tcs_tonsils_

Farewell, our beloved Jenkins! LOTC will miss your creativity and writing skills!

Borris Iver Kortrevich watches the proceedings in Haense with his feet up, whilst munching on a bag of popcorn.

[!] A neatly written note would lay beside the aged man who had slumped on his desk, his quill resting beside his hand. I am dying. I feel it coming when I lay down and when I get up. Yet I am not saddened by this. I have lived a life worthy of writing about. And so, I have dedicated my last few years to recounting it. In those pages I continue onward. In those pages, the memory of who I was lives. I am a storyteller, and I have told my story. I have been writing for a long time and yet I find some new story every day. There is not one that goes by that I regret the things that I have written, for each piece holds aspects of reality. The Kingdom is so different than it once was. I am one of the few who remain from my time. So many have passed on and yet I continued to write. Now I am the one passing on. There is freedom in that, I think. I am finally able to see those long past. I long to hear their voices and to witness them smiling again. It is close now, I feel it slipping away from me. My eyes grow tired and I have no reason to resist. So I say the last thing that is to be said, a final piece, perhaps, my best piece. Now, it is my time to sail beyond the tides, that place you cannot go. ~~ Beyond the Tides The night draws hither, O’ wintered breath, The jovial turn to cold display. Aged leaf from thrones on high, Welcomed to the ground below. The hour draws thither, O’ crippled touch, The desperate pray upon weak knees. Purest light of God above, Watch over as I take my leave. The time is nye, O’ faded sight, When at last the soul relents. A spark that fell from dulled eyes. Trailed by quivering exhales. The end is here, O’ Fallen Lord The quill slipped from my grasp. Taken to my olden friends, To rest with those I love. It dipped before the depths, This last light of mine. Descending betwixt sky and sea.

