GMRO

Good luck Twandhi whether you stay or go just enjoy yourself on your adventures!

"Should just let them get on with it. They can sit on their backsides if they so wish." Dmitry picked at his teeth, flicking it away.

Dmitry glanced down the list of names with a wary eye. “I hope the Crown does read between the lines. Whether the Duke be right or wrong, this clamour comes from fear half these houses are failing and a Grand Peer would revert them to their appropriate station.”

A QUEENS RANSOM Issued by the HOUSE OF RUTHERN On the 13th day of Wzuvar and Byvca of 460 E.S SANGKRUV I RUTHER, It is with great satisfaction that the bannermen and faithful crusaders of House Ruthern report that the Queen of Norland, Edyth Edvardsson, has been captured. The time for good faith is at an end. The aim of this letter is simple. We wish to meet you in the field, let us sniff out your ability. If you truly care for your Queen and burning tree religion, come, and meet us. Man to man and if you should win, your Queen goes unharmed. You have a Saint’s Hour to respond. We shall meet in the fields of Vidaus, now the rightful capital of Norland. Good luck! SIGNED, His Grace, Aleksandr var Ruthern, Duke of Vidaus, Count of Metterden, Baron of Rostig, Lord of Druzstra and Protector of the South Ser Jimarcus ‘The Queen Snatcher’, ‘The Liberator’ ‘The Man of the Thousand Isles’

Jimarcus, most holy and revered figure and soldier of this Crusade after being offered ten minas fifty, did squint at the missive. "I smell a deal to be had and an adventure to be had!"

Jimarcus commented dryly. "Protector and Lord of the Highlanders? This'll be interesting!"

As the aged monarch found his equal depart the world soon after him, he was whole again. Whilst he had kept few secrets from Amadea throughout his lifetime, he had for so long kept one that caused her such pain. She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve me for that. Didn’t deserve what I did to her. He still found himself thinking that even as they passed almost together. Yet there was more to their life and their marriage than that. Memories returned to the aged king as though the pair were young again. A Prince and A Carrington-made-Basrid broke into the Carrington manor in search of Amadea’s memories. They walked through empty corridors in search of the things that mattered only to find it deserted. Karl, wanting to show off his strength, picked up a marble bust of Amadea to carry home. He thought of how it still stood within the halls of the Morrivi Palace. Another memory of all the time Amadea stole his eight-ball to never be able to finish a game of pool when she was mad at him, or just wanting to cause trouble. The betrothal dinner of Analiesa and Aleksandr before all hell had broken loose and the king spoke of love. More memories, the first time the pair got a moment alone in the mazes of Karosgrad where he admitted his love for her. The first time they met, Amadea bald and made him a lion hat that the man still held close. Even the first cologne he;d received that he wore for all his life. The torrent of memories came thick and fast as she joined him, and he could only be thankful she’d come so soon. Without her, Karl was always lost.

