tcs_tonsils_

19th of Tobias’ Bounty, 1959 “They thought Anthills could stop us?” You came to fight, You came to die, Came to the place, You’ll forever lie. You pleaded then, Bent knees, bowed head, For a keep to own, Somewhere to call home. It was a ruse, You lit the fuse. Daggers glisten black, Aimed at your friend’s back. You struck with ease, Became diseased. Gave up your honor, To look a little taller. Fate has called out, “Down with the proud,” The cannon’s boom, Spells out your fitful doom. Build your anthills Won’t morph our will, In that dirt you’ll drown, And it fall back down. You came to fight, You came to die, Came to the place, You’ll forever lie. Arrows did fly, Across the sky, You said goodbye and, Were swept by the tides. You have fumbled, Hope now crumbled. And the men fell low, They were sent below. Men on horses, Reared their forces, Galloped forth in stride, In God they abide. Once land of Petra, Prideful pretender, We watched your fall, Breached castle walls. League of Nations, Devastation, You cowards within, You’ve paid for your sins. You came to fight, You came to die, Came to the place, You’ll forever lie. SIGNED, Sir Marius ‘Wordsmith’ Lovetts, Appurtenant to the Chancellor, House Member of the Garmont, Poet Laureate of the Petra, Knight of the Petrine Order of the Laurel Protector of the Drakewood, Keeper of Fyreswake. Poet of Man.

Marius Lovetts nodded his head. He was proud of his friend and looks forward to their next collaboration. "Come the end of the year, Stassion will have been surely defeated twice."

"Down with Stassion, Down with Stassion, Down with Stassion." Marius chants, even in his sleep.

"Glorious Day! Rejoice!" Marius Lovetts smiled a Petran smile!

15th of Tobias’ Bounty, 1958 “We are those who look Eastward.” “At last, foul bunch, we shall meet upon jungle grasses. With every fiber in our beings, you shall be reduced to loam and ashes.” Upon both plant and dirt shall brittle blades meet avenging steel. By the teeming river bed shall this evil be repealed. -=+=- The bulk of Gaspard’s forces did finally come to fight. While they were quite ravenous, they were not wise enough to seek flight. They marched from their homeland to take on covenant forces outright. They snapped their jaw towards the enemy to strike fear with their bite. -=+=- Then when, at last, those low-toned horns announced it was time. The allied heads of every nation sured up their army’s lines. Battle commanders on their calvary told the men to prepare for a charge. Roars of exhilaration boomed through the ranks, the beginning now at large. -=+=- Armorclad, in full glory, the brave swordsmen advanced. The foot soldiers charged forth and the bowmen held firm in stance. Veletz pushed to meet them, the distance between, closing quick. It was an explosion waiting to happen, drawing closer with every hoof click. -=+=- Orcish warriors, in crazed battle-rage did frenzy and attack. Clydesdales fitted with the finest armor, the enemy held nothing back. They slammed into the Covenant line in hopes of breeding disarray. But quite quickly they came to regret ever stepping foot into the fray. -=+=- They lurched violently backward as hundreds of shields met spearheads. When Bull’s horns met an unmovable body, the bull began to bend. Even after lines shifted and the combat became more singular. These moments declared no force could be the Covenant’s equal. -=+=- The fighting raged on till at last seeing eyes revealed the phonies. Sir Gaspard and all his cronies couldn’t even defeat the unarmored ponies. And while they managed to journey back to Veletz with their heads. They wobbled off the battlefield, their tails between their legs. -=+=- There was an uproar of celebration in the armies of the eight. This tired, wicked enemy seemed to slowly meet their fate For the third time, the mighty Coalition reigned victorious. The win, in spectacular fashion, will remain forever glorious. SIGNED, Sir Marius ‘Wordsmith’ Lovetts, Appurtenant to the Chancellor, Poet Laureate of the Petra, Knight of the Order of the Petrine Laurel of the Rapids, Protector of the Drakewood, Keeper of Fyreswake.

Sir Marius Lovetts bobs his head along as he listens to the bards sing it hours before the battle.

Cyrus Lewitt smiled brightly at the news. "Briliiant!"

