ItsMisterPip

PENNED ON THE 10TH OF THE GRAND HARVEST, 278 S.A. As a parent, one of the greatest and most difficult things that I’ve been allowed to witness is watching our children grow up and begin to come into their own, shaping into very special people. Though they are their own unique people, changing more with every passing day, I cannot help but see myself and Sascha in them. It is great to see them grow, thrive, and live well. This, alone, is something I never thought I’d have the privilege of witnessing. At the same time, it is difficult because they are my own children. I miss the times when I could hold them up in my arms—when they were still small enough to sit in front of me on my horse’s saddle; when they were learning and figuring out the world with new eyes, among numerous other things. But they are growing and ever-changing, and they are the future. I continue to try to raise them so that when they are older, they will be capable, competent adults who no longer need me to be at their side, as much as I wish to be there. They are the future generation and the future of our family. Nevertheless, it is heartening to see yourself in your children. I look at them and see their mother, while other times I see myself. I see their mother’s craze for adventure and excitement in their eyes, bravery, and outgoing personalities, while I also see my curiosity, independence, and reserved nature. On the outside, it is hard to deny that it is a spitting image of their mother—and of my own. In other cases, it is fascinating to see the resemblance of their grandparents, whether by their bold natures or blazing red hair. Now that they are older, Sascha and I must choose the heir for the Glennmaer family, and that of Tir-Glas. It is a duty passed down through generations, choosing one to lead and uphold all that the family holds dear. Though I hope that all of my children may make a much greater impact on the world than their forebears, and I hope we may see them succeed all the while, in choosing an heir, we ensure the family legacy will continue. ESTEEMED FRIENDS, FAMILY, AND CITIZENS OF IDUNIA, It is with great pride that we announce the dedication of the Heiress of Tir-Glas, Lady Elenydd Sulcelia Glennmaer, our Moonbeam of Tir-Glas and beloved daughter. SIGNED, HER HIGHNESS, Lady Sascha Glennmaer Princess and Squire of the Dawn, Firefly of Tir-Glas, Protector of the Aldtree HIS HIGHNESS, Lord Bohdan Glennmaer Prince-Consort of Tir-Glas HER LADYSHIP, Lady Elenydd Glennmaer Heiress of Tir-Glas

Bohdan sat in his room with a copy of the missive to read. After he finished and looked at the signatures of his daughters on the bottom of the page, a small, momentary smile was brought about on his features before his eyebrows began to furrow as he delved into thought. How different their lives were from his own at that age. . . Maybe he wasn't doing half bad with them. They were certainly doing much better than he could have imagined. There was a very bittersweet feeling of pride that came to overwhelm him in that moment, enough that he set the missive on his bed with a quiet huff to stifle some emotion and stepped out on the balcony for a cigarette.

Bohdan would likely pick Mr. Game and Watch

MC Name: MaxEscalation Discord: itsmisterpip Image: Description of Image: Couple Portrait Dimensions: 2 wide, 3 high

O’er fifty revolutions ago, in a place far from our mortal plane, two men set out on a mission. On a world void of the familiarities of our own, with different air to be breathed, and strange creatures to behold and slay, within their minds persisted the image of a sword. A masterwork to be made, forged from alien fire and hammered into existence from the spoils of their warfare. The following moment marked the conclusion of their mission, and a new story was destined to be forged. A blade destined to be embedded in culture and tales, present in history as a beacon of sharpness and strength, and a witness to battles immemorial - This moment; The Claim of Mourning. On one late evening in the streets of New Valdev, a small gathering of youth had formed in anticipation of a festivity soon to be held. Kazimir and Nadya Weiss playfully bickered with each other, waging bets on each other's downfall on an ice skating track. Kazimir let out a chuckle, “Nadya- If you don’t fall at least three times, it would surprise me.” Nadya scoffed, “I am actually very graceful, brother.” “Are you, now?” Kazimir gave a cheeky grin, “I will jump in the river when the ice skating is done if you do not fall.” “Deal.” Nadya offered her hand for a very firm handshake. “I do not need any deal from your side, I am confident enough.” Their handshake cemented their deal. A few other kids, including Olga Ivanovich and Daisy of the Lilacs, stood on the sidelines, carrying on their own conversations. All was normal, idling as they were, soon to depart for the festival. Without warning, the air began to crackle and swirl, a symphony of electric energy shifted in the air around all. In the distance, the pungent scent of sulfur lingered on their nostrils, assaulting their senses. Suddenly, emerging from behind the soul of Kazimir Weiss, a Norn appeared. He was a large, foreign figure, his body enveloped in furs that whispered with each movement of the wind, which settled. The dragonscale armor he wore gleamed in the moonlight, reflecting shards of luminescence that danced around him. With the abrupt arrival, the youth noticed the faint scent of burning embers, an otherworldly fragrance that hung in the surrounding air. Closer inspection revealed his stained and tattered cloak. Three talons, bound by string, adorned his neck. “KAZIMIR WEISS,” the spangenhelm greeted, eyes glowing through the gilded frame of the goggles. From the name’s invocation, his voice carried a coarse, rugged