Xarkly

THE LOWER HOUSE REDRESS EDICT, 414 E.S. KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM Issued by the CROWN On this 7th day of Gronna and Droba of 414 E.S. VA BIRODEO HERZENAV AG EDLERVIK Nobility within the Kongzem of Haense is an endeavour of a family of honoured and esteemed blood, distinguished either through ancient blood or recent merits, to earn recognition and reward in return for loyal and tangible service to the Crown and the Haeseni people. Only a fool could deny that the balancing of noble hierarchies has been a tumultuous and inconsistent act throughout the Kongzem’s steeped history, and while we must accept the difficulty in striking this balance, we must not forego it, lest we allow the Noble Houses, their values, their virtues, and the essential role they play in Haeseni society. In tandem with the committal promotion of the House Ludovar, so too must the Crown address the status of the Lower Houses to reflect their station in the noble hierarchy. This is done to preserve the standards of nobility and service the Kongzem strives to enforce, and as inspiration for these Houses to attempt to match the merits of the Greater Houses, or for new Houses to rise. Therefore, the Crown decrees the following: In accordance with the Royal Letters for the County of Otistadt, the House Ludovar shall be elevated to Committal status; Upon the accession of Lord Filip Amador, the House Amador shall be relegated to Baronial status as the Barony of Mondstadt; Upon the accession of Lord Nikolai Kortrevich, the House Kortrevich shall be relegated to Viscountial status as the Viscounty of Krusev; Lord Elimar Mondblume is acknowledged as successor to the late Lord Sigmar Mondblume as Baron of Richtenburg. IV JOVEO MAAN His Royal Majesty SIGISMUND III by the Grace of Godan, King of Hanseti and Ruska, Grand Hetman of the Army, Prince of Bihar, Dules, Lahy, Muldav, Solvesborg, Slesvik and Ulgaard, Duke of Carnatia and Vanaheim, Margrave of Korstadt, Rothswald and Vasiland, Count of Alban, Alimar, Baranya, Graiswald, Karikhov, Karovia, Kaunas, Kavat, Kovachgrad, Kvasz, Markev, Nenzing, Torun, and Toruv, Viscount of Varna, Baron of Esenstadt, Kraken’s Watch, Kralta, Krepost, Lorentz, Rytsburg, Thurant, Venzia and Astfield, Lord of the Westfolk, Fidei Defensor, Protector of the Highlanders, etcetera.

ROYAL LETTERS FOR THE COUNTY OF OTISTADT KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM Issued by the CROWN On this 7th day of Gronna and Droba of 414 E.S. VA BIRODEO HERZENAV AG EDLERVIK In recent years, the Kongzem has witnessed many of its minor Houses fall into obscurity and become eclipsed by the greater Ducal Houses. In this generation, however, one House has stood to defy this trend and prove that with effort, dedication, and honour, the minor Houses have the potential to rise and stand alongside the great Ducal Houses. Therefore, it pleases the Crown to bestow upon the House Ludovar the County of Otistadt, elevating his Lordship Johann Ludovar to the rank of the Right Honourable Count of Otistadt, in recognition of the following endeavours: The performance of Johann Ludovar as High Justiciar on the Aulic Council; The participation of the House Ludovar in the Lower Petra campaign, which was equal to some Ducal Houses; The hosting of frequent social functions; Contributions made in the field of stewardry, diplomacy, and the Queen’s Council; Opening and management of the city orphanage; The unilateral funding of the operations and surgeons of the Hospital of St. Amayas. With this promotion, the House Ludovar is charged with new responsibility to continue their trend of growth and contribution to the Kongzem, and as a beacon of inspiration for the other minor Houses. For as much as this is a reward, it is also an obligation, but the Crown has full confidence in the current House Ludovar to demonstrate its worthiness. IV JOVEO MAAN His Royal Majesty SIGISMUND III by the Grace of Godan, King of Hanseti and Ruska, Grand Hetman of the Army, Prince of Bihar, Dules, Lahy, Muldav, Solvesborg, Slesvik and Ulgaard, Duke of Carnatia and Vanaheim, Margrave of Korstadt, Rothswald and Vasiland, Count of Alban, Alimar, Baranya, Graiswald, Karikhov, Karovia, Kaunas, Kavat, Kovachgrad, Kvasz, Markev, Nenzing, Torun, and Toruv, Viscount of Varna, Baron of Esenstadt, Kraken’s Watch, Kralta, Krepost, Lorentz, Rytsburg, Thurant, Venzia and Astfield, Lord of the Westfolk, Fidei Defensor, Protector of the Highlanders, etcetera.