103 | Astana de Régne Petrére What man can say his lineage does not fall back to Horen? Our roots run deep, tracing backwards in an arrow like pattern. The tree of life is diverse, its branches ever expanding outward, stretching far past our sight. These branches intertwine with themselves, weaving odd patterns, like paths of lightning. No path is the same. For every inch of branch there is a different memory to be had. For even in ten-thousand souls, there is never one that is the same as another. Still no man has been blessed with perfection as we walk the earth. To be man is to toil at our own projects, build empires, and watch them fall. We are entrapped within a cycle, a pained reality which exalts the people who climb the pyramid, whether by hard work or birth. It is by their deeds and actions, but also their faith, strength, or wit, that they stand at the forefront of our manhood, leading us as they have seen fit. Despite the numerous generations in which we carry on, their wheel continues to turn in this way. Shall it ever stop following the footsteps of the former? We stand in the latter part of history, one which has already witnessed 1900 years of humanity in its struggle. From the first kings of Aaun to now, we have witness nations consolidate then crumble, rebuild then return to ruin. Why? One would think that in almost two thousand years, man would be able to seek a peaceful resolution to theirs struggles. One would think that the leaders would be chosen, not based on their boldness or their aggression, but rather their humility and wisdom. The power one wields can come with growing anxiety and stress. No nation has thrived with corruption and terror about its very core. While it may expand for a time, it soon collapses under its own weight. For when mistrust is placed at the very center of society, it shall soon enter into devastation. Likewise, I have yet to read about a revered Military Commander, Knight Lead, King/Queen/ArchDuke, Chancellor, etcetera, that surrounded themselves with ill-willed, even evil people, and thrived. No, for those who seek council from the untrustworthy and disloyal will reap the consequences. Why then would the people of Petra choose to surround themselves with those who are not a good influence? Why would they choose to entrap themselves in a cage by keeping those who do not wish the best for you around? So, tell me, good people of Petra, why then choose a Member of the Garmont who does not understand, nor intend to make good on, promise to protect and serve you? You would not unless you also wished harm on your nation, city, peers, and family! In my continued effort to best serve this city which began as a lowly court poet, then as a Knight of the Realm, then becoming Appurtenant to the Chancellor, I seek to fight for the people in the Garmont Assembly! This great nation that found its’ founding in the Knighthood now finds itself with a Knight willing to fight for it not only on the battlefield, but in the law rooms as well. This great nation gave you a common man who battles for the interests of the common man, while also helping adjudicate on matters of Nobility with the Chancellor! I have YOUR best interest in mind. I have already dedicated myself to this city. Let me do so in the Garmont as well. VOTE SIR MARIUS LOVETTS FOR GARMONT SIGNED, Sir Marius ‘Wordsmith’ Lovetts, Appurtenant to the Chancellor, Poet Laureate of the Petra, Knight of the Order of the Petrine Laurel of the Rapids, Protector of the Drakewood, Keeper of Fyreswake.

Username: tcs_tonsils_ Persona Name: Sir Marius Lovetts Persona Age: 29 Place of Residence / Street Address: Dame Catherine’s Way IX

101 | Astana de Régne Petrére “We are those who look Eastward.” Dear Friends, Family, and Loved ones, You are cordially invited to the wedding of Sir Marius ‘Wordsmith’ Lovetts and Ellsi Maeve MacPherson The wedding will take place at the Abbey of Saint Edmund on the Horen’s Calling, Astana de Régne Petrére 102. We hope you can be a part of our special day. SIGNED, Sir Marius ‘Wordsmith’ Lovetts, Appurtenant to the Chancellor, Poet Laureate of the Petra, Knight of the Order of the Petrine Laurel of the Rapids, Protector of the Drakewood, Keeper of Fyreswake. Ms. Ellsi Maeve MacPherson, Medic to the armed forces of the Covenant.

Somewhere, a figure leaned down from where his coins were casted. He tilted his head ever so slightly, aged fingers caressing a dress of purple silk. His eyes loitered upon that fabric before lifting to a table set in the center of the room. Decrepit and old, the wood had began to rot. Upon it, a letter. A grin spread across cracking lips. “Excellent…” The figure then twisted, his breeze of his cloak blowing out the candlelit room so that all was shrouded in darkness. {Spoiler: Very well written piece! Keep it up, Cop!}

101 | Astana de Régne Petrére “There are days even the faithful face relentless trials.” MUSIC: MUSIC SHEET: LYRICS: SIGNED, Sir Marius ‘Wordsmith’ Lovetts, Appurtenant to the Chancellor, Poet Laureate of the Petra, Knight of the Order of the Petrine Laurel of the Rapids, Protector of the Drakewood, Keeper of Fyreswake. Lady Emeline Barclay

Sir Marius prepares for what shall be a great week of festivities.