quality, seemingly indigenous to the tundra. The sudden change in smell, the wisping of air, and the crackling sounds surrounding them drew Kazimir’s attention to the point where the Norn apparated. Instinctively, the boy’s hand clasped over the pommel of the weapon at his side. This figure before him was not familiar. Nadya’s head jolted toward the figure in tandem, settling at her brother’s side, cautious and alert. “Yes?” He spoke out nervously, looking up at the man. “Siegmund Weiss, what relation is he to you?” A stave was grasped in the figure’s right hand, the electric embers pulsing around the vambraces and the runes inscribed upon them. “...He is our uncle,” Nadya interjected, despite the fact that she hadn’t been spoken to. Kazimir’s posture relaxed slightly, “He is…” He confirmed his sister’s words. “Our uncle,” the boy’s eyes traced the Norn’s staff and armor with great curiosity. “Which of you holds claim to the mantle?” The voice reverberated off the interior of the dragonscale helm, which rattled defiantly. An ancient whisper came from some of the scales, a foreign and bitter-sounding rasp of another soul beyond the Northman’s. “My father.” Kazimir stepped forward, positioning himself before his sister. With what hesitance he had in answering, he chose to speak thus. “He is the patriarch of our family… Who are you?” His gaze was drawn toward the slits of the spangenhelm. “I am Konan-Thegn av Sólgaard.” The accent was strong, and after that, there was a reach of the left hand for something. The warrior retrieved a sheathed greatsword from around his back. “This has been tested in lands yet to be tasted by yourself, yourself, and many others,” the Norn began. “I forged it in pyres that never breathed this air, nor that of my Great Hearth. It is a gift from an otherworldly dominion, graced by your beloved uncle. You will see to its safekeeping and delivery, for only your patriarch may wield it. Discard this, and a fate worse than death awaits you - in a world where you might not catch a glimpse of the Heavens most High.” Around the Northman, a swirling torrent of idle, crackling energy, otherworldly and wholly pure in the white flames which danced and dripped off the air around him. Kazimir’s mouth cracked agape as he beheld the Konan-Thegn. “Siegmund?” He uttered quietly as his right hand slipped away from the pommel at his side. A glance was sent to Nadya with confusion and subtle shock before another step forward was taken. “What is this? Is there a catch to all of this?” Kazimir eyed the greatsword, furrowing his brows. “The love of one’s blood is never-waning, Southron,” he remarked. “I would not have hunted nor bled, as I had to make this just to catch you. Your neck is thin enough for one hand alone.” “Do you deny your uncle’s gift?” “He does not,” Nadya interjected firmly, a hand settling upon Kazimir’s shoulder. Kazimir’s eyes raised from the weapon, steeling himself from this awe-stricken sense that had taken hold. “No…” He said, canting his head to Nadya thereafter before he approached the Northman. For the briefest moment, Kazimir’s eyes were dazzled by a vibrant flash of flame, illuminating the darkness and revealing the menacing image of draconic fangs and enormous scales. Burning embers filled the air, as if someone had just put out a fire. The sound of a thousand and one whispers danced within his ears, lingering like a haunting melody. It was as if a memory or a vision had been unleashed, overwhelming his senses. In his mind, he could see stones, tombs, and vaults, forming towering mountains of ancient temples, surrounded by lush jungles. The atmosphere was heavy with the metallic scent of blood mixed with the refreshing aroma of rain. Above, the stars sang their celestial song, their brilliance threatening to crash down upon the earth and the vast oceans below. In the midst of this surreal landscape, Kazimir witnessed the creation of something extraordinary - a forging of pyre and flames, blazing upon the spine of a great and otherworldly monster. It lasted for a mere moment… And then, the Weiss realized that he was holding the sword. Konan-Thegn said nothing. Such an overbearing moment. The smell and sight of embers, roaring whispers, and visions blazing past set his mind askew. It was impossible to see anything else. The weight of the weapon went unnoticed until his grip sank, accounting for the weight of the sword in his hands. This drop snapped him back into reality, and with quick effort, he lifted the sword to prevent it from ever crashing into the ground. He was stunned, staring at the blade. Kazimir looked at Konan-Thegn. He didn’t have any words to say- to describe what he witnessed. Nadya fell quiet, gently nudging the side of Kazimir’s arm. Whatever he had seen, evidently, she had not. “-Are you alright?” Kazimir braced both hands under Mourning to support it, looking over at Nadya. “Yes…” His eyes slowly trained back to the Norn. “I am…” “Die well,” commanded the thegn of the Norns, before a sharp sizzling sound and a bright, radiant light engulfed his person and he vanished abruptly, as if a mere blink of an eye erased his presence from the scene. The intoxicating fragrances of spruce trees and the comforting warmth of a crackling hearth saturated the air, lingering as a reminder of the Son of Havkr’s departure. The wind carried a low rumble from the distant mountains, a sound that vibrated through the very ground beneath their feet, the slopes appearing majestic and imposing even from afar. All was quiet, and returned to normal.

Happening upon the missive whilst out for a smoke, the mention of Aurelian's name caught Bohdan's eye. He began to think; perhaps he could make an appearance, at least to show some support for her... He let out an amused hum, taking a mental note of this upcoming hunt.

