the road, headed south to Krusev, and north towards Old Sankt Johannsburg - but he was wholly engulfed in his book, a retelling of history, of the Grand Covenant and their war against the Veletzers. He skimmed a finger through a chapter, detailing the Battle of Westmark, how his forefathers had been brought to rout - he hadn't ever truly seen a corpse before, blood? Sure - but never something as final as a lifeless body, only once, in his dream, did he bear witness to a limp creature. But that wasn't anything real, was it? How many men must have fallen that day? He pondered in silence, the only noise brought to him was the relentless whistle of autumn wind. Same as he'd hoped to protect the people of the Kingdom someday - he'd protect his sisters, Karlotta, Primrose, and Erika.

THE LITTLE KNIGHT The following content – up until the very end, is a dream. [DO NOT METAGAME] A light breeze fell upon the Karoswood, batting gently at the trees, and branches wafted in the wind. With the swift strike of a sword, a long limb of an oak tree fell to the grass. It was cold, the autumn breeze relentless at times, rarely would an unprepared man willingly embark into such a place. The Knight, however,—who stomped past the felled branch—wasn’t unprepared in any regard. He bore a satchel, hanging at his side, filled with alchemical herbs and other useful commodities. Upon his other side lay his sword, a finely tuned and well-kept steel blade, tucked comfortably within a pressed leather scabbard. His march was harsh, he’d surely had his work cut out for him. What he had long since sought was a monster that perturbed and wrought havoc amongst the peasantry of Man. For it was his duty, as a Knight of the Realm, to protect and defend the weak; to tread in his forefathers' footsteps. Regardless, his movements were repetitive, drawing his blade, slicing effortlessly through limbs of trees, and stomping ‘pon meager sticks, ensuring his presence was known. He had created much noise, enough for any creature to hear him coming a mile away, but what was stealth and skullduggery to a Champion so steadfast and righteous as himself? Eventually, the Knight found himself on the banks of a plateau. Surely this was to be it. The sun shone brightly upon the rolling meadow, engulfing it in a gentle glow. In the dense treeline, the Knight saw much of the field and stepped into the open, and finally, he drew forth his towering sword. With the weapon lofted to the sky, one could take note of the many intricate details laden in the hilt. Driven deep into the pommel was a blackened bull bearing white horns. Splayed across the Knight’s masked features was his prideful, cocky grin, as he swung his blade proudly in the air. Times for arrogance were few and far between, however, as a roaring scream bellowed through the rolling plateau. With haste, the Knight buckled his knees and lowered his stance. Swiftly was the hilt of his blade engulfed in two firm, gauntleted hands, outstretched in the direction of such a terrifying howl. In the far distance, the Knight bore witness to a fleeing peasant, sprinting wholly through the autumn winds, and not far at his rear, a lunging creature with two heavy-handed antlers, locked firmly into an old moose’s skull. It was covered in fur, and one could almost mistake it for a moose, had it not borne two defined legs and two massive arms. Sharp claws ravaged the grass it sprinted upon, yet still, it pressed forth on all fours. The Knight hadn’t ever seen such a fearsome opponent; he was sure many would’ve fled by now, had they been in his position. It wasn’t far for the peasant to sprint, and eventually he’d found cover behind the Knight. Stalwart was the Knight when his whole body was upended, hurled into a cluster of flowers. He grappled with his sword, eventually hoisting it skyward as the monster flung its attention from the lowborn to him. The creature charged him again and this time, the Knight flung himself from its path, retaliating with a hearty strike to its gut. Roaring in pain, the monster kicked up many a wildflower as it spun on its hind legs and swung a sharp-clawed paw towards the Knight’s visored bascinet. Receiving the strike with courage pressed into his heart, he was only briefly forced to the ground before his blade struck upwards in a skillful thrust. He’d struck true, with purpose and righteous fervor, and his blade dug deep into the fur of the extraordinarily monstrous creature and another howl came, this time of unbearable proportion. Harshly, it retaliated, forcing one paw after the other down onto the bascinet of the Knight. But through the pain, he had faith and courage in his cause, and it led him as his hands released his blade. His hands lurched for a swift, quiet rondel dagger at his hip, and the dagger sliced upwards, skimming past the bloodied fur of the beast, digging deep into its neck. With fury and resentment was the Knight assailed, but as his dagger struck true, the monster’s attacks became less and less. In mere moments had it keeled toward the grass, felled by the Knight in his quest not unlike a simple oak branch. He fell to his knees as his inhuman opponent fell limp to the ground. He sighed, lowering his eyes to the remainder of the flowers, and from it, he plucked a single white primrose. With haste, the Knight retrieved his arsenal and set off to find the lowborn man. “Come forth, you.” He beckoned with a commanding wave. Stepping forward, the exhausted commoner lofted a hand and fell to his knees. “O’fair champion, you have saved my life, this monster has plagued our village for many a month.” “It is my duty, fret not.” And without another word, the Knight turned on his heel and set off into the dense woods. The blackened bull with white horns upon his pommel was wiped clean of blood when he reached home. Then, Andrei awoke. Leaping upward with a springing hand nearly launching a potted plant from his nightstand, the perplexed boy pulled himself from bed and offered a stressed glance at the plant. He donned his clothes—a finely woven kaftan of black and red—and descended the many stairwells of Krusev. He found himself initially in the courtyard, and then outside the walls. He descended up a brief, dirt pathway in the brush of the southern Karoswood and ended up at the site of a small flower, masked from the towering trees and bushes; a simple, quiet, white primrose. He sat, and revealed a small book from the pouch at his side. From the cover, it appeared to be a folktale of a Knight and his deeds in the Aestmarch. Andrei had dreamed many a time of boots far too big to fit on his own feet, but for now, he was only ‘the Little Knight’, a title bequeathed by his father, Erik.