The Life and Complete Works of Borris Iver Kortrevich Published the 12th of Msitza ag Dargund, 482 E.S. Introduction and Autobiography Borris Iver Kortrevich, like his predecessor, is recognized as the foremost poet throughout Hanseti-Ruska during his lifetime. As a continuation of the Poetic Renaissance, many young Haeseni found themselves enraptured by the works of the late Van Jungingen and Feodar May. Thus, it led to acclimation and passion for the lyrical arts. During this time, many poets and writers expanded upon what they had seen from previous vital figures. In around 1850, about the middle of King Sigismund III's reign, many artists stepped up in this pursuit. Some other notable figures were Dorothea Ruthern, Klara Elizaveta, Gustaf Morovar, and Sofiya Ruthern. This era was undoubtedly dominated by the product of the expansion proposed by Kristoff Brunnings in his Introductory work of Van Jungingen: Complete Works. ~~~ Born in 1852, Borris Iver Kortrevich never knew his parents, the reclusive Lothar Kortrevich and Juliya Ludovar. Instead, the Kortrevich was abandoned, left in Jerovitz. He was cared for then by his cousin, Nikolai. When he was three, war broke out between Oren, and Urguan, which, coincidentally, pulled Haense into its grip the following year. Synonymous with the rest of Haense, the Kortrevich's life stood dominated by this conflict. Even though the boy strived to become a part of it at a young age, it was not until Borris was older that he would become fully involved in the conflict despite enlisting in the BSK at ten years old. As an adventurous young Lord, the Kortrevich had often sought out those his age. During the majority of his childhood, he would spend time with a small group of friends who had deemed their club 'The Flowerlings.' This group, originally consisting of the Borris, and the twin sisters, Eileen and Freya Baruch. It yielded a child-sized wooden fort in which the group could play. This fort, Fort Flower, would be a staple of the group throughout their childhoods. Borris' childhood was often plagued by misfortune. Most of these problems sprouted from the actions of his cousin, Vasilia Kortrevich, an older sister of Nikolai when she left to pursue a man in Oren. Having been close with his cousin, the boy took it poorly and reverted to locking himself within Fort Flower for days. Only then did his real journey into poetry begin, using the pen to express the situation he was a part of and his emotions. Then, in 1859, Borris released his first volume of poetry, A Selection of Poetry, from Borris Iver Kortrevich. This first volume consisted of four poems, the most notable being Gone, the first poem he had written. All four, in some way, related to his cousin leaving him. From then on, Borris' volumes would be published annually, most of them consisting of four poems as a continual remembrance of his original publication. Only in adulthood would his Volumes be published more sparsely as he took up other projects. Inspired by the imaginary knight games The Flowerlings would play, Borris set his mind on writing a novel depicting the heroic adventures of a Knight attempting to rescue a princess from the clutches of his brother. While the book started as a simple idea, it became a reality when Chapter One of A Rose in the Snow was published in 1860. The first couple chapters yielded him national praised after he won Third Place in the Ve Zvaerd i Jungingen, a literary contest hosted by the crown. A couple of years later, Nikolai Kortrevich proposed celebrating Borris' works by hosting a Poetry night at Jerovitz. This party attracted attention from around Karosgrad. Even the King chose to attend and write a poem that he dedicated to the memory of his late friend. The party was an immense success and would inspire similar events later in the Kortrevich's life. Borris moved through a stressful event between the achievements and publications as he and his cousin Nikolai were captured and taken to Oren following a raid on Jerovitz. This raid, led by Vasilia's husband at the time, yielded the Kortrevich's first visit to the Empire. Having been bashed in the head, the boy was sent directly to the clinic once he arrived. There, he met Dr. Primrose Gendik, who would treat him, then smuggle the Kortrevich out of the city. This led to a lasting relationship, despite a war between them. The two often met at St. Lothar to discuss the war or other general things throughout their lifetimes. The Kortrevich would come to refer to her as his mother. Though despite their relationship, they both had an understanding that should they meet on the battlefield, neither one would relent. The Kortrevich often referred to his earlier poetry as far more fundamental and personal than many of his later works. If one were to scan through any of his Volumes I-VII, they would see that most of his poetry revolves around expressing his feelings towards his surroundings, his friends, and his romantic interest at the time, Carolina Milena, a princess of Sedan. They met during a social event in Haense and became good friends. Poems like Palace of Haverlock, Warm Feelings, and Nervous were all written for this De Joannes. Unlike the poetic experience of Van Jungingen, someone whom he greatly admired, Borris Iver Kortrevich wrote much about love and the feelings and emotions surrounding it. As Lifstala, the Haeseni social season began following the Kortrevich's 16th birthday in 1866, the boy teenager found himself inspired to write once again to the prinzenas he now sought to court. Amidst the male presentations, the Kortrevich performed poetry instead of selecting a traditional event. This presentation yielded him a public endorsement from the Koenas for his poem Above the Rest. It was the first of the Kortrevich's Poetry to receive fame and recognition. The Kortrevich, seeing the response to his poetry, began to think more about his career path. It was only then that Borris focused his gaze upon obtaining the position of Court Poet, serving King Sigismund III in an official capacity. The amateur poet was tasked by the King to prove himself by producing a quality work following the well-fought Battle at Eastfleet, officially named Philips' Folly. Thus, the Kortrevich wrote and soon published Death at Eastfleet, which won him not only the favor of the King but also secured him the position of Court Poet. Even with Borris Iver Kortrevich's strong start, both in his career and Lifstala, the tables quickly turned as his romantic interest was found to have been having relations with an elven prince. Whilst overcome with grief and anger, He wrote his most well-known and admired piece in 1868, I Hate You, which garnered the Kortrevich attention from all across Almaris. Despite the turbulent times, the Kortrevich’s reputation as a strong poet continued to follow him. The Lord Marshal at the time, Johann Barclay, approached the Kortrevich, hiring him as the Battle Bard for the BSK. His first task was to create a series of poems bolstering the image of the Brotherhood by telling the tales of battles from the War of Whigs. Later that year, Borris published his first Anthology titled Anthems of Brotherhood, which consisted of five poems about memorable war events. A few months after publication, the War of Whigs ended with the Eastfeet treaty. As Borris focused more on his poetry in his personal