Fionn__TWG

Wilheim's bed had found itself an uneasy coldness after his beloved wife had passed on, as had his armour that she had so often aided in placing on his figure. His late nights, once filled with conversations of nothing in particular with her, were now spent in front of the parchment of his study, ancient texts translatable by few in the court. But they would be wasted on him, for it was not their words that drew his attention but rather the inscriptions of the collection of jewelry he had been blessed with by Josefina over their long marriage, which perpetually repeated within his head. Perhaps he was lucky, though, that his heartbreak had arrived so late. Perhaps his time would soon come for soul and vessel to separate. But for now, he simply waited for that release. One day closer at a time.

IGN: Fionn__TWG RP name: Wilheim Barclay Persona ID: 69429

"Absolute shitshow of ein Kingdom." Wilheim Barclay huffed to himself as he read the missive. "Been like that since the Adrians rebelled. To try and veer a priest off of his virtuous path to rule such a pitiful backwater; they should be ashamed of themselves. That throne should be done away with entirely, let those under it forge their own paths without such a disgrace above them. GOTT help John, being caught up in this mess."

Wilheim Barclay, upon seeing a shadow of his grandson holding his wooden sword through an archway of Saint Johannsburg, immediately charged what he assumed to be the figure of a thief or kidnapper. "Halt, du vile miscreant!" Without much though, he rammed right into the small boy, unaware of what he had done until he had heard the small lad's wails. Ever fearful of the wrath of his wife or daughter-in-law's maternal instincts, Wilheim leaned towards his grandson, picking him up onto his feet and whispering to him. "Tell nicht ein soul what events happened here, und I'll get du some sweets in the morning." He then quickly crept away from the scene, though the loud footsteps of his burly figure made it abundantly clear to any residents of the keep who exactly was making them.

Robert Sigmund frowned as he read the theme, unsure if what he usually wore was good enough by default, though he made sure he'd be able to attend!

Robert Sigmund, upon having the missive read out to him, would smile at the opportunity yo learn such a subject. Shortly after the Court Astrologer would receive a letter, though it was clearly written by someone other than the Prince, someone who had smartened the boy's words up; INTRODUCTORY LETTER TO THE LADY ASTRONOMER: "Fair day to you, Your Highness. I write to you by way of my most leal servant, to make known my interest in the study of the stars above. It is through my years of witnessing my father, the King Aleksandr's passion for the subject unfold that his love for such a subject has passed on to one of his own. It is my own hope that you shall accept me to be your ward, so that I may learn from you all that the night sky has offered, and shall offer in the time to come, for it is most certain that much like He has given us this Earth to feed our bodies, GODAN has given us the cosmos to feed our minds. I await your response with a great, expanding interest. Signed, His Royal Highness, Robert Sigmund Barbanov-Bihar, Duke of Kreden" The last line would noticeably be a lot more messy than the rest of the letter. As he attempted to read the work, Robert gave a nod of approval. The fact he couldn't read half of the words showed that his servant had indeed served well on this day.

Wilheim Barclay can NOT believe this; of course something interesting happens as soon as he steps down.

THE PASSING OF A GENERATION “I SHALL NOT FALTER.” Written by the hand of the LORD MARSHAL On the 15th day of Tov ag Yermey of 487 E.S VA VE OXTZEN, It was precisely forty-two years ago that I took the life of a bear upon the outskirts of Almaris’ Rimeveld, and began my life as a soldier. Throughout my life, I have held weapons, titles, and castles whose worth may never be truly known, yet it is the fur of that bear, adorning my shoulders in the years since, that has remained my most valuable belonging. It is that fur that warmed me when I held back the false Inferi claimants, delivered justice to the Adrian rebels, and held off the plague-like Mori. But I did none of these acts as an individual; I did them as a brother. My loyalty to the Brotherhood has never changed, though those I call my brothers have. Where I once was a youthful brother, never hesitant in jumping into the fray, I now find myself as the elderly veteran struggling to keep up, my former comrades enjoying their much-deserved retirement in the Skies. It is for this reason I write this missive, and allow those full of ambition to not be led by a man past his time, but by one of their own. I, Wilheim Barclay, thus step down from the mantle as Lord Marshal of Hanseti-Ruska and wielder of the Iron Bulava, instead returning to my former station as a simple officer. I shall continue to work diligently for the betterment of the Brotherhood and the Kingdom it protects, through logistical work and elderly advice in the stead of youthful vigour in battle, and I shall continue to look on with pride at those that proceed the brothers that I once knew, so that their sacrifice may never have been in vain. May the brother succeeding me have in abundance the qualities that age has stripped me of, and may GOD ensure he is not as quick to lose them. KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM, His Excellency, Sir Wilheim Konstanz Barclay KOU, Lord Marshal of Hanseti-Ruska

The Duke of Kreden, being an infant, simply stared at the steel before beginning to wail loudly. All this hard training had made him sleepy.

