spicii

Lucia Herleva de Rouen tapped her fingers to the tune!

HAIL TO THE CITIZENS OF THE HEARTLANDS We are fortunate enough, in these times of conflict and strife, for an abundance of wildlife to occupy the surrounding forest of Rychwald. Nestled beneath the emerald canopy, the forest presents a thriving haven of life; a prime hunting ground teeming with an abundance of game. The house of Kovachev formally invites the Marchlands of Stassion @Optimus420 and the Duchy of Adria @Nooblius to partake in a hunt. The weapons used for hunting are mostly similar to those used for war: a bow, crossbow, lance or spear, knife and sword. Bows are the most commonly used weapon. Cudgels are to be packed as use for clubbing small game - in particular for women who are wishing to join the hunt. Boar spears are also acceptable. Other salient items pertain to carefully set up traps for smaller animals to make hunting time more efficient. INVICTUS SOL IN AETERNUM Her Ladyship, Lucia Herleva Kovachev, Baroness of Rychwald His Lordship, Fyodor Kovachev, Baron of Rychwald Sir Andrik Uldarik of the Rychwald, Grand Prizak of the Order of the Rychwald Sir Rupert Brezwyck of the Rychwald, Prizak of the Order of the Rychwald

[!] A leather bag made its way outside the gates of Balian, the contents pertaining to human hands - splattered with specks of blood. Inside the hand, a slightly crumpled note situated itself. 'THE QUEEN WHO NEVER CAME.' @HIGH_FIRE

Queen Sybille of the Dunes, Just earlier, during one of our everyday-treks through your arid, mud-ridden cesspool of a Jungle, we of the Rychwald stumbled upon an associate of yours going by the name of Lucian. We, out of boredom, and the good will of our hearts, also decided to take him back home with us. Let this be your chance. Prove to us that you truly are the ‘Queen of the People’ you so nonchalantly claim to be. We demand a sum of 1,000 mina. While we are open to the idea of negotiations, for each time you lower the price, the vintner shall lose a finger. Signed, Lucia Herleva Kovachev, Baroness of Rychwald

Lucia Herleva arrived back at Rychwald on horseback, her steed having suffered many injuries. The savoyard sighed as they started to count their losses.

Lucia de Rouen gritted her teeth as eyes scanned tiredly over such a missive. "Your Kings choose when to support GOD and when to abstain in matters of conflict." A stray hand sought out towards her new steed Josefine, of whom she had stolen from a Cardinal. "Let us not forget - you stand by a dwarf that murders innocent Canonist men and call it justice. The last hundreds of years have seen constant war and canonist men dying. YOU do not care for GOD but you choose him now as a motive for your 'cause' whilst holding hands with heathen. I pray on the battlefield that GOD will come to save you."

+1 this guy is thirsting for st items pls help him.

Lucia de Rouen, who had not been sighted for almost a year, sauntered up to the newly established camp perched atop her trusty stead. Swerving over the side of its back and jumping forth, the de Rouen's skirts flicked dirt upwards almost instantly. A low hum emitted the woman as she removed her gloves and squinted at the sight of the new camp.

circa. 1950 HAIL TO THE CITIZENS OF THE HEARTLANDS Amidst the cracks of impending conflict and the abhorrent sight of bloodshed that threatens to spill from that of innocent men, the triumph of love and devotion emerges as an indomitable force in these troubling times. A regal spectacle is to unfold - the union of de Rouen and Kovachev in which they shall be joined in sacred matrimony. The solemn ceremony is to happen at Veletz, inside the Cathedral of St. Arpad. Here, all those honoured with invitations to partake will watch the union take place. WE FORMALLY INVITE and all citizens of said nation HIS GRACE, Gaspard van Aert, Captain-General of the League of Veletz, Duke of Middlelan, First Citizen, Protector of Midlanders, Defender of Dumacracy. HIS HIGHNESS, Richard Leonus, Prince of Providentia, Margrave of Stassion, Baron of Renzfeld, Lord of Fredericksburg, Protector of the Western Marches. HER EXCELLENCY, the Honourable High Princess, Illyria Ibarellan, The Prophesied, The Reclaimer and Phoenix of the Principality of Celia'nor. INVICTUS SOL IN AETERNUM Her Ladyship, Lucia Hervela Ashford de Rouen His Lordship, Fyodor Kovachev

