Blanchables

As the dust settled over the ruined landscape and architecture of the city as the two creatures fell, Graham Milner would look around the destroyed bricks and buildings for a certain Half-Olog. “Milners?!” He’d shout outwards, not in any particular direction. “Bonehead! Bonehead!” He’d call out, his face reddening as tears would stream down, though covered by his helmeted face. The yelling would cease moments after, however, as a new threat began to emerge....

When all was said and done, and Mother lay defeated, Pierce would emerge from the crowd, sword in hand. He’d stand atop the broken fixtures, and give a victory cry. Within the next few days, a commemorative monument would be placed in honor of the fallen, the moniker of Boniface Bonehead shining brightly upon it.

A CALL FOR AID

Issued and confirmed on the 7th of The Deep Cold, 1732

Pierce would pace within the confines of his palace, a frown firmly placed upon the corners of his visage before he’d slam his fist sideways into the wall next to him. He’d make his way to his room, beginning to draft a notice quickly for all to read. Fervently writing, he’d pen in the ink to parchment, letting out an exasperated sigh as he called the royal messenger, concluding the message as he set down his feathered quill. 

The messenger would go far and wide across Arcas, through the snowy fields of Fenn, the streets of Rubern, through the various capitals and cities of the Empire, across the lands far and wide to the groves of the Druids, to both High Elf and Wood Elf cities, to the bustling ports of Sutica, all for the sake of passing a message to any and all. If received, the letter would bare the following.

To my fellow Descendants, peers of Arcas, and brothers and sisters in arms,

A dark time has befallen my Kingdom, one of which has left my lands scarred with a blight that threatens not only the people of Curonia, but all of Arcas. My knowledge is limited, but my pride does not limit me to admit such, nor does it restrain me from calling for aid. The planned attack on Curon and its People has left worry and fear in the hearts of the Kingdom and its denizens, but it has not dismissed the hope for victory in our spirits. United we stand, our minds and bodies prepared to face defeat, but we will claw tooth and nail for victory. While I cannot ask or inspire the same loyalty or motivation to die for Curonia, I plead for any and all who have information or the ability to come and lend aid to do so. Thus, I am reaching out to all sources, and ask them to convene within my capital for a summit, as I seek council on the impending doom that threatens my people. I cannot ask you to give your lives for Curonia, but I implore you to lend your knowledge.

If the Descendants are to fight this threat, we must do so here and now. What might start with Curon may end in the far reaches of Arcas, any nation might be next, susceptible to a killing blow that renders an entire people extinct. If we are to beat back these demons, now is the time to strike while the iron is hot. Our world is not the same as it once was, the balance is shifting and we must be prepared for it. Though you may not care for my people or me, eliminating the threat now, even at the cost of my own Kingdom, may save your own. In a Saint’s Day, I propose a summit of all who wish to plan against this voidal attack to convene within my halls to prepare, and that we may prove our strength to these bastard creatures, so that they will not threaten the might of the Descendants once more.

Signed by,
Pierce I Devereux
 

((OOC: The Summit will take place at 6PM EST Wednesday at the Curonian Palace
The voidal event will take place at 6PM EST Thursday in Curon))
 

The War Witan of 1732

Issued and confirmed on the 9th of Snow’s Maiden, 1732

Letters would be dispatched quickly and suddenly around the Kingdom of Curonia, bearing the royal sigil of the Devereux to each vassal. A special summons would be left for the Commander of the Curonian Military. Inside it would bear the following.

The King of Curonia once more enacts the right of Witan between both the peerage of Curonia and the military authorities throughout the Kingdom. The topic of conversation to be the coming war deemed appropriate by the Orenian War Council. 

The following are individuals are called forth to attend along with military representatives:

The House of Devereux and citizens of Avalain
The Knights of the Order of the Ursus
The Royal Army of the Kingdom of Curonia
His Lordship, Ser Atreus Falkenrath, and the citizens and soldiers of the County of Laria
His Lordship, Ser Angelo de Alba, and the citizens and soldiers of the County of Astorga and Ursidae Stronghold
His Lordship, Veres Draskovits, and the citizens and soldiers of the County of Oldenburg and Barony of Drakov
Her Ladyship, Dame Klaudia Grimoire, and the bannermen, subjects, and members of House Grimoire
His Lordship, Claudius Halcourt, and the citizens and soldiers of the Barony of Artois
Beyarin Silversteed and the bannermen, subjects, and members of House Silversteed

At this Witenagemot, the Witans and their representatives shall discuss the coming war against the Krug, along with the defense of the city against the Voidal terrors.

