woodylego

A Farewell from Ulrich Even in the early afternoons, Ulrich has found himself falling asleep at his desk. The issues with the Franks have weighed heavily on his mind for quite some time. It has been years since he has settled into Aevos, yet he still feels the crashing and swaying of the ocean from the boat. He has wrestled with losing his home, Minitz for some time, he is even behind on his Bardmancy studies. He notes, while fluttering his eyes more to stay awake, to visit the College and get back to — A somewhat loud knock was heard outside his door. Curious, as ever, he walked toward it, assuming maybe it was Karl asking to write another missive, or Brandt ready for a philosophy show-down. No one was there. Not even the air looked disturbed. It was quite odd, but then he noticed his mailbox slightly ajar. Letters to his home have been dry, so this was particularly strange. Inside his mailbox, a letter in a golden envelope. “Such pageantry” he said aloud. He opened it up and began to read this very strange letter, supposing maybe it was from one of his Bard friends, or maybe the medics knowing the only way to reach him was through fanfare. “Dear Ulvixeor,” Already, Ulrich stopped reading. Ulvixeor? Just Ulvxieor? While it was true, Ulvixeor was his birth name, he has gone by Ulrich for decades now, and even then, Ulvixeor is typically followed by his moniker “the Curious” now his stage-name. The last time someone might have called him by only his first name was his old mentor. The prospect of his mentor reaching out excited him, but he was not known for his elegant letters on richly paper. So then… “...the years have gone so fast. I am almost forgetting what you look like. That aside for now, I am less enthused to inform you that our father has passed away…” Ulrich clutched the letter tight at the mention of “our father.” He read on with stress creeping up his throat and beading into balls of sweat down his temple. “Your exile and disownment is hence annulled with his death, as is my right now as the Duke of bbbbbbbb…” The words don’t appear legible in his head. He knows exactly what they say, but he has trained his mind for so long to forget them, and never say them, that it erases the land which he is from. “Please, my brother, come back home and help us settle the funeral. Believe it or not, in his old age, I could see father deeply regret his decision to banish you. But, stalwart as he was, did nothing to pursue the end of his torment. I can say more once you are home. Write back soon as you get this, and let me know your decision. I understand if you have no desire to be back home, but I mean it when I say Filveor and I long to reunite our lonely three. Loving regards, Duke Davieor Holtward, of ….” But home was Minitz. Home is Kanunsberg, his lute, his friends, the people he held a sword for, the people who had fallen for him. Home was Saxton’s basement when he first walked through the gates of Minitz. Home is now Draussen I. How dare his brother ever think home was elsewhere? Yet, how could he know? Ulrich knew it wasn’t his brother’s fault… What scared him the most, was how Ulrich wasn’t all opposed to returning to the place he used to call home. There were loose ends to tie up, that he knew. Now was his chance to do it. For some time, Ulrich has felt his age a little more every decade. Who knew when he could be welcomed back again? Ulrich also didn’t know how long this journey would take. He would have to leave behind so many people who became his real family. Will they ever forgive him for this? Would he be welcomed back to Kanunsberg with just as much open arms as when he first entered Minitz? The more he thought about it, the more he knew it was time to see his brother once more. Although he was afraid the people of Kanunsberg would so quickly revoke his claim to their blood and heritage, he remembered something he wrote, But Minitz was never the floorboards or stone. Never the brick roads nor husks of wheat. It follows our people where e’er the wind has blown, It was never the land, but instead our marching feet. With all his might, he trusted that his people would understand. He wasn’t going back to undo all he has done, instead he is going to show his brothers the new family he founded along the way, and how they would be with him at that very moment. Ulrich “Ulvixeor Holtward” von Minitz picked up his quill and laid down a piece of parchment, beginning the letter “Dear brother, Yes, it has been too long. You and Filveor have much to learn. For starters, I do not go by Ulvixeor any longer. Call me Ulrich von Minitz…” [!] A chat box appears: #LOOC: I will be pausing my RP here as Ulrich for a bit, starting around the 25th of July, as I go into my new semester in school and some other new life things. Feel free to DM my discord if you’d like to chat still! @woodylego Much love LOTC <3

Ulrich reads the words with a wide smile on his face. He knows that no matter the results, Kanunsberg will be in the best of hands. Now he is even more excited for the thrill of the election. He will not go down so easily.

