Xarkly

WRIT OF AULIC APPOINTMENT LADY TREASURER KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM Issued by the CROWN On this 18th day of Jula and Piov of 407ES VA BIRODEO HERZENAV AG EDLERVIK For years, the Office of the Treasurer has been left deliberately vacant, its duties assumed directly by the Crown and Palatine. There were many reasons for this vacancy, despite the host of candidates who made their interest in the position known. The Office of the Treasurer stands apart from many of the other Offices of the Aulic Government in that its duties were, while important, few and seldom interesting. Many who sought the position over these past years have been enthusiastic and ambitious Haeseni subjects, but the Crown has concluded that it would ultimately serve as a misuse of their potential to enlist them in the Office of the Treasurer. Instead, it has found a more suitable candidate who can be trusted to perform the few critical bureaucratic duties of the Office. The Crown therefore sees fit to bestow upon the Duchess of Valwyck, Prinzenas Anastasya Bihar [@shay], the Silver Bulava as Lady Treasurer of the Aulic Council, whom the Crown intends to work with closely to delegate matters of fundraising and bookkeeping, alongside management of the stock of the Golden Crow Bank. The Crown prays it does not regret this. 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.

WRIT OF AULIC APPOINTMENT LORD JUSTICIAR KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM Issued by the CROWN On this 18th day of Jula and Piov of 407ES VA BIRODEO HERZENAV AG EDLERVIK Last month, before the Royal Court marking the turn of the new year of 407ES, the Lord Justiciar Casimir Colborn [@Totalitarianism_] did announce his retirement from the Office of the Justiciar, citing both his old age and his newfound desire to serve as a Royal Architect. The Crown did assent to his retirement, and quickly turned to the matter of his successor. In these past years, Lord Johann of the House of Ludovar [@Raijen Stars] has toiled as a dedicated subject of the Crown, and distinguished himself above his peers through bureaucratic service as the first Jovenaar under the new judicial system, his representation in the Royal Duma, and his many events held at the Castle of Otistadt, seat of House Ludovar. The Crown was therefore confident to bestow upon him the Grey Bulava as the next Lord Justiciar of the Kongzem of Haense. Upon his appointment before the Court, the new Justiciar has given his first task -- to determine whether Prinzen Andrik or, his wife, Prinzenas Nikoleta, is lying in relation to allegations of the Prinzen's infidelity. The Crown anticipates that such matters of honour may mark a departure in more substantive duties for the Office, alongside matters of intelligence-gathering. While the Office is undeniably one of little activity, owing to the low crime rate in the Kongzem, the Crown is committed to assisting Lord Johann as he assumes the Office. May Godani favour him. 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.

