Morphine

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

i for one welcome my new burgundian overlords

The Burgrave of Wesenburg rejoices for the coming years when he will return to the land of his grandfathers!

In the Year of Our Lord 2023 While this announcement comes belated, let it not extract value from the written fact I give you now; a son hath been born to me and my wife Liesa. A truly blessed statement all men wish to iterate. For on 21st of Godfrey’s Triumph, in the Year of Our Lord 2021, AERIK LEON VON WESENBURG took his first breath. Now, at age 2, he is to be BAPTIZED within the TEMPLE OF WALDENIC MARTYRS, on this day. I am honored that my dearest mother, Bishop Josefina, shall administer this rite to her grandson. In celebration of this wonderful series of events, I invite my Prince and Chieftain, and all of the tribe, to a feast within my hall. Let us break bread and make merry! GOTT MIT UNS! His Lordship, Oswald von Wesenburg Burgrave of Wesenburg

Siegfried watched his father's hand and quill strike the parchment of this missive, and as his dutiful son, retrieved the birds from the aviary upon its completion.

Young Siegfried read his father's missive closely. Having listened to his self-deliberations from down the hall of the palace a month earlier, it made him quite proud to see it was all not in vain.

Crested over a hill within the Ferdenwald lingered a hobbling figure. An aged warrior, still holding onto life, never faltering in his duty. Approaching a clearing in the woods, the man settled his gaze upon a runestone nearby. “This will do.” The elderly knight took a seat upon the foundation stones, facing the forest, and breathing a heavy sigh. From a small pouch strapped around his shoulder, he withdrew a small wooden pipe. Alongside this, was a small tin containing a special mixture of herbs, mostly used for Trials of Spirit during an Unblooded’s time before joining the tribe. However, on this occasion, the man felt it was best that he spent his final moments among the ancestors. After some time, two figures appeared from the dense forest fog, approaching the weary knight. They were dressed in traditional Reinmaren warrior’s garb, but from a bygone era. One dressed in a slate blue color, and the other in deep forest green. The first one spoke. “What might a son of Ferdinand be doing out here when there are battles to be fought, blood to be spilt?” The knight answered, “You give me more credit than I deserve, friend. For since the days of my youth, has not one moment, such as this, been more relevant to my duty and oath.” Followed by the other. “How true is this, I wonder? Are you surely resigned to such disbelief in yourself?” And once again, the knight responded. “He who rests, rusts; such are our words. Yet, I have done much resting, and the rust consumes me. I could think of no better place to petrify than among the stone markers of past greats.” “Bah! You wallow in the mud, and for what? Do you think yourself no more important than the smith? The cobbler?” The two figures spoke one after the other, as if with perfect coordination. “By the armor you adorn and the cross you bear, you have devoted your life to something greater; your tribe. This is expected of all Barclay kin, but it is by no means mundane or irrelevant.” “A look back on your life will give you solace. Do not squander your memories, let them speak to you. And in doing so, you will see as we do." The fatigued knight kept to himself for a moment, giving past reflection on his life. Imagery became almost ethereal, as if happening right in front of him. As an observer, these were merely shadows of the past, but ones that held firm to the man’s heart and mind. I can recall the first moment I tasted my own blood. Upon the high ridges of the Langkette Mountains, overlooking Kanunsberg, a bloody fight ensued between our Reinmaren forces and the native Franks. Total savages they were, and held no mercy behind their sunken eyes. I was tasked with leading a party of soldiers to