KARL III: A CROWN OF SCARS Karl of Haense woke from a dreamless sleep. With raspy, surprised breaths, it took a moment for him to get his bearings - to shake the shroud of sleep, and remember where he was, and who he was. He lay alone in his bed, beneath heavy quilts and furs that slicked his skin with a cold sweat, and a thick medicinal incense hung in the air. Windchimes sang in the window, and, instead of the usual dreary grey light characteristic of the Haeseni spring, it was a soft amber light that filled his bedroom and gleamed against his quilt’s gold frills, and the blades, mail, and other trophies on the walls. His room was not empty, however. As he craned his head to the side, he found Amadea sitting on the bedside chair, her caramel face framed by the snow-white silk of her kokoshnik, and a quill moving between her ringed fingers as she wrote in a book. Despite the weariness and the dull pain that had clung to Karl for months, the sight of his wife scribbling in her book brought with it relief. That’s right, he reminded himself with a sad smile, I … am not alone. “You shouldn’t get up.” Amadea tutted without moving her eyes from the page. “I haven’t moved, Amadea. What gave you the idea I wanted to get up?” The Queen wore a slight smile of her own as she continued her usual jottings. “I can just tell.” Her smile faded with a sigh. “I can also tell that you’re not going to listen.” “You know me far too well, Amadea.” His leaden remaining arm ached, and a muscle spasmed in his chest, as Karl dragged himself out of bed, gripping the side-table. He sat on the edge of his breath, breathing through his teeth as he watched the noon sun flash against a blade of dull, charred gold on the ball. Vutcimez, the infernal blade of a demon prince who invaded my realm with an army of otherworldly Inferi, now a trophy on my wall. As he coughed and hacked, his body having ached at just rising from his bed, he had still found himself surprised that this husk had been once able to wield warhammers or slay the master of that cursed blade. “So, for what reason will you be ignoring the doctor’s orders to stay in bed this time?” Amadea asked, not with disapproval, but with a weary acceptance. Karl watched the light flash on Vutcimez as the wind chimes rang in the window. “It’s a nice day outside. I’d like to see the city.” He met Amadea’s eyes as the Queen finally looked up from her writing, and he saw the concern in them. “What are you writing, anyway?” “Oh, don’t worry about it. Seems there will be no changing your mind either way.” Even as she spoke the words, though, her smile returned. She offered Karl her hand. As Karl took her hand, soft and smooth in contrast with his scars and calluses, he felt the same invigorating tenderness he had when they were married thirty-six years ago. With her help, he rose from the bed, and draped his elk-hide fur cloak over himself to trap in the heat. He sighed shakily, and looked towards the door. “Let’s be off, then.” “Karl.” Amadea began hesitantly, “Are you sure about this?” There was a weight to her words that went beyond asking if he was sure about getting out of bed. Her eyes shimmered. Karl’s tired eyes flit from Vutcimez back to Amadea, and he mustered the most reassuring smile he could. “I’m certain, love.” There were no second-guesses or doubts from Amadea. Unshed tears gleamed in her eyes as she linked her arm with her husband. “Let’s be off.” From his bedside flask, Karl drank a swig of Carrion, and passed it to Amadea for her to do the same. As he felt the familiar burn in his throat, he and Amadea opened the door, and made their way through the royal apartments of the Morrivi Palace. It’s amazing what a bit of sun can do to this place, he thought as they walked down the hardwood floors, laden with Ruskan-style carpets that, together with the sun, filled the halls with life and colour. For all his sudden appreciation of the beauty of a sunlit Haense, though, it was not an easy journey through the apartment. As they moved through the parlour, with its dozens of bookcases, tapestries and a small blaze cackling in the marble fireplace even though no one sat in the cushioned armchairs. His free hand shot out to grab one of the chairs as a jolt of pain lanced through his left leg, he hissed through his teeth. “I’m fine.” he forestalled Amadea’s concern through gritted teeth. He was well used to the pain in his left leg, it had bothered him for years, ever since a sword had first cut him, many years ago, when he had aided an old friend in his quest to claim the throne of Savoy. Karl could almost picture him there, Lucien, sat in one of the armchairs, with that same smug smile on his mischievous face as always, as if all the world was a game and he was the best player. Karl missed that smile, and he missed the man who wore it. Despite the pain that had wracked his leg ever since he helped Lucien win his throne, lost to time, now, much like Lucien himself, he did not regret it for an instant. I'm glad you were with me at the end, he told the ghost in the armchair as he led Amadea forth into a slow walk once more. Look after my children. He made a quiet final message to Lucien. They passed through the corridor that branched off into the study and library, and Karl had to remind himself to steady his breathing. It was not just from his sickness that his breathing was erratic: ever since the Battle of Eastfleet, the climax of his father’s war against the Orenian Empire ever before Karl took the Crown, his lungs had never felt as strong in his youth. The memory of the bloody tide at Eastfleet, of losing his footing and almost drowning in his mail amidst the hundreds upon hundreds of corpses, sent a shiver through him that chilled his very lungs. Only the euphoria of the great victory that Haense and her allies won that day quashed that traumatic sensation of drowning. He remembered the taste of the wars victory upon his lips as he stood alongside famous knights like Ser Flemius, Ser Grigori or Ser Viktor and ferrymen alike having aided in the capturing of Philip III in that fatal battle in Vienne. A fitting burden for my first war, he thought wistfully as he brought his breathing back under control, and continued with a renewed vigour. The dining room doors stood open as they passed. The gilded table and its high-backed chairs were empty, but Karl could recall all the faces who had sat in those chairs over the years as they smiled, cried, laughed, and raged. Instinctively, his free hand reached to trace his forehead; sometimes, he still suffered headaches from his betrothal dinner to Amadea, when his mother’s cooking (which would have been considered a war-crime to feed anyone) had caused him to faint, and bash his head against the floor. That memory brought with it all the other times his family had danced around telling Queen Emma her cooking was more lethal than a warrior’s blade, all to spare her feelings. My family… For a moment, his flickering memories formed more ghosts at the table: Maya, her plump cheeks bouncing as she ate without regard to the chaos around her; Klara, lecturing his twin Sergei on how to cut his meat with all the grace expected of the Royal House; his father, lounging his seat as if relishing the chaos of those dinners; and his mother, watching with sparkling, delighted eyes as her family enjoyed her food. Karl missed her cooking, and he missed his mother. He missed them all. “Do you remember?” he asked faintly to Amadea. He did not specify what. “I do.” She replied without needing to ask, and gave his arm a squeeze. Even Karl’s arm was a living scar, a living memory, for it was an iron cast that had replaced his actual arm lost in a duel with Siegmund, who came so-very-close to felling Karosgrad with his malflame and unholy legions. But you failed, Karl thought solemnly as he and Amadea continued. You lost. He had Vutcimez on his bedroom wall to prove that, and Karl knew, without a doubt, he would have