Ve Auszraz Duemmen i 407ES THE ROYAL COURT OF 407ES Recorded as held on this 19th day of Wzuvar and Byvca of 407ES VA BIRODEO HERZENAV AG EDLERVIK As the new year turned, marked with the celebrations of the Oath of Macken in Reinmar, the Royal Court say in the brazier-lit halls of the Nikirala Prikaz as the Oren-Urguan War dragged on the south-east and a Savoyard delegation visited the Capital. The maters raised by this Court, transcribed on this scroll in full, included: I The Oren-Urguan War II Resignation & Appoint of the Lord Justiciar III Knighting of Ser Abraham 'the Faithful' IV Assignment of Knights to the Grand Prinzen of Kusoraev V Petition of Lady Isabel Baruch VI Petition of Ser Erwin 'the Headhunter' VII Petition of Fionn Castaway VIII Petition of the Oracle Sigismund III: “This sitting of the Royal Court of 404 E.S. Is now in session. To begin …Let us speak of the War. Vy will all know that Haense has chosen to honour its alliance to the Grand Kingdom of Urguan. In these last months, our troops have moved south to battle, but the Orenian forces have forfeited the field to retreat to their fortifications, giving us, in essence, our first victory. The real fighting is yet to come, as our alliance prepares to face them at their keep of Southbridge. Every last fighting man, and woman, is asked to assist the Brotherhood so that we might honour our alliance in full. Would any Haeseni here speak on the matter of the war before we move on?” Jordan Cardinal Jorenus: “Moight oi speak, yer Majesteh?” Sigismund III: “By all means.” Jordan Cardinal Jorenus: “People o' Haense, an' the Savoyard visitors. We fight this war, no' fer pride or indulgence, bu' fer honour, fer dedication. We fight against the excommunicate Emperor an' Empress, tyrants an' murderers, on behalf o' the dwarves. The Pontiff stands with us, the Haeseni, no' because 'e 'as favourites, bu' because Oren 'as shown their cards - cards full o' sin. They proclaim loyalty to GODAN, an' yet they fight against His Holiness. They fight against the Holy Mother Church, against GODAN. We stand on GODAN's side o' history, Haense, an' we shall protect His Holy Word evermore. Go pray fer the soldiers, aneh soldier, tha' they be saved, tha' they live fer GODAN.” The Royal Court cheered for the wee Patriarch. Sigismund III: “That is vyr best speech yet, Cardinal." ________ II Resignation & Appointment of the Lord Justiciar Sigismund III: “Alright, where is Ser Casimir? Ser Casimir the Chaste! Come before us.” Ser Casimir Colborn: “HMMM….! Oh! Your Majesty.” Ser Casimir 'the Chaste' knelt before the Throne. Sigismund III: “The Chaste Knight - Architect of the soon-to-be built Cock & Swallow Tavern - vy are welcome before the Throne. Vy have something to tell us, ai?” Ser Casimir Colborn: “Your Majesty.” Grigory Grubb: “Wha's a Cock'n'swallow?” Ludwig Bishop: “It's what your mutter was doing last night.” Ser Casimir Colborn: “It has been the greatest privilege of my life to serve at the pleasure of the Crown. However, now, I must leave the duties of High Justiciar of the Crown to younger men. Just as my brodir had done years before, I too must return to the simple life of a common man. House Colborn has remained by the side of Barbanov as friends and advisors since the time Saint Karl and Saint Carr, when the pair signed their famous Pact, pledging to eternal friendship and cooperation. Not this resignation, nor that of my brodir, would break the spirit of friendship shared over three centuries.” Sigismund III: “Most retirees have the notion of fishing, or farming cabbages. I wish vy well in the Cock and Swallow, Ser. Spasiba for vyr ardent service … and vyr bloodline's eternal friendship. Now, we will need a new Justiciar, for I already have a task for them. The Crown calls Johann Ludovar to come before it.” Johann Ludovar knelt before the Throne. Sigismund III: “Lord Johann. We have spoken of this before, but now is vyr last chance to choose a quieter life. So. Will vy wield the Grey Bulava as Lord Justiciar?” Johann Ludovar: “Vyr majesty. Vy might know mea family, ea will never have a quiet life with them around. So might as well contribute to the kongzem and follow the path of justice if ea will already have nie silence in mea life.” Amicia Ludovar: “Ja Papej!” Sigismund III: “I have but one condition. Vy remember what we spoke of last time, after the execution? Do niet ever lose vyr hesitation to condemn .” Johann Ludovar: “Never.” Sigismund III: “ … Good. Then I have vyr first mission. Have vy read the returning issue of the Hearsay of Haense?” Johann Ludovar: “Da. Ea did.” Sigismund III: “A rumour has arisen that my half-borsa, Prinzen Andrik, has taken a mistress. He denies it, but his wife claims it to be true. One of them is lying. Find the liar, be it my borsa, or his wife Nikoleta. That is all.” Johann Ludovar: “Da vyr majesty.” Sigismund III: “Vy are dismissed, then, Justiciar.” ________ III Knighting of Ser Abraham 'the Faithful' Sigismund III: “Firr Abraham, then. Show time.” The King descended from the dais with the blade of Gaius Marius, and Abraham Othan knelt before him. Sigismund III: “This man is called Abraham, and his bloodline is from a long way from here. And yet …he has come to be nothing short of a model citizen. For these past years, he has served as a squire on the Knight's Table, training to take on the title of Ser. Some time ago, he completed his Final Quest to earn that moniker … Kneel, if vy would, Firr.” Sigismund III: “Do you, Abraham Othan, swear now upon the blade of Gaius Marius, the first Hochmesiter of our earliest order, that all you say now is true, and that you have come to receive your Knighthood?” Abraham Othan: “I swear it.” Sigismund III: “The truth is the burden of all Knights, one that only the diligent can bear. Will you be true in all things, even if it may lead to your demise?” Abraham Othan: “I do.” Sigismund III: “To bear this burden, a Knight must be strong. Will you be strong of spirit, and resilient to all forms of temptation?” Abraham Othan: “I will.” Sigismund III: “In order to be strong, a Knight must be brave. Will you be courageous against your enemies, and defend the helpless even at the cost of your life?” Abraham Othan: “I will.” Sigismund III: “In order to be brave, a Knight must have honour and loyalty, lest he fall to sin. The Knight must be above reproach, his honour and allegiance unquestioned. Will you be honourable and loyal to Godan, to your King, to your Kongzem, and your people?” Abraham Othan: “I will.” Sigismund III: “When you take this oath, you shall no longer be a man. You shall be a Knight, invested with holy responsibility by Godan Himself. Do you accept this holy mission?” Abraham Othan: “I do.” Sigismund III: “And so you swear to be brave, strong, and true, as all Knights must be?” Abraham Othan: “I so swear.” Sigismund III: “Do you swear to be honourable and loyal, and to never forsake your vows nor your allegiance?” Abraham Othan: “I so swear.” Sigismund III: “And do you swear to uphold all which is good and holy, and to honour Godan in all your actions?” Abraham Othan: “I so swear.” Sigismund III: “Then I bind you to your oath, and if ever you part with it, may you also part with your life. I name you Ser Abraham the Faithful of the Order of the Crow. May Godan keep you and uphold. Rise now, not as a mere subject, but as a Knight.” Sigismund III: “Welcome to the Table, Ser.” ________ IV Assignment of Knights to the Grand Prinzen of Kusoraev Sigismund III: “Now then. Before we conclude with petitions … my own son! Karl Sigmar. Come before us.” Karl Sigmar: “Da?” Sigismund III: “Vy wrote me a letter, boy, did vy niet?” Karl Sigmar: “Well, da. I didn't expect it to be read out in front of the court though, papej.” Sigismund III: “A good thing it won't be, with vyr handwriting the way it is. But vy asked for a Knight to be assigned to vy, ai?” Karl Sigmar: “Da. I wish to call for a proper knight to protect me, one whom I can trust to be at my side and aid me in all my tasks.” Sigismund III: “All vyr tasks? Very well, then. Would any Knight - or even Squire - nominate themselves for the task? Note, though … Vy will be more than just the Prinzen's sword, but his mentor.” Ser Erwin and Ser Flemius of the Knight's Table volunteered. Karl Sigmar: “Da, vyr Majesty. When vyr wife, my mamej was insulted, none of vyr knights besides Ser Flemius stood at attention to defend her. I only wish for one that is steel of heart, and puts their sword where their mouth is.” Flemius: “I shall do it, if you would have me, your Majesty.” Sigismund III: “Ser Erwin and Ser Flemius … Hm. I think both of vy could teach Karl very well. Those two men are to be vyr mentors, then, my son, and vyr protectors. In these times of war, vy are niet to leave the city without either of them. Teach him well, my Knights. Vy have vyr work cut out for vy ….” Flemius: “We won't disappoint, Your Majesty.” Ser Erwin Bishop: “It shall be done, hre majesty.” Karl Sigmar: “Spasiba, Ser Erwin and Ser Flemius.” Sigismund III: “Dobry,. And Karl? Vy are to speak to Firr Feodor about improving vyr handwriting. It is embarrassing.” ________ V Petition of Lady Isabel Baruch Sigismund III: “Now, then! The Crown welcomes any petitioners to come forward now.” Ser Erwin Bishop: “Ich have ein petition for zhe crown, ihre majesty. Niet relating to mein just now organized assignment of His Highness zhe prinzen.” Sigismund III: “ … Ahem. Ser Erwin. Be welcome before the Throne and speak vyr peace.” Lady Isabel Baruch, the 'Little Whale', rushed into the hall. Ser Erwin Bishop: “However, Lady Baruch seems more extatic for hers. Ich vould allow her to go first zhen.” Isabel Baruch: “EJA -- Eja.” Sigismund III: “How chivalrous. Welcome, little wh - … er, Lady Isabel.” Isabel Baruch: “Ah'm, the uhh - Ah'm the AULIC ENVOY fer Hoonse, ye see. An' Ah was lookin' t'see if, uhh - we could sign a ahh,, uhhh - wha's the word? Non-non ag-agre- aggressawn?” Sigismund III: “Is that so? And what if I do niet seek peace with the Kingdom of Hoonse?” Isabel Baruch: “With the adul's, 'cause, if ye break i', then we go t'war, an' ye don' wanna mess with us, so - SO. YE BETTER SIGN I'. . . We'll - we'll egg yer castles! Yer keeps! An' - an' ah'll summon all the whales to attack, aye! Wi' me whale noises, aye.” Sigismund III: “Is that a threat?” Konstanz Barclay: “Down with Hoonse! Ich hate Hoonse!” Sigismund III: “Karl, my son. I shall task vy and vyr borsa Sergei to handle these acts of aggression.” Karl Sigmar: “We shall destroy them immediately, vyr Majesty!” Isabel Baruch: “Bu' we wan' t'be peaceful with everyone.” Karl Sigmar: “Oh? Da? Vy shall meet me outside then.” Sigismund III: “Vy will deal with my son, then, Lady Isabel, as the official envoy - and potential conquestor - of Hoonse. Vy are dismissed.” ________ VI Petition of Ser Erwin Sigismund III: “Now, then, Ser Erwin.” Ser Erwin Bishop: “Ihre gracious majesty….” Sigismund III: “Be welcome before the Throne, Ser. What do vy seek?” Ser Erwin Bishop: “To keep mein reqvest simple, Ich vould like, if it vould content zhe Crown, to purchase zhe keep currently built upon zhe former barony of Astfeld. Seeing as how it ist currently unoccupied, und in consideration for mein… fortunately large” “family. Ich see it ein vorthvile endeavor to seek such ein place.” Erwin took a quick inhale, letting our his breath in a long winded huff and re-centering his breathing. “Now, vhile zhis could be seen as overly ambitious, ich have also prepared to list ein secondary location of land vhich ich vould also offer to purchase instead. All of course, for vhatever price und tax His Majesty or zhe High Seneschal vould deem apropriate.” Sigismund III: “Hm. Curious. Lord Speaker - as Grand Peer, what do vy make of this?” Rhys var Ruthern: “I do niet believe it should be allowed, vyr Majesty. It is a right of the nobility to hold land in vyr name as vyr vassals.” Sigismund III: “And what say vy in response, Ser Erwin?” Ser Erwin Bishop: “Niet as ein vassal, lord speaker. Only as renters, vith nie accompanying title or extra privilage.” Rhys var Ruthern: “Exactly, Ser. I think that sets a bad precedent.” Sigismund III: “There have been such … renters before. The Aevaris, for one. In fact, the Aevaris have recently moved out. Their manor is empty now.” Robert Ludovar: “Might I be able to interject, vyr Royal Majesty? I even have a suggestion, if vy will allow it” the old Baron said from the sides as his family went to treat his granddaughter. Sigismund III: “Very well, Lord Robert.” Rhys var Ruthern: “The Aevaris building vy talk of is niet more than a manor in another's land. If the Bishop family wish for a manor on a noble's lands, I do niet object to that.” Ser Reinhardt Barclay: “The aevaris pay taxes on their manor as well.” Fionn Castaway: “The manor is ní near a noble's land. They pay rent to the Crown, ní the House of Mondblume or Kortrevich, who live nearby.” The retired Seneschal responded. Ser Reinhardt Barclay: “He could be charged ein similar rate as them.” Eirik Baruch: “The Aevaris Manor is an Attenlund Manor, Lord Speaker. Tha' has nothin' t' do with bein' on the land o' a noble family.” Rhys var Ruthern: “Then nie. I do niet believe it should be allowed then. If they wish to live on a noble's land in a manor, I have nie qualms with that. But niet a Keep and land when they are niet noble.” Fionn Castaway: “The Aevaris family was allowed the land due to the service of their family to the Crown, with Aestenia Aevaris being Surgeon Genral for a time, and Ellisar Aevaris serving as an officer for the army for several decades, as well as designing multiple keeps and houses around the Kingdom. I believe a commoner house should be allowed the housing privileges they received so long as they have proven they have served long and well enough to earn such. Do tú believe the Bishop family's service warrants their own land? Sigismund III: “My papej created a … interesting standard of landing gentry with the Aevaris. Based on that, I would think it appropriate for them to take the Aevaris manor. But I would hear Lord Robert's suggestion.” Robert Ludovar: “When I was a young man, the House of Vanir was stripped of all of their titles and even their status as nobles. Yet… vyr papej, His Majesty Heinrik II, allowed them to retain their lands and I believe a proposal for rent was made. Since this is court and I beleive these fine people would like to go home, I suggest that we allow the Royal Duma to take this up for debate.” Sigismund III: “I have nie issue deferring this matter to Duma. It would allow the matter of my papej's precedent to be settled.” Robert Ludovar: “It would, afterall, give the chamber an interesting thing to debate. Who better to debate the rights of nobility than a chamber full of peers and their representatives?” Sigismund III: “Ser Erwin, Lord Rhys. Do vy object?” Fionn Castaway: “The Vanirs were a noble house. It was their land before it was stripped, and the Crown allowed them to retain it as long as they paid a large sum of rent. The Bishops do ní own land, nor are they nobility. They are ní similar conditions.” Flemius: “Needs to be discussed, regardless. If they're stripped of nobility, them keeping their land still makes them commoners with land and a keep.” Rhys var Ruthern: “I have nie objections, other than my concerns for the issue of gifting land being in the hand of someone other than just vyrself, vyr Majesty. Regardless, I will proceed with it how ever vy wish.” Sigismund III: “The Duma would niet be gifting, Lord Rhys. They would advise the Crown.” Rhys var Ruthern: “I understand that, vyr Majesty. But the Royal Duma does unofficially expect their advise to be heeded on whatever they decide, whether it pleases vy or niet. But as I said, as vy bid it I will do it.” Ser Erwin Bishop: “If His Majesty's vish ist to leave it up to His Royal Duma, ich vill provide nie qvalms about it if it ist to be resolved zhat gentry families canniet live on zhe lands of noblility, vhezher zhey zhemselves are niet previous nobles, zhen ich vould be content to offer purchase of vhatever housing zhe koeng vould reccomend.” Sigismund III: “Enough. Any matter of contention among the Haeseni people should be discussed in the Duma regardless, and so it shall be on this occasion. Vy should attend the Duma this year, Ser Erwin, and vy may plead vyr case.” Ser Erwin Bishop: “Ich alvays attend vhen ich can, ihre majesty, it vill be done.” ________ VII Petition of Fionn Castaway Sigismund III: “Does any other Haeseni wish to petition the Crown?” Fionn Castaway: “I do.” Sigismund III: “Valtakossar. Be welcome before the Throne, and speak vyr peace.” Fionn Castaway: “Túr Majesty. In my older years, I have found the taste of Carrion to get, for lack of a better word, boring. And so, I wish to ask, what is túr favourite alcoholic drink apart from Carrion?” Sigismund III: “The tavern serves a good Ilya wine.” Fionn Castaway: “Wine, tú say? Been a while since I've had a good wine. I'll keep túr recommendation in mind. Go raibh math agat, Túr Majesty.” ________ VIII Petition of the Oracle of Maenvestiyaeo Sigismund III: “Oracle.” The Oracle of Maenvestiyaeo: “Big Sig.” Sigismund III: “Have vy come with a Prophecy?” He asked doubtfully. The Oracle of Maenvestiyaeo: “No.” He offered frankly. Sigismund III: “What brings vy from Krusev, then?” The Oracle of Maenvestiyaeo: “There is an old crypt under Krusev. It is a den of wolves. Literally.” Flemius: “I'll go clear it out for you, Oracle.” The Oracle of Maenvestiyaeo: “Thank you.” Sigismund III: “Hm. Take Squire Emelya with vy. With that, let us adjourn. I will see vy all at Reinmar.” ________ 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.

both sides had their walls built less than an hour before, it was never Urguan's strat to rush a wall-less Oren camp

Can we hold off on setting a day/time until both sides discuss? other than that thanks for your work appreciate it's not easy.