creations and those for his jobs, yet another door opened for him. Ser Reinhardt, the Knight Paramount at the time, sought out the Bard to commission him to write a piece describing his valiant Bogatyr's trial. The Kortrevich excitedly accepted the challenge and produced The Tale of Ser Reinhardt. The Knight's Marshal received the piece so well that three more poems were commissioned. The Kortrevich was also offered the position of Knight's Bard, which he promptly accepted. Due to his success, the Kortrevich received a nomination for Knight of Queen Maya and the Lily in 1869, passing nearly unanimously through the Royal Duma. Then, during court that same year, he was officially knighted by Sigismund III, Kossar Borris Iver Kortrevich KML. He is still the youngest person to have received the award, knighted at a mere 17 years old. ~~ While working on the Knight's pieces, the Kortrevich also began to take more commissions as the Lifstala season ended and the wedding season started. The bulk of his works in this period surrounds the idea of marriage and romance. Despite his frustration with his relationships, the Kortrevich could not pass up writing about such an in-depth and expressive topic as love. Eventually, while doing this, Borris found hope in the friendship of his close friend, Eileen Baruch. After a year of conversing, the two would begin the courtship process. It was a new page that had been turned. The affection that the Kortrevich had upheld only in the words he wrote now found their way outward. That is not to say he did not still write poems about his dearest Eileen, for many poems can be traced to this subject, such as You Are, You are I, We are we, I are you, and The Bench. In 1872, Borris and Eileen got married in St. Henrik's Basilica. 1872 was also a turning point for The Flowerlings as the group quietly went their separate ways after two group members, Eugen Barclay, and Soairse Baruch, vowed to run away together to explore Almaris. The Flowerlings said their goodbyes to one another in Fort Flower that evening. However, despite their break, all group members looked forward to symbolically burning down the fort as they had all grown too large to use it. Eileen, a year or two later, would give birth to healthy twins. The words he had spoken for his children were copied down and published. The Kortrevich named it My Child and dedicated it to his new son and daughter. ~~ Later that same year, the Kortrevich found himself in conversation with the aged koeng, Sigismund III as they stood and watched the Snailula One race at Odistadt. Borris, having been familiar with Van Jungingen’s ode to King Andrik III, wished to do the same for his Majesty. So at that moment seeking he challenge to emulate the man he admired, the poet humbly asked the koeng if he could write a similar ode. While the koeng only jested that he would have to make a poem that flatters him lest the Kortrevich be put to the sword for treason, Borris was far more nervous about the piece than he led people to believe. It was a long process, taking a few months of work to publish a piece titled, An Ode ve Koeng Sigismund III. Later that same saint’s day, the Koeng would pass away, surrounded by the thousands of Haeseni who came out to pray for his quick recovery. The Poet watched as the Koeng marched down the steps and challenged Ser Walton to a duel, his way of completing the warrior’s end. The Poet watched as his Koeng met the end he had wished for. The Poet watched, unsure if the Koeng ever read his ode to him. It would not be until a few months later, during the reading of the will, that the Kortrevich would learn that he read the piece. Perhaps one of the greatest honors of Borris Iver Kortrevich’s life was the compliment he received from the koeng in his will, in which the excerpt is written below: “To read, and even be the subject of your poetry has been one of the great honors of my later life. Despite your young age, you have become one of the greats of Haeseni culture, eclipsing even the likes of Dietrich van Jungingen. I will watch with pride from above now, and on that day you will surely be named Valtakossar.” Bolstered by the late koeng’s compliments, the Kortrevich continued writing as he did. The next task he chose was writing a poem on the Coronation of the new king, Sigismund’s son Karl Sigmar. He titled this The Dawning of a New Day. An appropriate title for a new king, the poem explored the setting of an era from Sigismund and the rising of a new age for Karl. Over the next few years, the Kortrevich’s work was far more spread out. For the first time, Borris did not publish his volumes every year. Instead, the Kortrevich would begin publishing his volumes every three years while also working on other projects. An unfortunate death occurred as the former Lord Marshal, Johann Barclay, was murdered along the road in 1875. As a tribute to his years of service and dedication to the people of Haense, the Kortrevich released The Tale of Johann Barclay. This commissioned piece by the new Lord Marshal, Heiran Mephestus, displayed the life and leadership of the Barclay. The Poem stands as one of his larger pieces. In the same year, the Kortrevich took the time to write out his griefs, jotting them down and publishing them in a piece he titled Call of the Weary. The work instantly resonated with a vast multitude that felt a similar absence from Godan. Then, in 1882, war broke out between the Dwarves and the Orcs. Subsequently, the remnants of Oren and Haense also joined the battle. Borris used that opportunity to write about his own experiences during the war. The Kortrevich wrote Decisive Blow after the EATO’s first official victory at the Acre, whereas he praised those who died fighting for our victory. While no other poems about the war was published during the Kortrevich’s lifetime, War of an Island and Peace at Last were made public following his death. The Kortrevich participated in multiple skirmishes throughout the war. One of these events leads to the overtaking of the Vienne after being let in through the gates by a child. As already stated earlier in this biography, that child was Timothy Komnenos, the grandchild of the Kortrevich’s dear friend and adopted mother, Primrose. Taking the opportunity, he smuggled the child out of Haeseni's control and safely returned him to the care of his father, Arthur. However, Borris, fearing that he might be charged with treason, opted to stay hidden within the Komnenos’ manor rather than return to the raiding party. During this time, Borris regained much of his contact with Dr. Gendik, allowing them to catch up on years lost. They talked about the insanity of the war and how it was ridiculous that both of them would have to live through two wars in their lifetimes… not to mention that they were on opposite sides of the conflict. It would be the last time Kortrevich saw his adoptive mother before she passed away a couple of years after the war. From his grief of such loss, the Kossar shut himself away for a multitude of weeks, taking the time to recuperate and recover. His recovery period, however, was swift, as the poet would drown himself in work. The Kortrevich found time to finish his long-awaited anthology. Over the next three years, the Kortrevich would take it upon himself to write a poem dedicated to the knight trial of every knight in the Bogatyr’s age