A true gentleman. Good luck out there and stay safe moneybags <3

The Price of Mercy From his throne, King Sigismund III stared down at the Orenian prisoners. The throneroom of the Nikirala Palace was silent, but not for lack of people; fur-clad courtiers and woolen-garbed commoners alike packed the wings behind the bannered pillars that flanked the path to the throne, and the red-yellow flames of the braziers and torches flickering in their sconces gleamed against the plate and mail of Haeseni Knights and soldiers by the doorways. The crowd was silent but for a few snatches of whispers, and a tight tension hung in the air like a smog. All those eyes watched the Orenian captives with expressions that ranged from contempt to pity. Sigismund wondered which expression he wore. The captives - a man and two women - were Orenian nobles of a House Sigismund vaguely recognized - de Rosius - and they had been plucked from the southern roads by Haeseni raiders and delivered to Karosgrad like sacrificial lambs. They're retaliation, a cold voice in his head reminded him. They are justice. Justice for Erwin and Sigmar. Even thinking those names made his jaw clench. Those were the names that had started it all. When Sig's dear friend, Ser Erwin, and his own nephew, Sigmar, had travelled to Sedan to sell grain some months back, they had fallen prey to an Orenian patrol that promptly delivered them to the gallows in New Providence. Ever since, Haeseni soldiers had prowled the roads to the south, seeking unsuspecting Orenians to mete out justice to. Whether it was the Duke of Cathalon or Josephine Tuvyic, many had died since. An eye for an eye. That's all this war has become. The voice in Sig's head sounded shaky, now. A loved one for a loved one. That was what the silent, eager eyes waited for; they waited for Sigismund to pronounce the sentence, and to take the lives of the three before him. As retaliation. Those waiting eyes did not know who the three captives actually were, but Sig had come to. Kristofer, with his matted fair hair and the hollow look of defeat on his downcast eyes; his wife Chloé, her slender cheeks streaked with silvery tears; and Elara, clinging rigidly to her older sister's arm. When his soldiers had first delivered them to him, while Josephine Tuvyic's pyre still blazed in the square, Sig could not help but take pity on their bound hands, their faces pale from the cold, and their clothes streaked with dirt. They serve the anathema! They deserve death! A voice in his head had cried out, but Sig knew it was not his own voice, but rather what he knew everyone else would say. The voice had done nothing to stop Sigismund as he had the captives shepherded to the dining room, cleaned up, and served a fresh beef broth to ward off the late-winter cold. The voice had done nothing to stop him as he learned their names, learned that they were family. The voice had done nothing to stop him as he listened to Chloé plead for their lives, and beg him that none would be executed. What are you delaying for, fool? He scolded himself as his jaw quivered. The entire throneroom - the entire city - was watching and waiting for him to pass judgment, and to give the order for their heads to roll. As revenge. For Erwin. For Sigmar! And yet, that voice did nothing to drive him either as he stared down at the captives. The quivering of his jaw increased. For ... Sigmar. I have to. Sigmar had been Sigismund's own nephew, and the son of his late elder sister -- the one person Sig had loved more than anyone else. In a way, Sigmar's presence felt like a piece of his sister still remained even after her death, but that was not the only reason guilt consumed Sigismund over Sigmar's death; when Sigmar's own father had died, Sig had promised to be there for him, to guide him, to help him. It had been just a few weeks ago that the pair of them had stood at the shores of Reinmar, watching the light of the setting sun fracture across the water, and they had promised they would both survive the war in Oren so that Sigmar would find a good wife. And now he's gone. Killed, not in honourable battle, but like a criminal on the gallows ... because of a war he fought on my orders. Sig felt ... empty, and for a moment, he imaged he shared the hollow look that Kristofer wore as he awaited his death sentence. The eager eyes of the court lit up as Sigismund's hand brushed back his red cloak, and reached for the sword sheathed at his waist. Is this what you would have wanted, Erwin? Is it, Sigmar? Sigismund's hand clenched around the hilt of the sheathed blade. He was angry, and he did want revenge. And yet, as he looked down at the three Orenian nobles ... he knew. He knew killing them would bring him no joy. It would bring no justice. It would bring Almaris no closer to peace, no closer to justice. Their deaths would just be that -- another death, and their deaths would lead to more deaths in retaliation and revenge. How much longer? He found himself asking, and the voice in his head had turned frail. His eyes stared down at the captives, but he was not really looking at anything. How much longer will we have to do this? Kristofer's devoid gaze had not left the carpet beneath him as he waited for his death. How many more heads must we take? Those silvery tears rolled down Chloé's cheek. How many lives and families, sundered? That had never been in his tuition growing up. He had never been taught how to exact justice in the chaos the world had become. He doubted anyone knew how, if there even was a way. Slowly, he closed his eyes as his fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. When he opened his eyes again, the hollow feeling was gone. He had known all along. "Vy may leave Karosgrad," he declared, his voice shattering the silence. "If vy denounce the anathema, vy may leave with vyr lives." Like a broken dam, noise flooded the hall once more; Chloé let out a cry of sheer relief, while surprised murmurs rippled out among the courtiers. None, it seemed, had expected mercy. As Kristofer and Chloé in turn professed they condemned the actions of their Emperor and Empress, Sig hardly listened; it took all his concentration to keep his eyes on them, so that he did not have to see the accusation in any of the eyes of the courtiers who hurt, who thirsted for revenge for the Haensemen who had died in Oren. The din of chatter swelled within the throneroom as the de Rosius' expressed their gratitude, with Chloé even going so far as to offer her sister's hand in marriage after the war as a sign of peace. Sig heard the words, but he did not really comprehend, for his mind was elsewhere. It was only now that he could see most of the court smiled - in approval, no less - and many looked relieved that there would be no execution. Why did I do that? he asked himself as the talk below continued. Because it was ... the right thing to do? He stared down at the callused hand that had gripped his sword. Or because I was too craven to do it? Too much of a coward to cut down a family like that? Slowly, he closed the fist. It did not matter -- he was already haunted with questions like that, haunted by the consequences of his actions over these last years. What was one more to add to the list? He turned where he stood, his red cloak swirling after him, and began to march off the dais with his jaw still clenched. He did not know if his act of mercy would achieve anything, if it had taught anything about the bloodshed of this war, or if the de Rosius would just take up arms against him as soon as he returned home. Most of all, he did not know if that act of mercy had shamed the memory of Erwin and Sigmar, or if that shame was the price of mercy. Erwin ... Sigmar ... forgive me. As he left the dais, the Haeseni warcry rose up within the hall, and haunted his every step back to his chambers. "KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM!"

Could we get a response to this ASAP @itdontmatta@Nectorist. Cutting it pretty close to warclaim day, need to know before tonight GMT.

Summons to the 1st STEEL PLEDGE Issued by the KNIGHT PARAMOUNT On this 8th day of Joma and Umund of 409 E.S. VA VE KOSSAR I HAENZ The militant Knights of Haense have undergone constant growth and evolution since their rebirth with the Edict of Knightly Orders nearly half a century ago in 343 E.S. under the patronage of King Josef I, and most recently were reformed again with the Kossar i Haenz edict published by the Crown, on top of decades of cultural innovation and the formulation of new ceremonies that commemorate the Knight's Table's virtue and chivalric role in the Kongzem. In implementing many of these changes, the Crown has personally occupied the Seat of Slavomir as Knight Paramount for several years now, but the time has come for a Knight of the Table to occupy the seat as leader of the Table. Therefore, the Crown decrees that the 1st ceremony of the Steel Pledge shall be held to elect the next Knight Paramount, in which Seated Knights are called to the Nikirala Prikaz to be vote and be voted for. The following Knights are thus summoned: SER REINHARDT THE UNBROKEN, OF THE HOUSE BARCLAY, 2ND KNIGHT OF THE TABLE [ @Capt_Chief26 ] DAME LYNETTE THE RESOLUTE, 3RD KNIGHT OF THE TABLE [ @CopOwl ] DAME TAVISHA THE INDEPENDENT, OF THE HOUSE MOROVAR, 3RD KNIGHT OF THE TABLE [ @Drasanee ] SER FLEMIUS THE UNWAVERING, 4TH KNIGHT OF THE TABLE [ @FlemishSupremacy ] SER VIKTOR THE BEAST, OF THE HOUSE BARUCH, 5TH KNIGHT OF THE TABLE [ @indiana105 ] SER ABRAHAM THE FAITHFUL, 6TH KNIGHT OF THE TABLE [ @1_Language_1 ] SER AUGUST THE STALLION, OF THE HOUSE BARCLAY, 7TH KNIGHT OF THE TABLE [ @Ziggitee ] Squires and Unseated Knights shall attend the ceremony, but only the above Seated Knights may vote. The ceremony shall be scheduled by way of meeting of the Table in the coming weeks. IV JOVEO MAAN His Royal Majesty SIGISMUND III by the Grace of Godan, King of Hanseti and Ruska, acting 1st Knight of the Table, Grand Hetman of the Army, Prince of Bihar, Dules, Lahy, Muldav, Solvesborg, Slesvik and Ulgaard, Duke of Carnatia and Vanaheim, Margrave of Korstadt, Rothswald and Vasiland, Count of Alban, Alimar, Baranya, Graiswald, Karikhov, Karovia, Kaunas, Kavat, Kovachgrad, Kvasz, Markev, Nenzing, Torun, and Toruv, Viscount of Varna, Baron of Esenstadt, Kraken’s Watch, Kralta, Krepost, Lorentz, Rytsburg, Thurant, Venzia and Astfield, Lord of the Westfolk, Fidei Defensor, Protector of the Highlanders, etcetera.

