Publius

Timeo hears of the reinstatement of the old Preussens with a pursing lip; he only recalled tales of their treachery against Lotharingia forever ago...

Timeo de la Baltas, the Adrian Lord of Love, believes that he must attend or abdicate this prestigious title – he decides he will attend without even a moment more to think on it!

The bedridden Timeo is urged by his servants (in vain) to rest every now and again during his preparations for the wedding; his heart swelled with pride as he rehearsed several poems about Carriondom with a phlegm rasped voice, determined to appear for his best performance yet as he wrote to the Duke of Adria about his excitement.

Name (RP/Mcname): Timeo de la Baltas / Coupublius Residence: Belvitz/Abroad (I am a travelling troubadour) Race: Human Age: 25

Before you, you behold an Auvergne Marrionette Musical, a famous Adrian play and musical performance, visually personified by Wooden Raevir figurines. Revolutionary in it’s form if you care for such frivolous things, you behold this all the same!

Timeo applauds the decisiveness of the Emperor.

Timeo de la Baltas, though an Auvergne, holds now often a sleeve or hankerchief towards his eyes as he nearly cries as the most notable man within the empire daring to sport his culture’s nomenclature is besieged upon by the people of the Baltas, “Mes amis, quel coeur lourde je porte.” Declared the man to his closest friends, “Il un Relourian, mais -” Whilst drinking even the finest of Brady and Cabernet Sauvignon, the famed troubadour would speak boldly about his apprehensions as Adria moved to smash the Duke of Curon. To him, both Duke’s played a pugilists game; both would be lesser for having been struck so many times, but the victors go the spoils... and any honourable man would never bet against his homeland. Spending many a night on tour at his desk writing quietly, he wrote often on the topic.

Timeo de la Baltas spend many tireless nights preparing dishes to be served, as well as music to be performed!

[!] Across the lands, a tune about Sutica could be heard every now and again from the Cafe of Rosenyr to the taverns in Markev. Published also in booklets, it would go as follows! [!] A depiction of of Sutican peasant openly brewing potions! An inquisitive squint I offered towards a city so bright, Alight with magic and architecture no other land knows, Upon entering one may think they have entered a great hall, Echoing steps as one realized they are not yet through the gates, Wide eyed in wonderment had I beheld wonders on casual display, Metalworks spilling forth oddities of all sizes making their merry way, Atronachs abound as I explored their fair city, Aneath the beautiful bay that Sutica swam upon though, An entire district seemed to have sunk into, Up one would look to schools of fish rather than the sky, Further along I gazed between mystical feats casually performed, Gargantuan people with flowing robes and jewels each adorned, Difficult was it to leave; so relaxed I felt sedated in their pleasant spa, Managing to depart I left slack jawed in wonderment and awe!

As you adventure about Atlas, you hear tell of a poem about the Mali’aheral – the High Elves, as better known by humanity. Of those who read, they would learn of Timeo de la Baltas published account of Fi’halen, or Haelun’or as it is now known. It would read as follows; Painting of a High Elven vessel out at sea, 1697 Blind men may be made of those who beheld a city of Silver, Weak men made immobile by the length journey of the bridge thereto, Of the wise? Both would be a worthy sacrifice. Outside of the blizzards of the south I welcome the sights of warm water, Though unwelcome am I priorto the proof of my own persons warm blood, A people justified in being paranoid welcome me. Behind bars stand people who contain good will rather than suffer detention, Having taken smashed stones and rebuilt a monument to unshakeable virtue, Heads ducked aneath where an evil prince once struck them. There though you would find upon Atlas the most beautiful gem worth protecting, Clutched tightly by hands whose knuckles grew as pale as the complexion of its citizens, Conviction not failing them as fingers may try to pry free their grip. Among them now I find cultured even amongst the casual, People learned beyond my years based on principle rather than grit, And from here I leave a better man knowing such may be an aspiration, Of a nation.

Timeo de la Baltas receives this news as a broad smile, his own peasant and romantic notions very similar to the virtuous Monsieur Morris’! At this, he ponders deeply upon writing a piece on the most noteworthy chancellor he has ever known!