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JuliusAakerlund

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About JuliusAakerlund

  • Birthday 05/07/1996

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    JuliusAakerlund#1434
  • Minecraft Username
    julius55
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    JuliusAakerlund

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  • Gender
    Male
  • Location
    The Grind
  • Interests
    Grinding EXP and Resources

Character Profile

  • Character Name
    Adrian Colborn
  • Character Race
    Highlander

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  1. Adrian Erik Colborn sheds a tear of not only pride but just at the cheer dedication and appreciation his descendants showed towards their culture.
  2. Adrian smiles Colbornly, standing proudly with his kin!
  3. Sipping on some tea and getting ready to head out and help my grandpa. But seeing as I was mentioned I thought I would throw my lot in for once in one of these AMA's. Curious to hear what you think was your favourite moment on the server between us two? (Too many years spent so always a cute one) Outside of the cooperative aspects of the server and lessons on how to communicate with a diverse cast of people, what do you feel is your greatest life lesson learned here? While the past is the past and some people are lost along the way I do ever so often think back to people I loved spending time with that are no longer on the server, or with us period. Who do you miss the most that you no longer see around? A honorable mention of a cool moment would always be welcome. Also, I can't believe they covered up the Cactus Raid of 2016. . . what could have been! (And for all that is holy stop calling me old.) Sincerely, Your Best Friend, Julius Aakerlund
  4. Somewhere in Bethlenen a Elder was dreaming of what once was and the ambitions of the past. He remembered when the fields had been woodlands and when a long forgotten continent once was their home. In his dreams he also saw what was to come and hoped only for the success of his people, for they had his heart - his hope.
  5. Adrian Erik Colborn, former Baron of Bethlenen and a fashion Queen of his day lay bedridden. Though when his granddaughters spoke of the recent Moda his dreams seemed to stir him happily. No doubt the elder was proud of what had been accomplished.
  6. DEEP IN A DREAM A CHARACTER SHELF SHORT STORY [Shelf] Hello dear readers, friends and besties who might be reading this. I will keep this little preface short so as to not waste people's time. There is a lot going on in my life currently and as a result, I need to make LoTC more casual. No doubt there is plenty going on in everyone's life and I don’t doubt that we’ll all make it through whatever we’re facing, know you’re not alone. In the short term, I need to take a proper break and really focus on what matters most to me right now, my mom. In the end, I thought it best to shelf my character for now so I don’t catch myself walking my way back into things. I hope everyone enjoys the little story. I leave Colborn in the hands of the many talented people who I know it holds. When all is said and done there is a legacy far too deep for it to be snuffed out by time. The Barony of Bethlenen is white and resplandant, overlooking the Lake Voron. 3rd of Tov ag Yermey 440 E.S. 'It was as bright a day as was usual for the Haeseni Hinterlands. The Rimeveld was still very much white and the Attenlund still starkly green, probably hiding some critter or creature. On the hills overseeing the territory sat the Castle of Vorenburg. Its tall towers and Hanso-Scyfa Architecture are a constant reminder that there were still other cultures who called Haense home. While the three Haeseni Mother Cultures of Hanso-Raev (Haesenified Raevir), Hanso-Waldeni (Haesenified Waldenians) and Hanso-Scyfa (Haesenified Scyflings) have been here since the ancient days of Athera, the Scyfling seat had remained largely dormant in recent past. The Vaeyl Wars caused tragic casualties for Colborn that only time could mend, from Palatine and Ducal Peers, they lost it all to fight for family and Kongzem. In the time they were gone the realm was beset by the Scyflings that had been parted with, hundreds of years in the past. Those stragglers who wouldn’t convert under the yoke of Haense and canondom when called upon by Carr Colborn. Truly, fate has a twisted way of playing pretend.’ - Page 32 of Adrian Erik’s Log Setting down his quill as he finished writing and looking at the large book that sat before him, Adrian Erik Colborn chuckled a little to himself. “I suppose if it wasn’t for our return that’s how it would have been. We and our people would have been remembered as bloodthirsty warriors rather than what we are, people who helped build this Kongzem before it was named. To think we narrowly missed the chance to meet our ancestral allies the Voliks… I was off by a short decade.” While contemplating what could have been as the old had a tendency to. Adrian brushed a hand over to a recently penned letter which he had cut open with a small knife, wax seal broken. He brought it closer as he began to read it aloud to himself with a smile tugging on his lips. “TO ADRIAN COLBORN, WISEST OF THE LAND, My father has recently tasked myself along with my siblings to seek out quests from our nobility to harden ourselves. I write to you as I have always know you to be one of the wisest of our lands and your family to be those who keep fine records and accurate accounts of Haeseni History. It is because of history that