Ve Zvaerd i Jungingen THE SWORD OF JUNGINGEN "You still do not understand, do you? If you are to be King, Young Feodor, you must value men of the mind equal to men of the sword. For without the mind, the sword has nothing to fight for." - Bogatyr Stanislaw Horselegs, Book of the Bogatyr The Kongzem of Haense has always prided itself on its steel-willed endurance and militant culture, forged in the bitter flames of the Great Northern War and the Czena Wars, among many others, and thus the hallowed heroes of our Kongzem are often those who distinguished themselves on the battlefield. For generations now, however, wise Kings and fools alike have realized that true might is derived from strength of body and mind. It is thus fitting that the Kongzem endeavour to afford due recognition to those who nurture the mind of our Kongzem through works of art -- through the championing of culture, the articulation of new ideas, and the exhibition of Haeseni wit. In proper commemoration of these artists, the Sword of Jungingen competition is to be established as a contest that celebrates the great works of Haeseni writers and artists, and elect the greatest among them with the Sword of Jungingen itself, namesake of the competition. Dietrich van Jungingen, Patron of the Award This artistic award is dubbed in honour of Firr Dietrich van Jungingen as the premier Haeseni poet who achieved fame during the reign of King Sigismund II with works such as Sigismund's Kingdom and the Nation Awakes, the likes of which saw him admitted to the meritorious Order of Queen Maya and the Lily in 327 E.S. as a Kossar. In commemoration of the launching of the Sword of Jungingen award, a full compendium of his literary works was published, including poetic pieces that had gone unpublished since his death. It is fitting that the Sword of Jungingen will serve as a distinction to all who follow in his footsteps. Format of the Contest The Blade of Jungingen competition will adhere to the below format: I. Haeseni writers and artists nominate a piece of their artistic works to the judging panel. Deceased authors (for example, Viktor Kortrevich) can have their works nominated by their families. I.I - Qualifying Works: Any artistic work can be submitted to the competition. This includes historical and fictional literature, poetry, music lyrics, cultural exhibitions, painting, and tailoring. Depending on the volume of submissions, there may be two categories of awards - art and literature. I.II - Judging Panel: The winner of the Sword of Jungingen will be determined by Queen Emma of Jerovitz and two of her courtiers, which will only be selected by the Queen after all works are received so as to ensure impartiality. The judges will determine the winner and runner-ups through scope of the words, cultural relevance, and quality. II. Applicants will have a period of two Saint's weeks to submit their entries [until March 1st]. III. The Royal Court will sit in the year following the deadline, during which the winner of the Sword of Jungingen will be announced. Prizes The winner of the competition will be awarded the namesake prize - the Sword of Jungingen itself; a master-crafted ceremonial blade to serve as a trophy for the winner - alongside an award of 1,000 mina, a statue constructed on the steps of the Nikirala Prikaz, overlooking the square of Karosgrad, and entry into the Order of Queen Maya and the Lily. The second-place runner-up will receive 500 mina and entry into the Order of Queen Maya and the Lily. The third-place runner up will receive 250 mina. OOC NOTE ON PARTICIPATION IV JOVEO MAAN His Royal Majesty SIGISMUND III by the Grace of Godan, King of Hanseti and Ruska, Grand Hetman of the Army, Prince of Bihar, Dules, Lahy, Muldav, Solvesborg, Slesvik and Ulgaard, Duke of Carnatia and Vanaheim, Margrave of Korstadt, Rothswald and Vasiland, Count of Alban, Alimar, Baranya, Graiswald, Karikhov, Karovia, Kaunas, Kavat, Kovachgrad, Kvasz, Markev, Nenzing, Torun, and Toruv, Viscount of Varna, Baron of Esenstadt, Kraken’s Watch, Kralta, Krepost, Lorentz, Rytsburg, Thurant, Venzia and Astfield, Lord of the Westfolk, Fidei Defensor, Protector of the Highlanders, etcetera.

PARTING WORDS The markings of winter fell softly around the grave of Annika Vyronov. The snow, though bitter and deadly, fell softly like cottonspores, and the snow-laden branches of a circle of evergreens shielded it from the wind. The snow crunched gently under the boots of Sigismund as he approached, cowl drawn to mask his face, and he sank to his knees in front of the fresh-cut marble that bore the Queen Mother's name in proud golden inlay. For a long moment, he just stared at the name of his mother -- the name of the woman that forged him, taught him, loved him. As the wind stirred his cloak, he rose a shaking hand that gripped a letter. He could not speak the words he needed to now -- not with her loss so recent -- and so he slowly placed the letter on the grave, and weighed it down with a stone. Then, he simply sat, and stared at the grave. He knew no one would ever read that letter, and he could not conjure the strength to speak them. Yet he knew each word off by heart, and so he hoped - he prayed - that that was enough for it to reach her. Mamej Quite rude of you to just up and leave like that, don't you think? Had anyone done that to you, you'd have them by the ear. Only that I doubt you wanted to leave so soon. Or, then again, maybe you did. After all, you're back with Petra and Marus, now. I'd pay any price to see them again -- to see Petra smile, to rest my head on her shoulder as she assured me everything would be alright. Sometimes, I still hear Marus' laugh in my dreams. You know the one; the one where he gets so excited that his giggles turn into a snort. Whenever I hear that laugh in my dream, I wake up sweating. Is he haunting me, I wonder? Perhaps you can check for me. Or did you wish to stay a while longer with those who remained? With Andrik, Anastasya, papej, your grandchildren ... and me? Of course, I know you did not exactly have a choice. But if you did ... I wonder which you would pick. I wonder which I would pick, too. I surprise myself with how light-hearted these words sound. You always taught me that whatever I do, to do it with pride and honour, so I am not ashamed to admit I weep as I write this. Because I miss you, mamej. I know how you are not my birth-mother. I have always known this, since I was old enough to read, but it never changed anything. Even when my birth-mother revealed herself to be alive, it did nothing to challenge the bond that has always existed between you and I. I know you worried, but there was never any need. You were, are, and will always be, my mother. And yet, so much has changed. You are gone, as is Petra, and Marus, and so many others that I loved. I thought the hardest part of being King would learning all the duties, how to use my powers responsibly, how to court other nations, and how to lead armies. I was wrong, of course. The hardest part was learning there are things even a King cannot do -- people even a King cannot protect. I command a Brotherhood of over ten-thousand soldiers, but I could not save Petra. The Knight's Table of dozens of devoted warriors kneels before me, but I could not save Marus. The Church names me its greatest Defender, and I could not save you. Did papej ever have moments like that? Moments where it seemed like he was powerless against the hands of fate, like a leaf in the current? I suppose I should have known all along, shouldn't I? Since my own son died mere minutes after his birth, I should have realized that no one - not even the 'Fidei Defensor' - can change the tides of fate. Do you see it differently from up there? Do you see if there was a purpose to all this? A purpose to your death, to the others', to this wretched war? To everything? I yearn to know that almost as much as I yearn to see you and the others again. Almost. But ... perhaps that is what makes our time together precious. That, at any moment, our lives could be snuffed out makes it so that the time we do share together is priceless. Perhaps I merely cling to this conclusion because it is the only one that brings comfort, but I will do it nonetheless. I weep for you now, but I will never forget our time together, mamej. I will never forget your stern lessons in the Prikaz as a boy, nor will I ever forget your love and comfort for a boy who was not your own. I will never forget your smile, your embrace, and the love with which you raised me. It is ironic that that same love has made my duties as King so much harder. There are still so many I love that remain alive with me, from my family to my children. I have tried to make myself stone -- to make my heart iron -- so that I can lead the Kongzem with a level head, but my efforts have been in vain. As a result, every decision I make it measured against the love I have for those who stand by my side, and so every mistake hurts tenfold. ... Even so, I would not have it any other way. All that remains is to face the future, to face this war and its consequences - whether that be victory or defeat, salvation or desolation - with the honour you taught me. No matter what horrors this war forces me to commit, know that I remain your son, now and always. Whether it will be at the end of an Orenian sword, or at my bed in fifty years, I will greet death, because that means I will get to see you again. I suppose this is goodbye for now, then. Farewell. I shall love you always, mamej. Tell Godan to give me a break. -your son. Sigismund did not know how long he knelt by the gravestone, with the snow descending in gentle flurries all around him, but he did not care about time. Before he had to leave, before he had to go and face the horrors of war, he just sat there. He sat there, and said goodbye to his mother. @Mady

Hey, I just had two important questions @itdontmatta 1 - Battle Format: For the field battle, I'm told you said to Dwarves we'd be opting for a traditional 1-life team deathmatch rather than the warzone capture-the-point plugin. The deathmatch seems preferable -- just to hear it from the horse's mouth, is this the case? 2 - Gear: Please please let us use the infinite gear plugin from the first skirmish on tile 91. The manual gear handout for the siege was an enormous headache and added about 20-30 minutes onto prep time. My suggestion is to let us use the infinite gear plugin and then just tax each side a set for every dearth. I.e., if 50 people die on Side A, Side A has to fork over 50 sets. This is the fairest and simplest way, but please don't make us manually handout gear again, figuring out how to do that for 150+ people was harder than the actual warclaim last time.