✺ The bannermen of Drusco are a formidable and fierce variety of men serving and sworn under the Margraviate of Drusco - located in the ‘League of Veletz.’ Composed of staunch and able bodies warriors whose levy’s legacy does not precede them, each man possesses unwavering loyalty and protection to their sworn house. Their battle lineage traces as far back to the Tenth Nordling war, renowned for their extensive skills on the battlefield. ✺ Origins and History Joachim Ashford de Rouen founded the ‘Blackwald Company.’ Thereon, the company went to serve many foreign contracts and in which he acquired a disdainful reputation. Amusingly, the once bastard’s death was not from sustaining an injury on the battlefield, yet from a gnarly illness he caught. The castle fell to ruin, and Edmond, along with a small band of Blackwald levyman, roamed the Urguani countryside as mercenaries. Edmond survived his father’s Blackwald company, and immediately seeked conflict, fighting the Oisin’s rebellion and crushing the Rozanian forces. Edmond sought to continue in his fondness for conflict and then went on to serve under Olivier de Savoie and fought for Leufroy’s claim to the Savoyard throne. Although Edmond continued his service alongside the Blackwald Company - fighting in the prolonged and grueling Urguani-Orenian conflict. ✺ Chain of Command Marquis - The Marquis of Drusco is the most superior and honorable member of the fyrd, reigning dually over the lands which the army calls home in a manner of civics, and also over the fyrd in its entirety. He is to have the superlative say in all operations of the army. The currently reigning Marquis is The Most Honorable, Edmond Guiscard Ashford de Rouen. Marshal - The Marshal is the Marquis’s hand to the fyrd, a singularly important and powerful commander. His duties are to ensure the company men are well fed, paid, and kept busy, as well as ensuring the competence and worthiness of the officer corps. The current marshal is Richold Ashford de Rouen. Captain - The Captains under the Ashford banner are the highest rank of plurality, leading brigades quasi-independently. Their duties revolve around recruitment, training, and advisory to the High Command. Sergeant - Sergeants are the lowest of officers within the ranks, proving to possess some semblance of leadership ability. Their duties are to direct formations and ensure the discipline of their lower companymen. Armsman - Armsmen are the oathed and integrated men of the company. They comprise the majority of its roster, being plentiful in number. They are subject to compensation and standard equipment, able to participate in contracts of their choosing, though they possess no authority. Aspirant - Aspirants are the untested or men of the company. Given training and a trial, they are to prove their skill and competence before entering the ranks proper. ✺ Traditions Ulmsbottom Dancers - This oddity has been adopted into common Druscan legend as the Ulmsbottom dance and those who partake are thus called Ulmsbottom dancers. Traditionally one sports a single glove upon the superior hand to denote its priority and strengthen one’s grip. The term dancing owes itself to the trained movement of Druscan men atop rocky hillsteps where required to fight brusquely above unstable grounds. Mercy Recruiting - Mercy recruiting is an idea founded by the first Baron of Blackwald, Joachim de Rouen, and continued by his predecessors, in which a prisoner is offered mercy in exchange for indentured servitude. Breeding of the Horses - Horses are an exceedingly predominant part of Druscan culture and tradition, horseback being something that is taught extremely young. Every chevalier must complete a task of breeding two horses, to show that they have values of a Druscan, to be initiated. ✺ Brigades of Drusco The Marquis’s Army - The largest of all the brigades and serves as the militia of Castle Vitré and is aligned directly under the Marquis’s banner. The Brigade consists of lowly serfs, untrained warriors, and mercenaries seeking gold for their blade. The Esheveurd Chevaliers - The smallest of the three warbands, the chevaliers are a heavy cavalry force inspired by the horsemen that flanked Prince Lucius of Savoy. They are composed of knights, squires, and low nobility seeking to gain reputation upon the battlefield. Band of Bastards - Once recognized as the Bastards of Blackwald, the Band of Bastards predominantly comprises Drusco's mercy recruits who pledge fealty to the Marquis and their appointed leader, Captain Fyodor Barrow. They have established their encampment at a distance from the township and castle, taking residence in a cluster of tents encircling the Standfast Turret. Recruitment Able bodied men of Drusco are welcomed. Further a letter to the Marshal containing the following information ; Full Name : Age : ((Username : ((Discord :