"Do nicht blame ein Kingdom for ihr kin's choices, Karl; it was her who put this upon du lot, nicht those who made wrongs right." Tylos III retorted as he moved towards the old knight, a man he had known for a time in the plane of the living. "To imply it is the actions of those pious followers of His word, und nicht the actions of this woman du so desperately try to defend, that has brought shame to ihr house, implies House Amador puts Iblees above GOTT. A terrible look, would du nicht agree?" His eyes shot down towards the babe in question. "They deserved exactly what they got. Their mutter knew of the curse it would live with, being borne of such a foul beast, und she would've allowed it to happen regardless. At least it was given death with its dignity intact. Can't say that for all who perished on that day." he then signed the Lorraine with his right hand before continuing to watch idly upon those of Jorenus.

@JuliusAakerlundthe Attenlund still lives on, you truly love to see it

"Ich ******* hate Heartlander politics." Wilheim Barclay, most recent victim of the Haeseni Brainwashing Organisation (HBO), cursed to himself as he read the missive doing its rounds across the continent.

Wilheim Barclay scowls, horrified to be a grandfather before sixty.

What's the plan with the rule once the original version is re-implemented? Will there be aims at attempting to create a more permanent altering of it once it's seen running in tandem with the pvp system or will it remain the same as it has for the last while?

HERETICS ON GOD’S LAND “I SHALL NOT FALTER.” Written by the Hand of the LORD MARSHAL On the 14th day of Gronna ag Droba of 482 E.S Va ve oxtzen, Even on these new lands of Aevos and Valdev, there remain those in this world seeking to prey upon the faith of GOD’s flock as His rightful Church works dutifully to assign shepherds to their future fields. On this day, such was displayed to the residents of the capital when a trio of armoured men, claiming to seek GOD amongst mortals, attempted to recruit three men upon Haeseni territory. Let it be known these men claimed a confused visitor of the capital as one of their own despite no such confirmation from the passerby, before being driven out of GOD's city. For their crimes of sacrilege, as well as their wrongful attempts of recruitment to their unrecognised group, these men are to be killed on sight by any soldier or subject of the Crown. The following is a description of the outfit adorned by these heretics: - Chainmail under a black tabard adorned by a quartered yellow and white shield. - Leather boots and gauntlets. - A maroon coif underneath a kettle helm with a face guard was adorned by those wearing head gear. Let it be known that the adorning of this outfit is not a requirement for the killing of these heretics to be authorised. Any talk of seeking GOD among mortals, or any similar words of heresy, is to be met with decisive action. GOD willing, these men shall be put down swiftly with His judgement and wrath. May His light shine forevermore on those who embrace it with no malintent. KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM, His Excellency, Sir Wilheim Konstanz Barclay KOU, Lord Marshal of Hanseti-Ruska

If race change revenue is so vital to the server's maintenance, put it behind one of the lower VIPs.

Race changes being locked behind a $10 paywall is outrageous. That is all.

[[Actual rp response below]] Wilheim looked up from his desk as a BSK pen pusher handed him an announcement of the Princess Royal's passing. Then did his own pen rest upon the desk for a time, the Marshal leaning back in his chair as he idly scratched at his beard in thought. The pen pusher, nosy bastard as he was, stood at the doorway. "Was she a friend, sir?" "She was, ja. She was ein ***** as well, but Ich suppose it's ein requirement of Princesses lately." The soldier then nodded, before finally closing the door, though it's sound was faded to the man. The third loss of a time past finally forced the man to finally think back on those days, when duty was a distant age away, and friends were unconditional. Duty had a funny way of pulling people apart, he had learned to realise as time went on.

So long had passed between the two speaking regularly and now that Wilheim didn't truly know how he felt about his father's departure. Though now he couldn't help but feel that wherever he turned, he faced one of his family members. Those who had the chance to move off. His sister and cousins eastward, his father out at sea, his brother and son out who knows where, and his mother in the Skies. All had gone their own way in the world while they had their choice, something he never had. Though there was no point in dwelling on something that could not be. The soldier bid his father farewell from afar, before returning to his desk. One day he knew they'd meet again, this plain or the next.