ASH ON THE WIND Sigismund and Eirik Baruch walked slowly through the outer bailey. Sig was grateful that the stench of smoke masked the smell of death, as each bootstep crunched on charred wood and stirred a cloud of fresh ash. That same ash mired the air like woodland spores, marking the wind with wispy grey trails as it snaked through outer Karosgrad. On a normal day, the road on which Sig and the Palatine now stood would have been thronged with peasants collecting firewood, farmers driving their cattle to market, or the Knight’s Table mounting their patrols. Today, ash and bodies replaced them. Be still, a voice in Sig’s head whispered as he began to twitch a finger. Be stone. He could not afford to falter; despite the ashen haze that hung in the air, he could still make out his people all around him. Head-scarfed clinicians moved in lines, carrying the wounded - and the dead - back to the city, but they were outnumbered by the clusters of Brotherhood soldiers gathering up the corpses of red-coated Orenians to be buried. Some stared at the Orenian corpses with venom, others with sympathy, some regret, while some joined the priests in murmuring prayers for their souls. Despite the death all around him, despite the thick ash that hung over Karosgrad like a veil, the air was electric with optimism. Through the din of coughing and prayers, laughter and bursts of song echoed throughout the bailey. As Sig and Eirik rounded the road leading to the outer gate, a trio of Brotherhood armsmen clearing the body of a fallen horse roared out the lyrics to Trollslayer’s Ballad: “The red walls stood firm, and her men bared their weapons! ‘Take another step forward,’ they called, ‘and be sent to the heavens!’” That song had been written in honour of those who died defending Karosgrad from the great Rimetroll incursion, and celebrated the city's endurance. The irony of the moment was not lost on Sig. “Forgive me for saying so, Majesty,” Eirik intoned softly as he and Sig continued towards the gate, “but you don’t exactly seem … ah, alight with glee.” “Hmph.” Sig frowned as he glanced towards the Palatine. Eirik had changed into a fresh cap and beaverskin cloak after the battle, and had even had time to rinse the dirt and blood from his face. Compared to everyone else around him, the grin on the Palatine’s face seemed resplendent. “Is it so obvious?” “Your face looks like a thundercloud,” the Ayrian said wistfully. “What is it? You don't see this as a great victory for the Kongzem?” A great victory … Sig paused as they reached the foot of the bailey’s gatehouse, and glanced over his shoulder. Through the haze of the ash, black-gold banners snapped above the heads of singing soldiers. Was it? No one could deny the fact that a host of nearly 6,500 Orenians had marched to Karosgrad, and the combined Accord forces of nearly ten thousand had driven them many leagues from the red walls, all the way to their refuge in Norland. They had fought on the hills, on the roads, and then as far as the frozen lakes of the Rimeveld - not once, but twice - before the fighting had ended, far from the Orenian's target of Karosgrad. Then why do I feel like this? Sig raised his hands, dirt and blood alike thick in the groves, despite the fact that he had fought with gauntlets. His eyes traced up, and fell upon the Orenian corpses strewn on the road to Vidaus beyond the gate. Eyes, filmed with death, stared up in horror at the sky, with lances, arrows, and broken spears plunged deep inside their mail. A red-and-white striped Orenian banner, snapped at the mast, stirred weakly from one of the bodies. “Eirik,” he began slowly. He was vaguely aware that some of the Haeseni soldiers had spotted him through the ash. “I don’t know if I …” He trailed off as he looked into the dead eyes of the fallen Orenians. What … What were their last thoughts? He found himself asking. Was it hate? God? A part of him found that unlikely. Or … home? And family? His stomach abruptly felt as if his guts had knotted themselves. The sinking thought of his own children - his beloved Klara, Karl, Sergei, Josef, and Maya - being told that their father had fallen in battle hit him like a hammer. Nearly four thousand - Accord and Orenian alike - had fallen on this day, and that number echoed in his mind like a shout in a chasm. How many children orphaned? How many marriages sundered? Despite it being the second consecutive victory for the Accord, it was the second of countless more battles to come. It took him a moment to realise the low grinding sound was his own teeth. “Eirik … I …” Before he could whisper another word, the Palatine clamped a hand on his shoulder. “The soldiers,” he intoned quietly for only Sig’s ears. “They’re watching. The whole kingdom is.” It was true, Sig saw. The soldiers that had spotted him had thrown up a cry of ‘KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM’ that had echoed throughout the bailey. Within seconds, a crowd of triumphant Brotherhood soldiers had gathered, cheering, watching. Watching them -- watching him. “I don’t know if I …” He did not finish the sentence, for there were multiple endings. In the face of war on his own home, he did not know if he had the strength to cause so much death. He did not know if he had the strength to orphan so many, to snuff out so many lives, or worse, to face the possibility that he might let his beloved children lose their father. Why did it have to fall to me? Why could I not have had the time of my father and grandfather? The sound of the victorious calls behind him seemed to fade into silence in his mind, replaced by the lonely whistle of the ash-clogged wind as it wound down the road. Why do I have to be the one who has to fight? He pressed a bloodied hand to his temple as he winced. All I wanted to do was live in peace in my walls. His shoulders shook with a hollow laugh. As well as wish that the sky was red; no matter how much he wished it were not the case, this war had fallen upon his time, and no matter if he had broken his word to the Dwarves and secluded himself in Haense, it would have come all the same. “I never asked for this,” he snarled under his breath, and he glared through his fingers up at the ashen sky. “I never asked to be your Fidei Defensor.” “I know,” came Eirik’s response, solemn and sympathetic. “But you have no choice. We do not choose our role in history ... but it is your duty to play the one given to you." The mirthless laughter continued, and Sig felt tears shroud his eyes. He knew. He had always known. It was just mere days ago, at the Battle of the Bards, that he had spoken the same paradox to a Qalasheen visitor: those who have the most power have the least. He had no choice now. He doubted that he ever did. But why? Why should I be the one forced to take up this mantel? Why should this fight be mine? Even Eirik seemed to have vanished in Sig's mind, now. It were as if he stood alone on that ash-strewn road. I could just ... I could break my word ... shelter inside Haense's walls and enjoy my paradise for just a few more years before they come for us ... Surely I ... I could ... No. He closed his fists. He knew he could not. He had built Haense into his own paradise, a place where the streets were thronged with playing children and leal subjects, of chivalrous knights and true friends. He had committed a cardinal sin as a monarch, and come to love his own family to the point of distraction from his duties. But he knew that he could not selfishly retreat to that paradise, and leave the rest of the world to fight without him, for the very same reason that it had become his paradise in the first place. So many had died to bring Haense so far. Even in Sig's own lifetime, he had lost so much: Eleanora, his first love; Marus, his younger brother whose laugh still haunted him; Igor, his first tutor; Cedric, his first protector; Ailred, who had taught him to fight, and how to lead; Henrietta, his first friend; Fionn, who had died in his service; Annika, the woman who had been his true mother ... and Petra, the one person whom Sig had cherished above all others. They had all lived and died for the land that was not just their birthplace, but had been a place they believed in. A good place. Before them, the dead that had given their souls to this land were beyond count. At that moment, Sig could feel them. They were there, and they were watching. They were watching to see what had become of the land they had loved, and the lives they gave. Would it break its honour, and cower behind walls until their enemies came for them? Or would they stand as they did today in the face of an army that claimed itself greater, and perhaps, just maybe, win? As he reached for the sword sheathed at his side - his first blade, a gift from the late Ser Ailred - Sig looked one last time at the snapped Orenian banner on the road, and the bodies strewn around it. I'm sorry. I don't hate you. But I have my duty ... and you have yours. With a hiss, the sword left its sheath as Sig turned around to the soldiers, and he held it high. A sudden silence washed over them. “LET THIS BE A MESSAGE,” he bellowed, then, his face contorted into a glare. Not an ounce of hesitation remained. “WE HAVE WON HERE TODAY! KAROSGRAD STANDS!” "KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM!" The crowd roared back without hesitation. "KAROSGRAD STANDS!" "KRAWN AG KONGZEM!" "KAROSGRAD STANDS!" The cry formed on the lips of the onlookers, curled into brazen grins, as they began to chant ‘KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM’, but Sig did not smile. Whether he was righteous - sane, even - or whether he would be condemned in history or cut down in the first proper battle, he did not know. He only knew he could not be the monster they needed to lead them in this war. In his heart, he knew that ultimate truth. But he would pretend he was until the very end, even if it cost him his soul.