find The Roach; an elusive Frank leader specializing in alchemicals. He was a true threat to the peace and wellbeing of Reinmar and her people, and as the Prince’s second son, I was to do my part in squashing this insect. As our party lingered through some dense patches of woodlands atop the mountain, we were quickly ambushed from above. The sound of arrows flying past my head would, as I soon learned, be a comfort compared to the many of them that pierced my armor and body. Several of my fellow Reinmaren had also been wounded in such gravely manners. It was from that moment on I saw the path I was headed down. A path carved by the sword, and paved in blood. It would be many moons later, after the death of my father, Prince Ferdinand, that The Roach would find himself a cornered animal, with nowhere to run. A small impromptu council comprising my brother, Leon, and many of Reinmar’s greatest warriors, decided this man’s fate. I always had a fascination with fire, the purity of it. I could watch the tongue atop candles, dance in the wind for hours. It was truly a spark of life, and yet, a volatile energy that could consume cities. I wanted that power unleashed upon this pest, and thankfully, so did my brother. Many would say it was the flames upon the pyre which burned the Roach that day, but I would argue the flames inside each of our hearts were enough to singe his rotten soul. The sight of his body, torched and blackened, had left me numb. I’ll never forget the smell. So much time had passed. Our people made a great journey across the realm to a place we could call our own. In my adolescent years, I studied under my grandfather in Numendil, learning the ways of alchemy. I was a poor student, however, as my ambitions never took flight in the field. And after the estrangement with our mother, Leon, myself, and my sister Gertrude, strengthened our bond as siblings. I was never as close to my sister as I was with my brother, but we loved each other unconditionally ever the same. I began training under the tutelage of Sir Varik von Wesenburg, my master and Herrenmeister. This would lead me to becoming a page, and eventually squire. As a squire, I was stabbed in the throat by a murderous burgher in Kretzen, but thankfully saved by the wonders of Reinmaren medicine. Concluding the majority of the trials, my path to knighthood was all but complete, save for a final duel between me and my master. It was an honorable duel turned grueling brawl, but that was his way. I never doubted his approach. It was also around this time I met a mountain of a woman, who later became my wife, Aloisa. Our time together was fleeting, as we both took many responsibilities, but there was enough time to foster a fruitful marriage. Wherever you are, Aloisa, know that our son is living his best life, and that my love for you never faltered. The reflections dissipated like a fleeting mist, as the tired knight’s mind returned to the two warriors standing before him. With whatever strength he could muster, the man rose to his feet and straightened out his back, drawing his sword and shield in formation. “You have done more than enough, Albert. Your past shows it.” “It may not be the story of the ages, nor a ballad for the histories, but you served your people with full dedication. Do not concern yourself with the attention of the realm, or your lack of renown.” “I see that now. Thank you both.” The two figures nod before turning and drifting away into the dense fog throughout the forest. Crows gathered along the branches, and their caws echoed off in the distance. The Ritter stood like a statue, unwavering. He had felt reassured in his purpose. From this moment on, no matter how much rust had formed, he would not rest. Like the Ferdenwald, he stood firm and with conviction, guarding the unmarked runestone. In reality, Albert never did rise to his feet. He stayed slumped beside the runestone, as if he drifted off to sleep. And while he may never wake, his post would not be abandoned. May he rest well.