we learn our mistakes and it is why I would like to learn some more of it. There would be no better person to seek out to learn on this matter. If you have the time or will to, I wish to request that you and your family teach me the most. It is but the least I could do in honour of my ancestors and to better myself. I do hope you will accept this requet of knowledge. -Best regards, Marius Audemar” Adrian idly ran a hand through his beard as he finished reading he could only smile wider. He could hardly contain the joy he was feeling at the mention of a Barbanov learning from the keepers of the book, in a way it was a return to form, a return to tradition. It had been the duty of Colborn since the ancient days to recount and record history, to maintain and make certain it was accurately passed down, to the next generation. While the Barbanov-Colborn pact was no more the Colborns were never ones to go back on a promise, still serving their lieges loyally. “I suppose I will have to pen a reply after the Potluck. I fear if I’m tardy Catalina will serve me an earful and my ears are already plenty full.” With a chuckle at his own joke which no doubt would flop if there was anyone to hear it. He gently flipped over the parchment in the Book of Colborns to a particular page, keeping it open there. The fingers on his right hand drummed the surface. “I suppose it's time I gave over my duties to someone, Anabel will do us proud - she’ll make a fine Book Keeper. I’ll read her a few stories and teach her how to navigate the many pages and that will be that.” Making his way down the living quarters’ many hallways and taking the elevator down to the kitchen, he passed the servants who were preparing the cultural cuisine, as they prepared it properly for the Potluck. Not one to disturb the hard-working Adrian opened the nearby oaken door which offered a slight whine, before the brightly light courtyard greeted him, beckoning him to go outside. His gaze caught the early arrivals, Georg Sigismund was speaking to Esfir Kortrevich, Ernst standing not far behind. To the middle of the grounds gathered Viorica Barrow, Anabel and Allyssa Colborn - those two could rarely part with each other. Clearing his throat as he found a nearby patch of elevated ground, Adrian looked to those gathered, just before speaking Maric and the recently legitimized Lorence stepped outside from the Castle Keep. “If anyone brought food you may bring it upstairs so that the servants might serve it to the many guests. I look forward to trying the cultural cuisine of the many citizens of the Kongzem. Though try to have some mercy as my appetite isn’t what it once was!” Though he was heard the many young in the courtyard seemed far too engrossed in talking amongst each other to move anytime soon. Adrian took no offence and if anything found it good, he remembered far too well how he was at their age. While Adrian was reminiscing about his youth a small lass walked up to him and tugged at his leg. Casting his gaze down he caught the fiery ginger locks of Alina Vilchyc. With an elderly smile that shined with kindness, he spoke softly, kneeling to be at her height. “You’ve come to partake in the Potluck I take it, little lass?” The little lady shot back a pout and fidgeted with her small fingers before casting a shy expression up at Adrian. “I came looking for friends… Tata says there are not a lot of children back home. I want to make many friends, this many!” The five-year-old child widened her arms out as far as she could, which only caused Adrian to draw into light laughter. “That many? It seems you’ve great ambition little one but we shall see what we can do.” Using his index finger to draw her attention he pointed over to Allyssa, who stood off in the distance. “See that lass over there? I heard she’s looking for friends, she even gives out duckies to each new one she makes - or so I am told.” He played it off as if he wasn’t speaking about his very own granddaughter, nor knew if what he said was true. “Don’t you want a ducky?” Alina’s eyes followed along with the movement of Adrian’s finger and as her eyes landed on Allyssa she seemed to bounce with some excitement. “Really! She wants to make a friend and she has duckies? How many duckies does she have? How big are they? Did she name them?” With excitement and energy which could barely be contained in the little frame of the girl, the elder patted her shoulder before speaking. “Why don’t you go ask her?” As the little girl stumbled away he closed his eyes in self-satisfaction. He had always enjoyed playing the matchmaker, putting friends together, making those that wouldn’t otherwise meet, meet. When he was about to turn for the keep door and make his way inside the very same doors opened as Catalina came outside with clear conviction. Taking on the spot next to Adrian she shouted out loudly. “Greetings all! I thank you all for coming such a far way to the Bethlenen Potluck. I am your host, Lady Catalina, if you all would follow me into the dining room so we might commence the festivities I would be most appreciative.” When the many gathered guests started making their way inside Adrian was reduced to the duties of welcoming them inside, greeting Barbanov, Ruthern, Barrow, Kortrevich and many others as they made their way inside. There was a shout from the two sisters Elia and Anabel as their travelling brother Steg had deemed it right to make an appearance, truly a once-in-a-blue moon encounter. Having shaken his head at the sight with his ever-present smile, Adrian finally made his way inside. The last thing he heard before