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.