Much time had passed since Choumi's death, and so, much time had passed since Sadao wished to confront the fact that one of his most dear friends was truly gone. The days following his and Natsuki's departure were mostly a blur, but the days after had been saved due to his trustworthy traveling companion at his side - a dear friend. On one peaceful, quiet evening, after bringing home a successful haul of fish from a cool, slow-flowing stream nearby, he sat and pondered. Sadao recalled the day they both left; the day of Choumi's death. His mourning hadn't made a single croak since that day, and the weight of such was growing too heavy for one to bear. The remembrance of that day, recalling the events as if it were yesterday, began to shift into something sweeter... The memory of meeting Choumi in the Aevosian Oyashi lands... The memory of his spear-fishing mentoring, and her likeness to turn it into a messy battle of splashing each other... The memory of their home on the island of Kalldur, amidst the mass relocation, and their wonderful times together... Steeped in intense, growing emotions, a gloss of tears came over his eyes, but he didn't quite shed a tear. Such was not in his nature, but within his nature remained his passion for honoring those who had passed. Sadao hadn't yet honored Choumi in the way he wanted, so, causing little commotion as he gathered a few items from the house, he made his way back toward the waterfront. Sticking upright from within a bowl, a stick of incense glowed and crackled- a small, calm trail of smoke weaving through the air. The man knelt neatly before it, head bowed, searching for words to say in prayer... A prayer, though, didn't feel personal enough in her case. Simple words came into his mind, from the heart: ". . . We love you."

PENNED ON THE 9TH OF MALIN’S WELCOME, 263 S.A. ESTEEMED FRIENDS AND FAMILY, We announce with great exuberance and pride the wedding of Bohdan and Sascha Glennmaer, which will take place at the St. Arpad Parish within the walls of Garenbrig, the capital of the Principality of Tir-Glas. The eve shall consist of the matrimonial ceremony, followed by a Joust with the newlyweds overseeing the festivity. A mina prize of 200 will be awarded to the winner. INVITATIONS are extended to the following: HIS ROYAL MAJESTY, TAR-ZȎRZAGAR ARGELION ANORION HARREN ARTHALION, High King of Idunia, and his royal pedigree THE BRIDE’S FAMILY, of the NOBLE HOUSE GLENNMAER of Idunia THE HONORABLE AND RIGHTEOUS HOUSES OF, HOUSE VOURKEHARDT, and their pedigree HOUSE MITHRENION, and their pedigree HOUSE CALLAGHAN, and their pedigree HOUSE O’ROURKE, and their pedigree HOUSE SARKOZIC, and their pedigree HOUSE TEMESCH, and their pedigree HOUSE COLBORN, and their pedigree HOUSE MARSYR, and their pedigree HOUSE EULER, and their pedigree THE GOOD AND HONORABLE KNIGHTS OF ALDUUN and its vassals ARCHDUKE JOSEPH TEMESCH & ARCHDUCHESS MAGDALENA ANASTASYA PRINCE VARRIK DAVYD & PRINCE DIETRICH OTTO SULCELIA MAYAN VULNRITH PRINCESS MATTEA ASADHA PRINCESS ARDIRNIEN NARTHADIA ARTHALION LADY AZRUPHȆL MITHRENION SER VIAGO VOURKEHARDT SER HELEDD GLENNMAER SER SAELIND VOURKEHARDT SER CASTAMIR MITHRENION LADY ELISE CALLAGHAN LADY MEDLIEL MITHRENION LADY AGARIEL STAHL-ELENDIL LADY AURIS VOURKEHARDT CARDINAL NERIUM FATHER MAURUS MAIRENN IDREIUS VAZ’RIK TENIVRI MILOSH SARKOZIC LADY EININ LADY RHOSYN HEILWIG UTHYR THE PEOPLE OF TIR-GLAS THE PEOPLE OF PETRA THE DATE OF THE WEDDING IS AS FOLLOWS… SIGNED, HER HIGHNESS, Lady Sascha Glennmaer Heir and Squire of the Dawn, Firefly of Tir-Glas, Protector of the Aldtree MISTER Bohdan

FULL NAME: Bohdan AGE: 44 PRIOR EXPERIENCE: Yes SIGNED NAME: Bohdan [!] The handwriting is legible, not great. METHOD OF CONTACT: itsmisterpip / MaxEscalation

Before his own downfall, the Weiss patriarch bore witness to his comrade's death. His sacrifice was most emboldening yet carried a heavy weight. They had met when Asmund was only a young man, or not even so. He saw this Son of Solgaard grow into a fearsome warrior, a Besirkir of Mikjall. Kazimir had been a part of his trials to develop and hone his skills, and fought alongside him in many battles as the continent grew darker and darker under the Mountain's influence. "There is a battle to fight… Pay no heed to I." These last words rang loud in Kazimir's mind, the last words he would hear his friend speak. These last words; a catalyst for flames igniting in the hearts of many in that battle, most severe. The Weiss donned a cape of black, in mourning for this warrior’s mortal end. In the hand of a Blessed warrior, a blade was beheld. The Besirkir that Kazimir knew in life, now before him among Malchediael’s legions, spoke, “Welcome, Broedir.” The Weiss looked at the blade, and in it, he saw purpose. In Asmund, he saw a brother. His hand took the grip of that sword with a grin on his face.