sacrificed as many limbs, and lives, as it took to keep this city from the hands of the infernal invader. As he recalled that duel with the demon prince, surrounded by cheering Haeseni soldiers whose voices were hoarse from screaming and their armour soaked in blood, sparks flew as Siegmund’s Vutcimez clashed with Karl’s Blade of Jophiael amidst the embers and smoke drifting through the battlefield, and Karl knew that duel almost had cost him everything. Karl slipped his flask to his lips with a weary drag, tasting the black nectar once more. Nothing had felt the same since the battle against the Inferi Prince in which he lost his teeth. That burning fist striking forward to smash his teeth out from his mouth. They had been replaced, but that scent of pitch, sulphur and the sickly sweet taste of metal that came to his mouth often as of late. Carrion was the only resolve against it. He took another swig. It left him deformed, at a point unable to speak, yet he wore it as a badge of pride. That everything had not been lost. That it had been worth it. “Not much further now, love.” Even Amadea’s voice, normally and unflappable, seemed to crack. “Not much further.” Karl agreed as they ascended the steps that would lead them to the grand balcony overlooking Karosgrad. Climbing was no easy feat for the old King, though - even besides his stiff leg from his time in Savoy, his right knee twinged with each step up the stairs. That was another souvenir, this time from the Battle of Acre, the climax of the Successors’ War. The anxiety of that memory was far from painful that the old wound on his knee where the edge of a pike had sheared his flesh; he had followed his father into war at Eastfleet, but Karl had been the one to wear the crown in the Successors’ War. Nobody to take responsibility for his actions or to spend lives for what he believed was right. Before he died, Karl’s father had often spoken of the eyes of the dead, looking down from the Seven Skies to see if their King had given meaning to their sacrifice, but Karl had never understood that sentiment until the Battle of Acre. Well, I’m content I gave the dead a good show, Karl thought as they reached the top of the stairs. Haense and her allies had triumphed at Acre. They had won the war, conquered the Silver Isle, and fanned the flames of rebellion in Oren that had eventually consumed it. The floorboards creaked as the elderly royal couple continued, and Karl spared a content smile at the map of Almaris spread on the wall at the top of the landing, and the expanse of the Haeseni borders. They passed a few courtiers and servants who dipped into bows and curtsies, shooting the King concerned looks, but Karl paid them no mind. I have Amadea for looks like that. Yet, as he glanced to her at his side, he abruptly stopped at the sight of a single, silvery tear rolling down her slender cheeks. That sight was almost as frightening as thinking back on the eve of his first battles at Eastfleet and Acre. “Amadea?” “It’s just…” Her voice was a frail whisper, now. “It’s not fair, Karl. We’ve come all this way, endured all these trials, accomplished so much only for you to end up like this? For God’s sake, Karl.” she exhaled softly. Unshed tears glistened in her eyes. “You can barely walk with all these scars.” That might have bothered Karl, once. He was not sure what had changed within him, but he shed no tears of his own as he looked down, as he felt, his own broken body. Satisfaction? Love of one’s country? That thought harkened back to his father once more when he lay on his own deathbed, and when Karl had been left unsure whether to think of the man more as father or King. Yet, as Sigismund III lay dying, his greying locks matted by sweat, he had repeated the same mantra he had all throughout Karl’s life, the power of the Crown was so immense that a mortal man could not possibly withstand it: they could not withstand the pressure of their decisions; could not withstand the consequences of thousands of lives being snuffed out from a single mistake; could not withstand that, even despite their power, there was some things they could not change, some people they could not save. No. He decided at that moment. It was not satisfaction or patriotism that brought him this sense of peace and contentment. He was simply tired. Spent. Exhausted. He had withstood all he could for one lifetime. These scars were his crown, and it had grown far too heavy. “Yes, Amadea,” he said at last as he reached up to wipe that tear off her face. “It is not fair.” He did not weep, nor even frown; instead, he just smiled. That was all he could do. A birdsong greeted them on their final steps to the balcony, and Karl sighed in deep relief as he felt the sun on his skin. In a blue sky marred only by a few stray streaky clouds, the sun bathed the city of Karosgrad in light below him. The streets thronged with fur-clad burghers and cloaked travellers, the tiles of the onion-dome glistening in the sunlight, and the flapping of the dual-banners of Hanseti-Ruska in the wind from atop towers and walls. “Amadea.” Karl did not realise his own eyes had finally teared up until they had blurred his vision. “It’s such a beautiful day.” Amadea gave his arm another squeeze, as if to assure him she was still there. Her eyes continued to shine wetly. “Never could one view tell such a story as this one.” She still spoke in that teary whisper, but there was an iron edge of determination, of resolve, to her voice, now. As a crow took flight and cawed overhead, Karl’s gaze drifted beyond the red walls of Karosgrad, walls which had endured attack from Trolls, to Orenians, to Ferrymen. The city rebuilt below that Crow that had been accomplished with might. To the north, the arsenic white of the Rimeveld dominated the horizon, so pristine and picturesque that it was utterly deceiving of the dangers that lurked within. Eastward, a patchwork of fields surrounded Karosgrad, stretching out into the old boroughs of Honeyhill and the newly-christened Queenswood, home to the descendants of the monkey Mobu the Ambassador and his monkey brethren. Past old Honeyhill, his eyes followed the fortress of the Order of the Crow, renewed and rebuilt by Ser Walton under him, the strength of his right hand secured. His eyes drifted further past the rushing waters of the Staal Eada as it snaked south-west, towards the rosen fields of Reinmar and the Lost Woods of Krusev where the Beast of Dobrov had plagued him and forged his friendship with the Barons of Acre. He could faintly make out the billowing sails of ships along the river heading south, to where he had settled the Hyspian colony on the Silver Isle after his great victory in the Successors’ War. As he now overlooked the Kingdom upon the balcony and the bustling streets below, he could not help but crack a wide smile between a few stray beads of water down his cheeks. The story of Hanseti-Ruska had continued with him, he had made his mark alongside all those that had taught him, that had protected him, that had worked for him, that had died for him. All had worked hard to forge and renew the kingdom that he had led. He wiped his face and thought of his family around the dinner table that final time. His siblings, Sergei and Klara. His children; Georg, Marius, Nikolas, Analiesa, His grand-children. His nieces and nephews. All his kin gathered together one final time to leave the fruits of his labour for. That Amadea and himself had worked for. That all those who passed had worked for. There was still more to do, but he was tired. They would do fine without him now. He sipped a last gulp from his flask. He squeezed the hand of Amadea beside him a final time then, cracking that same old grin towards her as his eyes closed and his grip loosened. He sagged against the balcony, his breathing faint and rapid. As the sunlight beamed down on Haense - on them - he turned to give Amadea one final look. “It goes on.” And with that, he was gone.