Sigismund breathed a quiet sigh of relief that Emil had been rescued, and the Orenian bandits executed.

The Whisper Knight nodded solemnly as he heard the news as he patrolled around Dobrov with the Brotherhood.

THE SILENT GOD … I shall free Oren from its shackles … … the sun will set a final time on Urguan … … dethroned from the Pontificate of God … … God sent us to San Luciano … … His Holiness Michael I … … Fidei Defensor shall be bestowed upon Sigismund III … Sigismund woke with a stifled scream. Moonflight flooded his bedchamber, but for a moment his vision swam as his lungs heaved deeply, and cold sweat rolled down his face. The words that had been so loud in his sleep were gone, leaving him in the deep silence of the Nikirala Palace. The only sound to be heard was his rasping wheezes for breath, and the faint snoring of his wife - Emma - beside him. It was a small relief he had not woken her. He placed a hand to his sweat-soaked face and sighed between his wheezes. He was no stranger to uneasy sleep as of late, but despite each night he conquered, it grew no easier. After mopping the sweat from his brow with his forearm, he shed the blankets, and staggered out of bed. He paused for a moment at the cot by the bedside, in which lay the swaddled sleeping form of one of his sons, the infant Prince Josef. It was a miracle Josef had not woken, either -- the baby boy was a terror when he cried. It must have been the dead of night with that deep silence, but there was enough moonlight for Sigismund to trudge across his chambers. His hair stood on end in the autumn cold, but he barely felt it as he donned a pair of boots and a loose linen shirt. After a moment’s hesitation, he took a sheathed longsword - one of Zodd’s gifts - from a stand on the wall, and made his way to the door with the sword in hand. He spared one last look at his wife’s sleeping form, before he slipped outside. Alone, he limped through the eerie Palace corridors with a left leg numb from sleep and the soles of his boots scraping against the floor. By the time he reached the door to the Chapel, tucked away behind the lower dining room, it felt as if both an eternity and a mere second had passed. He placed a hand on the door, and paused to brace himself before he stepped through. The rows of stained glass windows admitted the moonlight in discoloured beams that cast fractured light amidst the pews leading up to the simple altar, upon which sat silver Hussariyan Cross. For a moment, Sigismund stood in the distorted light, sword in hand, staring at the altar. “Are … are you there?” He spoke in a quiet, hoarse voice, but the Palace itself was so silent that it felt like his question echoed. “Are you there, God?” he went on. “Are you listening to me right now? If you are, then … then give me a sign.” Silence. “Come on,” Sigismund pleaded. “Do something. Do anything.” Nothing, besides the distant hoot of an owl beyond the stained-glass windows. The leather of the sword-grip creaked as Sig’s hand clenched it. The scabbard quivered in his shaking hand. “Come on! If you really are all-powerful, all-merciful, then prove you exist! Prove you’re there!” Sig’s shoulders shook with silent, mirthless laughter as he pressed his free hand to his face. “You want to be worshipped, to have lives devoted to you, and lives taken on your behalf … The least any of us deserve,” his voice dropped to a scarce whisper, “is to know you exist. That … that this all means something.” “All of those who will die in this war … and everyone who has died in every past war and every war to come … with your name on their lips. Was there a meaning to any of it? Are you nothing more than a pawn, God?” With a rasp of steel, he bared the longsword, and the stained moonlight gleamed on its edge like a bleached rainbow as he brandished it at the altar while the scabbard fell at his feet. “Or are you real?” The blade shook in his hands, sending fragments of light across the room. “Are you real, and just watching as we suffer?” “Did you watch as the Rimetrolls tore apart this land when I was boy, when thousands starved and an entire race was genocided? Did you watch when the Nachezer parasites crawled out of the Attenlund and terrorized Haense? Did you watch and do nothing?” “Or what about when your own clergymen, men who had sworn their very lives to you, were cut down at the Red Diet? Did you just watch?” “Did you watch when my son died in my sister’s arms … and chose not to help?” His laughter echoed throughout the Chapel. “And now it’s all going to happen again. Thousands will die, and your name will be draped over the battles like a veil that makes it all acceptable. And what do you about any of it?” “Well?!” Sword-clenched in both hands, he glared at the Cross. “What will you do as the world tears itself apart?!” “ANSWER ME!” As always, God was silent. But that did not vex Sigismund. Instead, as his voice echoed throughout the room, he suddenly found that the sword had gone still in his hands. He was no longer shaking, and the anger that had bubbled inside him had vanished without warning. The sword was dead-straight in his hands now, levied accusingly at the Cross. “I knew it all along.” Sig’s voice was soft, now. “I knew it as my son lay dying in Petra’s arms. I knew, God, that if you weren’t going to save the life of an infant boy who had done no wrong …” Slowly, his eyes opened. “ … then I knew you were never going to save anyone at all.”

