ninjaclimb1

Hannibal signs himself up, intent on squiring for his uncle in the upcoming campaign!

Martius welcomed his sister into the seven skies, awaiting now only the arrivals of Diedrick and Carolus.

Hannibal Valerian overheard palace workers discussing his grandfathers newest decree, muttering quietly to himself, "Long live the Empire." The youth then set off again, aimlessly wandering through the palaces halls.

A Hounds Passing The Death of Martius van Aert (fat chud) In the year 277 S.A., Empire of Man ✠ ✠ Before I was ever a prince, I was a knight. In truth, my life's purpose was to serve as a knight, I was never suited for politics, or the intricacies of ruling a vassal. My skill lay with my sword and axe. I had hoped to meet my end as a knight in the midst of this war. Ye - The half finished letter was pushed aside by Martius, who reclined back into his chair, letting out a hefty sigh. Even this short bit of writing had bored him half to death, he couldn’t stomach the thought of finishing it, his body ached for a final fight. Some chance to die as a knight, yet as his sole, verdant eye was cast down, he knew this last war had been his final chance. He grew closer to his father by the day, his hairs had greyed and it now took a herculean effort to force himself inside his armour. Disgusting, he had thought to himself. For the first time in nearly three decades, Martius’ right arm extended across his body, tearing apart the straps that held that golden, useless arm in place, that arm then collapsing onto the floor with a great crash. His pride had forbidden him from getting a true prosthetic, yet he had worn that decorative arm since the day it had been crafted as a reminder of his mistake. His stump of an arm hung uselessly then by his side, whilst his right raised to rid the golden half-mask from his face. For the first time in nearly as long, Martius caught his full reflection on an empty plate, that marred, disgusting flesh in full display. The prince then rose to his feet, swiping his sole arm across the desk, emptied bottles crashing down across his office floor. Disgusting, he thought again. The two scabbards that lay atop his desk were fitted back to his belt, as Martius marched from his office. This moment of clarity, of self-loathing, had awoken some ancient purpose within Martius, some kind of drive. He first burst into the room of his eldest son, Willem, throwing the family artifact atop his bed - BURGVNDIE VIRTVS. His second destination was the room of his youngest, Erwin, whom he left a second weapon, that vile sword he had been bestowed by the first grand knight. Then Martius descended Zwarsteen, intent on visiting the grave of his father. Grey hair matted to his head as he left the comfort of his halls, the rain falling heavy around him. Stepping onto the narrow gauntlet, he cast a gaze over toward the statues which lined the walls, those of ancestors or storied levymen. These statues had always been a source of pride, knowing that service was honoured in Zwarsteen. Yet as he cast his gaze toward those statues, his foot slid forward suddenly across the wet bridge, his great mass pulled downward at a frightening speed. Off the bridge, he fell, tumbling down into the pit. Instead of the crunch he had expected, there was a piercing pain, and as his eye drew downward toward his own chest, he was greeted with a protruding spike, blood welling around the wound immediately. He almost laughed, his own frankly ingenious trap had at long last claimed its first victim - him. Yet as he lay there, it dawned on him, the finality of this. No one could hear his cry for help, for the castle was empty. ✠ His mind first went to his siblings - Valentin, Madelief and Diedrick. He was the second son, and had been the youngest for much of his childhood until Diedrick had come along. His relationship with Valentin had always been somewhat off, Martius was the second son, yet he had been named heir. As a child, he had never understood why, but this had always strained this relationship somewhat. Yet with Madelief, he had always been close, he had followed her around as a child, and he had helped to wage a war in defence of her honour, breaking an oath in defence of her. He had felled dozens of Druscans for one man's comment to her, and one man's threat to her son. Diedrick had always been a stout ally of Martius, he shared a comparable martial prowess, a love for warfare. The two had fought side by side on countless occasions, and fought against one another on just as many. Since childhood, Martius had often felt he would be first to go. He was a soldier, he served as a knight, and placed himself in death's path far more frequently than any combined. Yet, in recent years, his sister had grown deathly ill and Valentin had disappeared. Perhaps nature had intended to play out as expected, the eldest first and Martius would be third after Madelief. His mind then drifted, to his cousins. Carolus was nearly a decade his senior, he had taught Martius to fight as a boy and likely had been his closest ally through his entire life. The pair had charged behemoths together, they had fought innumerous foes, and prevailed on all occasions. Carolus, he had been certain would pass before him, yet life had a cruel way of playing out for some. He thought of Halrik for only a moment, another amongst his greatest of allies. Reuben was spared another quick thought, a distant cousin who had aided Martius in his youth, when he had felt without direction. Perhaps in another life, he would have taken Reuben's offer, lived a fuller, longer life. His nieces and nephews were next to mind. Romhilda, Matthijs, Circe, Marwin, Calias and a handful of others whose names escaped him. He had figured himself to be a good uncle, he had cared for them and fought for them on occasion. Few could knock him for that, he reasoned. At long last, his children came to mind. Emmelina had not been seen in nearly two decades, he doubted she would hear of his passing, yet it pained him to recall how absent he had been for her. Willem and Gaspard, he had done well by, Willem stood in good stead, and would likely be better than him as prince. Erwin had spent much of his life away, yet the reports he had heard filled him with pride, he looked to be shaping into a fine warrior, and would surely one day serve as the next knight of van Aert. ✠ Martius slipped further down the spike, blood spluttering from his mouth. ✠ He then thought of his duty as a knight. He cared little for his tenure as prince, he took no pride in that. His service as a knight, the company he had kept as a knight, that he took pride in. At least, for the first half of it. He recalled the fights against the mountain and its force; he had served excellently in those battles, up until the last. That final fight in the New Valdev palace, where he had lost his arm, and perhaps in some ways, Martius van Aert had died that day. He had lost most of his prowess, he had grown jaded and unhappy in his service. Lazy, even, and this was where his gluttony had reared it’s head. An innocent man had been murdered in that room by Martius, cut down easier than butter. He scarcely recalled their name or face by this stage, yet that room had left him scarred. Even lacking an arm, he had served well in both the Druscan and later the dwarven war, no dwarf or druscan capable of granting Martius the death he had dreamed of - a knight's death. The latter half of his knighthood he took no joy in, since that god forsaken merge with the army. He should have killed whoever thought of that, rather than sitting and brewing on his displeasure, allowing himself to grow as jaded as he had become. Faces flashed back to him, of those he knighted, Zubayr and Carl. Both of whom had grown into great knights, and great sources of pride for the old knight. Then the faces of those he had served alongside in his earliest years: of Gedeon, of Vanya, of Severin, of Redgar, of Esther, of Heinrik, of Ghetsis, of Sirius, of Abraham, of Lothar, of Hughes. Yet here, his duty comes to an end. ✠ Again, Martius slipped further down the spike, a second spluttering of blood flying from his mouth. It was here that his vision grew blurred, his sole arm felt to weigh a ton by his side, no longer able to reach upward, to grasp at the sky above. Here, Martius van Aert would meet his end. Alone, undignified, but at peace with himself. A wasted life, perhaps to some, but a life that Martius had lived. His service to the Empire was finished.