Karl III from bedroom breathed through a quiet raspy exhale, a grin forming to his lips as he wet his lips with Carrion Black reading the poem. "Thank you for all your works, Borris."

"Real." Responded Karl III of Hanseti-Ruska. Wilheim Barclay was truly a wise vassal, perhaps even one of the smartest for he regularly quoted the scholar and sommelier, Fionn Castaway.

THE CITY OF KAROSGRAD, RENEWED Issued by THE CROWN On this 14th of Msitza ag Dargrund of 458 ES KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM VA BIRODEO E HERZENAV AG EDLERVIK, Since the time of Josef I and our first landing on the shores of Almaris, Haense has been a place of strength and beautiful architecture. A city worth its salt, not rebuilt at the changing tastes of kings when each new king moved to succeed them. It was not the case of myself that I had changing tastes, but with our new found position in the world our city should equal that of where we stand. The newfound history of Almaris is laid into the foundations of these buildings, from the stone quarries of the Silver Isles to granite and brick of the new Grenz forests. Our city has profited much from those new lands that we now also call home. We did first see the creation of a new square where friends such as House Weiss call home, centered around my father and his stature. His history is immortalized into our city and his actions which began a time of prosperity for us. My wife then set about the creation of a new palace for our growing family and vassals. It stands filled with happy memories of my family and has held even further diplomatic meetings of all sorts. Both of these stood against those that wished to besiege our city whether in battles unnatural or natural. From bandits to Inferi. The final completion of our city came with the southern part to ensure our military and docks have a place suitable for their strength and power in the world. I thank all those builders for their efforts and strength, without them all such would’ve been impossible. IV JOVEO MAN, His Royal Majesty KARL 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 and Astfield, Lord of the Westfolk, Protector of the Highlanders, etcetera. Her Royal Majesty, Amadea of Susa, Queen of Hanseti and Ruska, Princess of Bihar, Dules, Lahy, Muldav, Solvesborg, Slesvik and Ulgaard, Duchess of Carnatia and Vanaheim, Margravine of Korstadt, Rothswald and Vasiland, Countess of Alban, Alimar, Baranya, Graiswald, Karikhov, Karovia, Kaunas, Kavat, Kovachgrad, Kvasz, Markev, Nenzing, Torun, and Toruv, Viscountess of Varna, Baroness of Esenstadt, Kraken’s Watch, Kralta, Krepost, Lorentz, Rytsburg, Thurant, Venzia and Astfield, Lady of the Westfolk, Protector of the Highlanders, etcetera.