“Hey oh! That is me up there!” Bellowed a drunk Sir Marius from the tavern bar. “We made it.” @Jtit

8th of Sun’s Smile, 1954 [!] Depiction of Queen Catherine being anointed by God and Saints alike. Rejoice, all of Petra, For at last the day has arrived. For the Queen has come age, Many trials she has survived. Give thanks, nation of Godan, For her sword fights for us. Her heart pours out for the people, She shall lead till her time is up. Follow, Knights of Petrine, Where she goes, you reap rewards. She is wisdom in the night. Always to bring the nation forward. Listen, River Guard, Your commander is not afraid, On the battlefield she was beside you. She’ll bleed with you on those days. Be still, faithful teachers, For the Queen is a pious woman, Holding fast to canonist teachings, Using its words to guide her hand. Rejoice, all of Petra, For your Queen is now proclaimed, And she shall serve without hesitation, Till she is put down in her grave. SIGNED, Marius Lovetts, Poet Laureate of Petra, Squire of Order of Petrine Laurel, Baron of Ballads, Registrar of Rhymes.

"Ave Petra, Ave the Queen!" Marius called as he stood within the palace.

"Hmmm. Even so, Veletz seems to have screwed the pooch on this entire thing." He chuckled, folding the paper to put into an envelope. Marius kicked his feets up and watched the fire blaze after their victory at Brasca.

10th of Tobias’ Bounty, 1954 “We are those who look Eastward.” Banners waved, casting shadows under streaming sun beams. Horses stamped and archers shook, anticipation paneled at the seams. The Covenant stared across the battlefield, scanning the enemy’s line. Each man prayed to God above, “Lord, do not let me die”. -=+=- Soldiers steadied in formation, holding firm on the decline. Their supple thirst to charge screamed deep inside their minds. Yet these trained men knew never to break from their rank. Every single man was the protection for his fellow man’s flank. -=+=- The catapults of wood and steel lined the once flowered fields. Pastures that had once held plants of yellow, orange and teal. Cannons laid wheel to wheel across the vast open plain, These were the tools of death, the siege defender’s mortal bane. -=+=- Then, at last, the horns blasted like a dragon’s fierce roar, Those catapults and cannons let loose with an unholy score. And volleys of iron-tipped arrows blackened the sunlit sky, Sending both mothers and husbands all to lowly lie. -=+=- The entire realm stuttered with a violent, sickening tremble, The thunder wouldn’t stop till this keep of traitors was leveled. Spheres of molten iron pierced stone like knives through heated butter, Boulders ripped holes in towers causing the foundation to shudder. -=+=- Screams resounded from those now breached fortress’ walls, Veletzian men were sent plummeting over the backs of the alures. Despite this, a courageous few still fired from atop the parapet-walk, Whilst other fled from the edge, cowering from the falling rock. -=+=- At first trumpet’s blow, relief oozed through the armies of the Eight. Yet the growing urge to move into battle tickled at their feet. Still, no man faltered from their position till the order was given. For every strike that the coalition devised was a carefully planned incision. -=+=- Hours later, that horn sounded through the crisp morning air. Drummer’s rhythm echoed off ruined ramparts that were beaten bare. Every spear and tower-shield pounded to the tempo in the dirt. Till finally, their anxious feet, launched forth towards the fort. -=+=- Bolts and arrows zipped closer as onward they were to press. Many shafts found their marks, imbedding both in armor and in flesh. Yet rallying forth in full assault, this force pushed ever closer. They navigated through man-made hail, line neither broken nor shouldered. -=9=- Despite the cracking fortress walls, Veletz managed to stay put within. They drew the Covenant ever closer in hopes to enclose them inch by inch. The lines of men in hasty march rushed to the decrepit battlements. The orders were all given out and the troops, on their way, were sent. -=+=- Eight armies entered those very treacherous enemy ruins. Cautious to not be lured into traps lest this place become their tomb. Barricades were altered to throw the Covenant’s warriors off balance. Small bridges and deep pits made Brasca perilous to traverse. -=+=- Combatants moved through the keep, securing every room. But engineered pit-falls and gates sent many to their doom. Despite hundreds of losses, they rooted out every standing soul, For Veletz was a plague upon the land, so extinction was the goal. -=+=- Thousands of troops converged as each hoped to be the other’s end. Every armored fighter prayed they skewered foe and not their friends. Steel met cold iron; voices were drowned out by the clashing. Onward Covenant’s forces pushed, the end slowly amassing. -=+=- Deep crimson blood stained the cold stone and soaked between spaces. Men fell in that traitor keep, never again raise their voices. Soldiers stumbled over bodies, even trained knights lost their footing. This building turned graveyard; the corpses began their rotting. -=+=- After hours had become countless, the shouts began to quell. Enemy soldiers scattered from that place which was their utter hell. Those brave men that were foolish enough to stay soon fell still. For the saying shall always stand true, “Comes due does the bill.” -=+=- Banners waved, casting shadows under streaming afternoon beams Flags were hoisted marking sigils of the 8 allied kings and queens. They were placed in every window and tower that had enough stone to stand. Banderoles draped over palisades to show those now in command. -=+=- Cheers cascaded over the hillside, echoing down into the valley below. Even the wind in usual whisper shouted their victory in bellows. Yet while men shall celebrate with drunk song all throughout the night. Every man realized, with no peace, there shall be another fight. SIGNED, Marius Lovetts, Poet Laureate of Petra, Squire of Order of Petrine Laurel, Baron of Ballads, Registrar of Rhymes. The bridge fell, but we shall not.