We shall stand as one. Humanity together, in unison, we act. The Green Tide rises. Ave Curonia.

((The Witenagemot will take place on Friday at 6PM EST in the Royal Palace of Curonia))

HIS ROYAL MAJESTY, Pierce I of House Devereux,
King of Curonia, Duke of Curon & Umbra, Count of Albion, Arbor, 
Avalain, Blackreach & Cyrilsburg, Baron of Alsace, Arisan, Frosthold,

Rivia, & Vasile, and Lord of Avernia, Bear Mountain & Blackden. 

A Shield Forever

[...]

“Anabel, on my count, you need to run. Do not look back, do not ask questions, and do not stop for anything, not until you are safe.” The young Captain would remain looking forward through alarmed and sharpened eyes, never once leaving the two men that stared with malicious intent towards the girl and her retinue. His digits set firmly on the hilt of his blade, shield in hand, Graham would motion for the girls to stay behind him, before barking out the order to run. Down the roads they sprinted, not once looking back, Graham cast a final look behind him for only a moment, to assure their safety. Upon looking back, he would meet his attackers head on, engaging the ruffians with full force, if not to buy even a second of time for the Princess and her friends. “Please...be safe.” The thoughts drifted through Graham’s mind, before he could only focus on the fight at hand...

The starlight illuminated the path from Curon to Haense as Jarrack, armed with his personal guard, Ser Graham, and Princess Anabel filed into the city, quickly joining in on the festivities at hand and the ball within the confines of the palace. “Jarrack! Why not dance with your sister, eh?” Graham would utter out with a smirk spreading across his visage, patting Anabel on the shoulder as the young girl took a step forward. A rather cocky grin plastered across Jarrack’s face as he nodded in agreement, taking Anabel as she stepped forward, the young girl content with the situation at hand. However, as the music began to pick up, Jarrack’s eyes quickly drifted from the young girl to a young woman, and upon such, would drop Anabel mid-dip. He’d quickly leave the girl on the ground, not even sparing a glance back to her as she lay defeated. Graham, however, was quick to move. With great haste, he bent downwards, his knee resting on the stone floor as he helped the young girl up, her expression both saddened and irritated. “Well, that was rather rude.” Graham would state, brushing the young Princess off. “However, Princess, think nothing of it. For if a man cannot keep you in his focus, centered on his attention, then he is not worth the seconds you grant him. Come, come. Let us have fun. We are at a ball for GOD sakes!”

A war, brief as it might have been, slipped through the minds and rested heavy on each soul, and honor and glory were to be awarded to each of those who valiantly fought. Graham Milner knelt in front of his King, chosen for a great honor that much of his life had been built in anticipation for. “And do you, Ser Graham Milner, wish to undertake a moniker, to be referred to valiantly and with honor, until your dying day?” Wilhelm would ask the question, his light blue eyes piercing downwards towards Graham. The young Knight would hesitate for a moment, turning his gaze briefly behind Wilhelm towards the dais. Excitedly seated would be Anabel, now becoming a young woman, mouthing the words to him that she had spoken for ages, goading him to speak them himself. “Aye, my Liege. I wish to be known as The Paint Knight.” The sword would swiftly drop to each shoulder, tapping him lightly before a command to rise would be uttered out. Graham Milner would breathe out his last apprehensive breath, a confident new one stirring within him as the Paint Knight rose to his feet.