ON THE HEALTH OF THE MONARCHS Issued by THE CROWN On this 14th of Wzuvar ag Byvca of 458 ES KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM VA BIRODEO E HERZENAV AG EDLERVIK, It is with great sadness that the Crown of Hanseti-Ruska does report that over the past few weeks, a sickness has gripped both King Karl III and Queen Amadea of Susa. Both have chosen to keep these ailments quiet, though it is unfortunately now reported that it has proven difficult to hide as their conditions worsen with little chance of recovery. It is with hope that they may be in the prayers of the citizens of Hanseti-Ruska and that those wishing to meet with either royal may reach out to organize such. IV JOVEO MAN, HIS ROYAL MAJESTY, KARL 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 and Astfield, Lord of the Westfolk, Protector of the Highlanders, etcetera. HER ROYAL MAJESTY, AMADEA OF SUSA, Queen of Hanseti and Ruska, Princess of Bihar, Dules, Lahy, Muldav, Solvesborg, Slesvik and Ulgaard, Duchess of Carnatia and Vanaheim, Margravine of Korstadt, Rothswald and Vasiland, Countess of Alban, Alimar, Baranya, Graiswald, Karikhov, Karovia, Kaunas, Kavat, Kovachgrad, Kvasz, Markev, Nenzing, Torun, and Toruv, Viscountess of Varna, Baroness of Esenstadt, Kraken’s Watch, Kralta, Krepost, Lorentz, Rytsburg, Thurant, Venzia and Astfield, Lady of the Westfolk, Protector of the Highlanders, etcetera.

ROYAL LETTERS FOR THE BARONY OF ZVAERVAULD KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM Issued by THE CROWN On this 10th of JOMA AG UMUND of 456 ES VA BIRODEO E HERZENAV AG EDLERVIK, It is rare that a singular man in the kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska can change the fate of his family quickly. Oftentimes it may be a generational pursuit to become a peer of the kingdom, and yet as a new population of Haense does reveal itself more bright sparks reveal themselves. Some years ago a new man came into the service of the Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska. As many young travellers fresh to Haense, he became an initiate in the Brotherhood of Saint Karl at which point he began to show promise from brave actions against the Inferi in cavalry charges to aiding the formation of Royal Hussar Unit. He further moved to represent his brothers in politics as the military tribune bringing greater presence to the office not seen since the Dumas of old. He furthermore took on the role of Lord Handler in this time. Now as his family grows, he has been proven himself worthy of greater rank and prestige not only by the Crown but also the peers that stood alongside him in suggesting his promotion. Therefore, it does please the Crown to reward and bestow the title of THE BARONY OF ZVAERVAULD to the house of WEISS and does thus its lord as HIS LORDSHIP, LORD FELIX WEISS OF ZVAERVAULD. It is our hope that this enhancement shall see Lord Felix and his family, who equally have already begun to contribute in Haeseni society from cupbearers to pages and certainly more in the future, greater benefit the nation as an ever loyal worthy friend to House Barbanov and the Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska. IV JOVEO MAN His Royal Majesty KARL 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 and Astfield, Lord of the Westfolk, Protector of the Highlanders, etcetera.

Karl III grumbled as he heard the sound of horrible singing overhead atop the broken sleigh. "Always something new every other day." The man tired of plots said upon hearing of a new plot.

Uzicko Kolo (Accordion Music) THE FOURTH DUMAPALOOZA The Adrian election is purely meant to elect a Duke of Adria, nothing more and nothing less. It has no ties to any greater titles, the Duchy of Adria is tied to that of its people, the Adrian People, a multicultural people who have ended their long diaspora to reform their long missed homeland. For a true Adria, it must be held by its own, not by those who care little for it. We invite the Electors on the following rules: 1. Only a crow shall ever hold the Duchy of Adria 2. The Duchy of Adria shall only be elected by those named within this document. 3. Although he is not required to hail from Adria proper, the elected Duke of Adria must reside primarily within the Duchy of Adria. He who neglects this duty is liable to be deposed. 4. The elected Duke of Adria may not hold any higher title, nor stand to inherit any higher title. Such candidates are hereby barred from holding the Duchy of Adria unless they renounce their previous titles or inheritance. 5. The Duchy of Adria may never be conferred, inherited, purchased, granted, or otherwise obtained through methods other than election by the Duma. House Barbanov invites the following Honourable Electors: THE PONTIFICAL THRONE His Holiness, Pontian IV - @Balthasar THE HONORABLE CROWS Aaun Sarkozics - @Beamon4 Balian Sarkozics - @Matheaww Barbanov - @GMRO Rutherns of Hanseti-Ruska - @Demavend Rutherns of Balian - @Aehkaj Carrion-Tuvyic - @GlassySkies Ludovar - @DearConnorMurphy Montalt of Sedan - @excited Ivanovich of Aaun - @Optimus420 THE HONORABLE ROACH Varoche - @Enlightenment ESTEEMED PATRICIANS AND GREAT ADRIANITE FAMILIES Rutledge - @1_Language_1 Montelliano - @TwistedFries Ren - Last descendant of Watanabe - @Moo_bot Kortrevich of Jerovitz - @MapleSunflower de la Baltas - @monkeypoacher Ratispora - @TheWaffleEater2 Jewelbeard - @Nooblius Euler - @GajaTheSaviour ESTEEMED GUESTS Leader of the Songbirds - @Tigergiri FOR THOSE LOST TO THE WORLD Ault Enrique Bracchus All those who attend shall be fed generously and provided with copious amounts of drink.