and a few extra poems centered around knighthood and the lifestyle adopted there. This idea led to him gathering information on each individual, often reading through stacks of books to find critical details. The Kortrevich would often host interviews with those close to the individual to catch glimpses of the storyline so that his poetry may reflect the event perfectly. This project, which he titled The Silver Crows Anthology, yielded a total of 16 poems that were dedicated to the individual knights of the realm. The work was published in 1885. After this, Borris Kortrevich began to think about working with other poets to make a masterwork. So he set off to talk with poets throughout the kingdom, looking for people to join him in writing. Through this hopeful collaboration, the Haeseni Papyrus was born. The first issue was published in 1888. It consisted of nine poems from six writers, Klara Barbanov, Borris Kortrevich, Felyx Colborn, Ipera de Falstaff, Euleriphis of Karosgrad, and Hieromar of Karograd. An additional Papyrus was issued ten years later. In addition to these anthologies, the Kortrevich continued to write inspirational war poetry over the next ten years, such as Why He Fights, Fall of an Enemy State, The Call to Crusade, and Light’s Faithful Triumph. ~~~ Note: The Kortrevich often used very lofty, metaphoric language to paint a picture to the reader, juxtaposed to straightforward language like Van Jungingen. A flaw with a few of the Kortrevich's works is that the words he uses are too imaginary; it fogs up the idea of what the author is trying to say. One such example is his piece, The Fall of an Enemy State. Originally titled Fall of a Nation, the work was first published during turbulent times in the Kingdom when a rift between those in the Aulic council debated fiercely against the accusations of nepotism and favoritism within the leadership as proposed by Jakob Vernhart, the Grand Maer at the time. Fall of a Nation used non-specific language, leaving it ambiguous, even though the piece was about the late Kingdom of Oren, who had just fallen a couple of years prior in 1884. Instead, such ambiguity led many to believe that the Kortrevich was not talking about Oren's demise but rather about the possible fall of the Hanseti-Ruskan Kingdom. Shortly after its publication, the piece was recalled. It was then republicized later in his lifetime under a different name. ~~~ However, this reinvigorated period was cut short by the growing sickness of the King, Karl III, who was a long-time friend. During these final days of the King, Borris sat down and wrote an ode to him, just as his father did. This poem, titled Oede va Koeng Karl III, marks the second death of a king dear to him the Kortrevich lived through. Over the next twenty years, he shifted how he would write and publish his poetry. The Kortrevich spent long periods in his room in deep contemplation before writing his poetry. Not only did this diminish the amount of poetry he was writing, but also the length between publication times. Through this time, the Kortrevich focused much of his poetry on the Church. He wrote over 50 Hymns, publishing them in waves of volumes he titled Hallowed Adoration: A Canonist Hymnal. In addition to this, Borris Kortrevich published CANONE SANCTORUM: SANCTITAS ET VIRTUS, a 10 poem about Saints of the Canon. Despite this, The Kortrevich wrote poems of strength and war. During these years, he also published many Anthologies, including Songs of Swords in 1906 and Ballad of Brethren in 1910. He finished his next anthology of Knights, The Iron Crows Anthology between these times. It was published in 1907 and consisted of 17 poems. Then, in 1908, he wrote a piece regarding King Georg’s coronation titled, From Circlet to Crown. Following the beginning of a war between the Canonist League and Adria, Borris Kortrevich released Children of Horen, which attempted to represent the bloodshed during the war vividly. Men of the Morning, published around the same time, gave a similar sentiment to the destruction that conflict causes. In 1916, Borris Iver Kortrevich was awarded ValtaKossar, “The highest possible civilian honour in the Kongzem of Hanseti-Ruska.” He is noted as a figure of great works and poetry within the Kingdom. He stands as the third person to receive this honor. Continuing his previous collaboration, the Kortrevich wished to reignite the Haeseni Papyrus. However, the Kortrevich began reaching out to other poets, not only Hanseti-Ruska but also Balian and Aaun. After several years of gathering and writing, he and 4 others published the third volume of Haeseni Papyrus in 1918. Four years later, the group released the fourth volume. Following this, the Kortrevich agreed to take on several wards to mentor them through poetry, including Klara Ludovar and Stefaniya Ipera. During the final months of Almaris, as the Mori were raveging the city, Borris Kortrevich wrote and published Engulfed in Flames, which symbolized the utter destuction that they left. In 1829, Borris Kortrevich published his final poem, Oede va Keong Georg I, following the King’s death. Poetry Volumes of Poetry Volume I………Published 412 E.S. Volume II……...Published 413 E.S. Volume III…….Published 414 E.S. Volume IV…….Published 415 E.S. Volume V……..Published 416 E.S. Volume VI…….Published 417 E.S. Volume VII……Published 418 E.S. Volume VII.V…Published 419 E.S. Volume VIII…..Published 420 E.S. Volume IX…….Published 421 E.S. Volume X……..Published 422 E.S. Volume XI…….Published 423 E.S. Volume XII……Published 425 E.S. Volume XIII…..Published 429 E.S. Volume XIV….Published 432 E.S. Volume XV…...Published 435 E.S. Volume XVI…..Published 436 E.S. Volume XVII....Published 439 E.S. Volume XVIII...Published 443 E.S. Volume XIV.…..Published 459 E.S. Volume XX.…...Published 459 E.S. Volume XXI.….Published 460 E.S. Volume XXII….Published 462 E.S. Volume XXIII….Published 464 E.S. Volume XXIV….Published 466 E.S. Volume XXV….Published 469 E.S. Volume XXVI….Published 469 E.S. Haeseni Papyrus THE HAESENI PAPYRUS: VOLUME ONE THE HAESENI PAPYRUS: VOLUME TWO THE HAESENI PAPYRUS: VOLUME THREE THE HAESENI PAPYRUS: VOLUME FOUR Knightly Order Pieces The Silver Crows Anthology The Iron Crows Anthology Brotherhood Pieces The Tale of Johann Barclay Anthems of Brotherhood: War of the Whigs Anthems of Brotherhood: Songs of the Sword Anthems of Brotherhood: Ballads from Brethren Royal Pieces Union of House Carrion Oede va Koeng Sigismund III The Dawning of a New Day Ballad to the Haeseni People Light's Faithful Triumph Oede va Koeng Karl III From Circlet to Crown Oede va Koeng Georg I Canonist Pieces Call of the Weary A Call to Crusade A Canonist's Hymnal - Volume I A Canonist's Hymnal - Volume II A Canonist's Hymnal - Volume III A Canonist's Hymnal - Volume IV CANONE SANCTORUM: SANCTITAS ET VIRTUS Personal Pieces I Hate You Simply Joy I Love You My Child The Snow Melts Children of Horen Engulfed in Flame Unpublished Works Tale of Ser Coin, the Musin Knight War of an Island Peace at Last Firefly Waltz The Weight Placed Upon His Head Death of an Island A New Paradise Deliver me O’ Lord. Artist and Creator Untitled Hymn Untitled Hymn Beyond the Tides SIGNED, Lord Borris Iver Kortrevich, Valtakossar of the Order of Queen Maya and the Lily, Battle-Bard of the Brotherhood of Saint Karl, Knight-Bard of the Order of the Crow, and Court-Poet of Hanseti-Ruska.

