Herod

"Those who serve and lick the boots of kinslayers and murderers are negated to critique a man of Godan." Whispered Kaustantin in his farm.

The reward you reap from your sacrifice is ever greater, to soar Joseph Alexander sat on a rock beside a crossroads as those words were echoed in his head, a grim grimace follower. In his childhood, Joseph always took pride in his runaway grandfather, how he escaped what was considered normal in the Empire to pursue destiny and things of his own choosing. For years, he never gave up on his conscience despite how dangerous it was to praise the Dragonkin and their heralds. “Is it?” He mumbled to himself, he recalled viewing the figure that succeeded his grandfather. How different in tone. How different in his stance and personality. It didn’t even recognize him as his own grandson. A small tear dropped from his eye, his grandfather gone from this world he thought, consumed by earthly vanities and a dangerous journey for a monumental reward. ”It’s not worth it.” He answered rather confidently before standing up and going on in his travels.

Kaustantin chuckled as he finished reading the missive, he moved in his farmhouse to eventually pat the head of his firstborn daughter, Fenika, named after the Duke’s first wife and grandmother to the child. ”Oh… if vy only knew it all…” He whispered to himself with a crooked grin, despite everything he and Ailred went through, he was happy the man was finally at peace with himself and now dedicates his time for the betterment of this world.

Kaustantin Baruch sheds a tear, truly happy that his successor adheres to his glorious duty in such a time. As he sat on a bench near his farm, the former Palatine uttered these words of meaning, the unity of the Highlanders to Protect their realm for schemers, heretics and whatever more Iblees dares to throw at the descendants of Joren. ”Krusae Zwy Kongzem.” He uttered firmly.

“Let this be the first nail in the coffin of an immoral, inbred and dysfunctional Empire, Sigismund.” Commented Kaustantin Baruch on a short vacation from cabbage farming to the King in his office, his usual grim temperance replaced with a smirk.

Kaustantin sat beside the Tuvmas Tree in Karosgrad, writing a letter to his cousin, Eirik. "You bear witness to it now in a time of turbulence, cousin. The Orenian Realm is neither holy, as attested by their inadequate action of flip-flopping between Pontiffs in less than a year, it is not Orenian, given the fact of their disgustingly large elven population and is not an Empire, evident after losing thrice in a row to half men and only having titular Kingship claims."

“Who in Godan’s name gave that benighted elf authority? Does he really think this is the time to throw accusations without logic? Regardless, he shall pay for said accusation against the Kingdom of Haense and the descendants of Joren when the time comes.” Retorted a baffled Kaustantin in the King’s office upon his leave from cabbage farming, his amazement over such stupid letter overtaking his cool demeanor. ”Their intelligence sector does more harm than good to them, the fools.”

Kaustantin prepares to throw a brick at the Emperor of Oren, following a temporary leave off cabbage farming season. “Oh Eirik… I am so happy this is only the start of your tenure.”

Kaustantin was in the middle of writing his first letter to Eirik after he had resigned, yet as his daughter came into the room with this missive, he read it thoroughly and chuckled, continuing to write his letter. “To Eirik, My dear cousin, as much as it pains to see that you ought to lead our Nation into war during the start of your term. Remember it is not for nothing, when a bunch of southerners rabble about uniting man, you ought to remind them about the sturdiness of the sons of Joren, whom fought the bitter cold and a harsh environment to do their bidding alone. I shall write to you more, my daughter beckons me with another missive regarding an ambitious and corrupt Barclay, attempting to grasp onto the ambition of Tylos the First yet starting so poorly. Erwin, Manfred and Wilhelm must be all laughing at the imbecile from the skies, whilst applauding you and cheering you onwards for the inevitable great crusade to hunt Imperials. I shall write more cousin, that I assure. Sincerely yours, Kaustantin.”

Kaustantin was toiling in the farm as he heard the news. The Former Palatine fought back tears as he frowned deeply and sobbed, continuing to toil in the fields. Eventually as he finished, he settled onto a rock and began to think of his childhood. Despite the mess that it was, he was thankful he had Eleanora back then. Eventually he stood up and took a cabbage left behind and placed it together with a bunch of them, forever onwards, Kaustantin called said cabbage roll Eleanora after his dear cousin.

