tcs_tonsils_

Borris Iver Kortrevich watched as the snow fell lightly around Jerovitz through the window large windows in the apartments. It has been nearly 20 year- maybe more- maybe less, since Alec had come with his force of men, breaking into the keep and kidnapping the young Borris to Providence. It was then that he had met Prim, the first time Prim had saved his life. It was unknown to him in that moment, that he would come to see her as friend- let alone as his mother. But he did. And now, just as he had when he had first been dropped off in Karosgrad at the age of 5, he had now lost his mamej. Now he had grown, made a family of his own, but know he had felt the loss of one of his family. So he simply watched the snow… reminiscing about the times he had had with Primrose.

Thomas Komnenos knelt in front of the building that was already far gone. He didn’t care to alleviate the pain that burrowed into his knees, the splintering wood and rubble that lay splattered across the ground, smothered by ash and dust. There was nothing left. He had lost two people he held dear in the matter of a month. Yet he would not cry- for his mother never cried. He could not cry. He did not cry. Thomas simply stood, searching for something, anything… anyone.

The Tale of Johann Barclay 12th of Jula ag Piov, 436 E.S. [!] A portrait of Johann Barclay, Lord Marshal of the BSK from 1845-1875 Long reign is crowned by vast achievement, A promising future to come of someone so young. Trials and challenges befall even the benignant. To Reinmarian traditions and strength, he clung. A promising future to come of someone so young. With the House to lead, he could not let it fall. To Reinmarian traditions and strength, he clung. Sights set upon stability, a union he did call. With the House to lead, he could not let it fall. Take up the mantle of leader for his people. Sights set upon stability, a union he did call. Putting aside a debate felt to last a siecle. Take up the mantle of leader for his people. He rose through the ranks, using inspiration as aid. Putting aside a debate felt to last a siecle. A name for himself within the BSK was made. He rose through the ranks, using inspiration as aid. Kept going until he could rise no more, A name for himself within the BSK was made. Honor and Courage values are held at his core. Kept going until he could rise no more, Dutiful sachem, assiduous and devout. Honor and Courage values are held at the Marshal’s core. He kept his brave soldiers calm and stout. Dutiful sachem, assiduous and devout. Upon them fell the war, as harsh as any before. He kept his brave soldiers calm and stout. No cracks formed within his ranks, boldness he did implore. Upon them fell the war, as harsh as any before. More raids, more death, they go through the fray. No cracks formed within his ranks, boldness he did implore. The full might of the BSK they did display. More raids, more death, they go through the fray. The Prince of Sutica, rewarded for much passion. The full might of the BSK they did display. Granted Duchy once more an award for such action. The Prince of Sutica, rewarded for much passion. A Lord Marshal fit to lead as husband, father, and friend. Granted Duchy once more, an award for such action. Following God and King, a true Hanseti till the end. Signed, Borris Iver Kortrevich KML Battle-Bard of the BSK and Court Poet