"Ich suppose we all dream of running away from it all at one point." Kleiner Wilheim remarked to himself as he later heard of Georg's departure, looking over those large rivers that encircled the Haeseni capital from the Barracks of the Brotherhood. "Perhaps one day I'll even join du one day, once mein sword rusts" A sense of longing rested in his tone as he spoke to himself, a moment too long wasted considering such. But the man turned away, making his way back onto his desk. Georg's time had come, yes, but his hadn't. He would do what Georg himself couldn't, that which they spoke of mere days earlier. And there was much work to be done to fulfill his words to a friend.

"******* finally." Wilheim remarked with a smile as he received the invitation to the wedding, somewhat annoyed that his heir had taken so long to marry despite doing nothing to ever change it, though delighted nonetheless.

NEUE LÄNDER, NEUE HERRSCHER NEW LANDS, NEW RULERS Issued by the DUKE OF REINMAR 7th of Joma ag Umund, 480 E.S. 7th of Sigismund’s End, 1927 AN ALLE IN AEVOS MIT EHRE, The eagle always aims for the highest nest in their reach, where the sun strikes their feathers and beak, radiating them for all to see; where the winds are soothing, and the views are to match; and where their gaze watches over as much of their own as feasible. It is in these conditions only where this majestic avian can truly thrive in their service to both their kin, and their austringer in GOD. In these conditions, an eagle can spread its wings of influence to engulf even those generations who may never meet it in life. However, above all, the eagle fears sloth. It fears the curse and its debilitating effects, and it rues the day its family will ever be uprooted for allowing this to persist. And so, this magnificent creature flies down willingly from its roost, to allow a more energetic one of its blood to lead their colony. For thirty-three years, I have held the titles of my predecessors, since the abdication of my mother, who held these titles since the abdication of my grandfather, and so on. Since the forceful abdication of my namesake, House Barclay has recognised the importance of acknowledging the time to step down, to allow diligence to course through the head of the house at all times. While I do not doubt that the diligence of the Reinmaren still flows through me, I do doubt my ability to channel this into the leading of my house alongside the running of the prestigious Brotherhood of Saint Karl in the face of what is to come. In this youthful land, it is important that the Reinmaren be led by youthful blood. It is for this reason that I, Wilheim II of House Barclay von Reinmar, hereby announce my abdication as Prince of Sutica, Duke of Reinmar, and High Chief of the Reinmaren upon the publication of this missive, to be referred to from this point on as His Lordship, Sir Wilheim Konstanz Barclay KOU, with my family’s titles being passed down to their respective heirs: I. The Principality of Sutica, and the Duchy of Reinmar alongside its subsidiary titles, to be transferred to my eldest son, Manfred Barclay, to be referred to hereon as His Princely Grace, Manfred II. II. The High Chiefdom of the Reinmaren, to be transferred to His Grace, Brandt Barclay Herzog von Minitz, as the elder of the Reinmaren Chieftains. I have no doubt that these men shall dutifully serve in their new respective roles, given their much more bountiful youth, and I have no doubt that all Reinmaren shall prosper under their collective rule. May GOD bless these new rulers as they settle their people upon their new lands. WER RASTET, DER ROSTET GOTT MIT UNS. His Princely Grace, Sir Wilheim Konstanz Barclay KOU, Prince of Sutica, Duke of Reinmar, Count of Freimark and Kretzen, Baron of Madvon, Freising, and Sigradz, Lord of Wilheburg, Erwinsburg, Freiburg, Neuberg and Rozenfeld, High Chief of the Reinmaren, Lord Marshal of Hanseti-Ruska

I believe my good friend @Seussput it best:

Wilheim spent many hours of his time in the southern refuge staring out upon the surrounding hills of San Luciano, the place where he informed Carolus of his cousin's end; his mind flipping back and forth between the losses of the night. Baldrum was one of those he spent the most time thinking of. "Suicidal *****, du und Sebastian." he cursed to himself, as he had to them during the retreat, though his tone reflected more frustration towards himself than either of the fallen pair. And so he'd walk back into the walls of the city the last of a generation of aging crows, hoping he would make right the losses of his murder over the years.

There were many things from that siege that Wilheim Barclay would never forget; the efficiency and bravery of the Lechian Grenadiers was certainly one of those things. "I'm sure their story shall fill the hearts of Lechians all over with pride for centuries to come." he remarked to any who listend to his recounting of the battle in the years to come.