Hannibal smiles the suns smile, blissfully unaware of the horrifying, though sadly accurate, accusations of his infant obesity that had spread from the Empires courts.

WILLEM'S COMING OF AGE In the year 263 S.A., Empire of Man ✠ ✠ The Prince of Blackvale extends invitations to all within the Empire to celebrate the coming of age of his eldest son and heir, Willem. His youngest son, Gaspard, too will be honoured briefly. The eldest shall prove his martial prowess by engaging with his father in single combat atop the Narrow Gauntlet. His performance in this duel shall be reviewed by a gathering of elder Lodenlanders and family alike who will determine whether Willem is fit to succeed as heir. All are welcome to try their hand against Willem, one set to inherit Blackvale ought not shy away from any challenge. Following this, a feast and celebration shall be hosted, where all are invited to enjoy local delicacies and the finest drinks that the Lords of Blackvale have to offer. All are invited. ✠ B V R G V N D I A E I N V I C T A HIS HIGHNESS, Martius I van Aert, Prince of Blackvale, Duke of Veletz, Lord of Westmark, Patriarch-Dynast of Pertinax

A Life Lived Full (Of food) The passing of Coenraed van Aert In the year 256 S.A., Empire of Man ✠ ✠ In the Year 256, the House van Aert announces the passing of its prince, Coenraed van Aert. In the early hours, Coenraed had attempted his ascent towards Blackvales castle, but his heart, burdened by his age, hadn’t the strength to bear the long walk. He passed peacefully as he would have wished, with food in hand and in the company of his daughter and granddaughter at the foot of his favoured shrine. A funeral service and a feast in the fallen prince's honour will be announced in due time, once the family have been given time to deal with this loss. With his passing, Martius van Aert succeeds him as Prince of Blackvale. May Coenraed rest in peace, a tribute to his passing added to the spot where he passed. ✠ B V R G V N D I A E I N V I C T A HIS HIGHNESS, Martius I van Aert, Prince of Blackvale, Duke of Veletz, Baron of Pestilles, Lord of Westmark, Patriarch-Dynast of Pertinax

"Good work," bid Martius van Aert, a Knight of the Black Dragon chapter, having heard of the squires recent exploits and successes in his duels. It was good to see such promise, such drive amongst the new generation of squires. Martius then set off, intent on checking on the progress of his own squire.

((MC Name: )) ninjaclimb1 Name: Cassian Vote 1: Theveus Sythaerin Vote 2: Theveus Sythaerin

johan van aert is a fan of this

[[RP]] First Name: Leofric Surname: Age: 18 Reason for Interest: : D [[OOC]] Username: ninjaclimb1 Discord: ninjaclimb#7199

very helpful 10/10

"dat ahm embarazzin'." kolaz'lak muttered, having heard of what had happened.

accepted