Aedrabani

The Prince Gonzalo de Castro attempted vile murder upon the person of His Highness the Prince of Ulgaard Adrian Sarkozy, as well as multiple members of the Royal Court, and guests from abroad in a villainous fit of rage. In his treachery, he fled the arrest of the Hansetic officers of the law and ran with tail between legs into the wilderness. Let it be known to all among Our People that his name is utterly condemned, and those who harbor him shall be punished justly. In the Office of Grafherzen of the Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska, Signed in the name of Adrian of the House Sarkozy, Prince of Ulgaard, Margrave of Torevar, Master of Shadows, Commander of the King's Own. OOC Comment to the Flays: We got rekt in that fight lol. didn't expect your horse to be so close, nor you to have access to our doors. GGWP. also **** laggy ass horses lol

Adrian peered over the publication, making various notes on a ledger and noting names and events. "A droll affair," he shook his head, "The death of a former Empress-Consort. Yet the ***** had it coming."

Lord Adrian glanced over the publication, noting the names of each individual mentioned and marking them in a ledger. I'm not sure whether to have the publicist flogged or awarded a medal, he thought with a sad smile. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Oh well, the King's business comes first.

Adrian stood vigil over his distant cousin in that cold Northern night. Eyes that once had been lit with flame in wrath to protect his people now lay still and shut. Cold, so cold. His hands turned white, clenched in fury behind his back. Ever his eyes were placid and calm, yet vengeance brewed upon his mind. Vengeance against what, you fool? Death itself? Shall you lead a host to the Seven Hells and draw him back to the realm of life? When he found a moment alone in his chambers, the door slamming shut behind him, he buried his head in his hands. Adrian wept bitterly. For Haense. For Barbanov. For his cousin. For his King. For his one true friend. Adrian wept.

Jon scratched at his light stubble, his coif around his shoulders and his mask yet in place. "The boy has got guts," he murmured to a brother, received by a slight nod. His eyes brightened slightly, "Reminds me of me when I was young." He walked away smiling, who's smiling now, Josef?

Clicking this thread.

Jon would slide the invitation into a relevant dossier with the Amador seal. "Ten years," he'd murmur, placing the dossier once more where it belongs.

Jon glances over a particular missive, written in a curling and expressive script. His hands would neatly fold it, sliding it into a dossier marked 'Urguan.' He would close his eyes for a moment, running his fingers across his face. "If war is to come, I'd prefer it come quietly and go in silence," he would shrug to Cedrik, glancing up from his papers as Prince Karl would enter the room.

Jon would glance at the document, holding a candle closer to see the message more clearly. "A Jrent?" he'd murmur softly to himself, Cedrik having fallen asleep at his own desk already. "Surely, a joke," he'd shrug, making a few notes upon a parchment and sliding the sheet into a dossier with the Amador banner upon it.

Jon would glance at the missive, a slight chuckle emitting from his mask. "A bold move, though a clear one. His only reasons are his vanity." He would turn the piece of paper over to Cedrik, allowing the younger knight to read it for himself. "The lack of specifics is quite notable. If he had specifics to actually support such an act, he would have brought them forward, that they could strengthen his claim. Note that his causes are that he was hushed and deemed himself insulted, along with some vague and unclear mentions of misconduct. A vain man should never be the Vicar of God, nor should any true Canonists follow such a man." He would nod with a sense of grim disappointment, turning back to his desk to read a new document from the House of Kovachev.

Jon would glance over the report, his eyes flickering across the page. "Interesting. So if a man draws a blade on me, and I throw my axe into a passerby's skull, it would be his crime? Southern foolishness..." he'd mutter, sliding the report into a relevant dossier.

Jon would shrug, glancing over the paper. "The Tribune speaks poorly, and moves hastily. A petty act from a petty man," he'd remark to Cedrik.

In my experience, chicks dig dudes who have their own interests. Find something you're passionate about, follow your interests, build a career. Make friends, don't look for girls. Live your life, and the rest comes along.

Also do /sk <skill> select <main/second> to choose a primary profession. This allows you to level it to a higher level than normally possible (if not selected as a main/second skill, there is a skill cap). The countereffect is that it will place harsher skill caps on your other professions, making you more specialized.

Far to the north, a Hansetian knight would shake his head at the grim events that had transpired. "A new Emperor," he'd mutter, met with solemn nods from his brothers of the Crow. He would dust off his cloak, rising from his seat in the hallowed keep of Barbanov, the snow falling softly around him as he'd pace to his horse and swiftly saddle himself upon it. His eyes would cast themselves towards the sky, "A new snow," he'd smile gently before urging his horse forward into the Hansetian plains.

