dandan1350

"If need be I am while rather against the thought of such involvement... 'Willing' to decide upon tasks if any others feel themselves needing to prove their worth for such titles. However that is as far as my involvement will go within the matter."

He adds in, his head once again lifting as he addressed the gathered clerics before looking back down once more.

"Take yourself upon the task I set without difference and you shall receive my blessing that you are cleansed of that which keeps you from achieving your higher goals.

You will lose your tongue, never to utter a word throughout this trial. The only exception is when you speak out prayers or a litany. During this time of silence I also condemn you to celibacy until it is over. 

You will strip from your armor and take upon initiate robes once again to repeat the trials you hand out to others. Take yourself back to your humble beginnings and rediscover yourself during the trials. 

Once your third trial is done, your staff forged. You will redon whatever you see fit and go onto the field of combat and enter in single combat against an undead to prove your martial worth.

Only then will I believe you both humble and free of your past sins."

Garahel bows his head once more, lips moving as he mumbles to himself.

Garahel looked up from the stone floor below, mulling over the question for a moment as he furrowed his brow in the depths of his hood. 

"To single out one man worthy of leading this orders military is difficult, I also do not fully know who will be joining you on your efforts so my knowledge is limited at this time.. However I shall make a point on a neutral and unbiased view. 

Both Cir'dian and Jakirs faults have been pointed out and displayed for consideration however I think you have missed two major factors that would effect your decision. Yes, while they are well versed in battle as many are in this world, they both have troubled history's of impurity and corruption which I doubt anyone needs me to go into further detail about their actions. This alone should prevent them from holding a main position in power until they have done a new deed to prove themselves worthy. 

I myself however would lean towards Jakir if he is willing and able to abandon his emotional state and attempt to gain a clear and level headed mind. He must also abandon notions of his relation to the tainted if he was to take on the mantle."

Garahel once more turned his attention to the stone floor, fingers drumming idly against the heavy metal shaft of the halberd in his grip. Using it almost like a walking staff.

"I can accept petty squabbling, however what I will not accept is the slander of a brother. One who you know very little about, Abbess Cecily Stark. Keep your personal hatred and thoughts to yourself, any matters you wish to portray to someone as vent your anger can be given personally to them. Not at a meeting of his chosen." The heavily plated man stepped from his place within the shadows of the halls, silver plate never seen before adorned on him, his sapphire emblazed eyes illuminating a nothingness within the mans hood, simply shadow.

"Tahariae takes on the personification of a White stag if I may, and the title of prophet is still held by another by the name of Braxis Silverblade. That is all."

Symon glances up from his fields, slinging his hoe over his shoulder. "Its a good day to farm."

Howdy folks, this is a bit of odd writing I've begun to do in my spare time as my new job provides plenty of spare time but I only have a paper and pen to spend that time with! I felt you could have a look into an Itharels mind and following along his story with many twists to come. Parts will be uploaded once every now and again!

Part I:

The heavy and dull thud of metallic boots rang against the uneven stone of the roads flooring as the shadowed colossus made its approach. Its hulking mass marching its heavy form down the road, its stance and movement almost robotic as if calculation ran between each step. The golden plate shimmered, the thin and fragile tabard that hung as always in front of the Armour wrestled against the light wind caused by the quick pace of the being, its tattered and war torn history seemingly invisible, the battered and bruised armour now repaired, gleaming with a new light as if it had just been sent from the forges. On goers and travelers steered themselves round the behemoth of plate confusion and a hint of fear ripe on their face, each gesture and twitch of muscle to form these emotions were taken in by the being inhabiting the plate. It apparently did hold a mind, its thoughts running rampant in the large expanse of it.

‘Pathetic mortals, cowering from purity itself. Shows how truly fallen you are from his path, his light will shine past your thick skulls one day and cleanse your brain of these impudent thoughts.’

The hollowed hood shook its head, rattling its mind to cleanse it of the harsh thoughts. He knew why fear was represented, he knew what most thought came when the sacred light rose over the hilltops to their ‘aide’. Brutish slaughter and no mercy. He grunted, the curve of his lip twitching as he forced it into a frown of disappointment, his mind once again racing back to horrid thoughts. The slaughter of the scourgeborn, the trail of destruction and chaos he had left behind in his wake. More blood was shed then necessary on that day, his paladins had become mere muscle, hired ruffians to fight away the crowd. His own clerics despised him of his actions, others leaving scarred, mind warped. The memory of the girls father screaming curses and hatred, all true. False. His step faltered, the unknown thought that had appeared in his head caused him to halt for a fraction of a second before continuing. The corner of his lip twitched again, slowly forming without any registration of his own to an almost proud smirk as if happy of his actions.