Marius Lovetts nodded. He approved of this fellow poet’s more detailed battle description! “What an excellent piece.”

The Siege of Breakwater Keep The 11th of Sun Smile, 1953 When the open sky, Alit with cannonfire, Smoke fogged clean air. Dense metal balls, After fiercem calls, The tree splintered in two. Then hell rained forth, Showered stone and dirt. Death was no longer subdued. Men were blasted from battlements, Arrows struck both foes and friends. The smell of blood spread like wildfire. Walls were blown to pieces, Shards of glass littered the trenches. The precision that has been sired. And all of Veletz cowarded behind their walls! They were all lacking the balls! Ignorant and Obtuse, the arrogance of this Brood! When keep was laid to rubble, They knew they had faltered and stumbled. They had surely lost this feud. And the Coalition charged in with their steel. With every ounce of honor, courage and zeal. And erased such a hideous blot! Victory was ours to claim this day, Glory to Godan he made a way. Guided this fierce, loyal lot. SIGNED, Marius Lovetts

The Doom-Whisperer’s Duality “When men shake hands with nightmares, Restful nights shall surely cease.” Blood on the Grass They will fill histories about your bloodlust, Build monuments to your shame. They will garnish the streets with dark wine, For the all the people you have slain. -- Called menace, willful aggressors, No real manhood can you foster, Oppressors who view all as lesser. Controlled by the pettiest of monsters. -- You have idled in the doorway, Held breaths on the edge of the long night, Now when war comes to your doorstep, What action have you but cowardly flight? -- You shall watch your cornerstones crumble, while witnessing the defeat of every ally. For when we stepped into the fray, Our war cries drowned out your weak rally. From the Ashes of a Dying Star We are those who look eastward, To the rising of the Sun. You are one who looks downward, Wondering when night shall come. -- Despites and Traitors You breed the worst of monsters, The sum of all your plundering, Are our walls built back stronger. -- Uproot, you blight, You sickening disease, For the day will soon come, Where tirades will cease. -- You will cry out, As your empire falls before you. You will contemplate failures, Cursing your lack of fortitude. -- And from ashes will rise, Those brave enough to stand. Those who you dismissed with ease, The ones you scuttled and damned. -- And they will build it back, With more humbled hands than you, With eyes that watch for wearied, The lowly fires of the few. This is a warning You wish to take from us what can never be taken. We shall never relinquish that which lives within us. Strength, Honor, and Hope shall shine forevermore.

Laketown Avenue A poem by Marius Lovetts --- To my muse, the reason I stayed. --- Star’s glint to dew’s drip, World spinning round. History repeats itself, My words, in you, to drown. Tongue to always twist and tie, Your light is so bewitching, That moment when you call my name And breaths grow too heavy. And when you pause to take my hand, What shivers now are running. For butterflies still fly at night, Some are trapped inside me. These words of love I feel for you should flow like gushing waterfalls, Yet every time I meet your eyes, The universe, it stalls. What simple phrase could capture you? Describe eyes of living wonder. What synonym could assimilate? Heart beats like roaring thunder. Effervescent vivations. Your embrace is all I need. Bring me forth, into your light, That endless shining sea.

“How delightful, a City watch.” Hums the newest Petran Squire, Marius Lovetts

The Trees Have Eyes A poem by Marius Lovetts --- We are surrounded by silent watchers, Postures firm, reaching ever higher. Do they speak about us when we are gone? Do they wait for us to leave to sing their songs? Do they laugh at us, For we are lost? We are completely alone, Desperately missing home. We are lost without guide Without a map or place to hide. They wave to one another, Telling of our fateful blunders. Yet they sit there and watch, Our misguided approach, They stare at us and speak, I can hear it in the creaks. I know they gawk, As petty beings fought, While their faces are disguised, I know the trees have eyes. ---

Borris Iver Kortrevich leaned back in his seat. “If I am doomed fall, let me fall without reproach. For when I am at the bottom, there is only one way to go.” The Kortrevich then smiled. “Fly on, dove.”