SONG OF THE BLACK CHAPTR II: LAHY A Lord of the Craft short story inspired by Ruskan Lore. Read Part I here. Lahy was the only city Mylah had ever seen, but she doubted there was another to rival it. As she so often did these days, the young woman slouched cross-legged in a wide stone windowframe in the upper quarters of Lahy Castle, and stared down at the expanse of onion-domed towers and sloping slate rooftops beneath her. Her home village - Karinov, out west - could have fit within Lahy’s towering walls fifty times over. In the setting sun of the spring evening, the fading light glistened off the tiled onion domes, and bathed the city in a soft golden glow. Mylah had tuned herself out from the conversation happening in the room behind her, and instead let the din of noise from the city - from the indistinguishable tide of talk, to the ship-bells ringing in the harbour - wash over her instead. Her trance, however, was broken when she heard a deep voice intone, “Enough, Szitibor! I have given my answer, and I have delayed court long enough,” before another man’s voice said, “Mylah, will you please tell him?!” “Tell him what?” Mylah did not turn around. Instead, she lazily watched a crow hop along the slate rooftops just under the window. “Do not forget yourself, niece,” the first voice said sternly. “If you are going to speak, then give us your attention. You are a Nzechovich -- show manners befitting your status.” Pfft. Some good my status is doing me now. With a sigh, Mylah wound herself around to face into the parlour. Standing amidst the ornate rugs and tapestries, the gilded darkwood furnishings, and the vine-patterned walls, was Szitibor, her brother, with frustration painted on his bold-featured face, and the evening light shining on his shaved head. Beside Szitibor stood their uncle - Lord Msitovic, Chancellor of the Raev Court, and the man who had driven Prince Barbov and Kosav into exile. He was a tall man with a hard, weary face, and the pale-brown hair that hung loose over his shoulders was streaked with grey near his temples. Though well into his middle-years, wide shoulders and a broad chest belied a soldier’s physique, and paired with his red-and-white fur cloak and tunic, he exhibited a regal aura. “Tell him what?” Mylah repeated with an effort not to sound curt. Msitovic was their uncle, and he had cared for Mylah well, but she had no patience for these debates. “Tell him we both came up with the plan,” Szitibor pleaded. Mylah barked a laugh. “Do you think Szitibor pressured me into this, uncle? If anything, it would be the other way around.” She ignored the glare that earned her from her brother. “Hmph.” Msitovic’s eyes were tight. Those eyes had a keenness to them that, when she was a girl, had made Mylah think he could tell when someone was lying. Sometimes, she still believed he could. “It is not pressure from one another I fear. Rather, I think you are both pressured by some nonsensical need to prove yourselves.” Mylah opened her mouth to protest, but her uncle raised a hand to silence her. “Do not deny it! You think that because you are distanced from Nestor’s blood, you need to prove yourself worthier than your cousins so that you will not be neglected.” Mylah exchanged a guilty look with Szitibor. It was true; the pair of them were part of the Nzechovich dynasty, the bloodline that had feuded with the Karovic dynasty for generations for the throne of the Raev. Though there had been brief peace between the families when the late King Karl took the throne and named Msitovic as his Chancellor, that peace was shattered when, on the eve of King Karl’s death, Msitovic had led the Nzechovich supporters in a coup that had ousted the Princes Barbov and Kosav -- Karl’s sons and heirs. While that made Szitibor and Mylah part of the ruling caste, they were distanced from the main bloodline of King Nestor V -- the boy that had been installed on the throne after the coup -- and though Msitovic was their uncle, they had a score of cousins to compete with for limited positions and power. I will not be sent back to Karinov to be forgotten. I will not. “You can prove yourselves in the main army with your cousin Vladrik,” Msitovic went on softly when neither of them spoke. “You shall be at his side when he secures Dules and brings control to the eastern and southern Boyars.” “Vladrik is a fool!” Szitibor moaned. “He only has command of the army because he’s Nestor’s uncle!” Msitovic gave Szitibor a frosty stare, but he did not deny it. “Do not speak of your own kin like an enemy -- we have enough internal divisions. I’ve given my answer, and we cannot delay the royal court any longer -” “Our plan makes sense, uncle!” Mylah cut him off. That freezing look turned on her, but impatience drove her on. “Let Vladrik secure Dules, the west, the south, wherever! Szitibor and I only need a small force to kill the Princes and take Osyenia.” When word had first reached the newly-reclaimed Nzechovich court that Prince Barbov and Kosav had begun raising an army at Osyenia to take back their father’s throne, mild panic had spread through Lahy. Mylah and Szitibor, however, had seen it for exactly what it was. A golden opportunity. Msitovic, however, shook his head as he began to stride out of the room. “It is a needless risk. Once Vladrik crosses the Huns, there will be nothing the Princes can do.” Outside the parlour, the tiled corridors of the upper quarters were flooded with the golden evening light from the open-columned wall that looked over one of the Castle’s courtyards. “None of the other Boyars will risk joining him when our army controls the midlands. Once the damned Electors yield Dules to us, the few supporters the Princes do have will abandon them.” Mylah subdued a growl of frustration, and shot her brother an urging look behind the Chancellor’s back. “It’s not a risk for you!” Szitibor insisted, then. “What has the throne got to lose? We only need to borrow a few hundred soldiers to supplement our retainers from Karinov! If it works, then we take Osyenia, we kill the Princes, and their resistance dies with them! If we fail, then you only lose a handful of soldiers, the Princes will be weakened, and Vladrik can finish them off.” “Not a political risk, perhaps,” Msitovic conceded. They passed a gaggle of serving women in kokoshniks who almost dropped the bedding they were carrying in their haste to bow their heads. “But I do not wish to send my niece and nephew to their deaths without purpose.” “It’s not without purpose!” Szitibor went on as they turned away from the sunlit corridor, and started a spiralling set of stairs. “Barbov and Kosav might not be a threat with their current numbers, true, but they could become one! It could take Vladrik months to make Dules accept Nestor as king, and in that time, who knows what tricks the Princes might pull? Barbov might be an idiot, but you mentored Kosav yourself! And they still have Stanislaw Horselegs and Ratibor Skysent! Not to mention the Mutt …” The Mutt … Even Mylah suppressed a shiver at the thought of Slavomir. As they stepped out of the stairwell into another set of tiled hallways. Down one of them, servants scrubbed tiles that were still stained with blood from the coup. Barbov and Kosav had been meant to die during the coup, but the story went that Slavomir the Mutt had carved through dozens of Nzech soldiers to let them escape. “You two are too young to risk your lives for mere glory,” Msitovic went on as they walked. Servants and courtiers alike crossed the hallways, and all of them favoured Msitovic with a deep bow. “Isn’t that why you risked all of our lives when you ousted the Princes?” Mylah had spoken in an absent-minded grumble as she stared at the floor, and so she did not realize Msitovic had stopped walking until she stumbled into his back. When she looked up, her uncle wore such an eerie look that even she flinched. “Glory?” the Chancellor said, his voice whisper-soft. “I did not risk our entire dynasty for glory, girl. I did it so that we would not have to endure another fool of a King who would abandon the gods of our ancestors for the drivel that is Canonism, a fool of a King who would not leave our borders open to invaders, and a fool King who would not rule the Raev like a tyrant. I had to cut Karl’s spawn out like a cancer for the good of all Raev … not for glory.” He finished in the same whisper, but it was as soft as steel now. The hallway passing courtiers in the hallway had stopped to look, and abruptly, some of them began to cheer and clap. Msitovic did not even seem to hear them. Mylah blinked at him in surprise. She had never seen her uncle like that before. She was still comprehending what he had said when he lay a hand on her shoulder. The momentary anger seemed to have deflated out of him as quickly as it had come. “I ... am sorry. I forgot myself, Mylah. All … All I meant was that there is more to life than status, and power, and prestige. Sometimes, we must do what is right for the world, not just for us.” “I … I see,” Mylah said at last. In truth, she was not sure if she did -- she had never enjoyed the intricacies of politics, and so she could hardly tell what was or was not right in all this. What she did understand was that if she did not distinguish herself, she would be forever overlooked for people like Vladrik. Whether he could tell she was lying or not, Msitovic nodded slowly. He seemed very tired now, as if the exchange had left him sapped. He resumed leading the way to the throne room, ignoring the echoing claps from the Raev who had heard his speech. Mylah flashed her brother an uncertain look, and received one in turn. For a time, they just walked wordlessly through Lahy Castle. As they neared the throne room in the heart of the castle, more Raev began to throng the corridor, from more courtiers in fine-cut coats and servants in kokoshniks, to Bogatyrs - the most elite Raev warriors - in their resplendent scale-mail and masked helmets tucked under their arms, and even a few Boyars in feathered fur-lined caps. All of them, Boyars included, bowed their respect to Msitovic, but the Chancellor seemed lost in thought. A few spoke up as if to speak to him, but Msitovic walked right on. “Uncle,” Mylah began softly, just quiet enough so that those around them did not overhear. “If you do want to help all Raev, why not make yourself king? Why put a six-year old on the throne?” At first, she thought she might have spoken too low for Msitovic to hear, but after a moment, he sighed, and murmured, “There are others, even within our own clan, who covet power and control. Vladrik’s father, Nestor’s mother, Boyar Eyzov … They accept Nestor as king because they think they can use him, and that keeps them docile.” Something about it gnawed at Mylah’s mind. “And what makes your control better than theirs?” Szitibor flashed her a warning look, but she ignored it -- this was an answer she wanted to hear. Msitovic’s broad shoulders shook with wistful laughter. “Because, dear niece, I have no choice but to believe it, else we would be at the whims of fools and tyrants forever. Why? Have you come to doubt me, Mylah?” She did not need to look at Szitibor frantically shaking his head. “No,” she answered honestly. “I only ask because I think you should be king.” At least then Szitibor and I would have our station secured. Msitovic, however, gave no answer. A few moments later, Mylah was surprised to realize they were nearing the massive set of doors that led into the throneroom of Lahy Castle. A din of hushed talk echoed from the doors, and a constant flow of men and women streamed into the doors. Scale-mailed Bogatyrs flanked the doorway on either side, cloaked and plumed in green, and stood rigidly with their bardiches in hand. “You are sure?” Msitovic asked under his breath as they approached. “About Osyenia. You are sure you are prepared to risk your lives?” Almost simultaneously, the siblings blurted, “Yes.” Msitovic looked at them over his shoulder. Hesitation was etched into the Chancellor’s weary face, but Mylah had to stop herself from smiling when he nodded. She knew he would not like that, and she owed him that much. “Very well,” he bristled, and then marched into the throne room. “Finally,” Mylah wheezed once he was gone. “Finally! We’re going to do it, Szitibor! When we kill Barbov and Kosav, they’ll make us Bogatyr ourselves!” Her brother’s smile was wry. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. We have to kill them first.” Mylah laughed dismissively. Of that, she had no doubt. Grinning from ear to ear, she and Szitibor joined the tide of Raev trickling into the throne room - the crowd had seemed to double once people realized Msitovic had arrived. The throneroom of Lahy Castle was much like the other decorated rooms and corridors of the Castle, only more colourful. A red carpet with golden spirals so intricate that Mylah could not make out what they began marked a wide path between gold-and-silver vinework columns that arched into a tall crimson roof, and what spaces of the walls were visible through the throng were colourful vistas of Raevir history. More bardiche-wielding Bogatyr stood in lines at the edge of the carpet, keeping the path clear, and so Szitibor and Mylah joined the packed wings behind the column. Mylah was taller than most women, and a good deal of men, but even she could barely see the dais through the crowd, where King Nestor V, decked in red-and-white-fringed furs, sat on a throne, his little legs swinging beneath him, his face round with baby fat. A child for a king, Mylah thought bitterly. I hope you can use him better than your rivals, uncle. For our sake. Those rivals in question - from Nestor’s stone-faced mother, to the fiery-haired Boyar Eyzov - stood around the dais, but only Msitovic stood next to the throne. Then, a gong chimed near the dais, and the Raev gathered in the hall bowed their heads in unison. “This Royal Court,” Msitovic proclaimed loudly, “is now in session. Long live Nestor V, King of Raev!” “Long live Nestor V, King of Raev!” the attendants echoed in unison. Szitibor frowned at Mylah when she did not repeat it, but no one else seemed to have noticed. Why should I praise him? He’s done nothing for his throne. Who cares if he’s the last son of Nestor IV? If I have to work for my station, then so should he. “My lord King,” Msitovic went on in that ceremonial drone. “I ask you for the honour that I may hold this Court on your behalf.” “Huh? Oh!” Nestor V looked up from playing with the bejewelled broach of his cloak, and look to his tight-lipped mother before he bobbed his head uncertainly. Bah. Mylah sneered. My uncle is the reason you’re fat arse is on that throne, boy. But Msitovic only smoothly answered, “Thank you, my lord King.” Only a flash of irritation showed on the Chancellor’s face as he addressed the court once more. “My lords and ladies, under the patronage of our lord King, we have driven the cravens Barbov and Kosav from Lahy, and spared all of Raevdom from a ruinous reign that would have spelt the end to our realm.” Though cheers began to rise, they were silenced when Msitovic went on. “But our work is not done. Not only are some of the Boyars in the south and east yet to accept our rule, but the Electors of the trade city of Dules have closed their gates and ports to all, and refuse to say if they will stand with us or against us. I speak for all Raev, and our lord King, when I say that we will not have brought peace to this realm until Dules is firmly ours. To that end, Lord Vladrik of Nzechia is called before the King.” The idiot in the flesh, Mylah thought as the cheers and clapping resumed as an armoured man proudly marched down the carpet. Vladrik’s scale-mail was gilded on the shoulders, neck, and breast, and thus he sparkled in the evening light as he knelt before the dais with a clang of metal. As their cousin, Vladrik looked similar to Szitibor with his bold-features, only he had a squarer jaw, and a neat crop of dark hair on his scalp as opposed to Szitibor’s shaved head. Nestor V had resumed playing with his broach, oblivious to Vladrik, as Msitovic continued. “Lord Vladrik. Our lord King is to understand that, by his order, you have assembled a great army of loyal men from Nzechia and our holds in the west.” “Yes, lord uncle. Thirty-thousand Raev soldiers and one-thousand mounted Bogatyr are ready to march at the command of my King.” “One-thousand Bogatyr?” Mylah whispered quietly under her breath. “Why so few?” “Because,” Szitibor hissed back, “most of them were killed in the coup.” “Then your duty is clear, Lord Vladrik,” Msitovic said. “You will cross the Huns River with your army and bring order to the lands that would threaten the peace of Raevdom with the threat of rebellion … chief among them the city of Dules.” “Nothing would bring me greater honour, lord uncle.” Vladrik slapped a fist over his heart. “I shall march with the sunrise!” The cheers broke out again and, as usual, Mylah did not join them. Instead, she stared up at the dais, and locked eyes with her uncle, who gave a single nod before he said, “Then prepare yourself well, Lord Vladrik. You, however, will not be the only army that marches tomorrow.” Almost immediately, the cheers began to fade with puzzled murmurs. Boyar Eyzed, Nestor’s mother, and the others on the dais shot Msitovic questioning looks, but the Chancellor did not look at them as he announced, “The lord Szitibor and lady Mylah of Karinov are called before his Majesty.” Mylah sucked in a breath, and she and Szitibor began to jostle their way through the crowd until they passed through the line of Bogatyr to stand on the central carpet. Mylah had never considered herself the nervous type, but the hundreds of eyes suddenly watching them was certainly daunting. Only the disbelief on Vladrik’s face soothed her sudden surge of anxiety. In unison, she and Szitibor started down the carpet, and smoothly kneeled to either side of Vladrik in front of the dais. Msitovic hesitated only for a moment before he began again. “The Karovic Princes have been driven from Lahy, and most of their cretinous supporters lie dead. However, to the south, on the border of Hanseti, the traitorous Boyar Olske has given them sanctuary in his castle of Osyenia, and from there they rally an army to strike back against us. Though this army remains small and of little threat, any babushka will tell you that a thorn is best pricked quickly, before the wound is infected. Therefore, my niece and nephew … you will ride to Osyenia with a force of three-thousand, and you will return with the heads of Barbov, Kosav, and all who stand with them.” This is it. Right or wrong, Nestor or Barbov, all of it be damned. This is my chance for greatness, and I will earn it, she thought as Szitibor smoothly answered, “It shall be done, lord uncle. On our honour.” I’m sorry, Princes, but I’m coming for your heads.