>calls himself a gamer >doesn't play super auto pets how do u think war should work optimally on da craft

The world will move on. That was not a though that would occur to Sigismund - now, or ever. The duties of King were not easy ones, and with those duties came solitude which only a few could truly ever ease. Despite those precious few, fate seemed to have been deliberate in leaving them dead -- it had started with his firstborn son, the one person who was meant to grow up and inherit Sigismund's burden; then it had been Marus, his innocent and beloved, if foolish, younger brother, left dead right as he had begun to understand what it meant to be a man instead of a boy; and now Petra. His older sister, who had been the one to hold Sigismund's hand when he first left the Palace, when they walked down Crown Avenue and were given dolls of their parents as gifts. Petra, who had coached Sigismund into making friends, and even meeting the first woman he had loved. Petra, who had been a constant in his the brief days of freedom and fun before he had been forced to assume the Crown. Now, she too, was dead. As he heard the news, Sig's face was utterly still, but the leather of his sword-grip creaked audibly as he clenched it with a bone-white grip. He wanted to use that sword on someone. He was not sure who yet, but he did. Someone deserved to pay.

Ve Stezdsa i Andrik's Goszk THE LEGEND OF ANDRIK'S CUP When King Andrik fell upon a chase His liegemen rushed him home with haste In their rush they left their retreat Whereupon the King’s Cup did poachers treat The looters squabbled, for who would own this treasure? Until from the Cup one drank, and killed his kin with pleasure For within the Cup lay the fire of the King And he who drank could face all fate would bring With the Cup in hand, the poacher roamed the land He razed farm and village, and hundreds died to his hand For he was the Knight of the Cup and a brigand true With the strength of King Andrik, all challengers he slew A court of thieves he raised around the Cup Though compared to he, each one was a pup For generations of pillaging they endured And in the eyes of justice they remained obscured The Knight did spite virtue and died of age But he passed down the Cup as he left his stage Thus the legend of the Knight of the Cup was born anew And judgment did the Knight eschew - An anonymous Haeseni folksong

Yeah, this was sort of what I meant about attaching your sentiments to the name rather than what it represents. I'm content to have my Haense judged for its own mistakes, but I do think it's unreasonably and unfair to have this "sins of the father" scenario -- I'm sure you'll agree it's massively problematic if issues with the old generation are attributed to the new, which in turn creates OOC tension between the new generation and whoever is attributing those problems to them. Each generation is going to have enough of their own mistakes to account for without also having to deal with those who came before. I'm also a bit dubious about your metric for judging the community to be unpleasant. The instances you're referring to in your first paragraph happened, from what I can gather, over two and a half years ago. That's a long time for LotC and accounts for maybe half a dozen NLs if not more. To apply this discontent for actions taken over 30 months ago to now just feels a bit unrealistic and unconvincing. Again, you're perfectly within your rights to dislike a community - that's what there's plenty to choose from on the server - but I think if you want to reasonably make that claim you shouldn't cite what happened two and a half years ago (and more) as evidence. I'm not saying what happened back then is right or wrong, or whether Oren/Renatus/Norland shouldn't have been given the same opportunities, but I just don't think harkening back to the distant past is going to do anything but perpetuate OOC tensions among people who probably weren't even around for those incidents (for context, every single person on Haense's council did not play in the nation during W2E). Ultimately, there's no way you can ever get redress for your grievances if you look through the lens of 2018/2019. Holding OOC grudges against a community like this - however justifiable they might have been at the time - is only ever just going to lead to OOC conflict with future generations, and I'm sure you'll agree for the sake of a pleasant community/server, we should all work to avoid that.

Like every nation, Haense has its issues. Its one of the oldest communities on the server, but its a bit different from others in that it has a foundation of a lot subcommunities, mainly for individual noble houses. The natural consequence of this is that it is absolutely hard for newer people to integrate sometimes, definitely moreso than some other nations. It's not the most noob-friendly, which is really unfortunate, but all there really is to be said is that it's something that's being worked on. We've been saying it for months that new player integration is probably our most prevalent issue and have gradually been trying to make tweaks, but it's mostly a matter of cycling out older attitudes and inclinations of how people RP in groups. That said, the nation's still not going to be for everyone, which is why LotC has a lot more to offer. I guess the point I'm trying to make in this paragraph is that -- yeah, for sure we Haense has its problems, but with a bit of luck maybe it can be fixed before the next nation leader faces a new batch of problems. To be honest, I feel like each nation needs to be appraised based on the leader at the given time and the relevant ideals perpetuated, rather than association with the name in general. I know how easy it is to hold disdain towards a name itself -- I was very bitter towards Renatus for their aggression against Haense when I was a much younger and stupider player on Atlas -- but, obviously, we should be really careful not to embed this general disdain towards a name rather than what a community actually currently represents. I'm not saying you don't have valid reasons, but moreso expressing caution at the notion of 'old reasons', because communities and their ideals change a lot from NL to NL. Pr0fit's Norland isn't the same Norland as Mason's and most before him, Nect's Oren isn't the same as those who came before him, the same way my Haense isn't (whether that's for better or worse is up to you). Despite the fact it is, in my own words, built on older and enduring subcommunities, when it comes to the nation as a whole, faces and leaders come and go, and new generations overtake the old. In that regard, it's definitely much fluid than it was in that the same circles aren't the ones in control like they did for years at a time in the past. While the name, whether Norland, Oren, or Haense, persists, what that name actually represents can be profoundly different from what it did years or even months ago. So yeah, I just think we all need to be very careful when it comes to old reasons, and how we OOCly act towards modern entities wearing old names. If you wanna talk more about that you're free to dm me at Conor#8203.

Not one to be outdone, the King of Haense bids two deeds to Du Loc.

Does that count as a bet? The Kongzem inquires. It proceeds to offer two bolts and two golden blades if affirmative.

The Kongzem respects a good bluff, but it's here to talk business. It bids 3,100.

The Kongzem of Haense bids 3,001 mina. It doesn't put the bid in so fast as to draw attention or make people wonder where they're trying to buy it first.