Oswald von Wesenburg made necessary attire preparations for Kretzenfest!

It was the year 1968 when Roland became the first Baron of Wesenburg. Decades earlier, when he established his tribe before the Moot in Minitz, he saw fit to share his vision for an ideal Reinmaren land with his brother Varik. After the first Baron’s death, as Lord-Regent of Wesenburg, Varik sought to shape the barony to mirror his brother’s vision, and so set forth writing The Edict of Wesenburg. Upon the lands of the Barony of Wesenburg, itself within the greater realm of Reinmar and therefore subject to the Grand Kanun, The Edict of Wesenburg further dictates the rights of Reinmaren and Burghers in life and toil. “Immer Bereit” “Always Ready” SECTION I. On Domain For all within the Barony of Wesenburg, the Grand Kanun must be strictly followed, as if within the walls of Kretzen itself. The lands of Wesenburg are the Baron’s to govern by the Kanun and beneath the Princely crown. The Baron and Baronial family shall, upon the Baron’s discretion, issue edicts and decrees regarding the administration and governance of the land, which shall be debated in internal, family-only gatherings. Should an individual seek injunction against a Baronial edict or decree, on the foundation of the Kanun, said individual should bring the issue before the Landtag of Reinmar in Kretzen, to be debated at moot. Blooded Reinmaren who lack an established tribe and live within the territories bequeathed to the Baron of Wesenburg by the Princely Crown of Reinmar, shall take a surname reflecting the settlement which they inhabit (i.e. ‘von Kretzen’ or ‘von Reinhurst’). SECTION II. On Baronial Affairs Members of the Baronial family, living primarily in Wesenburg Manor or within the lands of Wesenburg, shall be obligated to take the surname ‘von Wesenburg’. The Baron, Baron’s spouse, and the designated heir to the Barony shall be obligated to take the surname ‘von Wesenburg’ regardless of their residence. Any relative not residing primarily upon the Baronial land shall be allowed to take the ‘von Wesenburg’ surname, strictly pending the Baron’s express approval. The Baronial family, as the keepers of the land and its wealthiest inhabitants, shall contribute a portion of their personal wealth to the Treasury of Wesenburg, for the betterment of the land. For contributions from the Baron and the Heir, a non-binding guideline of eighty mina will be established. In addition to the guideline of eighty mina, there shall be a binding minimum of 40 mina. No less than this amount shall be rendered to the Treasury by an honorable and just Baron or Heir to the Barony. Should the Heir fail to render the minimum payment for a span of three years, the Baron shall be compelled to impose a punishment befitting the dishonor of such a failure. The punishment should be chosen from; ten lashes by whip, rendering a weregild to the Baron, or one month’s unpaid laboring in the fields and barns of the land. Should the Baron fail to render the minimum payment for a span of three years, the Treasurer of Wesenburg shall be compelled to seize an asset or assets, totaling the value of the unpaid tax. Regarding contributions from other members of the family, a tax of twenty mina shall be imposed. One who fails to render the above payment for a consecutive term of three years shall not bear the surname ‘von Wesenburg.’ Should said individual continue to reside within the bounds of the Baronial land, they shall bear the surname ‘von Reinhurst’, or whichever equivalent common name is applicable. The individual stripped of the ‘von Wesenburg’ name shall make no claim to any benefits afforded to the Baronial family, throughout all of Reinmar. The benefits and rights stripped from such an individual shall amount to removal from the estate, eviction from the manor, and repossession of items amounting to the value of the total owed. An individual, stripped previously of their name, must petition the Baron of Wesenburg, directly and personally, to seek forgiveness. As the Chieftain of the land, it is the Baron’s word which has the weight to change such, and no other beneath the Princely Crown can do so. No member of the Baron’s family, whether or not they bear the ‘von Wesenburg’ surname, shall court, be betrothed to, or be wed to an outlander or burgher. Members of House Sturmweber are, without exception, disallowed from engaging romantically or domestically with unblooded individuals. An unblooded seeking to marry into the family should undertake the trials to become blooded under the guidance of a member of the family. A member of the family found to be engaging as detailed above with an unblooded that does not intend to join the tribe of Reinmar should be punished as follows: Such an individual shall be stripped of the ‘von Wesenburg’ surname. The individual stripped of the ‘von Wesenburg’ name shall make no claim to any benefits afforded to the Baronial family, throughout all of Reinmar. Such an individual shall be barred from residing on the Baronial land. Such an individual shall be compelled to render a weregild to the Baron, or receive ten lashes for failure to render such. SECTION III. On Residence In accordance with the Grand Kanun of Reinmar, the Burghers residing on the lands within Wesenburg shall not own their homes, instead leasing the Baron’s property and paying tax in return. No Burgher shall construct, commission a construction, nor inhabit a structure raised for the explicit purpose of housing Burghers. Any Gheerte, Ritter, or tribe Chieftain of Reinmar may petition the Baron of Wesenburg for the right to build a home upon a plot of land within Wesenburg. Such a home may be a small estate, a tower, or a cottage. The placement of such a structure shall be decided by the Baron, and the land shall be taxed proportionally. On no portion of the land of Wesenburg shall prickly berry bushes be kept. No such bush shall exist within the land which the Baron of Wesenburg presides over, under any circumstances. Harboring such a plant, be it for the purposes of farming, decoration, or otherwise, shall be punished with a fine no less than fifty mina and no greater than one hundred mina. Such a fine shall be levied once every year, until the plant is removed. His Excellency, Varik von Wesenburg, HMSTSR Herrenmeister of the Order of Saint Tylos, Patriarch of House Sturmweber, The Stallion of Reinmar, Kastellan of Westturm His Lordship, Oswald von Wesenburg Baron of Wesenburg

Oswald sat by candle light, reading the distressing news. This will surely be remembered as a dark day in the histories. "I can only hope to make you proud, my Princess and blood of my kin." With his ink, he began drafting papers intent on being delivered to his family members, wherever they may be, to reconvene prepare for the imminent funeral.