A LORD OF THE CRAFT SHORT STORY SONG OF THE BLACK - CHAPTER ONE A multi-part LotC Short Story based off Ruskan lore in the era of King Barbov the Black The sensation of driving his sword into the man’s heart made Stanislaw queasy. The resistance of the muscle, the crush of bone, and then the quick puncture - all of it made his stomach turn. Stanislaw. He ripped the sword free with a fleshy squelch, and the man he had stabbed - he was a boy, really - let his own blade clattered to the bloodied tiles, before he made a wheezy rasp, and collapsed down beside it. Blood bubbled through the rift Stanislaw had carved through the man’s gambeson, and drenched the red-green Nzechovich badge on the boy’s breast. Stanislaw! Stanislaw’s lungs laboured for breath. Unlike his attacker, he was dressed only in his nightshirt -- had the boy not made such noise kicking down the door, Stanislaw would have had his throat cut in his sleep. His heart thrummed in rhythm with the echo of shouts and screams throughout Lahy Castle. Staaanislaaaw! He stumbled down the corridor. He knew he had to act, he had to find the Princes, and he had to find who was behind the fighting. The moonlit corridor seemed to twist and distort around him, and before he had taken three steps, the door at the end of the hall opened. Men in gambesons with Nzechovich badges before to march through, each of them with death-glazed eyes, a bloody hole in their hearts, and the exact face of the boy that Stanislaw had killed. Stanislaw woke with a strangled growl. He leapt off the haybale he had fallen asleep on, and before he had drawn a full breath, his sword was halfway out of its sheath. It took him a moment to realize he was not back in the tiled corridors of Lahy Castle, but instead he stood at an empty coop in the corner of a green pasture. It was the cloudy night of the Coup, but instead a pleasant spring morning with a blue sky marred only by a few streaky clouds and a bright, worthless sun. There were no screams nor rings of steel this morning -- it was a din of distant chatter and smiths hammering anvils that echoed through the air. And, of course, the young woman with the dark, braided hair and the vulpine face in front of Stanislaw was not his enemy. The only weapon she had was a canteen of water, held with the cap unscrewed as if she went to empty its contents on Stanislaw. “... Vlasta? What are you doing?” “What am I doing?!” the young woman shot back before she hastily slammed the cap back on her canteen. “What are you doing? You almost drew your sword on me!” With a start, Stanislaw noticed he still held his sword half-bared. Hastily, he slid it back into the scabbard and let it fall loose around his waist. Shame swelled up in him at the reaction; his nerves had been frayed since the Coup. “And you almost drenched me.” “Yes, well, I thought you might be dead, comatose as you were,” Vlasta said stubbornly, though with a defensiveness that betrayed her guilt. “Hmph. Why did you wake me?” He reached up to his brow, and was not surprised to find cold sweat. “Why were you asleep in the first place? In a pasture, of all places, and at nearly midday?” Stanislaw only frowned as he brushed strands of hay off his gambeson and his good wolfskin cloak. The answer was that he struggled to sleep at night ever since fleeing Lahy Castle, but now he suffered nightmares even during the day. When he did not answer, Vlasta shrugged, and told him, “Well, you’ve been summoned, my lord. There’s a war council happening in the keep. It might have already started, since they couldn’t find you.” “That so?” Stanislaw found his feathered fur cap - the mark of a Raev captain - at the foot of the hay bale, and fixed it back on his head. “And why is the Boyar’s daughter running messages? We have squires for that.” “It’s something to do,” Vlasta grumbled, and crossed her arms over her padded jerkin. Since Stanislaw had come here from Lahy Castle, she had taken to dressing like a soldier herself. “This war business isn’t as exciting as I had hoped it would be, but that might be because my father will still not let me do anything. And besides -- Prince Kosav himself asked me to find you, and I’m hardly going to refuse him.” You half-brain, Kosav. This was not the first time Stanislaw’s liege and milk-brother had found an excuse to talk with Lady Vlasta, and Stainslaw knew that would lead to more trouble than it was worth. Still, he could not help but smile ruefully. “Very well, then. Lead on.” Stanislaw did not need directions to the keep, but he did not mind taking Vlasta for a guide; some company after that dream would not be amiss. Vlasta took off with a bounce in her stop, and after tenderly rolling his shoulders - sleeping in a haystack was not exactly comfortable - Stanislaw followed, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The spot Stanislaw had chosen for his nap was a farmer’s pasture just outside of town, and he was surprised Vlasta had even managed to find him here. On a bright spring morning like today, animals would normally have been grazing, but the cattle had all been bought up by the army when it had arrived from Lahy - and at an extortionate price, much to Stanislaw’s discontent. As he climbed the fence over a sty behind Vlasta, the town of Osyenia spread out before him. Farms, streaked by a distant river, cloaked the land around the palisade walls of the town like patchwork, and a small but sturdy keep rose up on a hill among the townhouses, flying the banners of the late King Karl -- King of the Raev. Osyenia was a march on the border of the Kingdom of the Raev, and its lord - Boyar Olske, Vlasta’s father - had earned his rank by defending the land against Hanseti raiders from the south for decades. Normally, the town was home to a mere few hundred, but now it bustled with well over a thousand. Clusters of tents blanketed the fields afoot the palisade, and more were erected every day as retainers came to Osyenia to pledge their support to Prince Barbov and Kosav, the exiled heirs of King Karl. Most that came did so under the banner of minor Boyars who saw the Princes’ exile as nothing more than an opportunity for power, but as Kosav had told Stanislaw, vipers made for better allies than nobody. To Stanislaw, though, the only ones he could trust were those who had come from Lahy with him and the Princes. “So, you are still expecting your lord father to give you command?” Stanislaw asked idly as they joined the main dirt road, scarred and pocked from generations of cartwheels and horseshoes, that led to the town gates. Peasants - most of them carting the last of the farms’ winter stores into the town - bowed their heads deeply as they passed. The locals were clearly intimidated by all the soldiers, but there was nothing to be done about that. Vlasta glowered. “I’m not expecting it, but one can hope. None of my half-brothers are old enough to walk, and my father is too old to command. I am the only one who can lead Osyenia, but instead my father just lets you and the Princes take all the glory.” Stanislaw laughed wistfully. “Well, Boyar Olske knows he has a winning hand. He’s earned enough reward by letting the Princes establish their court-in-exile in his castle -- he doesn’t need to do anything else.” Boyar Olske was no less an opportunist than the others, but he was an opportunist with a castle. Vlasta opened her mouth to retort, but remained silent when a cluster of soldiers gathered around a cookfire - in the standard mail coat, cloak, and cap of a Raev warrior - called out, “Hail, Horselegs,” in near unison. Despite the fact that most of them were older than Stanislaw, they saluted. The greeting was enough to make Stanislaw smile in spite of his mood, and he returned the salute as they passed. “Is it true they call you Horselegs because you won the last four jousts at Lahy?” Vlasta asked with renewed interest. “Five,” Stanislaw corrected. “And three at Dules. Everyone always forgets about the jousts at Dules.” A few more cries of ‘Horslegs!’ followed them as they passed through the palisade gates and into the packed dirt streets of Osyenia proper. Every corner was crowded with the retainers of Boyars who had earned the privilege of camping their men inside the walls, and every third building seemed to have a makeshift smith’s forge set up to arm them. “What if you took me to council?” Vlasta asked abruptly. Stanislaw arched a doubtful eyebrow. “Are you mad?” “I could be your squire!” “I have a squire.” “You mean Villorik?” she scoffed. “Everyone says he’s a craven! I heard he tucked tail and ran from Carnatian raiders up north last summer. They call him Villorik Turnheel, you know.” Stanislaw grimaced. He did not need reminders of his squire’s reputation. “Lord Villorik is … learning. He shows great potential.” And half of the soldiers in Osyenia were supplied by his father. “But I could -” “Your father will not allow it, Vlasta,” he told her firmly, “and not even Prince Barbov will risk angering your father. Not now, at least.” Vlasta firmed her jaw, and crossed her arms stubbornly as they followed the road through the square, and up to the castle. He was grateful to spot familiar faces manning the stone gatehouse in scale-mail armour and with masked, plumed helmets under their arms. “Hail, Miliv,” Stanislaw called as he approached. “Hail, Horselegs,” the broad-faced Miliv, captain of this watch, called back. He had more than a little grey in his bushy moustache, but like every other good Raev warrior, he respected Stanislaw’s rank despite his youth. “You’re missing a council.” “So Lady Vlasta tells me. Has the shouting begun?” “Oh, certainly,” Miliv rumbled. It would not have been a war council without Prince Barbov raising his voice. “The Elder’s mood is foul today.” “Hmph. I had better hurry, then.” He saluted farewell to Miliv and his company as he marched through the gate, Vlasta at his heels, and into the castle courtyard. More smiths worked in proper forges here, and crowds of soldiers in the same scale-mail and masked helmets - the personal guards of the Boyars - loitered around braziers outside the large, open doorway. Stanislaw could hear raised voices echo from within. “Maybe he’ll take me as his squire,” Vlasta mused, and Stanislaw paused to frown at what she was pointing at. A man had just emerged from a barracks adjoined to the courtyard wall, and he was the only Raev present that did not wear any armor at all. Instead, he wore a plain linen shirt under a cloak of blue wool that was as unremarkable as the cloth-wrapped sword at his waist. The only notable detail about the man was the dried blood splashed across his breeches. “I would not suggest trying,” Stanislaw grunted tightly. “Why? Why do you all call him the Mutt?” “Because all he is good for is being an attack dog.” The man in question was Slavomir. He was born a serf, as lowly as could be, but he had earned a spot among King Karl’s retinue through unmatched skill with a blade. He was liked by none in the court - how could a peasant be? - but he was begrudgingly tolerated for his value as a warrior, and he took orders only from Prince Barbov directly. Stanislaw did not care how good the man was -- he was a serf, and serfs did not belong in Princes’ retinues. “Whose blood is that, Slavomir?” Stanislaw called to him as Slavomir passed them on his way to the keep. The other man blinked and looked around, as if it took him a moment to notice he had been spoken to. “Hm? Oh. Deserters,” he answered absent-mindedly. Slavomir was Stanislaw’s elder by six or seven years, but there was a grizzled look chiselled into the deep lines of his lean, weathered face that made him look much older. “Some men from Lord Berislav’s service fled during the night.” “That was for Lord Berislav to deal with.” Slavomir only shrugged. “Barbov commanded me to hunt them down.” “Prince Barbov, serf,” Stanislaw corrected him sharply, but Slavomir hardly seemed to have even heard him. The older man resumed trudging to the keep in his bloodstained breeches before Stanislaw had even closed his mouth. “Now you see why he’s called Mutt?” Stanislaw hissed to Vlasta. “He sees no issue tending to his liege while drenched in blood. That’s what keeping serfs as guards gets you.” “Careful, my lord,” Vlasta drawled. “It almost sounds as if you don’t like the man. So …” her eyes flashed to the doors. “Shall we?” “Nice try. Be about your duties, and stay clear of the council.” “I don’t have any duties!” Vlasta called behind him as Stanislaw followed Slavomir inside. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!” The great hall of Osyenia Castle was a long span of flagstone floors and arched columns, and rugs, tapestries, and trophies of battles from long ago hung from the wall to alleviate the dull grey of the stone. Braziers burnt between the columns, and most of the fireplaces built into the wall were lit, though all the tables before them were empty. The only gathering in the great hall was near the dais beneath a row of tall windows at the back of the hall, where the Princes’ war council gathered around a round table laden with maps. “ … any strategy must revolve around the ultimate goal of securing Dules!” insisted a bellowing, familiar voice as Stanislaw arrived. “There is no point dancing around that fact! Mejen, Kurwen, Brativar - they’re all a waste of when we can take the Nzech by surprise now!” “Without Mejen, Kurwen, and Brativar,” a calm, measured voice responded, “we have no foothold over the Huns River, and without control of the River, any siege on Dules is suicide. Not to mention, we need those forts as defensive positions so that the Nzech cannot use their numbers to force an advantageous battle in the field. If we just …” Only a few looked up at Stanislaw’s approach, and one - a boy with long, black hair that might just barely pass for an adult - flocked to his side and began to hurriedly whisper. “Prince Barbov called the council suddenly. I tried to find you, my lord, I did, but -” “It is alright, Villorik,” Stanislaw cut him off in an equally quiet voice. He peered over the shoulders of fur-clad Boyars to the maps spread across the table, and the fat wooden carvings placed on them. “What have I missed?” “Not a great deal, lord,” his squire whispered back. “Prince Barbov wants us to move on Dules immediately while the Nzech have yet to secure control in the north, but -” “But Prince Kosav wants to take the River first, ai,” Stanislaw finished. “So nothing has changed.” “Most of the Boyars do not come because they think we have no chance,” the first voice was urging as Stanislaw listened back in. That voice belonged to the broad-shouldered young man on the west side of the table, clad in a deerskin jacket and with a mane of raven-black hair spilling across his shoulders to frame the bold, proud face of Prince Barbov. “If we strike at Dules,” the Elder Prince went on, jabbing a finger at the riverside tradeport on the map, “if we take Dules, then not only will the Boyars know our strength, but they will know the Nzech days are numbered.” Across the table from Barbov, Prince Kosav spread his hands. He held traces of his brother, but he was leaner, thinner, and his eyes almost had a gaunt cast. “Maybe we can take Dules. Maybe the Nzech haven’t consolidated their forces there yet, and we can force our way in. Maybe the Electors will even side with us and yield the city.” “Exactly!” Barbov exclaimed. “That is -” “Or maybe they don’t,” the Younger Prince went on coldly. “Maybe the Nzech already have fortified their garrison. Maybe the Electors side with them, because they offer stability for trade, which is what the Electors have always valued. And if that happens, dear brother, our entire resistance is done.” He leaned forward, pressing bony hands against the table. “We cannot take needless risks. It will be slow, but if we take a few months to secure as far as Mejen, not only will the rest of the southern Boyars join us, but it gives us a much safer foothold to push north. From Mejen,” he dragged a finger across the map, “we can cut off the River from Lahy, and isolate Dules by ranging as far east as Ingeslaw. If we do this right, we can end the war at Dules -- the rest of the Boyars will see Nzech as a lost cause. We may not even have to fight a battle for Lahy.” Rumbles of agreement rippled across the gathered Boyars and captains, and Barbov’s jaw clenched. “What do you think, Villorik?” Stanislaw whispered quietly to his squire. “I … I do not know, lord.” “Come, boy,” Stanislaw grumbled patiently. “You are a student of war. Try.” “Well…” As Kosav began to talk about the potential of raids from Hanseti from behind, Villorik chewed his cheek as he eyed the map. “The Nzech have most of their support from Boyars west of the Huns, but the rest are loyal only under threat of force. It seems too risky to strike right at Dules when instead we can build a resistance in the south first that can threaten the Nzech’s hold over the rest of the Boyars.” He turned doubtful eyes up at Stanislaw. “...right?” “Good. You have a sharp mind, boy. Use it more.” Villorik’s smile was both apprehensive and pleased, but Stanislaw’s attention returned to the meeting as a weedy voice belonging to a portly, white-bearded man who sat on a high-backed chair upon the dais spoke. “My lord princes, the Hanseti have always taken advantage of turbulence among the Raev to press their claims on our border. Though they have lost their mettle since your lord father - God rest his soul,” around the table, men traced the cross in unison, “crushed them at Lahy, but who knows what the fiends might try now if we do not keep a strong presence in Osyenia?” “We are well aware, Boyar Olske,” Kosav intoned grimly. It was clear from the look on the Younger Prince’s face that he did not have an answer for that one yet. “A problem we would not need to fear if we moved straight to Dules in force,” Barbov input stubbornly, but when he glanced around the table, he threw up his arms in defeat. “Alright, fine! We will focus on Mejen and control of the Huns firstly, and Dules secondly. But mark my rotting words, as soon as Boyar Vitomir arrives with the last of the levies, we march!” Barbov did not wait for any acknowledgement, and immediately turned to march off with a grunt of frustration. Within seconds, Slavomir was at his side, and after exchanging a few uneasy looks, some of the Boyars did, too. “ … That will be all, then,” Kosav said grimly as he watched Barbov vanish deeper into the Castle with a procession of Boyars. The Boyars that remained muttered farewells and support before they gradually began to dissipate. Before long, the only men left at the table were Stanislaw, Villorik, Olske in his chair, and Kosav himself. “A most wise plan, my lord,” Olske grumbled. “I must admit, I am glad we have your level head to rely on. Prince Barbov is, ah … most brave, but …” “But he is rash, impatient, and does not think things through,” Kosav finished. “Yes, my lord, so I have come to learn.” Olske’s entire form seemed to bounce as the stout Boyar laughed. “Your words, my prince, not mine.” “Still,” Kosav’s eyes slid to Stanislaw, “I could have used some help convincing him.” Stanislaw smiled apologetically. “You had it well in hand.” Kosav snorted. “Boyar Olske. Would you leave us for a moment?” The old man frowned for the briefest of moments - even though Kosav was his liege, this was his castle - but he obliged with a nod. He hoisted himself out of the cheer, off the dais, and then leisurely waddled down the hall. “Villorik -- you will go see to feeding Iskje now.” Villorik’s mouth opened to instinctively complain about tending to Stanislaw’s horse, but a curt look with Stanislaw killed the complaint before it was voiced. Villorik nodded, and a moment later, Stanislaw and Kosav stood alone at the table. “Not like you to be late,” Kosav began as he leaned back against the dais with a sigh. “Yes, well … I was catching up on sleep. You can forgive me, I hope.” Kosav arched an eyebrow. “You are still …?” He did not need to finish -- Kosav was the only one Stanislaw had trusted with his nightmares. “Yes,” Stanislaw said with a sigh of his own as he joined Kosav by the dais, “and I fear they’re getting worse. Each time is more vivid, like … like I am really back there.” Even as he closed his eyes, Stanislaw could picture the Nzech traitors rushing through the Castle, cutting down men and women blindly. “We’ll have our revenge soon enough. Don’t worry.” “Revenge?” Stanislaw scoffed in half-hearted amusement. “You’re sounding like Barbov now.” “What do you want me to say?” Kosav closed his eyes as the beam of light from the window fell on him. “That we’ll restore strong administration, rule of law, stability? Because we will, but the Nzech promise to do the exact same thing.” His eyes opened on the map again. “And they possess the greater, ah, territorial means to do so.” Stanislaw's own gaze looked at a fat wooden figure placed over the bold dot labelled ‘LAHY’ on the map. “I still just don’t understand,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “Chancellor Msitovic and the Nzech served King Karl to build this kingdom over these last decades … they regained their honour, their respect … why oust his heirs as soon as they can?” “The Nzechovich have challenged Barbov and I’s forefathers for kingship of the Raev for generations,” Kosav answered absently, as if by rote. “They saw an opportunity, and they took it by trying to kill us in our sleep.” The look Stanislaw gave his friend was wary. “Do you really believe that? Some of the Nzech would leap at the first opportunity to seize power, but … God, Kosav, you know Lord Msitovic is not like that. He values more than just the pride of his people.” “ … I know.” “So then why would he lead a coup to drive you out?” Stanislaw almost wished Kosav had said anything else besides, “I don’t know.” Before Stanislaw could ponder any further, though, Kosav pushed off the dais and ran a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter now. You heard Barbov - before the month is out, we’ll finally be marching on Mejen. I think that calls for a drink. Don’t you? Stanislaw?” Stanislaw blinked as if waking from a trance. He nodded along politely, and followed as Kosav began to lead the way to his chambers, but his mind remained at the table. His mind remained on the table, and the fact that he could have sworn that when Stanislaw asked why the Nzech led their coup, Kosav had been staring at the spot where Barbov had stood.