Ve Soeng i Staalcehz THE SONG OF STEELHEART A Haeseni ballad composed in the honour of the late Ser Ailred var Ruthern Lord Marshal, Knight of the Table, Mentor, Father, and Friend Rest in Peace [SANG TO THE FOLLOWING SONG] From the slopes of Vidaus a chill wind blew West it wound, 'cross frozen ground And over Haense it blew The wind told tales of a shark on the hill A knight and lord, who wed the sword And whose talent was to kill The wind cheered for his great wars Of silver slain and dragons' bane Of triumphs on foreign shores But so too did the wind regale Of true love lost, of heart turned frost And yet marched on to prevail The wind spoke of those he raised Sharkborn kin and royals of sin By whom his name was praised And so too did the wind sing of those he led His fabled Brotherhood, beside whom no other stood Who mourned with the wind of the dead For the wind had known and sang from the start Of the courage, the tragedy, and honour Of Ser Ailred Steelheart

Very pretty

There's a reason why a lot of GMs don't always stick around past a few months, and that's because it's genuinely really tough, and often unrewarding, work where you're basically dealing with the server's shit, and sometimes dark stuff, for hours at a time. You have to deal with players who might be angry or abusive - rightly or wrongly - with people trying to take advantage of you, and literal high-pressure situations that require you to make decisions on the spot. The fact that you did this for a year without backing down, without hiding from conflict tickets like past long-lived mods, owning any mistakes you make, without losing your shit at all the frustrating stuff that goes on behind the scenes, is actually one of the most impressive things I've ever seen on this server. You should be proud of yourself, just as I'm proud to call you my friend. Thanks for your time.