He defended the impure, by right he is impurity.

He was a father, an innocent man looking to defend his daughter.

False! He swore that he would draw your blood, cursed your holiness, questioned your purity.

No, I accepted what I was to do that night. His words were truth.

Your words show your weakness, you are not befitting of your gift!

The argumentative voice fell silent on its last statement leaving him at a loss for words. His own mind began to question him? He shook his head once more, dismissing his thoughts. Finally registering the smirk had formed he snapped it straight off his face, looking up from his plated feet to where he wandered. He had no goal, no aim. Or so he thought at least, no aim of his own. He found himself on a bridge, the calm and serene river running beneath him sounding as if a waterfall fell by his ear before silence. Nothing, no wind, no rustling leaves, no water, no screaming or shouting. Just silence.

Weakness is what keeps you in your ‘elevated podium’. He promises you gifts of his power, he makes you his champion. And he dares to be disappointed at your actions!?

The voice.. It sounded similar. Not of one he had heard, but its pitch and tone deeper, just tweaked. He couldn’t pinpoint what voice he heard, who spoke to him. He began to recite litanies to cleanse his mind of the devilish thoughts.

Purity are our bounds.

Our shackles..

Purity is our pillar.

A crumbling pillar.

Purity is what we seek to deliver.

Purity is what you promise and then forget!

The voice boomed over his own incessant rambling, causing him to stop and freeze. It was something he had not felt in a long time.. Fear? It crept up his spine, weighing him down unable to move or speak.

You are not his champion, you are his dog. To unleash when he see’s fit!

His tool and weapon to use when people begin to lack faith in him.

You are his power! You are his strength! What is he without you?

He is nothing but a whimpering stag within a forest.

You are not some tool, you can become so much more.

You can break free of these shackles that bind you, you can become limitless.

You must do what is necessary, for the good of this world.

You can become a god!

The voice faded once more, the chilling sense of something creeping up his spine faded. His locked body allowed movement once again as he began to pick up his pace along the road. He knew not where his destination was but he somehow knew where to go, his feet guiding him with a mind of their own, as if possessed. Each thud of boot on stone. Each heel against the floor brought him closer and closer. Finally, he arrived. His gaze glanced up from the floor, rising the scout out where he had been delivered. He saw a tree, a large one. Hollowed out, sounds of merry making, drinking, cheering, socialising and all clear in the air. He glanced down to the entrance, eyes spotting the two bored and restless bouncers he leant on either side of the large expanse with their arms crossed, eyes half closed. His vision shifted past them to a large group and there he sat, the man who had cursed him and called him no man of god. The gauntlet slid down his side as his fingers found their mark, slipping round and gripping the heavy hilt of his blade. His arm twitched, barely noticeable at first until its whole length began to shook. His own body began to fight against his actions but he was losing, he was weak. A leg lifted, trembled for a moment but stomped down to bring him a step closer to the tavern. Then again, the other leg. With each simple movement of his body the fighting became less and less, his actions becoming smooth and simple. Or more appropriately. Someones actions. His blade began to draw as thoughts raced through his mind to plead his body to stop this madness, it would not listen. The laughter of the man and his group began to pick up, louder and louder before it began to drown out everything. It was only him, and them. The impure.

They aren't impure, this isn't right..

He defended them, he defended impurity. He is impurity, a stain.

Death is not his will!

Death is not his will, but it is yours my friend!

They do not deserve this.

They are with him, they seep off his impurity. They are tainted.

The conversation ended abruptly again, the tone of the second voice this time was different. Not the one from before, it was similar.. Similar to his own. Jolly in a sense was the only difference between them. Now he fought his own mind.

Without another word the blade left its sheath at the hulking mass of plate took into a sprint. He swung it round in a wild arc to the sleeping bouncer, a clean and easy cut as he took not a second to ‘admire’ his handwork. The mans chest slice across and open, his entrails left to pour out as he woke from his half slumber, shocked and confused. The second bouncer had little time to react, the garbed man was splattered in his own and his friends blood, the blade driving round to skewer him through and through. He pushed him off, dumping the soon to be corpse to the floor as he continued onwards. Blood began to stain his golden plate. Etching its way into cracks and crevices, coating it in a deep crimson.