Good luck on your next adventure!

Karl III did heartily take the fealty, offering a grin. "I do not know Branimar's kin, but I do know him. He is a loyal and good man. I am sure that this family shall be a fine addition to the kingdom of Haense."

The grey embers of dawn slipped in quietly to join the candle-light of Karl III in his bed, forcing him away from the little sleep he had managed. In his hands lay his Thanhium axe, his weapon of choice that had seen him through so many battles already. It had once felt so light, yet now as he glanced down he found hands that were not his own. These were weak hands. Hands that struggled to lift it at times even. His fear had come to pass, he had gotten old. The time had come and gone quickly, even quicker than he was expecting. It was a bitter taste that he felt holding the axe, for he knew there were others that could wield it better. It was a taste that all grew to swallow as they got older in their own mortality. His eyes drifted to his side, Amadea was still asleep. All that had been needed to say was said the previous day, he left her to savour what she could. Karl left down the stairs, feeling the creak of each floorboard especially as though each could be the last time he stepped upon them. He finally stood before the palace doors, his fingers outstretching to them. All of it felt so foreign with the hands of a man he did not know.. An old man’s hands. When had he gotten old? He pushed the door open, eyes glancing to the sky. The grey overcast weather had been replaced with flame. Dark replaced the light of the sky, the sun’s yellow tint replaced with crimson. The Pretender had come. The world had changed in the matter of hours for Karl. The dragon, Cloudbreaker, once seen as an enemy beyond all comparable size and reality had been swallowed by a worm capable of crushing mountains in two. The Inferi now came to swallow his kingdom in a similar matter. He had thought his kingdom once as immortal as himself in youthful arrogance, yet now Karl saw it in the same manner as the dragon. The ability to be snuffed out in a single day. The end of descendants rose above him as dread then overwhelmed him, his heart beating beneath his armour as though having already battled. Was he really so old, out of shape? Or was a Coward. His own mortality dragged him away from the battlefield, not wishing to seek out his demise. He had spoken often of his death, yet now as he felt himself facing it, he was scared. Even so, he began his walk all the same. He moved up the stairs of his palace, now destroyed totally. There was confusion and blood, calls for retreat to Reinmar. The feeling of a daze washed over him, still stumbling about confused awaiting some moment to fight or run. Giant insects drove into the palace, and an ashen ape prepared to climb up its walls. It half-seemed as though all were prepared to abandon, the city overran. As he came into the ball-room, there he found his sons at which he watched an exchange between them. “I-is this a winning battle Georg? We’re over-run.” “Every battle fought is a loss, Marius. The only thing that matters is that we endure. Never underestimate your enemy, but if you do not fight, you are bound to lose. Keep your head up, Marius. And kill, kill until your last breath, if you must.” Karl turned to leave them. He had always been wary of his son to a degree in the same way he imagined his father had looked over him. The question of whether the Grand Prince had what it took for the weight of the Crown. Once considered a boy, he now considered Georg a grown man. As he retreated out of the burning ball-room, he heard Georg continue his call to arms. The pride within the old king could not be contained, he cracked a large grin as he ran down the stairs in search of his own battle. “KAROSGRAD WILL NOT FALL AS LONG AS WE LIVE, MARIUS. YOU ARE HAESENI, WHAT IS THE MOTTO OF OUR PEOPLE, NEED I REMIND YOU?” He knew then that his son was ready. Haense was safe whether the old king lived or died. Whilst his own light faded, the fire of his sons continued. Haense would continue whether they won or failed in the siege, whether he lived or died. In seeing the carnage around him and the entire sky illuminated with malflame that dropped like rain, Karl knew of a greater mission. He left the palace, seeking out Prince Siegmund of the Inferi Horde, flying upon the carpet of Ser Honk. Lifting itself at a break-neck speed across the cobbled roads of Karosgrad, this flight felt like an eternity. The ramblings and shouts of the incomprehensible Honk, a creature otherworldly in nature that behaved as a clown, faded out as it moved towards the battle-lines drawn. The boom of Cannon overhead led by the Lord Marshal drowned out calls for retreat from Ser Conrad Barclay. The wall was breaking. Upon the right hill was the Prince of Calamity, Siegmund. Even when his guards were few and he was surrounded, those brave soldiers about him seemed like the ones in a panic. The Pretender Prince looked onwards at the King of Haense and its companion, its piercing gaze filled with vitriol. An amalgamate of malflame began to coarse through its body, embodied by crimson flames. The battlegrounds were littered by the corpses of many Haeseni, and those of the lesser-inferi which encompassed their vile army. As the flying carpet, piloted by the otherworldly creature, swept down towards the front of the Prince of Calamity, Siegmund, a few words were exchanged. “Vyr is but a pretender. Vy people of Haense shall not leave until vy head rolls onto the floor.” The words of the King of Haense were filled by a momentous courage, heard by those felled and injured comrades who continued the battle. Once more, the King of Ruska blared. “THE PEOPLE OF HAENSE! YOU WILL FIGHT UNTIL THE LAST OF THEM ARE DEAD!” The words of the King filled the surrounding battle-hard soldiers with determination, as those limping soldiers made their stand, grasped their blades, and prepared to face off against the retinue of the Pretender Prince. Ser Honk did not chatter as he normally