Haense Ambient Project: SEASONS OF HAENSE The Kongzem of Haense has always proven itself a harsh land. This is true both in its history of struggle, war, and endurance, but also in its physical landscape. From the craggy coasts of ancient Siegrad, assailed by seaward winds, where the land of Haense was first born, to the crimson walls of the Royal Capital of today - Karosgrad - which defiantly face the Rimeveld from the north, from which freezing gales and blizzards blow, the Haeseni people have always built their hearth in inhospitable lands. The affinity for settling harsh lands is intertwined with the identity of the Haeseni people as a whole, who, for their entire existence, have weathered crushing defeats such as that in the Great Northern War and have endured overlords for whom they have no love. It is this constant struggle, and this consequent endurance of the Haeseni people, that has defined that very people -- for without these defeats, this Kongzem would have never basked in victories akin to the Greyspine Rebellion, and the mantra of persistence in Haeseni history. It should thus come as little surprise that this iron-willed people choose more difficult lands to settle as a constant test and tempering of the Haeseni spirit, and so that slothful living in warmer, southern climates does not lead to lethargy and weakness. For, as the Reinmaren say, he who rests will rust. In recognition of the importance of our harsh homeland, this scroll records the characteristics and customs of the Haeseni seasons on Almaris. THE HAESENI SPRING The spring months of Haense consist of Jula & Piov (Common: Malin's Welcome) to Vzmey & Hyff (Common: The First Seed). Unlike the regions of Almaris to the south, the spring in Haense is a time where the winter cold slowly fades with great reluctance, and the hibernation of nature slowly winds to an end. Symbolically, the time of Haeseni spring is a time of rest, contemplating, and waiting -- the hardships of winter have been left behind, and the battle of survival won for another year. The reward for victory is only the calming of the snows, and a few brief weeks of peace before warming temperatures necessitate the need to begin toiling for the new farming season. The Month of Rest Jula & Piov The heavy winter snowstorms no longer blow down south from the Rimeveld as Almaris gradually begins to warm, and although the thick snows cloaking the capital regions of Haense begin to melt after the first two weeks of Jula and Piov, it takes the entire month before it completely melts. Lighter snowfalls typically continue throughout the season, though nothing compared to the blizzards of winter. In the latter half of the month, it is common for Haeseni to have to take advantage of the calming weather to call upon the service of thatchers and slaters to replace roofs damaged by snow and hail. In the final days of the month, rain begins to replace the snow. Though planting season does not begin until the cold abates much later in the season, farmers typically begin to allow their hardier animals to graze. Goats, sheeps, rams, and furry oxen become a common sight on the grazing plains between Astfield and Valwyck, while livestock such as pigs and horses are kept in barns until the weather warms towards the end of the month before letting them graze. Consequently, the warmer, final days of Jula & Piov serve as mating season for many Haeseni livestock, stretching into the middle of Vzmey & Hyff. It is only towards the end of the month that winter hibernation begins to end. Juniper, ash, cedar, willow, and maple trees begin to cloak their once-bare branches in buds, though they do not bloom until much later into spring owing to the lingering cold. Wildflowers and berries do not begin to bloom until the final days of the month, during which time wild animals such as bears begin to crawl out of their dens after the long winter hibernation. Serfs often mark the end of hibernation as when ‘bearflowers’ bloom -- hardy, yellow dandelions that are among the first flowers to regrow. Haeseni folk consider Jula & Piov a month of peace and rest. No longer must they contend with the wrath of the Haeseni winter, and not yet are they required to begin the arduous planting season for their farms. Consequently, serfs take the month to tend to damage to their farmsteads and homes caused by the winter storms, and let their animals graze again. Among the peasantry, it is considered a time for family and rest. The Month of Rust Vzmey & Hyff The second half of winter marks a departure from the calm and quiet of Jula & Piov. The beginning of Vzmey & Hyff is usually marked with the arrival of the infamous freezing rainfall of the Haeseni spring. In the place of the soft snows of Jula & Piov, Haeseni must contend with frequent downpours of chilling rain that frustrate work and drive most folk indoors whenever possible. The frequent rains often leave those forced to work outdoors with illness, known as ‘Shephard’s Cough’. Despite the disdain held for the rain, it vanquishes the last of the lingering winter snow and nourishes growth as wildlife returns to the Kongzem. Wildflowers bloom in meadows, the trees grow out their leaves to paint the forests a patchwork of green, yellow, and red, and bears begin to roam the forests while wolf packs, paradoxically, migrate further north and away from farmsteads as game becomes more common. It is unfortunate that such a wet month is also one of the most important for the Haeseni serf. Planting season begins in Vzmey & Hyff as the rain quenches the fields and the temperature climbs just high enough for hardy spring seeds to begin to grow. The first of the Vzmey & Hyff rainfall is the traditional day upon which farmers plough their fields and plant seeds for the first harvest. This only includes the hardiest of crops for the lingering cold, which include potatoes, beets, carrots, turnips, radishes, cabbage, and kale. Contrarily, animals actually graze less in Vzmey & Hyff to protect them from the rain. Whereas Jula & Piov is a month of rest, Vzmey & Hyff is a month of work where the common Haeseni serf begins planting season, flowers and trees bloom, bears rule the forests and wolves rule the north, and the rain makes everyone miserable. Popular Reinmaren tradition names it as the Month of Rust, for those who let the rest of Jula & Piov overstay its welcome. THE HAESENI SUMMER The summer months of Haense consist of Gronna & Droba (Common: The Grand Harvest) and Tov & Yermey (Common: The Sun’s Smile). Given the far northern climate, summer in the Kongzem of Haense is comparable, in temperature and weather, to early spring in most southern regions of Almaris. Still, it is undeniably pleasant when compared to the region’s other seasons: heavy snows no longer clog the paved city streets, and icy rains no longer churn the country roads to mud. Poets and bards sing of summer as a season of contentment and, interestingly, of war -- poems of ancient Ruskan origin often portray summer as a season in which the Boyars would choose to do battle to settle their disputes, as the poor weather for the rest of the year made it too difficult to muster troops. This gave rise to the saying “don’t put it off past summer”. The Month of Life Gronna & Droba Blessedly, the freezing rains of Vzmey & Hyff die down as Gronna & Droba begins, marking the start of the Haeseni summer in the Sigismundic Calendar. Visitors hoping that summer would bring warmth akin to the more southern regions of Almaris will be left severely disappointed by the Rimeveld chill that lingers in the air throughout the season as an eternal reminder of the Kongzem’s natural inhospitality. Even on the warmest days of the Haeseni summer, the faintest of winds carries with it a faint reminder of that fact. Gronna & Droba marks a busy month of work for farmers, who spent the lengthened days weeding fields, tending crops, and fattening animals on fresh grass. While even turnips - the fastest-growing of the traditional Haeseni crop - are not ready for harvest in Gronna & Droba, the month is still marked by feasting when the first of the fattened animals - the oldest, usually - are butchered and cooked. Farmers also busy themselves in Gronna & Droba by planting crops that would have been unable to withstand the cold in spring -- namely, beans, gourds, pumpkins, and, of course, wheat. The nominal increase in temperature in Gronna & Droba prompts rapid growth of wildlife warmer climates would have long since expected in spring. Wildflower meadows bloom across the Kongzem, stretching from the hills east of Karosgrad, beyond the Krusev Forest, and all the way into the Attenlund Frontier. The end of the first fortnight of Gronna & Droba is the beginning of the proper hunting season, where men and women take to the woods with bows, spears, and slings to hunt the replenished game since last summer. The occasion is usually marked by a hunting race between the serfs and the local lord, harkening back to an old Ruskan tradition whereby a poacher would be pardoned if he proved himself a skilled huntsman. Gronna & Droba is a time of contentment for the Haeseni people. The hardships of winter lie yet months away, while the warmer temperatures and fairer weather offer long and pleasant days. The length of the summer days are often used to their fullest extent as the farming season grows demanding, with the first crop of turnips expected mere weeks away in Tov & Yermey, and time not spent working is well-utilised for leisure, whether it be hunting in the thawed woodlands of Krusev or fishing in the melted waters of the Staal Eada. Bards term Gronna & Droba as the month of life, in which the grey rains fade in favour of lush colour in the Kongzem’s landscape. The Month of Blood Tov & Yermey The Sigismundic Calendar marks the Summer Equinox - which the Scyflings call ‘Moonfire’ - as the day on which Tov & Yermey begins, where the days are longest and warmest, though a southerner might disagree on the temperature being termed ‘warm’ at all. Though the eternal Rimeveld chill persists on the wind, Tov & Yermey is the month of fairest weather, where the winds are calmest and rainfall infrequent. It is because of the fair weather that old folklore describes this month as the month of blood. Ancient Raevir fables speak of midsummer as the time when the Boyars of Ruska would agree to face each other in battle. While their disputes and feuds would drag on throughout the entire year, it was widely agreed to be too difficult to wage war in spring, autumn, and winter, where poor weather or the need to tend to farms required most men to stay at home. Therefore, it was tradition that when the weather cleared in Tov & Yermey, they would do battle, even if their dispute had occurred many months ago. So popular was this method of battle among the Ruskan Boyars that the serfs came to believe this traditional bloodshed led to a good harvest, and a year of no battles was a bad omen, so much so that serfs would sometimes perform animal sacrifices on their farms if there was little war done that year. In modern times, villages of serfs sometimes honour this tradition by performing mock battles on the Equinox. The first of the crop yields occur around two weeks into Tov & Yermey, starting with turnips, and shortly followed by the first yields of the other spring crops. THE HAESENI AUTUMN The autumnal month of Haense is Msitza & Dargund (Common: The Amber Cold), making it the shortest of all seasons in the Sigismundic Calendar. Autumn is shorter than the other seasons owing to the speed with which temperatures plummet in the weeks after Tov & Yermey, leaving the Kongzem with only a brief period between the end of summer and before the winter snows that herald the arrival of winter. Autumn is considered a season of feasting, merriment, but also preparation for the looming winter, and thus bards often depict the season as akin to soldiers feasting on the eve of battle, both to strengthen their spirit and body. The Month of Memory Msitza & Dargund The days slowly begin to shorten and the temperature begins to fall as the short Haeseni autumn begins, but most serfs are kept too busy by the demands of the impending harvest to take much notice of the changing seasons. Dawn to dusk is filled with farm chores, from tending the fields, to shearing sheep, to fattening pigs, and everything in between. The clear weather of Tov & Yermey persists for a good deal of the autumn, broken occasionally by bouts of rain, hail, and snow, though the air and wind quickly carry a heavier, biting cold. Leisure activities enjoyed throughout the summer come to an abrupt end as farm work increases, which instead birthed a culture of heavy night-drinking among farmers who labour to meet the burdens of the season. The ‘Last Hunt’, occurring in the first week of autumn, does, however, serve as a popular serf holiday where hunters compete for the honour of felling the last game of the year, which is said to be a great omen for the harvest to come. The second week of Msitza & Dargund brings with it the biggest occasion of the Haeseni calendar for the common folk -- the Harvest. While harvests of spring crops such as turnips, radishes, and carrots occur at the end of summer, the main and bountiful harvest happens in autumn. Over the course of the middle two weeks of the month, farmers begin the harvest proper, where all the remaining crops are reaped. The cellars are filled, the slaughterhouses run red with blood, and distilleries are loaded with hops for the yearly brew of Haeseni ales, chief among them Carrion Black. The season’s end is celebrated with ample feasting in every farm and village. The first feast, usually the most bountiful of them all, is held in honour of the dead, particularly those who have died since last autumn. Typically, each meal from the harvest until the start of winter is held in honour of a particular deceased loved one. Consequently, the month, and the autumn season in general, is often termed as the month of memory. In folklore, ghosts and specters, both benevolent or otherwise, are said to be most active during autumn. THE HAESENI WINTER The winter months of Haense consist of Joma & Umund (Common: The Deep Cold) and Wzuvar & Byvca (Common: The Snow’s Maiden). The northern winter is, obviously, a brutal affair. The Kongzem’s proximity to the Rimeveld makes it the subject of bitter winter storms and blizzards, and plummeting temperatures cold enough to kill. The season is one of endurance and hardship, whose threat is usually determined by whether or not Msitza & Dargund yielded a bountiful harvest. On good years, winters can be weathered with furs and blazing fires, while on bad years - such as when famine struck during the Rimetroll War - lack of food can drive serfs to starvation, or even banditry. Bards and poets depict the season as one of ‘truth’, when hard decisions reveal the true nature of a man or woman. Though winter spans two months, the Sigismundic Calendar ends after the first; the second month of winter heralds the new year. The Month of Piety Joma & Umund Rain vanishes in favour of frequent snowfall at the end of autumn, declaring the arrival of the Haeseni winter. Its first month - and the last month of the Haeseni year - is considered the harshest time of the year, in which the temperatures continue to sharply plummet after autumn. No Haeseni could venture outside and last more than a few hours without heavy furs to keep the deep cold at bay, and even then, thick clothes are insufficient after the few brief hours of sunlight. Indoors, fires are required to burn in every room for most hours of the day to ward off the winter chill, and thus there is a huge demand for firewood in winter. This demand is usually offset by accumulating spare firewood throughout late-summer and autumn, but on a clear winter day, serfs can always be found chopping wood in the forests. Farms and pastures are glazed over in the thick frost and snows. No crop grows in winter, and the animals, both those intended for winter slaughter and those to be kept until alive for future years, are bundled into warms that require constant heating that takes heavy tolls on firewood supplies. Cold is not the only threat, both to men and livestock, but wolf packs that usually hunt further north are driven south by the bitter cold and diminishing game. With the forests glazed in white and lacking food, wolf attacks on farms are very common, so much so that most farms require armed men to stay awake in the barns to ensure no wolves break in. Despite this caution, every winter ends with tales of farmers killed by wolves. Outside of the vassal lands and the Royal Capital of Karosgrad, most farms and villages are isolated by heavy snows that climb to half a man’s height, and permanently cling to the land from around the end of the first week of Joma & Umund and remain until spring comes. Therefore, communities tend to have none to rely on but each other. While the month is known as the month of community to some, more than one grim tale exists of villages turning on each other in harsh winters to plunder each other’s scarce food supplies in order to survive. Some particularly dark stories even speak of cannibalism in the most hellish winters. As demonstrated recently in the Rimetroll War, where mass riots of starving peasants plagued the land, hard times breed hard men. On top of wolf attacks, a much more dangerous threat stands against Haeseni farms in the freezing white of winter -- bandits. With the heavy snowfall making it all but impossible for the Brotherhood of Saint Karl or a local lord’s armsmen from reaching outer farms and villages, brigands can plunder some villages with impunity. Peasant militias are thus required to watch out for both wolves and marauders alike, and villages ill-prepared to face these threats are often found charred and blood-soaked when the snows clear in spring. Sometimes, villages petition the Knight’s Table to have a Knight winter in their village for protection. Such hardship is what prompts many Haeseni to spend the month in deep prayer for the protection of their family from the cold, wolves, and bandits, and thus Joma & Umund is often described as the month of piety. The Month of White Wzuvar & Byvca After the end of the blizzard storms of Joma & Umund, the new year arrives with the second month of winter -- Wzuvar & Byvca, and with it, the Winter Equinox. The new year is celebrated with modest feastings - for the winter hardship has yet to pass - but with great relief among the commonfolk, who eke a glimmer of hope from the lengthening days. While the bitter cold persists throughout Wzuvar & Byvca, the blizzards tend to be replaced by lighter - but near constant - snowfall. The high winds of the earlier month grow weaker, so that the snow lies like a thick blanket of pure white across the Kongzem with little disturbance. The month is thus commonly termed the month of white. On clearer days, a popular game among peasants consists of dressing up in white and hiding throughout the village or farm for seekers to find. Little changes in the new year as to how livestock is kept in the barns and how villages and farmsteads must be vigilant of the threat posed by bandits and wolves alike. Even so, the shimmer of constant soft snowfall allows Haeseni to look upon Wzuvar & Byvca with far less disdain than they do Joma & Umund, with its howling blizzards and killing cold. Once the worst of the winter storms pass - typically shortly after the new year - it is common for serfs to erect crosses of white birchwood on the paths to their village as thanks to Godan for his mercy this year. After the first fortnight of Wzuvar & Byvca, the longer days became apparent. The temperature remains bitterly cold and capable of killing, but the slicing winds lesson, and the snowfall remains light and undeniably beautiful, especially on clear nights when the moon shines bright. The threat of winter is considered passed, an occasion marked again by meagre celebrations, as spring slowly draws closer.