Kaustantin had been tending to his cabbages the whole day, he stood beside a large pile of them. He muttered a small prayer before his eyes opened to the large castle of Lichtestadt, after wiping his brow from sweat he smiled widely at the Keep's direction, awaiting to hear of his cousin's accomplishments as Lord Palatine of the Kingdom.

Kaustantin Baruch: Gone Farming A broken man walked through the halls of the Winter Palace in the dead of night, bottle in hand. It was a regular occurrence to him by now, spending sleepless nights with a warm drink in his grasp to ease his pain, his suffering, his rot. The man stood atop on the gallery floor in the Duma chamber as his memories flooded in, hand clutching the railing as he closed his eyes; He was still a merry boy with a trusty Prince by his side. Both of them weren’t burdened by the world or their oaths to keep it protected. They were simply Sigismund and Kaustantin back then. ”Can you lift the Bulava, Baruch Boy?” ”I’m trying!” It felt like a sharp sting in his heart as he recalled the low tone of Igor Kort, beckoning him to lift the ceremonial mace of state. He never knew how much meaning it would have in his later years. A leal Lord Palatine must always lift his Bulava, but holding it for years is a different story. Here he was, the Lord Palatine of a prosperous Kingdom, a complete opposite of its current state, he was broken, decrepit and hated himself for all his actions. The rot within him had completely consumed him to abandon his principles, family and friends. To lose two children before even seeing their eyes was too much of Godan’s anvil. He exited the Palace on an impulse, the cold breeze of the Northern wind caught up with the man, he shuddered from it. How weak of a man he was to greet the weather in such a manner after being raised all his life in the Highlander realm. Descending down the stairs, he cast a glance to the tavern as the light of the crackling fire was only visible, a sudden memory flashed in his eyes as he remembered sitting beside it. ”Constant is your suffering, Kaustantin Baruch, that is the meaning of your name.” The flooding prophecy of Franz Morovar sent the Palatine stumbling back into the Keep, remembering that he couldn’t escape his fate, that death is imminent for a man like him. He slowly made his way onto the Royal Gardens, closing the door behind him slowly. He began to make his way onto the Royal Residence with his Bulava in hand. “I will not let it happen.” His words for the past year were sorrowful and slow yet now, they were firm, he clenched his fist and began climbing up the stairs of the Residence. As he reached the floor of the King's chambers, the Palatine placed the Golden Bulava down near his door. He added a small note next to it. “Gone Farming.” And so, Kaustantin Baruch turned around and left the Royal Quarters, going onto his own residence as the sun began to rise. He woke up his wife and daughter, Mathea and Fenika and ushered them to begin packing, he would not let his suffering consume himself no longer, unburdened. His carriage left the Capital before the crows cawed for morning, as they reached the plot of land near Valwyck, he couldn’t help but crack a small grin at the small estate Eirik had given him at the edge of the Kingdom. Perhaps it would make his tomorrow brighter.

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The Lord Palatine of Haense smiled widely as he took hold of the declaration, vividly recalling how last time, Haense did not have a choice whether to join a war of two Emperors. Now, he sipped from his pina colada far away from the frontlines as the Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska remained stable and neutral. "Now, time to watch the world to go to shite."

Kaustantin Baruch stared at the body of the Imperial Crown Prince for what seemed like hours now, it laid lifeless on the floor of a Northern Keep, tended to by an elder Morovar Oracle. "What are vy going to do with it...?" He queried the Oracle with a worried tone. The words that uttered the Morovar shook the Palatine whom left in a silent ride back to the Capital with his retinue. A sleepless night followed as he stared onto his ceiling and lamented the state of this world.

The Lord Palatine of Hanseti Ruska smiles in his office, he thinks to himself this is the culmination of many years of tension finally giving in to a war, he begins penning a letter to his cousin, The Ambassador of Oren @Mady, recalling her for safety reasons.