Oswald, while never really knowing his great-aunt very well, took time to reflect upon her achievements in life and arranged for a proper farewell come the time of her funeral. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- In the skies, Roland greets his Reinmaren sister with open arms, happy to see her once more!

Oswald rallies his family and all of Reinhurst to prepare for this momentous day!

No amount of private poetry could sustain the grief that which Oswald felt for his late grandfather. And just too soon after his grandmother. The young man didn't leave his room for a few days, rather, he mourned by his bed, and upon his balcony. Every now and then, Oswald would check on his mother, who was likely taking this the hardest.

Oswald von Wesenburg, having just seen his grandmother within his baronial walls not too long before, barred his bedroom door and took to channeling his grief through poetry. While no one may ever read it, it was his only way of coping. It is not at the end for which we mourn, But for the abrupt cold silence that sweeps over such a noblewomen as she. Your life and deeds are your own Grandmother, And your legacy forever carved in stone shall stand stark a monument for me.

Roland watched his old friend from the skies, glad that he did his duty with honor.

A TOWER COLLAPSES Written by Roland, Baron von Wesenburg and Erstkanzler of Reinmar Published in the Year of our Lord 1992 It is evident that in the annals of history, only the names of fallen heroes and rulers are ever given much credit. The figures that go unnoticed rarely see their names arranged on a printing press, slathered with ink, and brought to parchment. In all honesty, I quite like that. To be remembered is to live forever, but only to those that matter. If a man’s legacy is owned by the world, his legacy is a shared one with little value to the masses. Perhaps to some, but he is merely another name in a long list of the dead. For what matters most is the family and allies he is remembered by, through song and scripture, and the bloodline he leaves on this earth. I, Roland Sturmweber von Wesenburg, like to think I’ve achieved such benchmarks in my life. From a simple miner and sailor, to Warchief, Erstkanzler, father, and grandfather, this journey I took shall end with a man at peace, with the family he loves, under a Reinmaren sky. I have gone through these trials not only for myself, but for you all, my kin and kith. In the coming days, a dispatch of letters arrive to the following recipients: Sir Rafael Stroheim Sir Varik von Wesenburg Lady Violet von Wesenburg Bernhardt von Wesenburg Lieselotte von Wesenburg Mariola Sturmweber

Roland von Wesenburg grieves the loss of his High Chieftain and friend. He grabs a bottle of rum and starts driving the liquor into him.

Roland von Wesenburg thumped his feet against the benches of the moothall with praise!

Roland von Wesenburg held his head heavy, within the study of his manor. Twiddling in his hand was the Barclay ribbon he received from Brandt many years prior, back on Almaris. While there were times they butted heads, Roland respected the man greatly, especially after having his eye fixed by the late Bishop at the time. If one could sum up the Reinmaren spirit, they need only look to him. ============================================================ Sir Albert Barclay confided in his wife as they sat in their palace chambers. His eyes, misty at the thought of his grandfather being slain, returning memories of his own father's demise. And with his mother also gone, as sickening as it was to recollect on her, Albert had only his brother and sister, and their families, left.

"Wer Rastet, der Rostet!" A proud father exclaimed from within the temple.

Sitting in his top floor office of the Sturmweber Company Ltd. building, Roland von Wesenburg reserved himself to that room for a few hours. Through the recollection and the mourning, he managed to accept his grief and press on. While in the latter half of Peter's life he wasn't as close, the two were still like brothers in their youth. If not for Peter, Roland would never have defected to Minitz during Heinrik's rebellion, and not be the noble and Kanzler he is today. He owed all of that to his friend, now finally put to rest. He grabs a scrap piece of paper and writes an informal note, inscribed with the words '100 mina' on it.