Two figures appear... A young boy and a brilliant humanoid blaze of fire. The flames wafted in the air, calmly and serenely flickering in the space it occupied. The boy, his face a mask of fear, seemed to shrink in the presence of the fiery figure. “What are you?” The boy asked of the flames that towered above. His eyes were wide with uncertainty and fear, looking into something deeply unknown. His voice quivered, “Where are we?” The blaze’s figureless visage looked the boy over with intent, for there lay curiosity within - an empathetic curiosity. The boy was familiar. The blaze lowered itself down upon a knee, and that boy could just make out the formation of a gentle smile where no face looked ahead. It had to have been a trick of the eyes, but enough of a trick to assure him and bring needed comfort. “My name is Kazimir,” the blaze spoke in a gentle tone, words warbling as the flames continued to dance, “and I am a warrior.” A hand extended out toward the boy, his palm inviting the boy into a warm clasp. The boy winced, his left eye shutting as if poked by a needle on the iris. He then gasped, tears building up within his eyes as his free hand quickly moved to grasp his forearm, where a searing pain began to throb. “It hurts,” he whimpered, a saddened gaze turning upward at Kazimir. “I’m scared… Am I going to die?” The blaze slowly shook its head, enveloping the boy’s arm with its other hand. “Don’t be afraid,” spoken ever-so softly. “Do you remember what Tancred told you?” His head canted subtly, his eyeless face studying the boy. The boy’s head lowered, looking at his arm before the knowledge sprang into his mind. “To not be afraid of dying. To understand it and to keep it in view at all times.” It was recited as if written on paper, being presented to a classroom filled with friends, with the scrutinizing gaze of a teacher on his back. When he was finished, he looked back at Kazimir, but scrutiny was far from the pride and amusement the blaze held in the boy. “Everyone’s end is different, but there comes a time when we all must pass away,” Kazimir’s voice echoed with a fatherly tone, but also stern and strong, offering a sense of comfort in his words. “Endings can seem frightening, but they are a part of what makes life beautiful.” The young boy had trouble comprehending his words, and before he could piece them together, he whined as a twinge of pain pierced through his neck. “How can it be beautiful? It hurts and is messy. It’s sad!” The boy had been slowly changing during their interaction. He began to grow in height, no longer a young child, but perhaps a young teen. His hair grew longer, and the skin under his eyes formed dark bags. His voice and the way he spoke began to change along with his temperament. “I don’t want to be sad or make anyone else sad! That isn’t what I want!” - “It’s not fair!” Frustration and anger began to lace the boy’s tone, his eyebrows furrowing and tugging his expression into a scowl. Kazimir took a step back, looking down at him with arms crossed over his flaming torso. The flames began to take shape into something more solidified; the start of a suit of armor. Stiffer flames sprouted from his head, forming a visor’s wings. “It will make others sad, but that is okay. It will hurt, but if others feel sad from death, then that means they cared and that they loved. Death is the mortal reminder of why life is so precious and so beautiful. A devastating resolution to our existence.” Kazimir remained steadfast in his way of speaking, and aiding these were features that began to form upon his flaming head. The bridge of the nose and indentations where eye sockets may be, all forming above a definitive mouth. “Your family, friends, a wife, and children- they will all be sad, and there is nothing we can do about it.” The boy’s hand clasped near his stomach now as another twinge of pain burst into his senses. His teeth gritted, but curiosity sparked in his mind. Still, he continued to grow, closer and closer to matching the height of the blazing figure of Kazimir. The bags under his eyes disappeared, and a fond smile began to crease the corners of his lips. “A wife? Children? I get to have my own family?” “You do, and they are beautiful.” A blissful hum emanated from the blaze, “even if there were nothing else in the world, they’ve made our life worth living.” Kazimir’s flaming figure began to manifest further into a more solid form of fire. A cape hanging from his shoulders with the mane of a lion on his mantle, and plates of brilliant steel beginning to adorn his entire form. A moment of silence passed, and the boy, now becoming a young man, rubbed a throbbing ache in his shoulder. This was mainly disregarded due to his new interest in the topic. “... Dove-” he paused briefly, “and the kids…” He exhaled sharply with a widened, astonished smile, but the smile began to fade. “Will we ever see them again?” The young man’s long hair started to part and thread into braids running down his head, a beard beginning to grow thick and full. Kazimir’s flaming figure took on hues of dark maroon and black, brass and silver swirling into the mix. The colors swam around in the blaze, not quite finding their resting place yet. He shook his head slowly, “In another way of life, maybe, but you were destined to go down this path. You’re destined to end like this, despite how you wished to end.” - “You can only do what you can do. How do you die?” The man looked at the palms of his hands, gaze hollowed yet thoughtful. Each digit began to clasp slowly, and his hands formed into firmly balled fists. His head rose once more, beholding the armored blaze. “I will die well.” A nostalgic feeling overcame the man, and another memory trickled into his mind. “... Like Konan said. Like we say.” - “Va ve Maan. To the last. To the death.” The colors swirling in the blaze of fire began to situate and fill out Kazimir’s form. Maroon and black began to seep into the cape on his back, whilst gold-tinged tans and browns colored the lion’s fur. The brassy grey