"I told you we should've you put the Duke down to spare his children the suffering." Kaustantin intoned bitterly to Sigismund in the latter's office, the man still grieving the loss of his own daughter. He had heard of the youth's demise from the weeping Henrietta earlier in Karosgrad. In his youth, he always looked on how unfair it was to see the demise of a parent where a child needed them most, yet as he grew older and lost a child of his own, he realized suffering and grief had no difference in whatever circumstance of death a family had to endure. After his meeting with the King had concluded, the Palatine quietly made his way to his residence and sat onto his stool in front of his documents. A small candle was lit beside them, in the memory of his daughter. Kaustantin slowly added another candle to the table and lit it in the memory of Daphne, a child he hadn't known and yet still lamented and mourned her demise. @Xarkly

“The mad lad actually called his son Branimar.” Commented the still grieving Lord Palatine as he was in awe Andrik still chose the name. He then made his way to see the crib of the newly born Isabel, the man clenched his fist in envy, as his cousin had gotten the babe through unlike him, then relented, it was a ginger, no matter.

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Kaustantin Baruch started read the report with a sigh, he buried his face in his hands after concluding reading it, assuming the future Prinzenas Royale had gotten even more childhood trauma.

In a small room in Woldzmir, an auburn haired boy remained awake at night. Contemplating his actions to the Lady-Governor ”Was she right in saying all of those things?” He thought to himself, he attempted to humanize Mary by clinging into some hope that she was had been part of the Court that was corrupted. His shoulders heaved, the boy began to weep as the grim memories flooded in of what Mary had said to him and what he had done in return, chaos. He rubbed his cheek as if it was still red from the time Mary striked him.

The Grief of a Father "Your wife shall sire me two Great-Grandchildren, yet give birth four times." - Franz Leopold Morovar It was an eerie day in the City of Crows, The Lord Palatine took the day off in anticipation of his wife’s delivery of a babe, he stood at his balcony, staring at the bustling market of the city. His thoughts drifted to the prophecy the Oracle of Krusev and his daughter had told him, how his children were cursed like him and that they would not survive the pregnancy. A smirk came to his lips as he remembered; here he was, awaiting for his wife to give birth as their prophecies meant nothing. "Prophecies mean nothing in Godan’s world." He whispered to himself as he clutched the wooden railing, despite all that had come to this moment, he was still nervous, he heard the bellows of his wife, Mathea, from downstairs who was kept safe by a pair of two servants. He swiveled around, to leave his thoughtful state to be with his wife before he heard a knock on his door. “Petra.” He whispered in surprise, almost forgetting he had asked the aging Prinzenas Royale to help deliver the babe. Kaustantin once more turned, this time the door, heavy thuds echoed in his silent office as he sludged towards the door to greet his old friend. "Thank you for coming." Kaustantin intoned as he opened the door for her with a nervous grin and led her through his office down to his residence. At the sight of his bedroom was his wife, Mathea, with a nurse who arrived earlier from the Clinic. She looked pale and weak, he thought. Beads of sweat began falling from the man’s forehead as his wife went into torturous labor. The man circled in the room as the process went on. He exited the room and sat down on a chair beside his table. "Godan, why do you forsake me so?" The previous pregnancy had gone fast and quietly, yet Kaustantin could hear the Nurse’s panting that his wife had lost consciousness. He quickly stood up and harried back to the room. As the man entered, he saw the child in the arms of Petra; a girl pale as snow, with hints of gray, even. Her eyes were closed shut and she did not cry, not even when Petra whisked her out of her mother’s womb. They all knew what it meant. Shakily, Petra brought the babe into the arms of her father as she held back tears. Kaustantin did not reserve any words for the child, he stared at her for a cold minute, lamenting why Godan had given him an abomination. The man began to whimper as he handed the babe back to Petra, he left the room and climbed up the stairs of his home to his office, locking the door on his way in, he didn’t even bother to check up on his wife, who was still unconscious. Silently, he began to weep for the loss of the newborn, lamenting how could never even speak or see his child perform even the most simple action of crying, why had Godan punished him for this? Why does he want a servant of his broken by the death of somebody so close to him? A roar of sorrow sounded that night throughout the Nikirala Palace from the Office of the Palatine.

Joseph Alexander d’Arkert anticipated for Father Krugsmas to gift him coal for being a little shit, he didn’t care though, it would be coal which he could then throw at other children.

Kaustantin drools as he sees Eirik eat the ham sandwich.