Ruins of Luciano Whispers Amongst Ruins What reason was there to come to this place? A civilization had been torn apart here, yet there was still comfort amongst the crumbled stone. Perhaps it was a lie to describe this place as peaceful, for nothing was silent, even in the stillness of the city. A cruel wind blew here, whistling and howling as it crept over jagged rock or pushed itself through thin crevices. Despite the decade of rest, ash still rained from the sky—a thick layer of grayish sludge mixed with water, despite the heat of the desert. Sebastien trudged past the muck, pushing his boots through the dense weeds that had grown from the ash at the main entrance. He remained silent, simply glancing around to familiarize himself with where he was. It was still dark except for the small area his torch lit, the sun yet to poke its head out from where it hid behind the earth. Twinkling shown from the rubble, loose bits of metal or bent coins dazzling as the torchlight bounced off the reflective surfaces. Sebastien paused, his eyes lofting up to the Lorraine that still hung up on the wall. The building had long since collapsed, yet this front entrance to the church sat perfectly intact as if nothing had happened. However, such an illusion shattered as the door was opened, revealing an ample hollowed-out space before him. A crater sat in the middle of the opening, and water pooled in the center. While the ruins and ash were testaments to the destruction wrought, the sheer size of the gash left on the earth from bombs rained down on the city was quite another thing. It was here that Sebastien chose to spend his visits. Within the halls of the great basilica, now reduced to piles of pitiful scrap. Yet the back wall held firm, the pedestal on which teaching may be spoken stood firm. Yet it felt so far, for between then and where the young prince sat was the crater, filled with the dark waters unknown. What secrets lay here about my past? The child knelt, peering into the pool. Illuminated by the torchlight, he scanned the features of his face, his long black hair reminiscent of his mother’s—secrets to tell me where you have gone. “He was a good man - Is a good man,” Amedea had said to Sebastien. Everyone he spoke to who had known his father told him he was a good man. He wished to believe it; perhaps he forced himself to believe it. However, he could not neglect the fact he was left abandoned by his father, mother, and siblings. Where did they go? At that moment, it became apparent to him that he had never met his brother and sister, despite the cries echoing from Vidaus that night and maids frantically running up and down the halls. That was the last night- everything had come to a halt then. Sebastien twisted, eye contact breaking with the image he saw in the water. It was perhaps only then did they become apparent to him. They were soft- faint, like echoes of an echo. But they were noticeable, and they were there. He listened as the air grew foul, and the wind blew in that which resembled the screams of the perished. They had taken longer this time, but he knew they would come eventually. “No… No… No… No… Stop” And so they did, daunting voices cease their cries of anguish. But soon another voice spoke, faint at first, yet rapidly gained volume. The words boomed in his ears. “… To let your lineage die… would be a waste… son of Prince Lucien of Savoy…” He is gone. I am here. The forgotten prince of the fallen Savoy stood. He took from his head a near golden circlet. It has been too large for his undeveloped head, hanging awkwardly down the left side. Wear, rust, and dents lined the brim, inscription on the inside faded. “I am no prince,” Sebastien said to himself, the words barely reaching his ears. With those words, he stood, hands gripping the circlet tightly. Yet he lingered there, despite his words. And yet he lingered, despite himself. And yet he lingered here, unable to throw away his father's circlet. Sebastien Olivier Ashford de Savoie remained there as the light finally peaked over the horizon.

Lord baby, Vehlrun Darkwood cries as he is born, for that is what newborns do.

Selection of Poetry - Vol. 15 16th of Vzmey ag Hyff, 435 E.S. [!] A portrait of an adult Borris Iver Kortrevich “Azdrazi” The dust calls a coward’s name, The echoes of their shame, See how easy they destroy, Any semblance of joy. The people are screaming out, A product of much doubt. How stale the feeble heart, A work of twisted art, An existence filled with bane, Numbing any sort of pain. Spineless rat within the wall, A parasite with thrall. Oh how easily they roam. False glory draws them from home, No courage to call their own, No honor shall they hone. For it is truly said, No respect amongst the undead. “Dream” You are a dream. Vivid and yet foggy. Clear and yet misunderstood. So real and yet so fantasized. How the mind betrays words with vision. Endless, looping cycle, only the lucky can control. Where is the meaning? Where is the purpose? Can anything be wrought of such random events? What horrors you can bring forth, What adventures you can unfurl. What joys you can make me imagine. And bitter agonies you can soe. “Crreature Unknown” They stand tall, a wall, undefeated by their enemies. Hand steady on the hilt, eyes focused upon the crowd. Clouds deplete, a sheet of rain falls from the sky. Hand steady on the hilt, ready for the call. They toss, cross the holy Lorraine over their chests. Scanning the surroundings, watching for anything that moves. Turn around, the sound drawing attention to the things in the forest. Scanning the surroundings, readying themselves for a fight. Horrid screeching, reaching from the depths of the woods to pierce our ears. It fills their hearts with angst, yet they stand their ground. Wind grows fowl, a howl comes from inside the darkness. It fills their hearts with angst, though never shall they step down. Signed, Borris Iver Kortrevich KML

Iulius Vernhart would smile brightly, his eyes set upon the missive. “And as soon as it began, it was over. Hopefully no other war shall come soon” Sebastien Ashford de Savoie watched as the missives came in all throughout the kingdom. His mouth twisted into a wide grin, his hands resting upon his lap. “Perhaps now I can connect with my family.”

Iulius Vernhart, a commoner, chuckled softly as he read the missive.

Iulius Vernhart smiled brightly. "Ah, I remember reading about the Kortrevich paper in the archives. Esmee, you have captured the essense of what it was. I hope for more!"