VALKSKEJ I DENLICHTE KAROVIC THE CARRION BLACK AGREEMENT Agreed of this 11th day of Jula and Piov of 404 E.S. I Daeland will receive an payment of 3,000 minae for their participation in the war to assist the Grand Kingdom of Urguan with one thousand soldiers upon entry of the first battle. Half shall be paid up front and the remainder upon completion of the war. II For every 500 additional soldiers that arise to the call of the Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska, an additional 1,000 minae will be awarded. III Daeland will receive a bonus of 500 minae upon victory of the aforementioned war in its entirety IV For every major battle, Daeland will receive a bonus of 500 minae major contribution judged by his Majesty, Sigismund III V The adherence to Haeseni law and heed to the Marshal and Field Commander of Hanseti-Ruska will be required by Daeland within the Kingdom's lands and any of Her offenses and defences in the aforementioned war. VI Daeland shall terminate their agreement with the Orenian Empire dated 1851 F.A. 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, Fidei Defensor, Lord of the Westfolk, Protector of the Highlanders, etcetera. Beannachadh Dhè, Malcolm de Chlann (of Clan) Douglas, Hound of Daeland and Chlann Douglas, Sionadh of the A' Ghàidhealtachd Gowther de Chlann (of Clan) Douglas, Stag of Daeland and Chlann Douglas, Sionadh of the A' Ghàidhealtachd