4'12" is 5'0".

Steak fries are the king of all fries. It's like putting Jesus himself into your mouth.

Fried potatoes, baked potatoes, grilled potatoes, boiled potatoes (small), mashed potatoes, potato stew, steak fries. And all other things potato.

Probably Jon's ascent to Knighthood. He's a lovely character, and very personal to roleplay because I imbued in him a lot of real life weaknesses that have similar effects on my own life.

Hmm. Foreigner tries to destroy building because of religious extremism. Let's celebrate him, because of a shitty movie based off a shitty book which no one has ever read. Memery aside, Guido Fawkes was a horrible ***** and failed miserably.

Jon Marbrand would glance up from the missive, scratching at the edge of his mask. "This will not do," he'd state quietly, glancing to his cousin. Josef would shrug, obviously occupied with the work at his own desk, scrawling messages to various lords and gentry on the business of the state. Jon would shake his head, taking a piece of parchment from his desk and writing quickly a message to the young King, stamping it with his personal seal of the White Falcon. It would read: "My dear King Andrik, The House of Marbrand is quite interested in pursuing the tradition of Northern glory. Consider an additional hundred ingots of purest gold as well as a dozen lances and pikes of pure Northern steel added to the winner's prize. For the runner-up, a fine Northern steed. Your faithful servant, Ser Jon II Marbrand" OOC: I will be unable to make the tournament, but I'll make sure these prizes find their way into the prize pool. Happy fighting, boys!

The bells of Rostig would sound, a deep chime heard across the snow plains. The people of Rostig, and the men of Marbrand, would gather to mourn. After the short ceremony, Jon mounted his destrier and set upon the path to St. Karlsberg, to swear once more his allegiance to the Barbanov King.

Jon would sip some warm cocoa, chuckling softly at any threats towards the orcs he addressed the letter toward, considering it was addressed to Orcs who had already declared themselves against the Uzg. He would also smirk very loudly at the fact that they would have to travel into Haense to support any threats, a place where the Uruks had not won a single battle.

A missive would be raised from the mighty barony of Rostig, carried far and wide to the cities and holdfasts of the Empire, except those of Savoy for an unknown reason. From the desk of Jon II Marbrand, Ensign in the 2nd Legion, Marshal of Rostig. "Countrymen, I am not one for politicking, so I will make this brief. IN the light of this recent condemnation I have felt obliged to bring to note the valor of the Orcs of Oren, who are often law-abiding citizens and have innumerably fought against the Iron Uzg. In my travels I have met with many who share the proper hatred of the Iron Uzg and have long-since forsworn any allegiance to their distant brethren. TO the Orcs of the Orenian Empire, who have fought and bled alongside us in this most righteous war, I say that you are not forgotten for your bravery and courage upon the field of battle; nor are you the baseminded brutes who raided and slew our kinsmen for ages. NOTING the glory of battle, and the efforts in which the Orenian Orcs have placed themselves in direct opposition to the Iron Uzg, they are honored as celebrated warriors among the Northerners I have the privilege to call my kin. ADDRESSING the purge of the Uruk (and similar entities) I write to inform you that should you wish an easy avenue of integrating once more into the Empire, despite this recent condemnation, you are forever welcome at Rostig to live the warrior's life as both our lineages dictate. Together, we will see to it that you are granted your Imperial Pardon and Citizenship within the Empire, as every man, woman, and child who has shed blood for our great Emperor is well deserving such. AVE ORENIA. AVE HANSETIA." Signed, Right Honorable Josef Marbrand, Baron of Rostig Lord Jon II Marbrand, Ensign, Marshal of Rostig

Jon II Marbrand would frown faintly at the missive, folding his hands behind his back as he'd read through the document. "A bold statement, though boldness does not substitute for wisdom," he'd mutter, being only heard by his companion. His hands would clench as he'd consider his options, thoughts flicking through his mind like seconds on a clock. "Burn it." he'd state calmly to his lieutenant. "Heresy may give way to enlightenment on occasion. Those who challenge the faith allow us to reaffirm it; but this is not the way." His lieutenant would nod, ripping the missive from the door and holding it to his torch. The scattered flakes of ash floating through the air marked its departure from this world. Jon would nod with satisfaction, striding down the street with his lieutenant in tow.