the oaken door closed behind him was a loud “Steg! GET OVER HERE!” Walking into the dining hall and seating himself at the most populated of the two long tables, Adrian seemed satisfied with his lot in life. He might be old but he could still enjoy the youthful energy of the younger generation and plenty of them were willing to listen to his rambling. The atmosphere was lively and he could already tell Catalina had success on her hands. Looking at the woman and man seated across from him Adrian offered a few words to initiate a conversation. “It seems you young are still filled with plenty of energy, social to a fault. It makes an old man like myself very glad. Though I fear I haven’t had the chance to meet either of you before.” The lady across from him started off first as she spoke with enthusiasm. “We were just speaking about how beautiful of a place this is, truly eye-catching.” When she concluded her thoughts the man beside her spoke next during the small pause with a nod of agreement. “It’s as the lady has stated a lovely looking place, yes.” As seemed the rhythm the lady went next. “Ipera Ashford de Falstaff, wonderful to meet you.” She spoke to Adrian with warmth and a fine smile, well-mannered and concise with her words. Adrian took the opportunity to speak before the man beside Ipera introduced himself. His timing was impeccable as one that had been far too experienced in talking, former Palatine and all. “Adrian Erik Colborn is my name, truly a pleasure. I am the Lord and Baron of this humble place we call Bethlenen. The de Falstaff name brings back memories. Your family while not counted amongst the ancient certainly hold plenty of renown, not only in one Kingdom but a few.” His gaze went then to the man beside her as if waiting for his introduction. Following along rather neatly the next one made his introductions with a curt nod. “Sigismond Varoche, a pleasure likewise.” “Varoche you say?” Adrian seemed to have a jolt in some part of his old memory as he smiled brightly while speaking. “Another family with much history, though this one is more closely tied with Adria though no less prestigious. It has been half an age since my people last met a Varoche and that’s saying something considering our history. Hopefully, Varoche has found itself a place to call home during the current generation.” Sigismond kept chipper and gave back his response. “It was only around four years ago I made the journey here from Aeldin. But as you’ve said we have a history with…” As the festivities continued on and Adrian exchanged words with the many guests, it didn’t take long until it was time for dance. Making their way upstairs to the ballroom which sported the heads of many beasts and monstrosities slain by Colborns past and present. Adrian kept to himself mostly as the dance floor was for the youth. After he had informed Anabel of his intent to pass on the torch he roped her off to Elia for dancing, Catalina slid by and mentioned a dance with Prince Georg. It seemed all things were as they should be. With his back to the nearby bannister, he smiled an elderly smile of contentedness. He remembered a time when he used to dance in similar halls, when he had yet wed, even after, his wife sometimes joined him when she wasn’t too weak from her illness. She may have been born a Princess of Haense but her sickness saw her go to few social goings. Adrian let out a slightly wistful sigh at the thought, yet it didn’t reduce his smile, nor its shine, he only turned around and leaned on the bannister casting a gaze to the floor down below. It was there that he saw a far too familiar figure, his eyes widened in shock. It wasn’t entirely certain if it was the copious amounts of carrion black, or perhaps his old mind playing tricks, but he could swear he saw Godric - his dear boy. His hands gripped the bannister with all he had as if he was possessed, his months of delirium and the emotions attached coming right back, he had lost him once and he wouldn’t lose him again. Having forgotten his cane that so often supported his right leg that was injured in warfare, Adrian shot for the stairs. He broke into a hobbling sprint and it wasn’t long until his weaker leg caught nothing but air. He stumbled forwards towards the end of his run and rolled down the last steps, his head landing squarely against the spruce wood corner. His world went dark and his consciousness gone with it. He couldn’t hear the screams of his family or the worries of Viorica Barrow, who sought to heal him. Instead, he was deep in a dream. WILL AND TESTAMENT OF ADRIAN ERIK OF BETHLENEN In the coming days, his family found his will and testament which read as follows. “Should I ever die before my duties are done or fall ill and unable to speak for myself this will be my last will on this mortal earth. May it be honored and upheld and the duties of its contents be carried out by my Burgrave Rudolf Vyronov. For his family that once served us in ancient times is one who carries honor in their veins and as he serves us now, so shall I trust in him, as Eirik did Lerald.” What remained to be read by the family only once delivered by Rudolf was a letter each, sealed in wax and written by a pair of elderly hands. OOC NOTE ARTIEV EDRIC COLBORN MARIC ARED DIETRICK GERARD COLBORN FELYX FRANCYS COLBORN BETSY COLBORN MAKENNA GRACE COLBORN CATLAYA KARYNA COLBORN AREN ELLIOT COLBORN CATALINA ROSALYN COLBORN LORENCE ARVID COLBORN MARECK GERARD COLBORN BALDRAM CARR INGVAR COLBORN ALLYSSA COLBORN DOMINIC WOLFGANG COLBORN STEG OSGOD COLBORN ERNST DEITRICH COLBORN MATHIAS COLBORN ANABEL ELIA COLBORN ELIA ERYKA COLBORN ADRIAN ANDRIK COLBORN ADA NATALYA COLBORN CEDRICK ESKIL COLBORN