Necessary.

His bladework knew no elegance as the bloodshed continued, it simply found clean and easy kills. The impure did not deserve elegance nor thought. His blade swept round again, nicking clean across the throat of a suddenly standing bystander, one who drank next to his target. Blood splattered, coating his plate further as he carried on. He spun on his heel and brought his weight about the blade following with him and driving heavily into the side of the other that sat at the mans stool. Four clean and simple kills. Four impure vanquished. He thought this would soothe him but it did not as he looked to the cowering mess of a man that was his actual target, sprawling his worthless frame back and crawling from his pre decided fate.

Necessary.

Daniel stormed forwards, kicking aside stool and man alike who stood in front of him or could not remove himself from his horrid path. The man was wrath incarnated, a mixture of the nether and the seven skies, his holy aura radiating off him but the stench and stain of descendant blood across his frame balanced against it. He slammed his heel down, connecting to the crawling mans shin and hearing a succulent out cry of his misery. He thought he heard a whispered word.. ‘W..Why..?’ Whether or not he did he felt to explain his actions anyway.

“I do not what is right, but what is necessary.” He thrust his blade down, slicing past the frail skin and severing the spine. Drawing out his blade slowly he lifted it and wiped its bloodied form against his already coated tabard. His glance began to look round the hallowed halls of the tavern now, fearful bystanders fleeing for their lives, running from the rampant machine of death. He began to shake, blade falling from his grip as he flattened out his palms. Staring into them, his eyes widened as he jaw began to hang agape. His knees buckled, whole body shaking as he wailed out his shock and horror. The blood, the bodies. They all claimed his senses, finally sinking in his actions. Just before his knees fell a dim black took over him.

The man woke, sweat pouring on his brow. Chest heaving beneath the sheets as his body jolted from its slumber and he exited the hellish nightmare that had warped and claimed his mind at this twilight. His hands suddenly raising as he stared at them seeing a fake crimson, flashes of the blood that claimed his gauntlets before. He froze in his bed, jaw hanging agape as the previous wailing of his misery from his dream was expected to cross but all that came was a.. Cackle one that carried and sounded out through the mountain range, ringing out aloud past his bed chambers in the humbled abode. A madman's laugh, manic and twisted as it left his lips. His body began to shake no longer with fear but from the sheer power of his twisted cackle as he stared at his seemingly bloodied hands. An image flashed across his mind, quick, almost missing it at first but barely making out what it was.

((http://fredhooper.deviantart.com/art/Crimson-Knight-108172525))

You will become a god.

Ivanus stares at the poster he had brought to his meditation chambers, his face of mix of several emotions and thoughts either all at once or switching about madly between them. He opens his mouth as if to speak before being left wordless, muttering out incoherent mumbles and stutters of words. He stops himself, closing up his hanging jaw once again and turns to seat himself in the middle of his chambers, legs crossing over one another as he began to question the purity of the descendant sub-races themselves. Perhaps the light should be brought to them he thought, through flame and sword.

"I begin to question if the impurity leaks from the most recent attackers, both harbingers and now the arch-daemon leaks into and stains our descendants we're entrusted to watch and protect. Perhaps a purge of the impure may become necessary in time."

Symon falters in his step, muttering beneath his breath. "So its time.." With that he took the knee infront of King Maric. His sabre leaving its sheath and holding the blade steady in the flat of his palms as he began to recite the lines he has had the displeasure of speaking one too many times.

"I, Symon Stafyr, humble subject of the creator, descendant and great great great grandson of Galtor I. Stafyr in direct line, Eighth Patriarch of House Stafyr, Count of Werdenberg, Fourth Lord of Stafyr in service to the Kingdom, hereby solemnly swear following oath.

In fulfilment of the words "Law, Honor, Loyalty, Family and Truth",...

I swear to hold up the King's law and word, do his bidding.

I swear to hold up the King's honor, defend him from his enemies, hold his name up in high regards, fight and if Creator wills it die in his name.

I swear to loyally serve the King and not fall in his back, be it by plotting with his enemies or be it by attacking him directly.

I swear that the family and House of Stafyr will serve the King as loyal as I shall, and I will persecute every member who denies their oath.

I swear to always talk truthfully to the King, to not lie, even if dark thoughts burden my mind.

I swear my lands to the King, to hold them just-fully and rule over them rightfully.