and hints of silver began taking their places among the plates of armor and mail in between. The blaze, still burning, was definitively adorned as the warrior Kazimir claimed to be. The blaze that was Kazimir spoke once more, “You have done well. You are strong.” His hand splayed outward, and beyond the gesture were several other figures. The strength and brightness of these figures was waning, not nearly as strong as Kazimir’s form, but they were all recognizable to the man. The man peeled his gaze from Kazimir to acknowledge those figures… A man in dark armor with braids similar to his own, kindly and proudly looking onward. His father. A woman at his side with wavy hair and lighter armor, stern expression paired with a soft smile. His mother. A gathering of three men and four women. They all seemed slightly younger than he and all shared comforting expressions as they stared. Though two were not of his blood, their smiles could pass as being the brightest of them all. His brothers. His sisters. At their sides are young and new adults, kind souls. They peer out with fond and admirable smiles, leaving a memorable impression in his heart. His nieces. His nephews. A beautiful woman in a lovely dress with long auburn hair, decorated with a delicate bow. Relatively short and impeccably well-kept, she portrayed a love beyond words as her eyes locked onto the man. His wife. A rambunctious crew of six kids, standing at her flank, with faces he couldn’t forget in oblivion. His children. A woman of deceptive height, a confidant and ally in his later years. She smiled little for most people, but together they could share great joy and laughter even under dark clouds. She stared with softly glowing eyes and a shy smile. His best friend. A tall man with taller horns curling from his head, standing beside a familiar, lovely woman. His fangs stuck out from a small smile as the woman’s gaze seemed sorrowful yet loving. His cousin. His aunt. As the man continued admiring those figures, more and more began to apparate at their sides. Flashes of recognition in each he viewed, each paired with the unique love he held. He loved these people. He knew this for sure. His smile grew and grew as tears formed in his eyes. Suddenly, a sharp and potent pain shot into his leg. Despite this, as agonizing as it might have felt, he did not flinch. He looked at these figures, and as a tear streaked down his face, he whispered, “Forgive me…” The man finally reached the apex of his growth and evolution, standing eye level with the blazing warrior in front of him. So too did this warrior resolve its transformation. As the man stared into Kazimir’s eyes, he noticed something. The blaze of fire, although present, had now shifted into a soft and radiant light. A man stood within the radiancy, no longer made of fire but of flesh, bone, and steel. The two stood and stared at each other. Any looming sense of dread washed away, pain falling off onto the ground like drops of water, and between them was a shared bond of courage and purpose. “It is time, Kazimir.” The armored figure spoke, lofting his palm into the air before him. Kazimir, the boy, then the teen, then the man, exhaled. “Though I may never see them again,” he turned toward the large gathering of figures, “maybe they will see me in their dreams.” The finger of the radiantly armored figure reached out towards Kazimir, and when it touched between his eyes, the two figures broke apart into billions of motes of light. A brilliant scene and dance of illumination, drifting into the unknown. The armor, worn by the blazing form of Kazimir, was revealed after the light dissipated into nothingness. It remained on an armor stand, sitting in the space they once occupied. One sunny day in the streets of New Valdev, Kazimir and many of his comrades-in-arms marched out from the city gate to reach the river that encircled the capital city. A small, grassy plateau by the water’s edge, fit for training grounds. Lined up shoulder-to-shoulder among friends, siblings, and unfamiliar faces, the line of kids paid their attention to the Lord Marshal as he paced back and forth, reviewing their training plan. Only after a run around the entirety of the city in full kit did they truly begin their training. Pairs began to form as they prepared to spar each other in single combat. Many found their training partners quickly, but Kazimir seemed to idle long enough to be called out by an officer. He was assigned to spar with a girl, one he hadn’t met before, not personally at least. It was a downright outclassing of skill on his behalf, as this sparring partner didn’t seem very proficient in combat. Not quite to his level, at that time. Kazimir wasn’t too hard-pressed to find another and instead opted to learn about the girl, question her interests, and learn her name. Olga was her name… The first time he would witness death would leave a great impact on his soul. Kazimir, in the company of knights, veteran warriors, friends, and his siblings, approached a dark gate to a tomb filled with death and horrors. Hordes of ghouls poured out from a portal that cracked and tainted the earth, and their line began to fight back those most wretched forces. With a new, swift blade, forged by the prestiged Falk Irongut, the young Kazimir dealt grave blows to the ghouls that came before him. A glorious clash of death and steel, though soon turning to worse conditions as the forces didn’t stop encroaching. His brother, Eryk, became pinned and the target of a mauling by one of the undead. Most frighteningly, a dear friend charged forward and became exposed to many dangerous angles. This was his undoing, and the hordes tore him asunder. It all happened in front of Kazimir’s eyes, and there was nothing he could have done differently to stop it. Beyond his capability, beyond his insight, death came quickly and relentlessly to that dear friend. No time to mourn remained in the fight, and in Kazimir’s heart, a deeply seated planting of rage tainted his heart. Something he would carry