  7. HOUSE COLBORN THE SUCCESSION OF PATRIARCH Issued By THE BURGRAVE OF BETHLENEN On this 8th of Joma & Umund 440 E.S. O' GUD, VOR HJELP I GYNE ERE, The matter of succession has been left for me to announce as a failsafe should the Patriarch ever be bedridden or dead before he was able to make the matter public himself. It is through the will and testament left behind by him that I speak on this matter. Seeing as the generations are yet young and still finding their own place in the world, and with the untimely death of Godric, the Patriarch has left the duties of Patriarch to that of Maric Ared Dietrick Gerard Colborn. May he reign until a time that the next generation is ready and able. M A Y H E L E A D F A I R L Y A N D H U M B L Y A S H I S P R E D E C E S O R M A Y H E B E L O Y A L T O H I S L I E G E A N D L O R D M A Y H E G U I D E H I S F A M I L Y W I T H F A I R N E S S So it shall be by this decree SKRALI VOR GUD Burgrave of Bethlenen, Rudolf Vyronov
  8. HOUSE COLBORN LEGITIMIZATION OF LORENCE ARVID Issued By THE PATRIARCH OF HOUSE COLBORN On this 7th of Tov & Yermey 440 E.S. O' GUD, VOR HJELP I GYNE ERE, In the matters of family and faith, it often is a difficult reality when someone is born outside of wedlock. While in Colborn we believe strongly in family and even bastards are treated as such. There are those that would think them lessers, making it difficult to move up in society, not to mention to be considered a common equal. To those who follow tradition the Colborn name is afforded as is every child born of our blood’s right, to follow through and show talent greater or on the like of those before them only further noteworthy. It is with such pleasure I see our young Lorence Arvid come onto his own and make us proud. He excels in the arts and courts, hard-working and not one to squander our honored name, nor the history which comes with its deep roots. Seldom does an acorn turn into a bush instead of an oak. It is from the Black Earth that a White Tree has grown. The Black name of our family has fame of its own and heritage and Godric Black a Patron Ancestor which we hallow to this very day. While it seems Lorence will not bear the heirloom Robe of Black, he shall be welcomed, to the Branches of White. It is as such with the authority I graciously keep as Patriarch that I announce the Legitimization of Lorence Arvid Black, who will now go by Lorence Arvid Colborn. May he continue along his path of success and find his path to the Ancient Highlands that our people dwell within in the Seven Skies, his ancestors look proudly from beyond. B O R N T O T W O L O V I N G P A R E N T S W H O N E V E R D O U B T E D Y O U MARIC ARED COLBORN & BETSY BERNADEAU COLBORN “For the matters of love is difficult but from it is seldom born a child not loved by its parents.” LORENCE ARVID COLBORN “The Black Earth has grown a White Oak and its branches are far-reaching.” M A Y H E F I N D G R E A T N E S S I N T H E T I M E S T O C O M E SKRALI VOR GUD Baron of Bethlenen, Adrian Erik Colborn, Keeper of The Book
  9. THE PALATIAL APPRECIATIONS BAR MAAN OVARE SYR Issued by the PALATIAL KOMMISSAR On this 11th of Wzuvar ag Byvca, 440 E.S. THE GRATITUDE GIVEN In simplicity and as a curt way of showing appreciation I, Adrian Colborn put together this collection of letters with the Palatial Wards in hopes that they’d offer appreciation - to the many hard-working of the Kongzem. There are everyday heroes that soldier on and often think themselves to go unnoticed but little do they know the influence they have. Not to mention the impact they might have very well had on future generations. As an elder of the Kongzem and one that has seen far too much, I wish to bring to light these appreciations. We must remember that we are appreciated and to tell those who matter to us just that before it is far too late. With plenty of personal experience, this is not only a lesson I wish to pass on to the wards but likewise to the general public. If you ever find yourself thinking that someone made a difference in your life then speak up. For we all have our demons. Try to show appreciation at the moment. I shall not tirade further. Just know that if you are not mentioned in the letters below it means not you aren’t appreciated. These are but some of the letters written by the few and perhaps someone will have a letter for you, may it be in private, or in a future rendition of the Palatial Appreciations. THE LETTERS OF PALATIAL WARD - TATYANA LUDOVAR To Elia Eryka Colborn Prevja Elia, yam is Tatyana Ludovar. We have done paint nights together a couple of times, and ea look up to vy because of that guild vy created for builders. Ea think it is very cool, and one day ea hope to help vy lots in that! Ea also like vyr hair, it is very pretty. With Appreciation Tatyana Ludovar, Princess of Ferrets OOC Section ------------------------ To Ser Reinhardt Barclay Prevja, yam is Tatyana. Ea wanted to write this letter to vy to tell vy about the many stories ea have heard of vyr courage and bravery. And how much vy did for the kingdom as a knight. Yam is practicing the sword with papej because of vy, and one day ea will be just as an amazing sword fighter as vy were. Ea hope that one day ea get to actually meet vy, vyr my hero. With Appreciation Tatyana Ludovar, Princess of Ferrets OOC Section ------------------------ To Franziska Starling Prevja, yam is Tatyana. Ea wanted to write this to vy to tell vy that vy do an AMAZING job at keeping the tavern active. Ea often see vy serving drinks