Letter to the Royal Duma: ON GENTRY LAND KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM Issued by the CROWN On this 11th day of Vzmey and Hyff of 407ES VA BIRODEO HERZENAV AG ALDYLEVAR Before the Royal Court held to mark the new year of 407ES, Ser Erwin 'the Headhunter' of the Knight's Table petitioned the Crown on the matter of gentry land. Citing the growing size of his family - the Bishops - Ser Erwin requested that Astfield Castle, former seat of the Baronial House of Vyronov, be leased to his household. A debate amongst the Royal Court followed, at the end of which the Crown assented to defer to the Royal Duma the following question: "In the Kongzem of Haense of today, should gentry households be permitted to rent land for personal use? If so, what limitations should apply?" The Crown also refers to the Royal Duma the following key points for consideration in their debate: The Attenlund Frontier Edict: Signed into law by King Heinrik the Stern in 364ES, this Edict invited aspiring Attenlund settlers to petition the Crown for permission to settle a plot of land within the Attenlund for a yearly tax. The application for this settlement required the settler to demonstrate their service to the Kongzem that earned them such a right, and their purpose of the land. The only household to successfully settle in the Attenlund under this Edict was the Aevaris family. The Edict is consequently unused. Rights of Nobility: The Royal Duma must remember that the right to own land without tax within the Kongzem of Haense is a sacred and ancient right of the nobility. As evidenced by the Attenlund Frontier Edict, this has been subject to some infringement on the basis that gentry may own a small manor on which they must pay tax. It is for the Royal Duma to determine whether this infringement is proportionate. The Aevaris Manor: Given the recent vacancy of the Aevaris Attenlund Estate, the Crown is agreeable to the prospect of leasing this land to the Bishop household. While the current case is prompted by the petitions of the Bishop family, this is a broader question of gentry privileges. It should not be construed purely in the context of the Bishop family. IV JOVEO MAAN His Royal Majesty SIGISMUND III by the Grace of Godan, King of Hanseti and Ruska, Grand Hetman of the Army, Prince of Bihar, Dules, Lahy, Muldav, Solvesborg, Slesvik and Ulgaard, Duke of Carnatia, Margrave of Korstadt, Rothswald and Vasiland, Count of Alban, Alimar, Baranya, Graiswald, Karikhov, Karovia, Kaunas, Kavat, Kovachgrad, Kvasz, Markev, Nenzing, Torun, and Toruv, Viscount of Varna, Baron of Esenstadt, Kraken’s Watch, Kralta, Krepost, Lorentz, Rytsburg, Thurant, Venzia and Astfield, Lord of the Westfolk, Fidei Defensor, Protector of the Highlanders, etcetera.

RECOGNITION OF IVARIELLE I KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM Issued by the CROWN On this 18th day of Jula and Piov of 407ES VA BIRODEO HERZENAV AG EDLERVIK The Kongzem of Haense does not fondly recall the Silver War -- a conflict sparked by insults levied by the Silver State of Haelun'or against the Kongzem and her Royal House of Bihar. When it first began under the reign of King Heinrik the Stern, it was a simple matter of honour; Haeseni Knights and the Brotherhood of Saint Karl were dispatched to seek remedy of the honour-debt through combat or payment. When the then-Sohaer could have settled the matter quickly and bloodlessly, he deigned to ignore the consequences of his action, and cower behind the marble walls of Karinah'siol. This began the Silver War in full, a conflict of minor raids and capturings that would drag on for years, all because the High Elven people were too proud to atone for their actions, and their insults. They so wrongly assumed they could ignore the world by hiding. The Silver War has, of course, come and gone. The Kongzem of Haense received its recompense in full following a treaty with the Silver State's then-Protector, the Principality of Savoy, and considered all debts settled. What thus compels this declaration is pity -- pity for the High Elven people, who had not the strength, the will, nor the honour to take up arms to resist the Haeseni raiders who impeded upon her borders in search of our justice. Pity for the High Elven people, many of whom were prepared to fight, but whose overlords convinced them to ignore the war, and to submit themselves fully to fatal sloth. Pity for the High Elven people, who were once strong allies, who were once a nation of genuine renown. At the behest of her allies, the Crown of Haense met with the Elven claimant Ivarielle I. While the Crown did not think to interfere in matters of Elven politics, Ivarielle I did convince the Crown that a strong future for Elfkind was indeed possible. In exchange for an agreement of alliance once her quest was fulfilled, the Kongzem of Haense does thus declare recognition of Ivarielle I as Princess of all High Elves, and committed aid, both political, economic, and military, in aiding her in achieving this. The Kongzem of Haense looks forward to a return to the days of yore in which both proud, strong nations were close allies. IV JOVEO MAAN His Royal Majesty SIGISMUND III by the Grace of Godan, King of Hanseti and Ruska, Grand Hetman of the Army, Prince of Bihar, Dules, Lahy, Muldav, Solvesborg, Slesvik and Ulgaard, Duke of Carnatia and Vanaheim, Margrave of Korstadt, Rothswald and Vasiland, Count of Alban, Alimar, Baranya, Graiswald, Karikhov, Karovia, Kaunas, Kavat, Kovachgrad, Kvasz, Markev, Nenzing, Torun, and Toruv, Viscount of Varna, Baron of Esenstadt, Kraken’s Watch, Kralta, Krepost, Lorentz, Rytsburg, Thurant, Venzia and Astfield, Lord of the Westfolk, Fidei Defensor, Protector of the Highlanders, etcetera.