Thomas Komnenos cocked a brow, watching events unfolding from the sky.

Oede va Koeng Georg I 8th of Gronna ag Droba, 482 E.S. Koeng Georg I All hail, our great Koeng, Georg the First! You are ever pleasant and ever friendly. While you were young, some thought you clever. But during your rule, your true wit shone through. What tales will be sung of your caring nature! Stories are woven, telling your mending touch. Where once these lands seemed divided and split, The crown strove to sow the strands back together. And oh what beautiful ballads shall be crafted, Depicting a hardy King’s commitment to lead. Neither the cruel words of men nor the harsh blade of Mori, Could take your fierce fight away. You have walked the long road and fought the good fight. For any king can rule a Kingdom, but only the great ones earn their people’s respect. Signed, Lord Borris Iver Kortrevich VKML Battle-Bard of the Brotherhood of Saint Karl, Knight-Bard of the Order of the Crow, and Court-Poet of Hanseti-Ruska.

Engulfed in Flame A fierce orange glow illuminates the horizon. Smoke twists, swirling upwards, Blotting out speckled starlight, Disappearing into the darkness of night. Distant voices called out, Fear burrowed inside them, Gnarling further with every crack and whimper. They plead, some for the swiftness of death, Others for their loved one’s returning. Yet their agony holds unwavering, Cries filling a seemingly bottomless void. Towers stood ablaze, arms of fire Outstretched towards the space above. They pray to death, destruction, and chaos. For the end of man, nation, and king. What love could any Almarian hold for the forces of evil? For when they step, the very cornerstone of man trembles. Like citrus poured on a wound, the Mori sting and burn. Their existence, is a festering plague upon the landscape. When all have sunken into the earth, When fires of sullied that which was, And only ash will pour from the sky. When every stone is overturned, When land is stained with black and red, And skies are defiled with dense gray smog. When the land is unsanctified, Corrupted with the treachery of the Enemy, Even then, we shall remain. We shall rebuild and regrow. We shall hold fast and hold on. We shall go forth and prosper. We, who remember these days, We, who have seen the end of all things, We, who have witnessed the true evils of nature, We are those who have banded together, Outlasting even what sought to execute us. We are Strong, we are Warriors, we are One. Signed, Borris Iver Kortrevich VKML