forevermore, even if he hid it well. For that younger version of himself, it cost him many nights of sleep. “You are alive, so I assume you won?” Karl, his father, asked him. Kazimir’s restless nights and near silence after the events of the death he witnessed did not go unnoticed by his parents. Karl brought Kazimir along on a short trip into the wilderness, to the peak of a mountain towering over their lifelong home. “It didn’t feel like it.” Kazimir stared off into the valley below, at the white fortress they called home. His mind and heart were addled with the pain that loss brings. “It does not, often,” replied his father. “I couldn’t help him, and I couldn’t help Eryk either.” Kazimir rested his head upon Karl’s shoulder, and dry heaving sobs began to rock him back and forth. The man wrapped an arm around the mourning boy, offering well-needed comfort. “You are alive, Kazimir,” Karl’s hand rested on the back of his eldest son’s head, “Your brother is alive.” Kazimir’s head hung low, and silence filled the air. A soft mountain wind whistled and rustled through the trees and nothing else. A finger tapped the boy’s chin, prompting him to raise his head high. “One man can never do ‘enough,’ my son. A person can only ever do ‘something.’ Can fight, can guard, can shout, can shoot. They all have an effect, make a change, but not every change. Not everything. Not enough.” Karl squeezed Kazimir’s shoulders, then. “No matter how hard one fights, they can never do everything. That is not… Shameful. It is not for guilt. It is human, it is life- the life that we lead.” - “But you did something, son. You did the most you could do, could’ve done… Lose no sleep for that.” Kazimir stood tall among the siege defenses, roaming back and forth atop the walls of Xéniavaros. Tension strained the air until stone and steel were shot and thrown between battlements. The walls exploded from violent impacts, comrades toppled from their stations and defenses, and the smell of black powder and blood permeated the air. Chaos rang out in the valley as shouts, screams, clashing steel, and utter destruction. A series of commanding voices filled the courtyards of the keep as the walls began to crumble, calling for retreat. Kazimir, with his comrades, had kept the enemy footsoldiers from reaching the top of their ladders on his side of the wall. No matter if there was hope or not, it was his duty and purpose. The call for retreat was heeded as a window of opportunity showed, and the defenders fled past chunks of stone and fallen soldiers in their path to escape. A driving force and further turning point in the eventual fall of his kingdom, his home. Kazimir was stationed in the defenses of the capital city during the last battle of the war while his kingdom still stood, not present on that battlefield, and the news was brought to him hastily. He felt… Uncertainty. Rage. Sorrow. His children wouldn’t grow up in the safety of the walls that he had known as a boy. His family’s future was altered, but it was his charge, his duty to protect them and guide them. To Karoslund, they would go. Sworn to the line of Barbanov-Bihar, the Weiss would stay with the Haeseni people. This was his measure, and the refuge it would bring to the rest of his family would be the first domino to fall toward his eventual end, unknowingly so. Shepherded into the lands of Norland, Kazimir found companionship with several locals in those northern lands. Though united as Highlanders, their ways of life were different and difficult to adjust to. Kazimir found the guidance of a master of Malchediael’s Blessing to bestow a light in the courage contained in his soul. Anything he could do to protect and preserve his family, he sought to do. He was determined. Soon enough, as time flew by and years passed, a large section of his life had been spent in Norland. Friends and comrades had been gained, a purpose in defending his new home had been found, and he was living a well and good life. Forces of darkness, puppeteered by The Mountain, pulled his focus. The world was against descendant-kind, and Kazimir would be the last to stand idly by. New Valdev had been conquered once more, and he was witness to the chains and control of this daemonic entity taking his old home into its bindings. Then fell the Petran capital and the March of Cerulia. Shadows were being cast over the continent, and Kazimir was there to bring light to the darkness, however he could. Eventually, the shadows would loom over Norland. Taking part in the defenses of the northern front of Vjardengrad, aiding in the operation of a cannon, the Mountain’s forces began to assault the city relentlessly. The toppling of one of its skyships tore open a door in the waters below the city, and from within, an avatar of the daemonic entity arose. A towering behemoth of stone and chains, ripping the walls apart with its furious blows. Kazimir’s niece, Maya, stood at the rear of a brilliantly shining cannon, apparated from the air itself. This was the northern front’s shining symbol of hope as the battle grew more and more daunting, and his comrade and friend, Asmund, saw this hope. A fellow templar and a cunning warrior, he bestowed upon the cannon the essence of his soul and the strength he could muster. With his will and the gifts bestowed by the Aengul of Courage, this cannon turned the tide of the battle and shattered the chain that bound the avatar. Kazimir uttered under his breath in shock, though he knew this man’s character, and knew this was a death he would want to be made worthwhile, “Asmund…” In response, the dying Templar spoke, “There is a battle to fight… Pay no heed to I.” It instilled courage in the many warriors who watched his heroic sacrifice, and with this rallying of mights, the northern front pushed back in force. A ringing of cannons, a brilliant haze of flame overhead, and the shouts of all resounded into the night until the avatar was slain. Norland was defended. On his final day, Kazimir roamed the lands of Aevos with the goal of giving; to