The Princess Royal, Analiesa Josefina and Franziska vas Ruthern Author’s Note ; Franziska Baruch had vanished from sight, remaining unseen and unheard for several long months. As the relentless demands on her emotional well-being pushed her circuits to the brink, and every alternative avenue to alleviate the mounting pressure was exhausted, the notion of escaping became increasingly appealing. Running away had been an ingrained coping mechanism for her, deeply rooted in a history marked by abandonment and recklessness. With a concerned furrow in his brow, Henry of Mardon inquired about her determination, gently resting his calloused hand on her shoulder. Franziska nodded thoughtfully, her gaze fixed on the horizon as she stood, discreetly tucking a substantial sum of mina into their already laden bags. She refrained from casting a final glance or farewell to any of her children, even to the ones born from her extramarital affairs. With a sense of callous determination, the two embarked on their journey, distancing themselves from the turmoil and problems of Hanseti-Ruska. In the daring escape from the shackles of their past, Henry and Franziska navigated a path of taverns, seeking refuge in the dimly lit corners of each establishment they stumbled upon. Yet, as the days turned into weeks and the number of inn’s they visited multiplied, a weariness began to settle in the bastard’s heart. He couldn't help but feel the weight of their relentless flight, and the constant uncertainty was beginning to erode his spirit. While the Ruthern remained resolute in their quest for freedom, he grappled with the growing desire to put down roots. The taverns and inns, once symbols of adventure, had become a reminder of the endless running, and the man yearned for a reprieve from their restless journey. It was a selfish yet strangely invigorating endeavour. Franziska Ivanna Baruch, formerly a Ruthern, a once-tried Duchess, an adulterer, and a child abandoner, led a transient existence, with each inn providing temporary respite for her unsettled mind. Albeit it never lasted and never would. A brief, hesitant conversation eventually unfolded. "I am tired of running, Fran. I can't bear this uncertainty any longer." Henry confessed, his hands cradling his head in dismay. "We are different, tragic, but we're still alive, Henry. We do niet have to keep running. Can't we settle down here? Can't we?" Franziska implored, her fragile hope shining through as her fingers extended to clasp his. In response, Henry brushed her hand away with a touch of force. “This is not who we are.” With a pivot on the heel of his boot, the Novellen executed an abrupt about-face, emitting an air of indifference as he sauntered purposefully toward the wooden door. The door's heavy thud, a manifestation of his abrupt departure, reverberated through the Ruthern's mind, leaving an indelible impression. A poignant understanding welled within her, an intuition that whispered to her soul, conveying that his exit was not a fleeting absence but an irrevocable departure, and he would not retrace his steps. As the relentless march of time carried on, more months whisked by for the Ruthern, slipping through her grasp like grains of sand in an hourglass. Still, she remained within the very tavern where Henry had parted ways with her some time ago. In the depths of her heart, an unwavering hope persisted, perhaps an illusion, that he might one day reappear. This ceaseless vigil for his return became an agonising obsession that gnawed at her sanity. In the midst of this torment, a mysterious and debilitating illness gradually coiled itself around her, constricting both mind and body. It clung to her vigorously, defying all efforts to be dislodged. This cruel affliction inflicted a terrible disadvantage upon her, as she grew increasingly frail and incapacitated, rendering her utterly incapable of embarking on the journey back to her distant homelands. It was a sombre fate that awaited Franziska, languishing in the tavern's dimly lit confines, her heart weighed down by the heavy cloak of despair, destined to pass away with no company or prayers, an enigma of her own making. Her violently disturbed mind pondered to her twin brother, unbeknownst to his current turmoil. He had written an array of letters addressed to his sister, all unopened or lost. In memoriam of my twin, The horrors of this world, I’ve seen with my own eye so much it irreparably damaged it. How could suffering blind me to light? Amalgamations of abominations, men and women who have lost their soul, does God make this world truly for the right? I carry Archangel Michael’s will, but if I stay gallant, brave and honorbound, will I still be the force of good in this benighted world? To send those who seek destruction and hate, but what of those misguided, am I to send them to the underworld? Would life be any different, if my blood stayed blue? My years of suffering, anger, tears and abandonment, if forgiven would they still make me true? The unfamiliar, dim confines of her icy room seemed to assail her fragile form, as if rebelling against her, and they compelled her to recline involuntarily. Franziska’s chestnut, inky tresses cascaded back onto the sweaty surface of the pillow. As the final vestiges of her resolve waned, a solitary, almost mournful sigh escaped her lips, signalling her surrender to the luminous, overwhelming spectacle before her...

