Proddy

Karl Summers stands vigil at his half-brothers side as he'd ascend the steps leading on toward the marbled throne of Lotharingia, resolute smile peering upon his lips as he'd assume his seat.

"who the **** is that?" robert ponders from across the great Autumn Sea

"Uh oh!" Robert of Lorraine gasps

"a-a-a-ave" mumbles stevie "the stammer" jrent

“May the blessing of GOD be upon you. You are hereby accepted into the The Black Sepulchers at the rank of MASTER OF THE CAMP. Journey to Castle Albigense in the County of Cleves post-haste to receive your arms, standard and cot.” “May the blessing of GOD be upon you. You are hereby accepted into the The Black Sepulchers at the rank of INITIATE. Journey to Castle Albigense in the County of Cleves post-haste to receive your arms, standard and cot.” “May the blessing of GOD be upon you. You are hereby accepted into the The Black Sepulchers at the rank of INITIATE. Journey to Castle Albigense in the County of Cleves post-haste to receive your arms, standard and cot.”

“May the blessing of GOD be upon you. You are hereby accepted into the The Black Sepulchers at the rank of INITIATE. Journey to Mont St. Humbert in the County of Cleves post-haste to receive your arms, standard and cot.”

“May the blessing of GOD be upon you. You are hereby accepted into the The Black Sepulchers at the rank of ARMSMAN. Journey to Mont St. Humbert in the County of Cleves post-haste to receive your arms, standard and cot.”

Smiling, Grandmaster Ser Ghislain de Anjou pens a swift, succinct response to the first applicant, delivering it by raven. “May the blessing of GOD be upon you. You are hereby accepted into the The Black Sepulchers at the rank of INITIATE. Journey to Mont St. Humbert in the County of Cleves post-haste to receive your arms, standard and cot.”

Robert de Anjou brushes his hands together.

Robert ponders.

Robert de Anjou frowns deeply as he recounts the list, noting the absence of the true and rightful king of Lorraine, Philip Owyn d'Amaury! He pens a swift, yet succint note to whoever drafted this notice, hoping they've the sense to rectify the mistake...

It was all but noon when word of the king’s death reached Robert’s ears. The news had reached the weathered Count in a brief, succinct missive - a sealed letter from the Lotharingian court. Lothar was dead, and in credence to the minority of his heir, Philip Owyn, Anna-Sophia had took the opportunity of chaos and disunion to seize the throne for herself, a budding ambition the Count de Anjou had been well aware of. Mixed accounts came to him of how Lothar Augustus had met his end, a number of rumours circulating around his own court. Some spoke of poisoning, others whispered of outright murder within the halls of Ostwick, that Anna-Sophia had simply commanded her bannermanto draw his sword and strike Lothar down upon the spot. A select few - sympathisers of the Lady Horen’s cause - came forth with the explanation that King Lothar simply choked on a pork pie whilst dining at Ostwick. But the outcome was all the same. Robert stood rigid at the highest point of Cleves, countenance set forward into the direction of the hollow capital of Metz - once a glorious bastion of humanity and an integral component of a fallen, forsaken empire. But now, nothing, decadent and in tatter - the great reconstruction of Metz had made little progress over the years, and as King Lothar had sat brooding within his halls his people had suffered and starved greatly. Edict clutched in hand, his typical grim scowl pressed upon his face, Robert reached up, withdrawing a necklace of the Lorraine Cross from his neck, staring down upon the religious finery as it sat within his palm. The Count had no doubt that in soon time, his former vassal would summon him to court, to reaffirm his vassalage proper. And the Ashford certainly intended to oblige her. But not alone.

Battle of Barrowyck or Siege of the Dreadfort.

"Justice for Guy, at last. " one of the last few remaining de Bar descendants remarks, weary gaze cast upon the borderland foliage of the Blackwald marsh as preparations for the war camp begin. "Our dearest omen..."

A long dead strelt finds it ironic that a Carrion descendant is reforming the order, remembering the days of "crow beats cross"!

kim jong un, supreme leader of the DPRK and a stalwart fighter within the corbynic alliance smiles, rallying his soldiers - he is ready to set forth to bring aid to his fellow communist brothers once more.

ave ave ave death to heathen furries

"Accepted - report to Ostwick for your arms and armour."

"Accepted."