learn the knowledge that could bestow the Blessing he held on others of courageous and bold fortitude, to guide others into a future that held glory and great pride. In Numendil, he met with Templars and a relative, conversing with each and all with the cordiality and kindness his heart showed to many. It was all cut short as many individuals on the street fled further into the city for urgent business. He knew not what it was about, and after learning what he needed to learn at that time, he made way to the capital of Norland. It was here that he witnessed the company of soldiers and warriors of the empire, all rallied at the gates of the city. Mixing in with the crowd, the Weiss curiously asked around, trying to figure out the cause for such a show of force. It was only at King Haakon’s throne that he fully learned what was occurring. A shield of demonic steel, confiscated during some duel he wasn’t witness to. He knew none of the details and was only afforded the knowledge that was shared in the tense exchange between the King of the North and a man Kazimir called brother, the Tar. The tension in the air singed his emotions, and through all of the back and forth, peace was never the plan. Kazimir saw this, and combat ensued as Haakon stood his ground, holding fast. It is the way of life and principle that brought them to fight this large imperial and Numendain force. In the end, Haakon was forced to kneel before his throne, and Kazimir looked at the king with sorrow and admiration as he spoke his last words: “I pray my wife and children live long, comfortable lives in my absence. If you’d honor my deeds in life and death - I will see that you ensure they knew who their progenitor was, and that they are all loved.” Only a brief moment in time passed after Haakon had perished before the remainder of the captives were marched toward the flame-laced ash tree. Kazimir, among those captives, was escorted by an imperium’s pawns of conquest and this Norlandic genocide. The war he fought in, the war he escaped from with his people- was it truly over? He pondered. Kazimir remained deathly silent all the while, and eventually his time did come to step before his judgment. A voice echoed from his side, bartering for his release. A familiar woman, a familiar voice, but beyond his view. The Tar was given a minute alone with Kazimir, to suggest complying, to suggest surviving. “My hands are tied,” echoed in Kazimir’s mind. He afforded this ruler a simple nod. The gathering of Numendain departed, and a Canonist priest approached Kazimir. He did not hear his name, only that he was meant to listen to the priest’s blessing. Kazimir, himself faithful, saw a rite of death in these words meant as comfort, as resolution. Mere moments after the priest signed the Lorraine, the cold steel of a dagger plunged into the side of the man’s neck… A figure appears… A sharp pain shoots in the side of his neck, and a hand instinctively reaches up to clasp the area. Turning to look at the culprit only yielded his vision staring into a black void. All around, a dark, black void. A feeling of dread began to loom within his core, yet in his nature, it stirred something red and violent. His rage. “What is this?!” The man shouted, spinning around and peering as far as he could. It is impossible to tell if the edge of this space is only a few feet away or millions of miles. Though as he continued looking, sticking out in this dark space, a small mote of white flame lingered in the air. He began to approach it. The flame slowly came closer as he walked forward, and soon enough, it was hovering in the air before his face. The only illumination in the darkness, a beacon for his soul to find. It was calming. The man spoke toward the flame, “... I think I am dying.” His voice echoed near and far, into the darkness. “I think this is my end,” he stared into the fire, and with his words, it began to grow. Slowly, but it was now larger than the speck it had been. In tandem, his emotions swelled, growing in their potency as the flame began to enlarge. His calmness, his rage, his sorrow, everything he felt in this moment. “If I do nothing, I will die. If I do something, I will die…” He looked at this white flame as it continued to grow. Perhaps the man was hoping it would speak, offering divine guidance, a path away and beyond this fate he was careening toward. “It is unfair. It's tragic, even…” The white ball of flame began to pulse rapidly. The man took a moment to feel his surroundings, to reach into his essence and emotions. This pulsing flame was a part of him. He knew this as soon as the thrumming of the heart in his chest was realized to be beating in the same rhythm. His hand began to raise, a finger outstretched toward the edge of the flame. The hand paused, seizing into a balled fist as the warmth began to spread and tingle in his finger. This wasn’t just a brilliant white flame, but a burning and omnipotent gift, an augmentation that would bind his essence to the Blessing tethered to his soul. A sacrificial manifestation of strength and courage. The man did not retract his hand completely, letting it remain in the singing air around the fire. He began to recall wisdom shared with him in his life, advice given by mentors, words offered by his parents… Sentenced to die by this mandate, most evil, cast by a man. It held no mercy. This festered in the man’s mind, and the fire continued to grow. He stared at the pallid flame before him, and shedding his sorrow and grief, he extended his hand. “Malchediael… Aengul of Courage,” he invoked under his breath. The brilliant flame continued to spread once more, like fire catching and spreading across a fragile line of cloth, his body erupted and was immolated as it waned into unrecognition. It consumed him entirely, and the man he once was became a blaze of blinding flame, still retaining its humanoid shape. The binding of his soul and self to the Blessing beared, the man bestowed upon himself a second chance in his dire last moments. A chance to die well.