Penned on the 20th of The Grand Harvest, 1943 Dispatched by the Margrave of Drusco HAIL TO THE DENIZEN OF THE HEARTLANDS, The Margrave of Drusco, and the Margrave of Stassion have emerged with joyful tidings, for two scions of the noble houses have kindled a flame of affection between them. Edmond Guiscard II Ashford de Rouen and Vivienne Lorena of House Stassion shall be joined in sacred matrimony. I. The solemn ceremony is to happen at Veletz, inside the Cathedral of St. Arpad. Here, all those honored with invitations to partake will watch the union take place. II. Following the marriage, a tournament will be hosted at the Margrave of Stassion. All will take a short walk to the domain, and valiant fighters will enter with a chance to win a modest 500 minae. WE FORMALLY INVITE AND ALL CITIZENS OF SAID NATIONS; HIS GRACE, AND HIS NOBLE PEDIGREE, Gaspard van Aert, Captain-General of the League of Veletz, Duke of Middlelan, First Citizen, Protector of Midlanders, Defender of Dumacracy, HIS ROYAL MAJESTY, AND HIS NOBLE PEDIGREE, Edmund Alexander, by the Grace of GOD, the King of Aaun and Prince of Alstion, etcetera. HER ROYAL MAJESTY, AND HER NOBLE PEDIGREE, Renilde I, by the Grace of GOD, Queen of the Petra, etcetera. HER ROYAL MAJESTY, AND HER NOBLE PEDIGREE, Tar-Caraneth Aryantë of the House Arthalionath, by the Grace of GOD, Queen of the Númenedain, etcetera. INVICTUS SOL IN AETERNUM THE MOST HONOURABLE, Edmond Guiscard Ashford de Rouen, Marquis of Drusco, Count of Metina, Baron of Blackwald. HIS HIGHNESS, Richard Leonus, Patriarch of House Stassion, Prince of Providentia, Margrave of Stassion, Baron of Renzfeld, Lord of Fredericksburg, Protector of the Western Marches.

Franziska Baruch scoffed as she heard the news of the capital name, peering outwardly through her perked brow. Years and years of speculation had brewed within her mind, but this striked as a confirmation. Verification. Had her husband ever truly loved her, or had he loved another? Another man, at that. Pivoting upon a heel, Franziska made haste to find Georg. @gusano