By these words I swear loyalty until the end of days or the creator's wish to take me home. May the creator judge my soul and life truly and punish me for false deeds.

In Law, in Honor, in Loyalty, by Family, for Truth.

Signed by

Lord Symon Stafyr, Count of Werdenberg, Patriarch of House Stafyr."

Symon stood from his position, a sour and horrid taste in the back of his throat.

“To the current King, Aleksandr Carrion. It is with a heavy heart I write this letter declaring my intentions to not reinstate my oaths under the kingdom. This is a decision that I have spent many a moon deciding on, not a moment have I taken this decision against your house lightly however since the late Tuvyas fall, may his soul rest in peace. I have not felt a connection to the strong and noble house or empire that my heritage has served since the many years before.

The letter you wrote me is only full of falsities, I am no honorable man, my honor was lost as I drew the blood of my own kin when fighting besides you during the Storm kings rebellion. I did not want to take up arms against them, nor you. I did not want to shed the blood of my own descendant brothers as I was forced to do so. Neutrality has always been our claim, never but once have we broken this to fight for what the church willed. My name, my houses name, my honor and my houses honor is sullied, torn apart and trampled down to nothingness. We are no longer law, honor and loyalty with the terrible actions I have done and the path I have taken us down. I stuck by my oaths to the end, I raised blade and banner for you in defence of your threatened homeland against my own kin but now I cannot any longer.

I regretfully decline your call to re announce my allegiance to you, not for who you are, not that you are a Carrion nor a new king. I make this decision based on bloodlines and whatever last bit of honor I can scrape from my bloodied boots. However I ask you do not think the people who follow me scum nor traitor, I make this decision upon my own shoulders and none other. My people who wear the banner I ask be left alone if you wish to seek blood bring blade to my neck and mine alone. The people of these lands should not suffer on one man’s decision. I also do not forgot what our houses have been through, since I took a knee under Boris Carrions rule I have never known to feel such strength and dedication from a liege house to one of their mere vassals, since Heinriks rule we have had strong bonds with one another, fighting shoulder to shoulder in the mud not as lord and king but as brothers in arms. You stepped down from your pedestals and offered us a hand that we took graciously. Your words to me were kind, you called us a pillar to aid you, well I am afraid this day the stone cracks and the pillar crumbles beneath the heavy weight.

We return back to our first lords steps, St. Godwein an honorable lumberjack under the kingdom of Renatus. This is our place, this is our home. The mighty Godfrey who looked down from his throne and saw more than a mere lumberjack, he saw hope and he was not wrong. For look where Stafyr has come since then? Only now do we crumble and begin to fall back to our peasants roots. The path I take could very well be a final step down the road of our destruction or our success. In years to come if the empire once again unites perhaps the banners of green and gold will sail under it brightly.

On Tuvyas passing I had begun construction and nearly finished my work on the city of Petrus, with his passing, funds lost in transition and my letter declaring my intentions it is hardly fit for me to ask for you to pay the sum promised. Instead I ask you accept my work as a gift. I also ask should the time come, have I already not missed it. I be allowed free passage to attend Tuvyas funeral, an odd wish I know. But I do not hate any of you, no malice, no spite. I merely seek my peoples survival.

Farewell for now, whether you seek my head on a spike or still sat at your chair dining. I will forever think of Carrion as one of my closest friends. My bread shall not stop baking for you to feast on.

- Symon Stafyr”

The seal of House Stafyr is left present on the letter, the envelope delivered to the throne room by hand of a man of Stafyr.

((http://fc04.deviantart.net/fs71/i/2013/083/a/6/homestead_by_jjpeabody-d5z3aul.jpg))

Symon gazed idly out across the fields, his back turned to the desk behind him with his hands ever clasped behind his back. At glance at his face would show his troubled features as he let out a steady sigh, this was not the first rebellion he'd been offered to stand by however it might certainly be the last with how successful they have been. Turning away from the hazy and stained glass he made to sit himself down at his desk once more. Hands sliding across the simple oak table, slipping his finger round the thin quill and dipping it into the ink pot once then sliding its fine needle across the edge to wipe off excess. Hovering his hand over a parchment that laid out in front of him he paused for a moment.

"This conflict of interest does truely horrify me.. If only you were still here, Farley."