Prince Alfred was finally able to rest - for his second grandson was born.. The future generations would be wealthy in kinship - he was sure.

Herewald laid his spear atop his fireplace.. He had no doubt - that should Leon's words not be heard, it would be seized, and dragged to war.

Herewald bowed his head - upon his return to Kretzen. "We lay our faith in His Holiness now - as is our duty."

MY LYRE AND I MEINE LEIER UND ICH | MY LYRE AND I Written by Alfred, High Chieftain of the Reinmaren In the year of our Lord 1988 ÖHNE UND TÖCHTER VON REINMAR, HEARKEN, the words of your High Chieftain flow now. For many years I have held the mantle, I bore witness as Brasca fell - and Winburgh burned. I was struck in the Westmark - and I drove our spears north, seizing spoils of war from Ravenmire. I have long been tested, and I have not yet been broken. Our ancestors dreamed for many centuries – and we have finally realised it. Our tribe has grown, and with it, we have built for ourselves Kretzen. I have had my children, who thereon had their own – I have seen us prosper. Though as are our words - He who rests, rusts. As my father before me, it is my place to recognize when the hour grows late. I have grown absent, and have withered in my late hour. I will not let myself become an old emblem of yore – I will seize my fate by the horns, and offer myself unto our ancestors and GOD himself. It is for that reason that I, son of Manfred, have set out. Here, atop this stone shall I sit with the Lyre of the Rein - and here, I will play the songs of yore, until my final hunt beckons. Do not search - for I will be gone, put my belongings to the torch. I. Unto you, Frederica Josefina, do I offer my titles, you are to bear the arms of your forefathers with pride. You will be crowned, as I was, only now as Princess in Reinmar, and be Leon’s equal. II. For my brother, Leon Anton, do I offer the station of High Chieftain. Often more worthy than I - it is finally time to take up the mantle, as the eldest of the Reinmaren Chieftains. III. With my last act, I will it so - that Erwin Leofric be endowed with the Barony of Sigradz, so it shan’t lay dormant. GOTT MIT UNS Alfred, Son of Manfred, High Chieftain of the Reinmaren [!] In the following days - many close kin of Alfred came to receive letters. To Leon, @BuilderBagel To Frederica, @crazedpudding To Brandt, @Shadow2k To Erwin & Reinhardt, @JuliusAakerlund @Liokv To Juliya, @annabanana1014 To Marius, @Dogged To Maud and Dietrich, @Allien @tcs_tonsils_ To Erwin, @Timer