VOTE Ulrich von Minitz for Law speaker Every man who else is named for Law speaker nomination deserves this position. They are true and noble warriors of our blood. I would die on the battlefield for both of them, and I have no ill intentions during this election. But the Kanun is never one solitary text. It will never live in a vacuum. It must be remembered that whoever you may vote for will be its grand interrupter, and over the years, the Kanun has had the most capable warriors to interpret this sacred text. Maybe it is time for some change, that you vote not just for a warrior but someone studies language and text. As a scholar, poet, scribe of our people, it is my job to interpret text and make it engaging and accessible to all who read it. My job will be no different as your Lawspeaker. When it comes to raising my ink to work with the Kanun, my hand will be raised by YOUR voices. We live in a brave new world, and now is the time to establish who we are to the people of Aevos. I came to Minitz abandoned by my family because I wouldn't raise a sword for my corrupt Father. But I would raise 50 for all of you, and it is my duty to make sure our laws in Kanunsberg reflect tradition AND innovation. I am Ulrich OF Minitz, but I am Ulrich OF you. We are Minitz, we are Kanunsberg, let us see the sun rise on this new world together. Don't let ANYONE speak for your law, let ULRICH do it. GOTT MIT UNS, Ulrich von Minitz, Historian, Poet Laureate, Scribe, and Bard of Kanunsberg

"...We had made a foothold in Aevos. Our new home."..... Ulrich set down his feathered pen and journal onto his desk, and left his tent to look at this new land again. He has seen so many lands in his lifetime, and only one he ever truly called a home. The nightmares have stopped their dread march in his sleep, but he knows the new nightmares are as real as the grass and trees that cover this new home. "Home," he said aloud, grazing his hand over the leaves of the trees. He turned around and saw his fellow Minitzers doing various labor, but collectively they saw the same thing. "Home."

IGN: woodylego DISCORD: Woodylego#0571 CATEGORY OF CHOICE: Creative Writing TITLE OF YOUR PIECE: The Fall of Minitz, or, the Rejoice of Minitz Submission: https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/226061-the-fall-of-minitz-or-the-rejoice-of-minitz-a-poem/?tab=comments#comment-1981268

The Fall of Minitz, or, the Rejoice of Minitz A poem dedicated to the people of Minitz by Ulvixeor the Curious The mourners have packed. The soldiers have withdrawn. The dust is settled from its solemn shed. The children are asking where their friends have gone? The mountains and rivers whisper, “Minitz is dead.” All the torches flaming bright are quenched to char, and the aviaries quiver coldly in their nest. Cobble rubble spreads. The Darkness scars. We leave our home with a wound in our chest. But Minitz was never the floorboards or stone. Never the brick roads nor husks of wheat. It follows our people where e’er the wind has blown, It was never the land, but instead our marching feet. My Minitz! Old Minitz! We shall yearn your lavish land! But we will remain Minitz moving forward, hand in hand. Signed by, Ulrich "Ulvixeor the Curious" von Minitz, Historian, Poet Laureate, Scribe, and Bard of Minitz

DIE ERGEBNISSE DER LANDTAGSWAHLEN DTAGSWAHLEN VON 1923 THE LANDTAG ELECTION RESULTS OF 1923 Issued by the Lord Regent of Minitz and the Scribe of Minitz in the year of our Lord 1923 SÖHNE UND TÖCHTER VON MINITZ, The electoral results from last saints day have been decided, and the good people of Minitz have said their peace. We thank all who participated in such integral traditions. MAYORAL VOTE: The good sons and daughters have decreed that the position of the Mayor of Neu Brandthof shall be held by Annette von Theonus. LAWMAN VOTE: The good sons and daughters have decreed that the positions of the lawmen shall be held by Sir Peter von Stroheim and Theoderic von Theonus Let it be known that the Burghers, Tribesman, and all else have laid their trust upon these individuals, that they will in return give back to us, and, with due diligence, adhere to the roles they were entrusted with henceforth. GOTT MIT UNS, Ulrich von Minitz, Historian, Poet Laureate, Scribe, and Bard of Minitz His Excellency, Karl von Theonus RSTSR, Chieftain of the Theonus Tribe, Thegn of Einmont, Patriarch of Theonus, Kanzler of Minitz, Lord Regent of Minitz His Grace, Brandt Wilheim Barclay Herzog von Minitz GMSTSR, KBS Duke of Minitz, Margrave of Vanderfell, Count of Neu Brandthof, Viscount of Tucay, Baron of Boriënwald and Brandthof, Lord of Durres, Protector of the Aaunic Heartlands, Chief of the Minitzian Reinmaren, Lord Vandalore

IN-CHARACTER Name: Jean-Baptise Age: 16 Race: Human Service: (nun, monk, priest, militant, etc.): Priest Where do you wish to serve?: Either Minitz or Karosgrad, but not picky OUT-OF-CHARACTER Username: woodylego Discord: Woodylego#0571

Ulrich checked on Ludrik several times before returning to his home. He checked Ludrik's right eye stitching, which would be the first time Ulrich had stitched someone anywhere. Then he checked on the eye the Karl had burned shut, and the deepest dagger wound of the pair. At some point, he had realized he fell asleep on the chair beside Ludrik. He had fallen asleep several times it seems. Every time he awoke, he gasped in fear of an amalgamated visage of a variety of men. He noticed a new glass of water was put on Ludrik's side -- someone else from the clinic must be looking after him now. So he sulked back to his home to get rest. Yet he did not find rest. He found ghosts in his head, and thoughts of death danced. "Gott save us" he whispered to himself, wanting more than anything to close his eyes.