VALKSKEJ I GRASZ EMASAND THE GREENER GRASS AGREEMENT Agreed of this 11th day of Jula and Piov of 404ES I The Sons of Nagg will receive an payment of 3,000 minae for their participation in the war to assist the Grand Kingdom of Urguan with one thousand soldiers upon entry of the first battle. Half shall be paid up front and the remainder upon completion of the war. II For every 500 additional soldiers that arise to the call of the Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska, an additional 1,000 minae will be awarded. III The Sons of Nagg will receive a bonus of 500 minae upon victory of the aforementioned war in its entirety IV For every major battle, the Sons of Nagg will receive a bonus of 500 minae major contribution judged by his Majesty, Sigismund III V The adherence to Haeseni law and heed to the Marshal and Field Commander of Hanseti-Ruska will be required by the Sons of Nagg within the Kingdom's lands and any of Her offenses and defences in the aforementioned war. VI The Sons of Nagg terminate their agreement with the Orenian Empire dated 1851 F.A. 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, Fidei Defensor, Lord of the Westfolk, Protector of the Highlanders, etcetera. Warboss Fishbreff

ZREKSAN I VE PRECCAVZ APPOINTMENT OF THE PREVAILER KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM Issued by the CROWN On this 4th day of Jula and Piov of 404ES VA BIRODEO HERZENAV AG EDLERVIK War has come to Almaris. It is not a war our Kongzem had ever sought, yet no longer can we stand idle as our ally - whom, upon our honour, we have sworn to defend - is aggressed upon after they had explicitly ended their war with Philip II, seeking no quarrel with Philip III. No longer can we stand idle as our Church is attacked, and our Kongzem is accused of conspiring against it by the Orenian Archchancellor. No longer can we stand idle as our roads fall under threat from Orenian highwaymen who cannot hold their own roads, and even our Highlander brethren in Orenia live in fear. No longer can we stand idle as those who orchestrated the attempted coup on the sovereign nation of Savoy stand alongside Orenian raiders with impunity. No longer can we stand idle. Make no mistake, Almaris, that each and every step that has led to this conflict was a product of tyranny by those we once considered dear friends. Thus, as the Kongzem prepares to honour her defensive alliance with the Grand Kingdom of Urguan and her allies in the Ferryman Company, the Crown sees fit to make the following appoint: AILRED VAR RUTHERN, THE PREVAILER FIELD MARSHAL OF THE BROTHERHOOD OF SAINT KARL @biggestdon While Lord Johann Barclay is charged with his duties of overall organization, management, and leadership of the Brotherhood of Saint Karl and the defense of the Kongzem, it shall be the duties of the Prevailer, as Field Marshal, to utilise his fabled battle experience - garnered throughout the Rimetroll War, Sutican War, and Haelunorian War - to lead the Brotherhood and the forces of Haense in battle. May you show our enemies the error of their ways, Prevailer. May you return peace to our lands, and cast off the shadow of tyranny. May you exemplify what it means to be Haeseni. IV JOVEO MAAN His Royal Majesty SIGISMUND III by the Grace of Godan, King of Hanseti and Ruska, Fidei Defensor, 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, Protector of the Highlanders, etcetera.

"Is this the kind of intelligence that led you to deposing Everard, I wonder ..." Sigismund mused to his hearth. "Fool you once, shame on them, but fool you twice ..."

Vzreif Edar i ve Herzenir i Reinmar ROYAL LETTERS FOR THE DUCHY OF REINMAR KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM Issued by the CROWN On this 9th day of Wzuvar and Byvca of 403ES VA BIRODEO HERZENAV AG EDLERVIK We, the Haeseni, find ourselves in turbulent times. The Orenian Empire attempts to despose the High Pontiff Everard VI, bonds are broken between the men and realms of the south, and the shadow of war looms over central Almaris more iminently than ever before. In times of uncertainty and turmoil, there is no greater virtue to be found than that of loyalty - of men and women who are not only dedicated, but reliable, dependable, and trustworthy. Oftentimes, a monarch may go their entire reign searching for liegemen with this sacrosanct virtue, for supporters who can be trusted when backs are turned and eyes are lidded, for fellow Canonists who do not scheme for personal power, and share a genuine bond to build a greater kingdom for all. The Kongzem of Haense is beyond blessed that we are land of many such men, and today, the Crown wishes to honour one. Growing up, I had many friends within the crimson walls of Karosgrad. In our youth, we played, as children do. We shirked our lessons and responsibilities in pursuit of fun, but there was one of my peers who did not. From a young age, Lord Johann Barclay donned the black-gold gambesson of the Brotherhood of Saint Karl, and from that moment on he was a soldier. Where Kaustantin and I laughed and played in the streets, Lord Johann stood at the gates of our city, day in and day out, and it was from that moment I knew I had come across a man dedicated beyond all others, and a friend who would never falter. As time has progressed, Lord Johann has reiterated this impression year by year, not only through his own actions, but that of his House, from his work as Lord Marshal of the Brotherhood of Saint Karl to the festivities hosted by the House of Barclay such as Kretzenfest, to the most recent adamant support given Friendship and duty does not beget reward -- men do not do these things because they seek gain, but because they believe in the realm they are building, and the future they are building. Because of this, I do henceforth return unto Lord Johann Barclay the Duchy of Reinmar, and decree that he shall be known as His Grace, Duke Johann of the House of Barclay. IV JOVEO MAAN His Royal Majesty SIGISMUND III by the Grace of Godan, King of Hanseti and Ruska, FIDEI DEFENSOR, 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, Protector of the Highlanders, etcetera.

"Words are wind."

King Sigismund buckled on his cloak in his office as he prepared for the day ahead. It was morning, and pale winter light filtered through the open balcony, bringing with it a chilling gust of wind that carried the noise from the city beyond. If not for the pine logs burning in the hearth, he would have been frozen to the bone. As he fixed his cloak on with a silver-crow brooch, he looked up to the Hussariyan Cross hanging above the fireplace. "Vy have a strange sense of humour, vy know that?" Godan gave no answer to that.