in there and vy have a really pretty dress. New citizens often have someone to talk to and a friend in vy, and saw vy with my mamej. And anyone who is a friend of my mamej, is a friend of me! With Appreciation Tatyana Ludovar, Princess of Ferrets OOC Section THE LETTERS OF PALATIAL WARD - SÉBASTIEN ASHFORD DE SAVOIE To Dame Tavisha Morovar Hello, my mentor. You are extremely hard working and always seek to train your students to the best of your ability. Your bravery and boldness as a knight to charge into battle, even against forces we do not truly understand for the good of the kingdom can be seen as something truly admirable. The pages and squires that train under you are quite lucky to have you. With Appreciation Sébastien Ashford de Savoie OOC Section ------------------------ To Matyas Baruch It is not easy to manage an entire office. It is even harder to do that well. However, you have excelled in your position as an Aulic Envoy and this has allowed us to keep peace and stability in the relationships Haense has with other nations. Additionally, because of the way you have run your office, each Ambassador knows what they are in for and the things they need to get done. You make it easy to see the notes that an ambassador took doing a meeting and that has further simplified and cleared up any possible office. You are easy to go to and quick to listen. Thank you for all the hard work that you do. With Appreciation Sébastien Ashford de Savoie OOC Section ------------------------ To Prinzenas Klara I have never met you, but I have heard the stories about you and the writing you so talentedly crafted. You are a kind person, always caring for those around you and helping them with the things you choose to write. I have been especially happy and amazed reading over your Hassani Literature and Art combination that you had made a while back. I should have to seek out my cousin Sofiya and tell her how wonderful her art piece was. I digress, you and the work you have done is amazing, and that should be uplifted. Additionally, you had kept the Hanseti Orphanage going for many years, and the attitude needed to watch over and guide those kids is nothing short of kind and strong. So thank you! With Appreciation, Sébastien Ashford de Savoie OOC Section ------------------------ Adrian Colborn, What can I say that has not already been said? You are a beacon in the community. You do so much to help the people of Haense when they need it the most, and you don’t let your old age of nearly 100 stop you. The support you give to the people as well as the wise moral counsel has helped in the community and in the Duma Hall. I know I always lean in to hear you speak when I am guarding the door at Duma. You are a person everyone should strive to be like. You have built up Colborn, quickly at that, reshaping it into the noble house that it once was. Even if the titles of Duchy do not hold to your name, you seem to carry around the prestige and respect of any Duke. You are amazing! With Appreciation, Sébastien Ashford de Savoie OOC Section ------------------------ Felyx Colborn, Felyx Colborn is a man that knows how to lead others well. You are a man of many passions, stretching from things like writing, to leading as an officer in the BSK, to arguing for betterment in Duma. You are well rounded and people should look to you as an example of someone to emulate. Hardworking and Devoted are two words one could use to describe you. Just as I did your grandfather, I listen to you when you are speaking in Duma, wondering what words you will choose to say. And so with this, and everything you do, I want to Thank you. With Appreciation, Sébastien Ashford de Savoie OOC Section THE LETTERS OF PALATIAL WARD - MANON To Prince Georg, Ever since I first came to Haense, when I was just a little kid, you’ve been such a great friend to me. Even though you’re - no doubt - busy with Grand Prince things, you always make time to spend with the other kids, and you always give our games your all. It doesn’t go unnoticed, though, and it means a lot, especially to kids like me and Ophelie who came to Haense knowing absolutely nobody. You’ll make a wonderful king someday. Hugs, Manon OOC Section SKRALI VOR GUD His Lordship, Adrian Erik Colborn, Baron of Bethlenen and Keeper of the Book
  10. THE LAST GOODBYE FINDING RESOLVE AND RESOLUTION This is written from the perspective of someone broken by emotion and escaping into their own mind to find solace in face of the reality of the world. It might be triggering to some audiences and elicit emotion in those who have gone through a similar set of experiences. As someone who has gone through plenty in my life, I hope to depict a tale of overcoming adversity rather than being imprisoned by it. Nonetheless, this is a fair warning to those that would rather not be reminded of such times. The City of Crows was a place usually filled with liveliness. But inside a small estate set by the wayside of the Karosgrad Colosseum emanated an unusual stillness. From the very moment one approached the door a lingering sense of sadness was felt. There was only pain now. Where the spacious home had once been filled with laughter, joy and active children, there was only this silence, this omnipresent feeling of death. Were it not for the whipping of family banners from the wind and the rattling of the tugging lantern chains, one might think it abandoned. In truth, it was far from so instead those inside were no longer fully grounded on this earth. But for now, the living room only held one figure whose gaze did not wander; that gaze was settled, settled