did, making fewer of all large events. His eyes were struck into those of the infer-princes, before his neck craned to face the King of Haense. “Take a hold.” Karl III turned to reach for the mighty blade of kings, Aeternity, forged by one who held semblance to the Jester Knight. However, this action was halted by that of the knight who piloted the carpet. A gout of yale-blue mist began to engulf the otherworldly knight, as he slowly began to tear and form into an unlikely weapon – the Sword of Jophiael. As durable as that of carbarum, and gilded by a lustrous golden sheen, wherein eyes of crimson red scattered across the blade's edge. In each eye, a vision was seen, of the past, the present and the future. Without faltering, the King of Ruska grasped the Mortal Blade of Jophiael. A rush of courage filled the monarch, lacking hesitance in action and words, as golden-flames bursted across the artefact. Yale-blue veins began to ensemble around the arm of the King, taking control of its arm. “FACE ME, PRETENDER! FACE THE TRUE KING OF RUSKA!” As rage filled both the entity controlling the Sword of Jophiael and the King of Haense, the flames panned and grew larger, with the eyes now reflecting visions of defeat against the Prince of Calamity. Instantly, the King of Ruska swung the mortal blade towards the Inferi, who locked on with its own machination, a bloodshot weapon that was covered in the putrid flames of the nether. The clashing blades struck the battlefield with its sounds, clinking and clanking of other blades were overtaken by their ferocious battle. As all respected the duel, a gathering of all forces began to surround the duo, in which their vicious fray induced ripples within the air. Like thunderstruck clouds, the King of Ruska and the Prince of Carrion fought, leaving but clapping lightning in its wake. “YOU ARE THE PRETENDER!” Declared the Inferi Prince, as both swung their blades into an arch, causing them to skid backwards. The Sword of Jophiael reacted with aggression, as the voice of the otherworldly entity spoke out in a cacophonous voice, horrendous to the ear. “You will lose to us.” As the mortal blade was deflected, the Inferi Prince hooked its ashen fist towards the chin of the King of Ruska. CRACK - the teeth of the monarch would shatter, with his jaw hanging and tears rushing out. All would witness blood gush out from the helmed monarch's visor, as he stood dazed. However, the otherworldly entity did not allow for the King to rest, and forced him onwards even through pain. The hand of the King of Haense began to shake viciously, under the control of one who would be known as the Great Owl. Veins of yale-blue began to pulsate across the monarch, leaving Karl III with relentless pain, yet he strived to hold and resolve through, for the sake of his kingdom. As he felt his own blood ooze from his mouth in warm rivers, as smoke stung his lungs and shouts and screams filled the air, he felt the Sword loosen in his grip. For a second, his hazy vision saw the watching faces of his people painted a blend of terrified, hateful, proud, and determined. He faltered. Can I … really …? A voice echoed in his head, and time seemed to slow to a crawl as he watched blood seep down his own fingers, and onto the Sword. Across from him, the Prince steadied himself, his own blade rising for a counterstroke. It has been … so long … Unbidden memories flashed through his head - running through tiled corridors as a boy, laughing with his twin; being told by his father, with ice in his voice, that one day the Crown would warp him; Amadea in her wedding veil; his father’s final moments; cheering crowds at his coronation; black-gold banners flying over the shores of Karinah’siol; putting a sword in his own son’s hands for the first time, and a thousand other memories compressed into the fraction of a second. Perhaps it’s time to just … rest … Firelight shimmered on the edge of the demonic Prince’s blade. For all his weariness, though, here King Karl III stood. He had endured the bloody tides of the Sinners’ War, the treachery of the Successors’ War, and now he faced these hellish hordes. It was not just him, he knew; his father and forefathers had all marred their souls in war and bitter hardship to deliver those they loved - to deliver Haense - to this threshold of victory, for they would have perished if they had not persisted. And King Karl III never faltered again. Blood squelched in his gauntlets as he tightened his grip, and a primal scream, born of the rage of King and Sword both, echoed across the battlefield. The king uttered a relentless scream, leaning forward as the mortal blade was plunged into the torso of the Inferi Prince. The Sword would begin to twist and drill itself against its torso, forcing the hand of the King to begin shattering, as bones snapped and ripped from tendons and skin. “YOU WILL NOT TAKE THIS AWAY FROM ME! YOU WILL DIE!” The Prince of Calamity dropped both hands against the shoulders of the King, though remained weakened. The sweltering heat latched itself onto his shoulders giving gruesome pain yet it was clear that the flames of the Inferi Prince were not as large as they used to be. For a moment, The Great Owl and the King of Haense grew as one with whispers of resolve. Blood spurted and gushed from the felled Prince as the King’s own hands contorted unnaturally and began to shatter from the forced motions of the Sword of Jophiael. A step was taken forward, pain gritting as he continued those memories of the past; Amadea, Georg, Marius, Nikolas and Analiesa. He thought of his family as pain forced its way into his mind. BOOM! The Prince of Calamity fell backwards in defeat with a hushed whisper parted to the King, leaving the man perplexed. The body of the Prince remained. A sword most evil, used by the bloodied inferi, was struck into Haeseni soil. The sword began to slip out from the hands of the mortal king, and clattered against the grass. Weak breathing remained in the king. All forces surrounded the King of Ruska. It was over. The war was won.