THE HAESENI PAPYRUS: VOLUME FOUR TABLE OF CONTENTS Poem Index I. Longing II. The Home I Once Knew III. Emptiness and Solitude IV. Skirmish V. Tranquility VI. Hogo VII. Broken Ouroboros VII. Prodigy Poems I. Longing From the hills upon which I stand The toils of your life seem far I wish I could cross the land And give you my helping hand There is no line in the sand, But a wall I cannot cross, Too much time under command, In time, I will come back grand. By Ser Sterling Percy Amador II. The Home I Once Knew I do not recognize that I had known, The voices that once rang, Now hold silent, Their tones deafened by the earth. The faces that surround me, I cannot see those whom I loved, I cannot see those who loved me, Not in their features, Or in the depths of their eyes. How distant has this place become. These walls hold no love for me, No great stories are told, For the words have been strangled, Fallen still by the passage of time. I am a stranger, once a friend, Regarded as if I am shrouded in darkness. It is an odd phenomenon, this fact, That the words that I write, Those woven upon the page, Are more known than I shall ever be. By Sir Borris Iver Kortrevich III. Emptiness and Solitude In solitude’s embrace, I dwell alone, No comforting touch, no gentle hand to hold, A shadow cast upon my soul’s own throne. Just emptiness and Silence uncontrolled. Isolation’s icy grip, a heavy shroud, Longing for connection, but fate unkind, No voices, no laughter, no friendly crowd. Loneliness, a constant, haunting bind. In Stillness, I ponder, and memories rise, Of moments shared, of loves that were once mine, Their echoes linger, and a bittersweet surprise, As I navigate this empty space of time. Yet in this emptiness, a light may shine, A chance to find a path, a new way home, To break free from the grip of this design, And embrace the future, no longer alone. By Stefaniya Ipera and Artorius Silva IV. Skirmish Weapon of war I wield Trekking through the snow House banner on my shield Arrows fly across the field But they all feel so slow Strike our shields, we don't yield Those injured will be healed Fury dealt blow by blow Retribution with steel By Ser Sterling Percy Amador V. Tranquility Amidst the fields of green and gold, A gentle breeze begins to bow, And in its wake the flowers unfold, Their petals dancing to and fro. The sun begins its slow descent, As shadows stretch across the land, And in the peaceful quiet event, The world seems to hold still, unplanned. By Uknown VI. Hogo In the library, rows of books stand tall, A treasure trove for one and all. Each cover a portal to another place, From classics to mysteries, adventures and more, The librarian's books hold stories galore. A haven for those who seek to explore, In the library, books are a world to adore. Hogo, a name that's rarely heard, Yet a person with a heart preferred. With kindness and compassion in spades, Their selfless deeds never fade. A friend to all, with a smile so wide, Hogo's presence is like a calming tide. A beacon of hope in a world that's tough, Hogo's spirit makes life less rough. When new faces arrive, with confusion and doubt. Hogo swoops to help, does not shout. The colour of pink who's hand guides, takes player retention in their stride. By Unknown VII. Broken Ouroboros As I awaken from my slumber deep, A realization pierces through my sleep, I have tread upon these paths before, In lands that were once known by their own downfalls. From my first breath, it was called Oren, A place where I learned to love and learn, Then as I grew and came of age, Hanseti-Ruska became my stage. As I stepped into my adulthood, The city of Petra stood, tall and good, But what is it now, I cannot say, For time has changed and swept it away. My life, a tapestry woven by fate, A fabric not of my own create, I have never found peace and rest, A constant wanderer on a lifelong quest. Yet I hope to find that elusive peace, In a life that's free from worldly unease, But for now, I wander and roam, Through lands that were once called home. Oren, Hanseti-Ruska, Petra fair, Each a treasure with stories to share, But none can give me the peace I seek, For home is a feeling that I long to keep But one gift I can count on, without fail, Is the vibrant morning sun, a daily tale, Of hope and renewal, a promise of light, A glimmer of peace in an endless night. Perhaps peace is not attained from the earth below, But from our Heavenly Father, who we must know, Shall always and forever be our true home, A place of love and grace, where we will never roam. So I'll keep walking, with faith as my guide, Through lands familiar, and those that I'll abide, For in the end, it's not the place that I seek, But the peace within, that my soul does keep. By Lords Justinian Basrid and Adolphus von Alstreim VIII. Prodigy See the work of his hands, Even in one so young. Each stroke of the quill, Exactly how it is intended. The depths of his mind, Something a normal man, Can only hope to comprehend. By Sir Borris Iver Kortrevich SIGNED, The Honorable, Justinian Basrid, Count of Susa The Honorable, Adolphus von Alstreim, Earl of Suffolk, Prince of Sutica The Honorable, Emigliana Maeya O’Rourke, Countess of Halstaig, Baroness of Al’ildic Lord Borris Iver Kortrevich, VKML Lord, Ser Sterling Percy Amador, Vice Emmissar Lady, Stefaniya Ipera Lord, Artorius Silva

“This family has so many problems.” Uttered an aged Kortrevich.

“They take away more access, Johann. We barely have interest in it as it stands, and now they divvy it up.” Iulius Vernhart comments to His friend from the Seven Skies. @Raijen Stars

Borris sits alone watching as the people come back from hunting- a victory for the Kingdom. They did not know that the Prinzenas had perished. She had been Sebastien's cousin, but more importantly, his lifelong friend. She had spent time with him in his mourning, and his joys, and he had done the same for her. He had always tried to do right by her- and she had now fallen. Like many others, he could not join her in this new quest. He weeped, his tears falling to the pavement below.

"Ser Jakob Morovar" Ser Sebastien smiled. "Say what you will, but he was dedicated and loyal."