forwards and staring off somewhere distant. Beneath those lost eyes, the elderly man’s beard had grown dishevelled from a lack of care and his mopish hair, which clung to his cheek and even laid strands across his gaze. The Patriarch of House Colborn was listless and all strength had long since left him, his greyed hues which so often held warmth were empty, filled only with a void of vitality, lacking in life and any sense of emotion else than hopelessness. Was this oblivion? To be cursed with a rarely seen long-lived star who others envied, only to watch those beloved part from this world, to be burdened with pain, again and again, assaulted by quandary after quandary. Was this life? To bring about and birth endless treasures only for them to be taken before one has a chance to appreciate them in their fullest value. To experience things that stab wounds to one very soul that not even prayer can heal, that cannot be mended by magic. Was this fate? To work until one's bones were brittle and one's hand could barely rise properly, only to be punished and put in one's place, to be reminded of the woes of the world and to be pained by twisted reality. A burst of hoarse croaking laughter escaped the elderly man’s throat as if a thousand grains of sand sliding against each other, his throat more parched than a man wandering the desert, as if water couldn’t sate him anymore. With each set of sounds, his throat twisted in pain, eventually leading to a series of coughs, and only a few more pained croaks as if he had swallowed a fly followed. There was a ringing in his ear which had yet to disappear since he had heard the news, that dreadful set of news. Whenever he tried to remember it was like an onset of fog clung to his very mind. What have I forgotten? What was it I’m trying to remember? His mind could not sustain this line of inquiry for long before the fog overwhelmed him again, eliciting another series of wind whistling through his throat, barely able to be called a chuckle, more if anything as if the soul was attempting to leave his body. In his blurry vision which grew darker with each coming moment he could see two figures, two adult men who spoke in the room before him, he could almost hear their voices now. Yes, almost. He was trying his best to make out those voices. The blonde-haired man and his opposite who wore a well-trimmed dark mane walked about the room, two opposites. Why can’t I remember their names? In the chair sitting across from where the disheveled man had sunk into the sofa was a figure he was far too familiar with, the third one present. It was from this man a much deeper and stern voice carried forth. “How long will you do this to yourself?” Adrian’s eyes were still staring in the direction of the two younger images who were silently laughing in the distance as if still alive, a distant memory of better days. The only thought lingering in his mind was why couldn’t he hear them. Breaking his line of thought was the sound of someone clicking their tongue, far too familiar. It caught his attention as it continued in its deeper tone “How long Adrian?” With his name being called he caught himself and as if echoing the thoughts of the person sitting across from him he asked himself. How long has it been? With each moment after the miasma which covered up his thoughts slowly loosened, each eliciting a thought. How long have I been sitting here? Before he could ask himself the next question he heard again that voice, the voice of his father. “Would you rather trick yourself until you are your own prisoner, guard and executioner? And what for? To live out a fantasy of what once was, of what cannot be any longer even if you so dreadfully wish it to?” gruffed the voice, one strained from many years of pipesmoking. He could almost smell the tobacco waft off of his father’s breath, strong and overwhelming. “Will you not return to them?” came the next sentence which echoed now through the elder’s mind. With what had clung across his mind and left it clueless slowly clearing, so did the vision around him, the brightly lit room full of warmth, with its two presences slowly breaking and giving way to an empty home, dark and empty. The fireplace held not even embers and brought no warmth to the cold which filled up the place. “Return to them? Who will I return to? What do I have left to do?” He asked himself while looking to the window which reflected in it a gaunt and harrowing face, his boney cheeks most prominent. His hands which had lay slack slowly making for it, twig-like fingers lanky and absent of warmth, clinging as best they could to a feverishly sweaty forehead. Next to him on the sofa sat Anabel with a tray that held a set of steaming soup bowls, her hands scarred with half-bandaged cuts from her labor. “Find your resolve my son. . . find it as you once did in your youth and bring about the change you want to see in this world. I know you are capable of it.” So came the last words before the elder returned fully to reality as he was jolted by a warm hand, which reached out and caressed his sunken cheek. He barely managed the words through parched lips. It came out in rasps. “My child. . . how long have I…?” With the fog gone now, he knew he’d been through a cyclical process - this wasn’t the first, more so the third or fourth and Anabel had been by his side through it all - his far too kind granddaughter - they all were the treasures of his long-gone Gwyn and what she had wished for the most. That was what made all of this so difficult, with each of their deaths a part of her died with them, a part of her he could