He then pressed down the quill and began to write away, hours spent locked away in the small study as he worked and slaved over the piece. Burning many failed copies of the letter till he finally thought it perfect, he stopped and lowered the quill. Resting his hand finally and glancing at the written letter, he slipped it away within the confines of an envelope pulling up his burning candle and dropping the molten lax onto the seal before pressing down his own seal and marking it with House Stafyrs symbol. Picking up the letter he paused in thought, shaking his head slowly and slipping the paper away into the desk.

"Godwein, Edmund, Farley.. If only I could speak to you, you could clear up my confused mind for me. The things they have done against my people, murder, dishonor upon our flag, to betray the church. Are they but rumors whispered into my ear or are they truth? And yet still I am led to feel some sort of reason in their actions? I need help, and yet I cannot turn to ask for the guidance of my peers I already know their answer." He shook his head of these rebellious thoughts, standing himself back up and going to gaze out of the stained glass once more.

"Why can't I just farm?"

The cappening approaches. Prepare yourself.

Men of white plate, should the guards allow them entry would take to the streets of the main cities. Placing notices amongst the cluttered boards of the lands.

"To any and all who would here rumors spread that once did in Anthos of the blighted corrupted the mind of the innocent, know the man of faith does not sit idly nor walk blindly during this time. However our gaze can only see so much upon the horizon and thus it is asked of the people, if they believe corruption is afoot to find a cleric. No judgement shall be passed if you are wrong about your suspicions of another, we are glad to have at least cleared a troubled mind during these times who worry for their loved ones.

However I extend this invitation more so to the men who may slam down a fist upon wood and call forth carnage and blood, those who control armies that rival nations strengths. To all those leaders of nations, men and women of politics. We open up to you a chance to clear your name of any false rumors that might be heard, seek out the ones dubbed 'Itharel', they shall do all that is within their power to find and cleanse any taint or corruption that might be presence. 

Along with such they will also dispell any horrible rumors that one might follow the archdaemons path as best they can.

You are not alone, the light has not been extinguished."

Symon blinks, looking down to his blueprints then up again. "I built this.."

The sound of clattering lumber and saws running through the heavy logs that were laid down rang out amongst the sawmill. The heavy water-wheel turned as the water ran its course, surging on the saw to work as the river powered through. Soon after the yards began to fill with neatly cut lumber, skinned of its bark and sawed to almost perfection by the bulking woodworkers that worked day and night to get the project underway. Amongst them sat a smaller man, Symon, dressed in his ordinary working garbs as he carried along the log with another his eyes left to glance about the progress falling into place.

“Alright, so it begins a new. Reminds me of Eastgate all over again.” A bright grin crossed onto his lips as he hopped the log over his shoulder and onto the pile eagerly, quickly skittering his way off towards the town where a second wave of sound would occupy any who would arrive.

Hammers against nails, saws against wood, shouting of pain as men struck fingers alike on the heavy tiles they sought to place down. Deconstruction was underway of the old manor, never used by the lord or his family. Instead he sought to make it a place for the people to find shelter in, and so they would.

Wat he said ^^^^

Not to mention I was approached a while back about the integration of clerical dieties within the church however the topic has come to a standstill till me and Cracker could once again talk about the subject.

Ivanus stood atop the tower of the Sacred lights home as ever adorned in his Itharel plate. His hooded face disguised the face of what people thought to being an emotionless hunk of armour, twisted in a mixture of thought and pain as he played over the current affairs in his mind many a time. His hands clasped together, gauntleted fingers interlocking as a single plated finger was kept free to idly tap against his hand. There he stood, silent and watchful, tired and conflicted as his emerald glazed eyes scanned over the horizon of the mountains that scattered the landscape view he received from the balcony. A short few moments after glancing across his eyes connected with a small dazzling light near a mountains peak before a shudder ran down the man’s spine, an unusual thing for him to feel. He paused his tapping, eyes moving back over to where the he had first thought the spark to appear from, his hands slipping from their lock and one curling up and around his hood to pull it from and reveal the young elf's face to the harsh and colder winds of the high altitude. Squinting as his hands then fell to the balcony and he gripped the stone support tightly his golden plate digging into it and indenting the seemingly solid stone as his lips began to move committing to an inaudible murmur, his calm expression fading as his lips formed into a small frown.

“Another one leaves us..”

He hand loosened around the support as he moved to stand himself up, head flushing with thoughts as the armoured hulk began to storm down the halls his boots booming down the freshly laid out wooden slabs. His turned, turned again, down a flight of stairs, across a hall, down another flight of stairs, again another turn, again another hall. His small journey seemingly endless as he moved to reach his destination with thoughts flooding and rushing through his mind.