Iulius Vernhart smiled brightly upon reading the missive sent ahead of arrival. He nodded and prepared to go out to greet them, welcoming them to Karosgrad. On his way, he would stop by the Lord Treasurer's office, in order that they may have lodging prepared for such a family. "A start to a promising friendship?" @mkLouis

House Vernhart War Donation 10th of Jula ag Piov 434 E.S VA VE KRAWN AG EPAEM OSOBAZ, The war rages on, consuming both people and supplies. Therefore, it is our duty as citizens to supply the army with whatever it needs to both thrive during wartime, and then be maintain during peacetime. House Vernhart is not an ancient family and our roots do not spread back along the timeline of Hanseti-Ruska, however, we are no less prepared to serve the kingdom in any capacity when and where it is needed. Therefore, in order to keep both the army fed and the soldiers geared up, we have seen it fit to bolster the Brotherhood with a stockpile of raw materials, weapons, armor, and food. The words have already been said and stand immortalized, for in this dark time the they ring ever true, we shall not falter. Items Donated 1728 - Ingots of Iron 66 - Pieces of Leather 1728 - Pieces of Coal 192 - Ferrum Longswords 576 - Ferrum-tipped Arrows 3 - Sets of Chainmail Armor 700 - Golden Carrots 558 - Loafs of Bread 785 - Pieces of Steak Godan wielkae ve koeng. Godan wielkae the edlervik. Godan krusae zwy kongzem. SIGNED, HIS EXCELLENCY, Iulius Vernhart, Patriarch of House Vernhart-Vuiller, Komptroller of Settlement.

Iulius Vernhart tapped on the side of the note. The man sat in the recently cleared home, awaiting for crews to begin the demolishing. He let out a soft sigh. “My cousin… Rest well.” It was all he could manage, before shoving the note back into his pocket.

“Rarely in war is there ever a perfect black and white. Wars make the horrors that burrow deep in the back of our minds spring forth with ferocity, making even the best of men corrupted with bloodlust and gain of coin or power or… land. There are always those who see themselves in the right, even when clearly in the wrong… though who is to say who has such truth? Certainly not I. Such things will be defined at the end of time, a knowledge only known by the wisdom of our creator above.” Sebastien said, though nodded some as he carefully folded the words of his cousin. “Still… besides the minuta and the endless argument of who is in the right, one thing is certain, a well spoken message to bolster the people, something to be respected for sure. I should be off to tell her my thoughts in person…”

"What else did they think would happen?" Remarked Borris Iver Kortrevich as he polished his armor, preparing for the future attacks they would surely have.

A Decisive Blow 9th of Jula ag Piov, 433 E.S. [!] A depreciation of the Battle of Acre, first major skirmish of the War. Naumariav Skriptsiya Ve spunzi run rot, ve unvit letna paratav g nod dercurvoer feinvrag ag komyn. Specks i tuosk littna ve kvesja, briekev vesja scattev klonav lisoemsk jeveki Wyzoren batet ag briekev, tzwae nat ve kholv kvesja niedy va shek razmal. Asere haurulaemavr supaes saskev, ve karos iv tieg zygaj auwen baucsk va zakisk. Ag dak supae oeer voed, tiz griskas yuivaj nat zygaj zvaerd ag duyv, Ohnsba, dylevar ag czsen, drizmy bracae oberei supaes duske va shek. Ag tiz ohne fibna iv supaes poschtol bonz usaer voer apskel, Usaer naatsker tiz such furosket, ter ain gocz auwen voed nauveni. Ve fitsk i poschtol oae bartna, ain bottel uderzk dlum uderzk, Azie ve estamo viktir musjka oe czak, auwen tieg auwen ve hag, Asere fitsker spege dzeb, gauntev ve oxtzen iv zwien. Wann ve hag set, wann ve feinvrag kafskae ag viktye iv tow Wszyr derij erre ve lot, zwy oe wjeik ve loe vy. Ag dlum ve lot, ain lot oae dercurvoer, ain Haeseni vikty wiem ve raedeg. Ain ditev stepj, ve bottel von, ag many wiehr schyzczi follow pujdae. Hegvar, iv pruset oxt, asere serzst oe sivtna, dak asere eipaemavr forevna naf zegiez Common Script The fields run red, the oozing streaks parading from fallen foe and friend. Specks of death litter the dirt, splintered weaponry scattered around like trash. Those battered and broken, lying upon the cold muck never to rise again. We know their sacrifice, the honor in which each one needed to defend. And so it was done, with grips tight upon each sword and shield, Everyone, man and woman, boldly taking up their duty to stand. And with every fiber in their strengthened bones they did appeal, They attacked with such ferocity, not a single one did yield. The clashing of might was exchanged, a battle blow for blow, Until the clear victor might be shown, one which won the day, We fought our way through, cleaving the soldiers in two. And as the day reached its end, we came home with the victory in tow. First impressions make the lot, this is as the saying goes. And for the lot, a lot was slain, a Haeseni victory at the ready. A critical step, the battle won, and many more will follow. However, in waging war, we must be swift, so we keep forever on our toes. Signed, Borris Iver Kortrevich KML, Battle-Bard of the Brotherhood of Saint Karl