Beyond the snow-laden city of the All-Father’s faithful and beyond the shores of Aevos, the oppressive walls of that raging stormfront pressed ever inward into the heart of the continent itself. The air churned with a sense of unease and dread, and the frigid winds offered no comfort for those who sought it. What little peace of mind and warmth there was to scrape together in these trying times proved to be of little comfort. It was as if the very land itself was rebelling against the presence of all. Suddenly, the winds picked up, blowing through the city streets with gale-force winds as banners and flags ripped and tore. Upon those winds was carried the sound of chains. Kazimir Weiss was one of many who rallied to face the threat of the storm that loomed in ruined, unforgotten lands. Notorious streaks of orange light lit up the sky as massive chains unearthed and reached for the clouds above. Comrades from Norland and companions from his homeland all rushed to the north toward a village where these chains and lights rose, shy of the fallen capital. Here, there would be a battle. The warriors charged from their steeds as Goldenvine forces rallied to oppose, shimmering crowns adorning their heads- the tinge of orange further tainting the lands. The might of those rallied warriors demolished the first wave; cries of war and commands were shouted out among the clash of steel and galloping beasts. The Weiss’s Black Comet took the brunt of a spear, crippling any chance of advance on horseback, and so too did other horses fall. All battles require payment in blood. The Goldenvine forces began to trickle in, initially few in number and strength, but they grew in these aspects as the Northern warriors pressed further into the village's confines. The wisps of arcana forming into daunting weapons, arrows soaring into the lines of those men and women, steel clashing with steel, towering creatures- elementals of the mountain, looming in the fray. The sounds were deafening compared to the breaths the warriors took as they focused on ending the various threats; the sound of chains rattling and jingling was ever-present through it all. The vanguards and sorcerers were slain, one after another, as the warriors continued their charges, splitting up into groups as the need arose. These adversaries held defensive lines until broken by barrages of concussive blasts and the spewing of fire and ice, the edges of weapons being put to lethal use. Abilities and gifts bestowed upon various warriors erupted on the field to aid in the onslaught, but eventually, the Goldenvine forces grew stronger and stronger. More organized, larger in number, and sound in their tactics, a charging advance was put on hold, not out of will, but out of necessity. Kazimir and his comrades began to take on wounds that bruised and cut beyond the protection of armor. Elemental behemoths drew the attention of many, while arrows from the lines of cloaked scouts pierced their limbs. The pikemen began to ward off assaults with greater ease as the warriors split further and further apart to hunt the masses of Goldenvine. Danger grew… As the Northern warriors began consolidating their efforts to regroup, yells of retreat began to echo through the village. The fight had been mostly won, but the force- …presence, within the village, was far greater than they could endure with their numbers. It was time to leave before any losses could occur. As those warriors rallied in the village square, the action began to die down after their retreat, and they tended to their wounded, making their way back to their homelands. Left behind, and ever present, a haunting chime remained from the ominous chains.

ISSUED BY THE CAPTAIN OF THE KAROSHIRD ⸙ ISSUED ON 12th of Wzuvar ag Byvca, 585 E.S. IN TIMES OF PEACE AND IN TIMES OF CONFLICT, the Karoslund looks to its people for safety and protection. Those with the fortitude, strength, and courage to turn the face of a shield toward dark forces are those who stand not only for themselves, but also for the comrades standing at their side and the innocents behind. Those who strike with arms to protect the Karoslund and its people are the levies of the Karoshird. THE DEFENDERS OF THE KAROSLUND, THE SUCCEEDING FORCE OF THE BROTHERHOOD OF SAINT KARL. To the bloodlines of Hanseti-Ruska, the citizens of the Karoslund, the Karoshird beckons for warriors and offers a guiding hand to those on such a path. Lend your expertise or build upon it. Be a defender of your home. To be eligible to enlist in the Karoshird, one must meet the following requirements: I. One must be a citizen of the Karoslund. II. One must meet the minimum enlistment age of 13 years. A. Children under the age of 13 may join the Karoshird to learn as a Karos Scout, with guardian permission, but cannot become a levy until they meet the 13-year age requirement. THE EAGER YOUTH WHO WISH TO LEARN VALUABLE SKILLS, TO PROVE AND IMPROVE THEMSELVES. A Karos Scout learns how to be brave, kind, and resilient in the face of their tasks. The heart of the Karoslunder is strong, determined, and steadfast, but also warm. To learn great lessons and light the ember of a warrior, the Karoshird invites the youth of the Karoslund to become a Karos Scout. To be eligible to join the Karos Scouts, one must meet the following requirements: I. One must be a citizen of the Karoslund. II. One must be 5 to 12 years of age. III. One must obtain permission from a parent or guardian to join. KRUSAE VE KAROSLUND, CAPTAIN Kazimir Weiss, Kossin i ve Karoslund

SUBMITTED BY THE CAPTAIN OF THE KAROSHIRD ⸙ ISSUED ON 12th of Wzuvar ag Byvca, 585 E.S. ⸙ SPONSORED BY: THE HESIR’S HAND, Ser Sigmar var Ruthern VA VE EDLERVIK, The Defense for Karoslund Bill proposes defensive measures that the Karoslund can take to enhance the village’s protection against incursions of darkspawn and prevent easy access for brigands and ill-intended forces. These involve the construction of watchtowers along the village walls, the installation of arbalests above the village entrance, and the completion of the village’s walls. I. Necessary Definitions The Watchtowers will provide crucial vantage points for detecting individuals and dangerous creatures from within the walls of the Karoslund. The arbalests will provide great utility to the Karoshird if threats need to be attacked or warded away from the Karoslund. The completion of Karoslund’s walls will ensure that brigands and dark entities cannot enter the village with ease, protecting the homes and citizens within. II. Amendments Inapplicable. EA BYK ZWE ZANYOTSKER ZWEER EA TER PETRAVEZKER, CAPTAIN Kazimir Weiss, Kossin i ve Karoshird