Karl III glanced to his side in the battle, finding the man that had protected him since his youth by his side, yet he was also the man that killed his father. Ser Walton had been the wall always standing by the side of Barbanov, and he did so even in death. Upon hearing of his death in the hospital, he offered a solemn prayer. Knights after him would struggle to be so loyal.

DEATH OF CLOUDBREAKER THE PARTING OF THE CLOUDS KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM Issued by THE CROWN On this 15th of Gronna ag Droba of 454 ES VA BIRODEO E HERZENAV, Last Saint's Day, the Brotherhood of Saint Karl marched alongside the mali forces of Celia’nor at a grave message. That being with tales of a war against the dragon Cloudbreaker. This was my own intent too, that alongside the Kings of humanity we would slay the dragon for glory and honour; to protect the realms of Almaris. Yet it became apparent on last eve's dawn that others also sought the death of the infamous Cloudbreaker. A maligned coven of necromancers and affiliates conjured and enslaved a titanic beastly worm, equal in size to that of Cloudbreaker. What followed was a battle of titans. Cataclysmic shakes ran through the doom-scourged valley as though the ground was to envelope us. Behemoth billows of wind caused many to lose their footing and even move off. First Cloudbreaker emerged from behind the clouds, ascending higher and higher as though in flight. Following swiftly was the worm, which caught Cloudbreaker’s wing and dragged him back downwards toward the earth. Cloudbreaker did attempt to escape, but it was for naught. He seemed outmatched, and we were powerless to stop the onslaught. Cloudbreaker was killed and taken by the worm, whether stolen to be raised from the dead by necromancers or eaten, I know not. It is clear that those seeking to destroy our world are those supporting the worm, and those that supported the dragon perhaps may be potential allies. IV JOVEO MAN His Royal Majesty KARL 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, Siegrad, Werdenburg, 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, Buck, Thurant and Astfield, Lord of the Westfolk, Protector of the Highlanders, etcetera.

Karl III stood over the man's dead body, murmuring a silent prayer. He could not help but feel directly responsible. A man that had been loyal completely and utterly, who had not found his father's killer and yet had been further killed by a creature that was so alike what probably killed his father also. He gave a silent oath, aiming to kill the creature. After swearing such, he walked outside to find the creature dead.

MORE A QUEEN THAN A CONSORT KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM Issued by THE CROWN On this 15th of Tov and Yermey of 452 ES VA BIRODEO E HERZENAV, Since I have come to my throne, I have felt blessed in all circumstances, though none such more blessed than with my wife. Whilst it is recognized for many that it is a general circumstance that it is expected for a husband and wife to support one another whilst married, my wife has similarly helped me during my position as king and even aided me in my decisions. During the reign of my father, whilst unofficial, he did allow for my mother, Queen Emma of Jerovitz, to sign as more than any simple consort for her works. With these points in mind it is my wish, as per my wife’s own numerous feats from her regency whilst I was traveling, the construction of our palace, and her strength in supporting myself during my lowest moments and highest victories that I wish for her to bear the same respect that my mother was shown. In such, I recognise that Amadea is a Queen more than a consort, with political power that I do entrust to her for her efforts to make her equal alongside me. Whilst she shall not sit the throne as a regnant, for only a Barbanov does sit the throne of Hanseti-Ruska, she shall work alongside me in these twilight years before our son does eventually come to succeed us. She has helped me become the man that I am today, for I would surely be less without her. With such, I personally thank her for her efforts. LONG LIVE QUEEN AMADEA OF SUSA, KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM. IV JOVEO MAN His Royal Majesty KARL 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, Siegrad, Werdenburg, 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 and Astfield, Lord of the Westfolk, Protector of the Highlanders, etcetera.

Karl III put several locks on his daughters room, not wanting to give her particularly. "We shall not have her leave just yet, Amadea."

Can you please explain the significance about the name "Farty114."