Ulrich, a fellow historian, beams at the carefully polished narrative written before him, the life and lineage of great people, and thus declares "Gott I love Minitz"

Mr. Pickles and his Dancing Shoes After a visit from the jester Pickles, the writer, Ulvixeor the curious, started to work on a song about his encounter with the Jester. With lute in hand, he developed the song Mr. Pickles, and his dancing shoes. Music to play: Lyrics: I knew a man named Pickles and he'd dance for you In worn out shoes With silver hair, a ragged shirt, and baggy pants The old soft shoe He jumped so high, jumped so high Then he lightly touched down I met him in a cell in New Minitz I was down and out He looked to me to be the eyes of age as he spoke right out He talked of life, talked of life, he laughed clicked his heels and stepped He said his name was "Pickles" and he danced a lick across the cell He grabbed his pants and spread his stance, Oh he jumped so high and then he clicked his heels He let go a laugh, let go a laugh and shook back his clothes all around I miss Ol' Pickles, I miss Ol' Pickles O Mr. Pickles, dance He danced for those at minstrel shows and county fairs throughout the south He spoke through tears of 15 years how his dog and him traveled about The dog up and died, he up and died And after 20 years he still grieves He said I dance now at every chance in honky tonks for drinks and tips But most the time I spend behind these county bars 'cause I drinks a bit He shook his head, and as he shook his head I heard someone ask him please I miss O'l Pickles, I miss Ol' Pickles O Mr. Pickles, dance end song

A Thousand Horses Ta'en Written by Ulvixeor the Curious, in honor of his Grace Brandt Barclay and the Reinmaren people of Minitz. Hwæt! hear us St Tylos, that you are present to glory in this fine Reinmaren tale. We know of the great Barclay lineage, and their esteemed Wilheim, Godtt rest his soul. But here I tell a tale When that wondrous Wilheim was still a noble Knight, nay, a squire. Take delight in these drums of war, that billow to our Duchy honor, tradition, valor, and the myriad gifts Gott grant his Reinmarens. Fitt I In sorrowed war of Emperor's havoc, the wreaking wrath of mighty Lords brought forth catastrophous calamities, woe, dread, and fear to their dear people. Divine Godfrey of Renatus and Divine Joseph of that old Oren devised such devastation to the land. But lo, do we find our dear Barclay in the ranks of Joseph's band, so wont to prove his mettle. Serviced under the Princely Otto Sigmar. “Oh most puissant Prince,” pleaded this lowly stationed Wilheim, “although I have much to maintain in the theatre of war, I honor you, and love you under the kingdom of God. Will you, O will let allow your Wilheim to exercise his honor to the cause, howe’er it may conclude?” “I am most honoréd” said such by Sigmar, “that you would due your diligence to these dark days. Lo, young Wilheim, there is not much to master in honor. Our horses, our proud markers of name, have lessened to the rise of men. More soldiers have we mastered than steeds in our stables. How does it behoove the Riding Reinmaren’s when our soldiers outnumber our steeds? We need careful and considered Stratagem to state any advances so. Unless a thousand horses fell on behalf of Horen and Gott, I fear there is not much else to propose.” Fitt II And so that Winding Wonder of Wilheim, so wont to prove to his Prince, sought to seek out steeds. He beckoned other squires to join his assault, “to steal and gather Renatian horses in the name of Prince Sigmar and Divine Joseph.” But scorn and laugh all those sultry and lowly squires did settle to his plan, and would ne’er follow through his action. Thus lone he was so, so Wilheim would. It was nothing anyone had seen before, nothing no one saw to begin. That night, in the cold and pitch of dark, did Wilheim ride off to Rinatus’ stables, with only so much yards of rope. Those men in Godfrey’s band, drunk and dazed, had been knocked to such a sleepfull state. This allowed Wilheim to run forth from stable to stable with dozens of horses tied each ride, a thousand horses ta’en from the other side. His brave horse, Horus, withstood the trips at such a pace, Wilheim knew that he was the highest hero of the night. Fitt III And so in such a noble rush did that goodly Prince recognize Wilheim’s ride, that Good King Marius knighted him thus, and honored with a the title of Wilheim the steed. So those sultry squires who had once laughed at wondrous Wilheim were now wont to his command. Of course that good Wilheim let them in, and such a band of brothers was never seen so dear. It was then that future Barclay’s forward fell into a new tradition, if they take need of a steed, they should steal it in honor of that Wilheim and his righteous rally. O! by Gott was never such a braver being before. We are blessed to be bound in those Barclay kin onward, to hold such high honors in the blood, and bask in the truest glories of Gott. Gott bless that grand Wilheim, Gott bless his future Minitz, and Gott bless the Reinmaren people!

Ulvixeor reads and smiles, "I love Minitz"