blesseuropa

In solace, within the light that embraced the continent with a false-hope, Brân wrote a letter. __________________________ __________________________ Dear To the esteemed Ark’, Forgive me for my absence, as at times you take the moment to perform upon yourself a new identity and a moment of solitude; I was forced to do the same. My studies continue; trapped in an echoing chamber of books that hold no sound but my own. I am destined to make a return and reflect value onto your investment. Perhaps ready to perform the art we both hold dear yet only one of us can master. Peace be upon you.

something to mention, alongside the great amount of variety in weaponry is how much inventory space PVP gear takes. It'd be good if PVP gear could be stored in another inventory, to allow more classical Roleplay centric players to be able to carry their roleplay items without having to have a stuff inventory of; iron gear, netherite gear, longbow shortbow, jav, steak, arrows, pike, lance, horse, haybales [ofcourse you're not required to have these, but if you dont, you're at a great disadvantage.] overall, though I do enjoy the extreme variety of PVP, and as fun as it is playing it outside of regular melee and ranged, it is far too difficult for the average noob or fleeper and far too expensive in time to gather for. +1

Sir Gedeon smiled, patting Mirabella on the back. "**** Sigismund." he said approvingly.

Sir Gedeon smiles the sun's smile, wrist still in ache from penning so much names and titles.

Brân skinny, wannabe hexah who reads alot and lingers creepily https://namemc.com/skin/1f7ac5a568a33412

Cuthbert smiles the sun's smile, walking away from the haelunorian gates, fourty mina and an inventory richer. "Bertside taxation bruvva"

Sir Gedeon signs up for the tourney, the quill in his hand quakes from the sore of his wrist. But no challenge was to be denied. (**** this setup ts pmo)

Was it God’s nature to bring such folly upon such honourable and gifted men? Gedeon pondered. Standing over the blood-soaken earth where the miserable battle was held. He had fled, retreated from the steel of the damned. Was it wrong? Should he have died there beside the Ser Vangelis, should he have attempted to tackle the Lich and his many guardsmen by himself, only to bring himself down onto his knee as the Knight? ...Was it his duty? ‘No.’ he'd say in a closeted breath, brought to coil by the frost of the night. ‘There was no honour in this battle, no honour to die with but of the past.’ His hands swept over the blade that took its rise in his defense, wary. He took a moment to remember the Ser Vangelis, his promise to him that he’d take to greet him from yesternight on. To prove to him, he’d hold the will-power to become a Black Knight. But such memory grew a wound upon flesh unmarked. A promise was broken, and an oath found anew.

"Blood for Ashford" said Gedeon, still blood-soaked by the siege.

Gedeon’s view of the gossip spreading. ___________________________________________ What a surprise. Gedeon once again mentioned within the paper. There were some inconsistencies, he knew. But took little mind to it, opting to ponder upon how the information was gathered. ‘Where did it come from? Who was there?’. . . and then it clicked. Gedeon laughed, shoulder still ary with pain from a recent battle, unable to slap the table before him. “Vanya will do naught but smile on this; I can already see it.” But for some reason, fear struck the boy after his word.

Gedeon stood atop the polished bridge spanning between Grense and Alba, the mighty river running dark and sluggish, no longer choked with the bloated corpses of the reanimated dead or plagued by the raiding vessels of wild-heretics. It sat still, a silence not of peace, but of dread. That quiet was a wound. The fear that was found upon his allies' image being brought alive again. Only interrupted by the pain that lanced through his shoulders, barely dulled by the works of alchemists and medics. But in despite of his wounds, he stood proud. The Empire had just risen, and it will not fall as swiftly as the nations it crushed under its boot. "The Emperor stands and the Imperium endures."

Gedeon polished his helm and sword. Eyes set upon the chain that rattled before him. "War-Less Knights." He repeated from his conversation with the Lord Roger. "War-Less Men, this age will no longer be plagued by wars of great conflict and we should not wither."

Realm of azure, spikes surrounded by a blackened storm that whirled with cries of magenta. This realm. Gedeon returned from it victorious. Ser Honeywine and his good friend, Severus, alongside him. He should not feel ill. Victory was promised, victory was given. Yet still, wariness washed over his brow. 'The cost' he thought. 'What will we have to pay?' The earth roared in response. Waves broke against stone and islands fell. There was no glory in the battle won today.

"Gossip." Rung Gedeon of the Imperial-Guard. He had met Joan, was there for her arrival. Yet not there to defend her, or there to take arrest of her. The boy frowned, both of them were 'smallfolk'. Casted, left by society - placed by the nobility into work that was always too forceful on their shoulders. Their ancestors placed to shame, failures. Lacking of blood, title and land. He had sought to reach out to her, but Lady Joan... she was something special. "How cruel is it that they mock her, a child, younger than even I?"

Gedeon prepares the fields and works the duel-pits to make a name for himself; in hope that one day, he will don the same blackened steel as the Draconic Knights.