bungo

B. B. Basarab contemplates in a tower floating through the cosmos.

The only good Adrian is a dead Adrian.

8 hours ago, _pr0fit said:

Vane nods as he reads the missive "So they want to copy Norland?"

Ivan Shnitzel-Brawm prostrates before a burning bush. A recent convert and acolyte of the Red Faith, he had moved to the North(western) hinterlands to be better in tune with the spirits. Oh the hinterlands were glorious, a shining beacon of faith, fiscal policy, and hard men. It was here that numbers were invented in 322 E.S.

SURNAME: Poppo

FIRST NAME: Glücksburg

ADDRESS OF RESIDENCE: Address: Silver Jubilee 9

DATE OF BIRTH: 3 Suns Smile 1752

Are you registered and eligible to vote in the Holy Orenian Empire? No

Do you have any other title, peerage or military service that may conflict with becoming a Member of the House of Commons, as per the Edict of Reform (1763): No 

If yes, do you understand that you will be required to resign or abdicate from this position should you be elected to the House of Commons, and if this does not occur your seat shall be considered to be vacant?: Yes

((MC NAME)): pbuh

The Count of Pompourelia reads an article from a newspaper within Novellen in the comedy section. He shares it with his brother, the Duke Helena. @Hunwald

A local fisherman off of the coast of Kaedrin intercepted a rowboat of what appeared to be three deformed pigmies. Upon bringing them to shore, it is reported that they continued to incessantly shout that they were the blood of Persian Horen and could not control their bowels. The fisherman believed that they had been suffering from scurvy and deliria. He offered them an orange and let them on their way.

perhaps there is a conspiracy? i heard drfate was also a member of this coal miner’s union, a well known terrorist organization and cult.

12 minutes ago, Hunwald said:

“In the month of the man’s wedding, no less!” The Duke comments as an aside to his brother the Count of Pompourelia, his mouth sniveling some at the perceived disrespect of the inquiry. “Rather crude. A gentleman should be able to enjoy his bridal tour, I should think. You know I’ve always been charitable with these things. A family man is a family man, that’s what I say.”

 

He then goes quiet, his brother failing to give an encouraging response. 

With great force and vigor, the Count mashes the remaining stub of his cigar into the ashtray, creating a mess within the tea room.

“You do know, dear brother that there is not much substance in these allegations. What sort of schlepper wishes for the Home Office to be governed by municipal elections? I do hope Mister Galbraith has a clue and does not fumble this, lest his wife leaves him and his wedding will be in vain. I do believe it will be an entertaining show, will you come forth and watch this circus with me?”

Ivan Schnitzel-Brawm orders his comital equerry to clean his bedpan as he puts on his hairshirt. In a rage he exlaims.

“This Heartlander Count is no Count at all, not my Haense. This is Alimar land and Alimar land it shall be. The Alimars have held this land for the past eight generations and to an Alimar it should go. Gather my horse I shall run the Emperor through for this grave slight.”

The Count of Pompourelia, dressed in mourning blacks awaits for three caskets to be shipped from Sutica to the Orenian capital, that of his wife, his son, and Corwin himself.

A letter is delivered to the Lord Speaker, the penmanship hasty and smudged. 

Until there comes a time where those of ignoble heritage prove themselves with service rather than beggary, we shall be plagued by such rabble. We are in need of new blood within the sphere of nobility, but my horse has more pedigree than these women. Have these crones that go by the name Merentel thrown into a ditch. I, Lord Pompourelia vote in favor for the dissolution of the Barony of Merentel, and deceleration of the title in abeyance.

Within his apartments at Novellen, Lord Pompourelia summons the maid bringing him second supper, a treat for a hard day’s work. He commands the maid to bring forth his vote on the Albatross matter to the Lord Speaker. It so reads;

I, The Right Honorable, George Casimir de Sarkozy, The Count of Pompourelia vote in favor of tying the Archbishop’s personal lands, which shall be mapped for posterity and recorded upon his letters, to the Archbishopric of Albarosa and thus he shall be raised as a peer so as to be styled the Prince Archbishop of Albarosa.

Damn.. people are trying to keep us living in dirt and mud huts to preserve their theme of a medieval server. Perhaps we should enact serfdom and not let anyone leave their own tile to embody a true medieval server. Perhaps enforce the institution of feudalism on the High Elves? The vast majority of people did not read in the medieval era, and we should not allow them to have public libraries.

This entire thread is people complaining about things that will not affect them. A gun is as strong as a bow or crossbow mechanically however a great deal of these people complaining can conjure a comet to obliterate me.