NAKROV I VE HERZEN I SCHATTENBURG BIRTH OF THE DUKE OF SCHATTENBURG KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM Issued by the CROWN On this 17th day of Vzmey and Hyff of 402ES VA BIRODEO HERZENAV AG EDLERVIK The King and Queen's record of birthing safe and healthy children remains intact, though I touch the wood of my desk as I write this. An hour after High Bell, her Majesty Queen Emma, in the company of her husband and their now-experienced team of birthing midwives, gave birth to a fourth boy weighing just over five pounds. The baby's light weight prompted initial concern, but it soon became clear that the baby was, despite its weight, healthy. It was born crying loud and clear, with the strongest lungs yet of the royal children, and the Crown thus fears for the safety of its sleep as its sobs continue to echo throughout the Nikirala Prikaz. Nonetheless, the Prikaz is blessed to announce the birth of: HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE DUKE OF SCHATTENBURG JOSEF FREDERIK BARBANOV-BIHAR @Sarmadonn Upon the newly-born Royal Highness, the Crown bestows the titular Duchy of Schattenburg, and grant him the Face of the North amulet from the Crown Jewels as his personal badge and seal. Godan has to be thanked for the continued safe births following the initial tragic death of the newborn Edvard Arjen, Grand Prince of Kusoraev. Princess Klara, and Princes Karl and Sergey have since grown to be hale. The Princess Klara shall begin her formal education as a Princess of the Kongzem soon, and the Twin Princes shall be exhibited at the next sitting of the Royal Court now that they have both reached five winters. 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, Protector of the Highlanders, etcetera.

HVEIZA I VE ORAZVI I MAENVESTIYAEO APPOINTMENT OF THE COURT ORACLE KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM Issued by the CROWN On this 17th day of Wzuvar and Byvca of 402ES VA BIRODEO HERZENAV AG EDLERVIK Prinzen Franz Leopold Barbanov Bihar - the Oracle Knight, and Duke of Schattenburg - has served the Kongzem throughout his life as Knight, Grand Maer, and Lord. Though now he is old and ashen-haired, rumours have followed the Prinzen since his infancy -- rumours that the Prinzen is capable of seeing things that other men cannot, threads of the past, present, and future, and the visages of those long dead. It is for this reason that he took the moniker of Oracle upon his dubbing as a Knight of Haense. Scepticism of the Prinzen's Godan-given power has since been dispelled. The Crown vests full faith in the soothsaying abilities of the Prinzen following a number of prophecies that have come to pass, that include: I. The demise of Ruslan Valwyck, the Duke of Valwyck; II. The bountiful grain harvest of 399ES; III. A particular aggressive Thorqal mating season in the Staalmarsh, which warned Attenlund farmers not to graze near the marshland; IV. The balding of Aleksandr Ruthern; V. The breaking of Prinzen Sergey's fever; VI. The outcome of the Karosgrad Crow's Bucketball game against the San Luciano Saints; VII. The death of Prinzen Edvard, Grand Prinzen of Kusoraev. The Crown thus decrees that Prinzen Franz Leopold shall no longer hold the title of Duke of Schattenburg, and instead appoints his Highness to serve as Court Oracle of Maenvestiyaeo, and charge him to serve the Kongzem as seer and soothsayer. His duties shall be to: I. Attend sittings of the Royal Court, and speak of his prophecies before all the Kongzem; II. Assign Knight's Quests to Squires of the Knights' Table as their final trial before dubbing. The Oracle has requested that he make his home in the ruins of Krusev, surrounded by the great trees and spirits of the dead, and the Crown sees fit to grant him such. While it is dubious as to whether the gifts of the Oracle shall manifest themselves again, the Crown rests well knowing the Oracle of Maenvestiyaeo deciphers the threads of fate. 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, Protector of the Highlanders, etcetera.

THE FAMILY DINNER EDICT KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM Issued by the CROWN On this 12th day of Msitza and Dargund of 401ES VA BIRODEO HERZENAV AG EDLERVIK Since the infancy of Haense in its ancient cradle of Siegrad, the line of Barbanov has endured centuries, during which time the other great Descendant bloodlines have fallen to ruin or disgrace, harkened back to memory only occasionally by some wayward claimant invoking it from the grave for brief acclaim. Not the line of Barbanov, though; its persistence through these centuries of hardships poetically characterises the adamant spirit of the Haeseni people themselves, and in doing so, has maintained unsmirched prestige to stand as the greatest ancient bloodline of today. Such prestige is hard-won, not only from the trials weathered through Haeseni history, but also from simple internal maintenance. It befalls the Crown, as the Lord of the Royal House of Barbanov-Bihar, to ensure that no misguided or malicious offspring bring dishonour to the family name, and by extension, the Kongzem of Haense itself. A lack of maintenance is like a slow poison, deadly as much for its subtlety as much for its erosion, and thus, the Crown sees fit to scribe this Edict with a view to maintaining the integrity and prestige of the Royal House of Barbanov-Bihar. Thus, the following is decreed. ____________________________ I: ON THE TITLES OF PRINZEN & PRINZENAS Chief among the future issues facing the Royal House is an unanticipated increase in members, owing to the descendants of King Sigismund II and King Heinrik II siring male lines. Until now, the informal law of the Royal House was that any child, sibling, niece, and nephew of the monarch took the title of ‘Prinz’ or ‘Prinzenas’. Until the expansion of the Royal House under King Heinrik II, this law was unproblematic, but now no longer remains tenable. The Crown has determined that over a dozen members of the Royal House assuming the title of Prinz or Prinzenas is to the detriment of the prestigious nature of the station. Therefore, upon execution of this Edict, only those with immediate relation to a monarch of Hanseti-Ruska shall be entitled to the title of Prinz or Prinzenas, and the address of ‘Royal Highness’. This shall include the siblings and children of any Haeseni monarch; not just the current one. All those born outside of this category shall be entitled to the title of Lord or Lady, and the address of ‘Highness’. ____________________________ II: ON MALE OFFSPRING In generations past, it was unwritten tradition that a male son of the monarch, besides the Grand Prinz of Kusoraev, would not sire a large family of their own, for the Royal House differs from the Noble Houses in that it does not pursue constant expansion. Instead, the Crown takes the view that the Royal House should instead be an exclusive, model echelon. However, since the reigns of King Josef I and King Heinrik II, this has begun to change, with each of his male sons having sired at least one child to date. With a view to maintaining the prestige of the Royal House and control of its members as claimants to the throne of Hanseti-Ruska, the Crown espouses the policy that no male Prinz, besides the Grand Prinz of Kusoraev, should endeavour to sire more than two or three children. ____________________________ III: ON ROYAL CADETS Throughout recent history, there has typically existed a Royal Cadet House derived from the Royal House, usually sired by a sibling of a monarch. Originally, this was the House of Ludovar, before decades have distanced them too greatly from the Royal House, and then the House of Alimar prior to its incorporation back into the Royal House, and today it is the Royal Cadet House of Morovar, sired by Franz Leopold, fourthborn son of King Sigismund II. While the existence of a Royal Cadet House serves to supplement the Line of Succession, the Crown must outline the policy that the continued creation of Royal Cadet Houses, which necessitate the siring of many children - and, in other words, many claimants - is undesirable. The siring of Royal Cadet Houses is therefore prohibited without the blessings of the sitting monarch, as the patriarch of the Royal House of Barbanov-Bihar. ____________________________ IV: ON SLOTHFUL ROYALS Having read the provisions of this Edict, one might be inclined to question the exact prestige sought by the Crown. In essence, the Royal House should represent the pinnacle of Haeseni strength; while the Royal House rules through the right of their ancestors, the deeds of the past must be supplemented by the worthiness of those who rule in the present. It cannot be expected that the Haeseni people shall bow their heads to the Prinz, Prinzenas, Lords, and Ladies of the Royal House if such respect is not earned through deed. Therefore, the Crown proclaims its readiness to punish members of the Royal House who shirk the inherent duties of their esteemed station. Whether it is through service in the Brotherhood of Saint Karl, seating on the Knight’s Table, patronage of the Royal Duma, publication of scholarly works, or anything of comparable nature, the Royal House must continue to toil for the worthiness of their bloodline. ____________________________ V: ON THE APPLICATION OF THIS EDICT This Edict is penned in response to the current status of the Royal House, and the Crown thus recognises that there may come a point in the future where the number of members of the Royal House is sufficiently low so that the titles of ‘Prinzen’ and ‘Prinzenas’ may once again be extended to more distant relations of the Crown. If such a time ever comes, a subsequent Edict ought to be published. The provisions herein on Royal Cadet Houses and slothful royals, however, should remain intact forthwith. ____________________________ 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, Protector of the Highlanders, etcetera.

Cultural appropriation 300 m

semi armour 200m cultural appropriation 200m con.or

Letter to the Royal Duma: THE CHURCH KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM Issued by the CROWN On this 11th day of Tov and Yermey of 401ES VA BIRODEO HERZENAV AG ALDYLEVAR Since the unanticipated death of Anders Cardinal Jorenus - Godani rest his soul - the Crown has considered the role of the Church of the Canon in the Kongzem. The Crown naturally recognizes both the autonomy of the Church and also the need for symbiosis between it and the Kongzem; it appears, however, as if the current direction of this symbiosis is unclear. Therefore, the Crown compels its Royal Duma to debate the matter as to what role the Church should play in Haeseni society beyond standard sacraments - if any - and what efforts in return the Crown ought to make in support of the Church. In light of the scheduled debate on the rewrite of the Jura i Szlata, the Crown advises the Royal Duma that this debate is not a matter of urgency and can be conducted in a future session. 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, Protector of the Highlanders, etcetera.

"Call off the raid, Johann," King Sigismund says to his Marshal with a small, satisfied smile as he reads the news. @Frymark