never reclaim nor hold to him tight. With each pressing thought, small beads slowly rolled down his cheeks, staining the warmth which covered his right side. Her expression was weary and helpless as she was already not good with people as it was. But even the face of his granddaughter which seldom held much but shyness was covered in worry. With a voice like the soft midsummer gale that carried forth words. “A few hours, I had to reheat the soup twice.” She intoned the last perhaps more in an attempt to hide her worry. But she clearly wasn’t willing to divulge exactly how long it had been. “S-So long?” “That long, yes,” she answered. With the warmth leaving his cheek, his watery eyes drifted down to an extended bowl, held by a caring hand. As his hands gripped around the shape and found long heat he sank in a spoon and ate a mouthful of soup. To his surprise, it tasted better than anything he’d ever eaten, not because of the flavor, but rather because of the hands who had toiled to make it. “Baldram helped, even he seemed to realize what state you’ve been in. . . since.” She caught herself and became numb, her body rigid. He would have let loose a boisterous chuckle in moments like these in the past yet he didn’t find it right to do so, nor was he able. With all he could, he finished off the bowl after an extended period of time sat in relative silence. Though Anabel still remained by his side through it all with fidgeting hands and stirring the cushions of the sofa ever so often. “I’ve sat still for far too long.” Came a voice that had recovered some from having been wet with a meal and his appetite filled. “They say a blade will lose its sharpness if not used, but a trained blade never goes fully dull, ha.” He let out a very short laugh as he monologued a little for the first time in days, weeks even. Putting the bowl down on the tray and extending a thank you to his granddaughter he pushed off of the sofa and came to a stand, making way for his study. While making his way up the stairs brief flashes of what had put him in his state came over him. He had held onto the lifeless body of his grandson Godric with a grip so strong it had split nails and broken a finger. The man’s leg had been as best as possible sown back to where it had been cut off so that he might be whole for a funeral. Thunk, thunk with each step upwards carried another memory. He had wailed his eyes out until red and baggy, his very body broken, wracked with emotion - as if gripping onto any last memory he could of his precious descendant - the heart of his heart and gem to his eye - priceless to him each branch that made up the Colborn tree. Thunk, thunk it continued. He had returned to a home abandoned by Godric’s daughter and his eldest son drinking away his woes, the little one closing himself off from the world. They each sought their own ways to escape from reality and to close themselves off from accepting what it all meant. He had sunk into the sofa then in a moment of helplessness, in a moment of delirium, stuck there as if piecing together a time before all of this had happened and bringing it into reality. He was a craftsman since birth and adventurer by choice, but no tool could fashion him a replacement, no vision or dream could replace what he had lost, and no amount of travel could find his grandson. Thunk, thunk he finally came to a stop at the top of the stairs in front of an oaken door. With a rattle of keys, he slid a key forward and cranked the path open to his study. “I will be the change I wish to see in this world, my fate my own, my journey one of my own making.” He muttered a promise he had made to himself many years before when he had told his father after the tragic passing of his mother, that he wished to return to their homeland, to Haense. His father having seemingly expected as much handed him a bag and retinue, to offer him safe passage. “Your journey will be difficult, there will be times when you wish you hadn’t taken this path and instead taken the easy way out. Will you still travel down this thorny road knowing so?” As if responding to that distant past he whispered beneath his breath, when coming upon his armour and sword. “Now and forever, for inaction is the death of Man and sloth is the downfall of his Kingdom. I will carry forward my virtues and bring upon them my beliefs, my hopes, my dreams.” With newfound resolve he donned himself fully as he had done in times past, slinking his blade into its scabbard - sister to Aeternus. In its shimmering reflection, he saw his sharp gaze which carried with it the strength of his youth before fully sheathed. The blade had been maintained with great discipline as he had been taught to, perhaps he had forgotten to maintain himself - but he wouldn’t forget how - he would forge of himself a new blade that would shine brightly. When he finally came down the stairs with the sounds of his heavy steps following him, strained by his aged body which might give out any moment, he saw at the door his Burgrave Rudolf Vyronov - ready and waiting. He was the diligent sort and a truly loyal retainer, as his ancestors were likewise, once and now again bannermen of his family and bonded brothers. “Have I kept you waiting?” He shot back with a grin that finally graced his features. “Not at all Bossir, I have readied your horse and stand ready for your orders.” The Vyronov stepped forward and hung a cloak around Adrian’s pauldrons, clicking them in place. “Let this old man ask you something Rudolf, not as your liege, but as an elder.” He stated while opening the door to the fresh wintry wind