It’s just a flavor addition and plenty of fantasy experiences have some sort of firearms associated with them. I’m still going to shoot Arthur Callahan in the head when I find him whether you like it or not

Lord Pompourelia reads over the essay within his study in Novellen while indulging on his second breakfast. He begins a dialogue with the maid cleaning the study.

Have you read this essay, this Reason for Reform? Ah what have you, you likely do not read. However I shall explain it to you, as best as my genteel nature can describe. You see, this essay here brings forth the Old Josephite thought of the Imperial Subject and Imperial Identity, of which I am an adherent. You see, the Empire is no longer a single personage, no longer bound to the shackles and whims of one man. The Empire is now something more, an idea of which all of us can partake in. Whether highborn as myself, or lowborn as yourself, we are both Imperial subjects and this is our Empire, and for that reason I beseech you to vote.

Within Novellen Palace, Lord Pompourelia engorges on his second serving of roast duck. Novellen is rife with talk of the missive by dinnertime, and thus the Count rants to his brother, the Duke of Helena.

Could you believe, that these mongrels have the gall to claim they are Highlander Realm? I can trace my patrilineal ancestry directly back to the Soothsayer from both our father and mother. From the Soothsayer to the Kings of Jroth and Joren Horenson directly. The Rurics are undoubtedly of Ugluk origin, the scions of the Warchief Puck Ugluk. Atleast that is what the oral history of Krugland would have us believe... from the words of our own Governor Strickland. They spoke of a half-orc son of the Warboss Nux Ugluk whom was abandoned in the care of the legendary Volsung family.

This would in doubt explain their aversion to humanity, worship of animistic spirits, and bloodlust. They even maintain the same level of government, with Clan Chiefs and the like. One must sympathize with the Lady Rubern however, for what level of sexual frustration one must face when your only suitable prospects for marriage are amongst those within a nonhuman coalition.

As the Seventh Nordling War has ended, the Eight will sooner than later be upon us. 

2 hours ago, Vorgraven said:

“You succeeded by mere diplomacy, where as you lacked in military numbers.” Lyam Payne states the obvious. “Your false bravado is amusing though.”

Ragnarr Ceasarsunnu Tiber reminisces of his first hunt within the Seventh War of Imperial Aggression against the Northmen, a measly Orenian man of eight years who was no match for him and his seax. He now sits within his cell, being denied death in battle as by the Orenian dogs as Wotin demands.

“I was a Jomsviking, the cream of the crop. How could they defeat us without winning a single battle? Were all of our great blots in vain? We were promised a glorious and everlasting victory... at least my ancestors still smile upon me. It is not for vain though, for we shall fight again, and again...”

The Baron of Trebizond applauds his comrade.

The Count of Prussia applauds his comrade.

The Count of Pompourelia sulks.

The Governor of Krugland, as a good Canonist orders his bishop to procure him the finest cream of the crop from the local choir.

q1

The Earl of Sandwich, Ivan Schnitzel-Brawm sends word to the Lady d’Arkent that she must obtain the Emperor’s approval prior to the marriage lest he summon his banner-men from the far north and run her through.

Ivan Schnitzel-Brawn, the Earl of Sandwich stands before his compatriots from Baruch, Bathory, Ruthern, Vanir, Vasa, Barclay, etcetera, etcetera. He raises his right hand into the air, to silence the assembled lords before he speaks.

Whereas general laws and public acts pertain not to an individual but to the nation at large, wherefore at this General Duma held at Valwyk we have, together with all our kingdom's prelates, councils and land deputies, determined it to be fitting and just, and have so resolved, that henceforth for all time to come nothing new shall be resolved by us or our successors, without the common consent of the nobility and the land deputies, that shall be prejudicial or onerous to the Dual Monarchy or harmful and injurious to anyone, or that would tend to alter the general law and public liberty.

NAME: George Casimir

((MC NAME:)) bungo

RACE: White (Not Hispanic or Latino)

IMPERIAL SUBJECT (Y/N): Y

IF NO, FROM WHICH FOREIGN COUNTRY?: 

PEER OF THE REALM (Y/N): N

IF YES, OF WHICH PEERAGE?: N

PREFERRED WINE: Red

The noble Ensign participates in revelry within the Dragon’s Roost tavern in Helena with his closest army compatriots, celebrating the announcement of his wedding.

The Governor of Krugland puts down his favorite dark elven reading material published in the 14^th century. He merely states to his orcish boyslave.

These dark elves... excite me.