“Who fell? Where was it? Why?” The questions repeated over and over again in different styles each time, disturbed by the now missing clerical aura he began to slow his pace and took a cool and calming breath as he reached the wooden door that would end his journey, opening and stepping into the darkness of the room in front of him the Itharel disappeared for many hours, the slight ***** of tool against something sounding out and the odd crash of something else erupting from behind the closed door as work was held there.

Seven hours it took the man as he glanced down upon his creation in a new location, a beautiful garden concealed within the depths of what was known as the infinity vault to few. Infront of him laid out was a small tombstone rested beside a few others as he trail a hand across the thin stone to wipe off some left over residue of the chiseling that had occurred.

“Rest now, my child. Your service is done and your burdens are lifted, thank you for fighting beside us whether you healed the ill or fought back the scourge of this world you will not be forgotten.”

Pls

"I-Wat-How-Even-Why..."

Daniel turns around, looking about.

"WHO KILLS A MAN IN THE NAME OF A PEACEFUL DEITY OH MY LORD TAHARIAE, WHY DO YOU AND XAN KEEP ATTRACTING MORONS."

He grumbles quietly after his out break, sauntering off to his home once again.

"Imperial Keeper, tasked  with overseeing management and preservation of Imperial Lands. Has duties to keep roster of every settlement or holding in the realm and to determine their usefulness and profitability to the Empire. Granted the powers to accept settlement charters, to label settlements or holdings as 'Undesirable,  to deconstruct and naturalize any settlement or holding with Imperial Warrant.

With the appointment of the Imperial keeper a charter system is set in to place to claim and build upon land legally within the grounds of the Holy Empire of Oren. All current submitted towns already in roster are deemed eligible, legal and also at the current moment desirable to the Empire. All settlements, holdings, buildings and other not declared within the boundaries of the Empire are deemed illegal at the current moment and are due to be processed to decided on their necessity in these lands.

The charter system will allow you to be granted permission to build in the Empire with Imperial permission and not face the threat of removal, it also allows for all towns and holdings to be monitored easily and kept registered. Simply fill in the charter left below and send off the Lord Stafyr, within 6 to 24 saint hours the approval process should be through and your charter either accepted or denied.

/ALL/ people are susceptible to the charter system and must comply with it."

-A Charter form is left below- 

"Please note this charter is not for current standing regions but for any holdings or such that are to be built in the future. To ignore the charter system and not comply with the Imperial Keeper will result to action under Imperial warrant and should it be necessary the inclusion of the Lord Baliff to make sure the law is upheld."

Daniel gives a faint sigh after overhearing Lyuins thoughts on the matters, stepping up to protect his pupils life instead. Sending off a small note in response to the protection list.

"Apologies for such a short letter but I am not a man of words, more action so I shall try to keep this brief.

It has come to my attention that one of my clerics, a young lad who has done nothing but help save and protect the lives of the innocent during the Anthosian war against the Harbingers and still to this point valiantly defends the innocent is not currently on the list.

I would ask that if the time does finally come Lyuin be spared any torment as while a small force he is still under the protection of the Sacred light. An order that in the coming days would be much better to have on your side rather then a grudge for killing one of our own. However I ask that this Lyuin clerical identity also be left secret from any others for the moment.

-Ivanus."

-A notice is left in Petrus, and a few personal letters sent off to the more well known towns of Oren-

"With the recent rise of estates, keeps, forts and towns appearing randomly within the borders of Oren it is asked that all landholders of these structures and areas fill out this small form and send it back so we may better record the current lands already filled.

Please fill out the form left below.

You may personally post these forms off to Symon Stafyr or hang them up here for collection later."

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.

Daniel looks at the census not sure what to put down from his last few promotions he received, pausing for a moment.

"Uh..."

Grand Ser, Noble Ser, Great Ser Daniel Baelish, [Too many to enter/remember], age hundred plus or something, knight of the Lion chapter, man of Furnestock, Knighted for loyalty and service to the order of the red dragon, by Jonathan Black.

"Eh... How did we go from economy and trade to levies.." Symon muttered to himself, leaning on the table and looking about. "I can assure you any need of supplies to do with farming such as items gathered from breeding and harvesting from livestock and from the fields I myself can cover as the late Ser Lane once planned for my county."