A MOST YOUTHFUL COUNT Issued by the COUNT OF OTISTADT On this 7th of Tov ag Yermy, 472 E.S. VA BIRODEO HERZENAV AG EDLERVIK, Greater tragedy has seemingly befallen the House of Ludovar. For the past 4 years, none have seen or heard from Countess Emma Henrietta of Otistadt, and it is feared among her kin that she may be permanently missing. As such, she is unable to adequately perform her duties as the Countess of Otistadt and her titles shall therefore pass to her eldest son, Baron Henrik Matyas Andrei of Juliksburg who has recently reached the age of majority. The House of Ludovar prays for its missing Countess-Mother’s swift return, and for prosperous guidance from the young Count in this time of great heartbreak. TIZ LIFST DLUM HAESIY, The Right Honourable, Henrik Matyas Andrei Ludovar, Count of Otistadt, Viscount of Sezwesk, Baron of Juliksburg, Lord of Ricksburg

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"You have grown into a fierce warrior, Cirilla." Sebastien said to himself as he finished the report. "The Order will benefit greatly from this one."

"Excellent." The Savoyard beemed as his friend had finally completed his trials.

"Disgraceful. You think I sung of Alec's praises when I was captured- foolish boy." Borris frowned deeply upon hearing the crying child in the room upstairs.

Borris simply chuckles, his promise fulfilled.

THE HAESENI PAPYRUS: VOLUME THREE On this 8h of Gronna ag Droba, 471 E.S. TABLE OF CONTENTS Poem Index I. The Red Walls of Karosgrad II. Wastelands III. Wolves IV. The Canopy V. Clouds VI. Men of Morning VII. My Love VIII. Young Nobility IX. The Candle’s Burning X. Toe-m Poems I. The Red Walls of Karosgrad The red walls of Karosgrad They stand strong like giants in snowfall Bound by stone and yet ironclad Here, peace and love are to be had, Thanks to the bastions who stand tall, The red walls of Karosgrad Two people watch, a man and lad, Shield in one’s hand, armed with a maul Bound by stone and yet ironclad Loss is something that cant be had They must protect us from vile thralls The red walls of Karosograd The knights never tire, always glad Defend, protect, prevent black shawls Bound by stone and yet ironclad Roam free you may like the aoudad In front of them, our foes are small The red walls of Karosgrad Bound by stone and yet ironclad By Lord, Sterling Percy Amador II. Wastelands Ice spikes pierce the dulling sky The snow-capped peaks above me rise, This frostbitten wasteland, a frozen dream A realm of harsh and violent means. The icy winds do howl and moan, The snow-laden trees of the forest groan, The flakes swirl in frosty dance, Yet hold motionless in white trance. The thriving kingdom stands low, But here is where no crop could grow, The deep chill breath is so precise, Far too cold, the winter's vice. It shall nip and bite your ear, The waste is what you’ll learn to fear. The sun's rays reflect off the snow, Yet deadly chasms are hidden below, By Lord, Borris Iver Kortrevich III. Wolves We, soldiers, trot on From the western jewel Of fair and holy Helena, As fangs and talons protrude. Burning, ravaging, The Marnan East fell to us, With only a single bulwark ahead, Being the simple land's end. O Guise, O Guise, Full of envy and lies, Simple Baron, Simple land, Why must you have been before our eyes? ‘Run’, I howled, ‘Run!’ For pity I felt for the rebel, But these legs raced on, Towards their Baron’s blood. Farmer and serf, Human and dwarf, None decided to run, All accepting their miserable fate. Fools, is Ves not near you? There is time to escape before we run through- But they did not, and it is our duty to obey, For the Emperor’s word is fate, none can disobey. In the chaos of fires and burning, We found the Baron standing strong, He let no man come near his manor, But that was not the case for dogs. The hounds of hell, Did they rush so fast you could not escape, O Dreadful rebel baron? Or did you let them catch you standing? Gone in an instance. Your lifeless dead corpse. Gracefully did the dogs, Leave your body, only biting your throat. As the fires leapt from the fields, To the humble manor. Gone with the ashes, The humble baron’s body. We all watched from a distance, As the dogs went to sleep, Peacefully and quietly, Having only taken one life to the deep. I glanced towards the soldiers around me, With snouts made of plate, And darkened eye-slits, Howling in the fire-filled night sky. As I gaze upon the hounds and then the men, The humans slumber, wolves in the night baying, I struggle to comprehend, for when Comparing the two, the dogs seem more humane than the men. By Lords Justinian Basrid and Adolphus von Alstreim IV. The Canopy T’is the forest, a mirage induced with the mind Somewhere to scamper, without your woes A place to think, with ample to find I find that things balance, as the verdant sheen shows Any day of each week Each month that sourly ticks Mothers, and sisters drawn, including me Waiting to see which one it picks A maze of grass n’ brush Us, perceived the same as insects around We can wander, meander. . . what's the rush? We can be simple, no need to be compound Its sad eyes, they draw me in, tell me lies How much can we leech from things that aren’t ours? Let go, it can be official, see which trees have eyes When it can be beneficial, we seem to pass the hours It’s less fun to be seduced by its leafy draw But even worse to see another fail to resist O, how many go missing, a mother and babe in which I saw The moonlight dust fading to a night’s dismiss How one misses a fire in winter’s midst I somehow crave the forest’s umber Hard to think I could be saved by true love’s kiss So let me go, and send me asunder By Lady Emigliana Maeya O’Rourke, V. Clouds Grazing over meadows Gazing up at the skies Brothers of halcyon days One sleeps grass, one flies Galavanting like twins, Gliding in the shadow, That the other provides, And running when winds blow. Grasping at their soft fluff, Grabbing nought but air, Looking up, the clouds fled, To be fed, with no care. By Lord, Sterling Percy Amador VI. Men of the Morning Sounds o'er the rolling hills, O'er fields of clover, O’er fields of mud, O'er the battlefield n’ sight of blood. Waiting on the eve of battle, More dreadful than the thing, Darkness consumes the world below, Acknowledging what's forthcoming. Then at the break of day, they take their stance, Gathering forces to take arms, Each cavalier mounts his stead, Spearmen hold at the ready. Banner bearers raise their flags Watching fast till at time it comes, To raise one's blade and go. Then bursting forth in the fierce display, The men would take to war. O'er the fields of clover, blood-stained green. Soldiers face death, for their lord and king To bring great honor, they die a warrior's death. By Lord, Borris Iver Kortrevich VII. My Love My heart skips steps when you walk I am enamoured by you I lose my words when you talk I wish I knew what to do I am enamoured by you I freeze at your smile like rock I wish I knew what to do I try to love, beat this shock I freeze at your smile like rock My soul sings when I see you I try to love, beat this shock Your laugh paints me a red hue My soul sings when I see you I lose my words when you talk Your laugh paints me a red hue My heart skips steps when you walk By Lord, Sterling Percy Amador VIII. Young Nobility Downswept streams and curtained flags We watched unto your prowess with admiration We were flawed, our eyes bagged Reflecting on our damnation Longing for nothing but to be seen O, to do justice to one’s bloodline Crowns and armor with polished sheen Thus is the curse of a noblime Every gaze is fixed unto us Bounded, a valiant successor in due time The clock ticks O’ the pendulum sways, To give true meaning to our days. All is futile, bound to rust Our fickle minds in endless swirl We latch to things we blindly trust Finding our humanity begins to unfurl. It is hard to fathom life without this duress Something brought swiftly on ourselves Either forced to donn a battledress Or speak vows, drowned out by church bells By Lady Emigliana Maeya O’Rourke, IX. The Candle’s Burning Sleep, Dearest little one, Let forth dreams flow. Tender head, In imagination serene, Like honey for the mind. Go watch Understood ununderstandables, Stories, Pieced oddly together. Take heed of my words, Draw out the slumber, Rest now, Your little head, And fall into wonderland. By Lord, Borris Iver Kortrevich X. Toe-m Eenie, meenie, miney, moe, Ea have seen Aedypapej Borris' toe. It is kind of gross and very icky, Ea suggest running away when his boots get sticky. By a 15 year old, Lady, Josefina Barclay SIGNED, Her Excellency, Josefina Barclay, Duchess-Consort of Reinmar The Honorable, Justinian Basrid, Count of Susa The Honorable, Adolphus von Alstreim, Earl of Suffolk, Prince of Sutica The Honorable, Emigliana Maeya O’Rourke, Countess of Halstaig, Lord Borris Iver Kortrevich, VKML Lord, Sterling Percy Amador