outside, blowing into the home, as well as showing the black steed stationed outside. Turning back for a moment he spoke the all too familiar words. “Your journey will be difficult, there will be times when you wish you hadn’t taken this path and instead taken the easy way out. Will you still travel down this thorny road knowing so?” The younger Vyronov looked at Adrian with no uncertainty and flashed a small cheeky smile that he so often hid behind his well-mannered exterior. “Where you go I follow, where you ride I travel and where you die I shall draw my last - now and forever.” Adrian couldn’t help himself from letting out a chuckle. “Well said. If I was cursed with a long life it seems I was likewise blessed with good company and companions, you never disappoint my Burgrave.” The Vyronov held in his head thoughts of the Elder that he might not realize, for to him, he was more than his liege. No, it was fair to say they were family and he had guided him like a father, and he wouldn’t forget it. Whipping up a storm the two set off for a Haeseni Monastery where the holiest man of all lay in a coma. When let into its hallow chambers the elder kneeled down at the head of the Pontiff’s bed, speaking softly, he recited passages from the Scroll of Auspice. “Bear witness to this prophecy of Sigismund, of the line of Joren, revealed in his last days as he gaze into the Face of God. Attend, brothers, and record my revelation: Behold, and the shadow of GOD is cast thrice upon the land, and thrice the light of instruction is obscured, and men tread the sea in its wake. Now Iblees is rising from the Void. And his chains are augmented, and they are become two wyrms, one beautiful and one terrible. The world is given over to them. The first wyrm is Vargengotz, and he goes forth to conquer and to rule. His six heads bear six crowns, which are the great kingdoms of the world, and he lets no evil be spoken of him. His body is black iron and his wings are dark smoke. The banners of the world are struck down before him, and the sky and mountains are his conquests. And Vargentgotz calls forth three deceivers in the guise of messengers, with wings of cold fire. They are called Justice, Glory, and Reward.” Scroll of Auspice 1:1-9 “The Evil Heart of Iblees rears its ugly head. In my moments of wavering strength, it has taken two of my descendants from me, brought to the Seven Skies before their time. When the deceiver of Justice came to us in the image of St. Karl. His words were not of Justice but in its stead wrath misguided. When those present were fooled I was not swayed, nor did I listen. Holding in my heart the Holy Scrolls to which I leave my trust in.” With more intonation he spoke yet again, lowering his head further towards the ground as if beginning to bow - bowing to God. “Then I found in my land a woman strung upon a cross, perverting the holy. Below she was written in my people's tongue an idiom dear to my heart that only daemons could whisper or know, but I did not waver. When the man of many faces appeared before us I knew it was the deceiver of Glory, and so I swallowed my pride, revealing to the Knights and Acre my failure, trusting in the sacred.” When his palms finally touched the ground he came to a full kowtow, his head touching the floor. “Thus came the last deceiver of Reward before us in the shape of Sigismund III purporting to represent the will of the Golden and the wealth of his legacy, but in him, I found none but Avarice, and so my faith was tested yet I did not waver.” Remaining as he was with tears straining at the corners of his eyes only held back by his own will he spoke in a shout for the first time since Godric’s death. “I will have NO DEBTS LEFT UNPAID during my watch, their evil will be returned threefold, each a mortal blow to their cohorts for the sins against my heart and soul!” “NO EVIL LEFT UNPUNISHED on my watch for my hand will strike that which corrupts the land and the heart of Man, a vessel to the holy, may I take up my sword to strike them down in His name!” “This will be MY LAST GOODBYE to Him, for the forces of Iblees shall be vanquished and their influence freed from the earth at last. A Crimson Inquisition to guide us on such a path towards salvation!” With his last words echoing within the bed chambers it seemed to stir something in the Pontiff as his fingers slowly curled, slowly waking, slowly returning to his flock. Only time would tell if the Elder would have his answer, but he was ready to wait, wait as long as need be. For no man or woman to feel what he had felt, helplessness ever-permeating, pieces of their heart ripped from them. “Holy is thy cross and holy is thy word, crimson is thy punishment.”
  11. Indris looked at his Mal'onn who wore a surprisingly sharpish smile. He likewise picked up a missive to read as quick as he could before finding the far too familiar visage of Ball-Thunder present. While casting a new look Illarion's way he seemed to offer his thoughts. "I am rather experienced with fish from Yong Ping but this 'battered fried-fish' is far from familiar. What even is this so called c-chips that he speak of? Perhaps some sort of ship shaped food, I am intrigued." While it seemed the rather sheltered Prince had little knowledge of this type of cuisine, he was a curious elf as most are. Taking a hand and putting it on the shoulder of the elder Ibarellan he offered a chuckle. "Then again, food really is the one thing that you can't get enough of. . . am I wrong Mal'onn?" He knew the man besides him was secretly a foodie to a fault.
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