"Everything we have prepared against has come at us- and it seems we have handled it with ease." Laughed Iulius Vernhart as he sat by the fire place. "I look forward to this war being over soon- it will be if this continues."

Borris Iver Kortrevich smiled the sun's smile.

Iulius Erik Vernhart-Vuiller stood, his eyes peering to something handing on the wall. He twisted, his back cracking with a loud pop before doing the same with the other side. His hands didn’t quake like they had before, he knew what was to be done. He marched, the thumbs of his feet an echo to the upcoming drums of war. It was in this moment he took hold of his trusty sword, gripping it firmly in his hands, and swung it a couple times in practice. “Off we go to war. Onwards and upwards.”

Sebastien Ashford de Savoie wandered the streets of Vienne. His eyes studied the buildings and the people that walked by, the women and men, children and elders, the healthy and sickly. A child young enough to not understand fully the concepts behind war, yet he understood the costs, for he had hear of the stories. “Perhaps this would be different if Father was still around- perhaps, perhaps. But we all prepare for war now…”

"Surely the first of many." Iulius replied joyfully before going about his day and greeting new citizens.

Sebastien Ashford de Savoie bobbled his head somewhat as he held the piece of literature up. “Atleast the Prinzenas got her governors to write this one for her. But isn’t hearsay supposed to be anonymous? This is clearly subjective and bias” The young lad then sighed and shrugged.

Iulius Vernhart nodded his head in simple appreciation. “It is finished.”

Iulius Vernhart nodded, pleased that the even that they had looked to host for years was now coming to fruition. The Komptroller raised his cup to the fire, his sleeping wife wrapped snuggly on the couch beside him. “To us. Hopefully, this event may be fruitful.”

A Selection of Poetry - Vol. 14 12th of Jula ag Piov, 432 E.S. [!] A portrait of an adult Borris Iver Kortrevich “I Try” I try to hear you, but the waves and wind sound over me. I try to see you, but the smog of my sin clouds the way. I try to feel you, but I am held back, trapped under the weight of this sea. I try to call out to you, but instead I remain silent, unsure what to say. “A Rose” The red rose, a staple of elegance, Yet there is more than beauty that is exposed. These thorns and thistles, briar and bristles, Hold strength and passion. Something not to be plucked with haste, For a tender embrace yields better results. The delicate caressing of a coarse protection. For the beautiful and the broken often run in tandem. “We grow old” We grow old, We grow old, The way which we are all pulled, And when we die, we pray our story is told. We are a being to never break the mold, We always seek to be brought into the fold, To be a part of the place where the secrets are sold. To unravel the mysteries, the tapestry unrolled. In the end, before our bodies run cold, We look back at our lives, whether bleak or bold. Trying to understand all that we hold. To see if what we have gained is more precious than gold. We grow old, We grow old, The way which we are all pulled, And when we die, we pray our story is told. “A Blooming Path” A Poem Commissioned for Johanne Vuiller We were all once young and naive, Perhaps children in every aspect, Or perhaps trapped in our own minds. How things then transform into something new. It is the morphing of the pure into things of true beauty. It is a lily finally reaching its full bloom. The petals finally open up to reveal a mature flower. From what looked to be rather dull from the outside, Now reveals their true nature, one of elegance. It is an eagle stretching its wings. It shows its full glory, allowing others to revel in your glory. You can then soar, something you were always gonna do. Loyal to the end, always thinking about others. A Vuiller to the end, always thinking about the family. You are able to do great things and thrive with those who you lead. Signed, Borris Iver Kortrevich, KML

Great piece of work from a fantastic new player. I look forward to seeing everything you will do!