Never Relent Within this world, there are often things that are so devastating that it makes us wish to give up. But we must keep going, we must push through. We are the men of this world, and the sins of this world shall not keep us down. There is nothing that will hold us back from being who we want to be. Therefore, something must be written to show, just as you should never give up on the world, I shall never give up on you. We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I A full commitment's what I'm thinking of You wouldn't get this from any other guy I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling Gotta make you understand Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you We've known each other for so long Your heart's been aching, but You're too shy to say it Inside, we both know what's been going on We know the game and we're gonna play it And if you ask me how I'm feeling Don't tell me you're too blind to see Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you (Ooh, give you up) (Ooh, give you up) Never gonna give, never gonna give (Give you up) Never gonna give, never gonna give (Give you up) We've known each other for so long Your heart's been aching, but You're too shy to say it Inside, we both know what's been going on We know the game and we're gonna play it I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling Gotta make you understand Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you HIS LORDSHIP, Richard Paul Astley, Duke of Dichord, Count of Cadence, Viscount of Vibes, Baron of Bars, Lord of the Memelands, and Protector of the Rick Roll.

A Poet of Haense, 69 Years old and pretty much a hermit.

Borris Iver Kortrevich

The true legend reveals his himself once more.

“Yet another Orenian blunder.” Muttered a Kortrevich.

An olden Kortrevich dangles his feet off the side of Jerovitz. He stared out towards the lake, towards Petra and Aaun. “I am a ghost.” He uttered.