Seconds to minutes, minutes to hours, hours to days, days to weeks, weeks to months, and months to years, time would pass for Anabel and her Paint Knight. Through conflict and strife, the pair would remain inseparable, as the watchful eyes of Ser Graham always kept the young woman within his protection. However, as with all things, time would eventually drive the two apart. A marriage to young Romulus would cause the woman to part ways with Curon, opting instead to live within the city of the Imperials. Though very much wishing to, Graham simply could not part ways with his home of Curon, and instead kept his watchful eye present in the Kingdom. However, not a day would pass when Graham’s thoughts hadn’t been on Anabel, his mind meandering towards how the young Princess had grown, and whether he had touched her life for the better. And as time continued to begrudgingly move forward, Graham would think each thought of his family beyond blood, and prayed for her safety.

The Paint Knight would casually stroll about the bustling streets of Curon, gaze drifting about before hearing a sharp noise to snap him out of his somber lull, a brief distraction from the tedious routine of the day. However, his face would only grow pale and frantic as the Knight ran forward. Falling instantly in his arms was that of the crying Devereux woman, a sight that would cause the Paint Knight’s heart to sink into his chest, his stomach uneasy as he supported the woman. “Lady Anabel, what is it? What is wrong?” She broke into tears, a hushed voice leaned into him as he continued to cradle the young woman. She spoke of the death of Romulus, a conspiracy, a tragedy. The Paint Knight’s heart wept with her, his mouth agape as he sat and listened, consoling the woman where he felt he could. But nothing could lessen the woman’s solitude, not words anyway. And so Graham continued to hold the woman in his arms, knowing that while she may not be able to speak her peace, and diminish the brooding pain which so consumed her, he would ensure that she would not suffer it alone. For each tear that she wept, his heart stung, and he wept with her, from the break of day, til the fall of night.

War. The very term is ugly, and the act is no less. A division of people, of family, of brothers and sisters. The blood that once ran through our veins spills onto the swords of our enemies, perhaps even once our friends. Ser Graham had seen his fair share of battle, yet never wished to raise a sword to his dearest. But upon this day, he was forced to do such, with Anabel being found on the opposite side of the field. His heart would ache, a feeling of emptiness consuming the man, knowing that for every swing of his sword, could be the life he wished not to take. And though he shared no common blood with the woman, the thought of spilling it struck him like a hammer to hot metal, and his entire being would shatter. But when the two once more found themselves on the same side, Graham’s heart would sing, and a protector, he would be once more.

Time was not kind to the aging Knight, finding himself growing hairs of gray, reflexes slowing, his mind wandering more frequently. The years would pass him as swiftly as a candle in a storm, the loss of comrades, Kings, and friends taking its toll on the Paint Knight. The thought of those he failed ever present in his mind, he would shut himself away. As he would age away, his thoughts gaining no sense of consonance, the man would swiftly deteriorate, losing the purpose he once had. The news of each death struck him swiftly and without remorse, though, he was never a stranger to loss. However, on a simple quiet morning, Graham sat within his cabin hidden in the wilderness, attempting to remember and forget all at once. A familiar knock on his door would snap him from his vapid gape, as he slowly steadied himself and opened the door. Present was a young man, who would visit with news of Curonia, tasked specially with delivering note to the once Grand Knight. Tired eyes would scan over the man’s face, and a curious look would cross his visage, as the man’s cheeks were tear stained, his blue orbs bloodshot. Graham’s brows would furrow, and his gut would drop. At further request for the news, the boy would speak through sorrowful tone. He would recount the death of the Devereux, landing a blow to Graham that was far stronger than any he might ever have received. The ground beneath him fell, leaving nothing but the emptiness of the void and the blackness of his spirit. Graham’s eyes would shift briefly, before tears wholly consumed them.

A breath would escape him, whimpering as it were, as Graham shakily stepped backwards, falling to the floor as he stared upwards at the wooden beams lining the ceiling. The startled murmuring of the courier would fade from existence, as the Knight was truly alone, his eyes never leaving from the heavens from which he watched from his own recluse. A sanctity to his insanity, no more, but rather a residence for his own private hellscape. Trapped within his mind, the Knight saw the young girl that once was, and pictured the woman that was no more. For an eternity, he sat and saw, watched and replayed the memories that continually poured from his being. And as the world faded from view, a certain clarity had entered his mind, after the counts of defeat and tragedy had struck him.

“Though we held no common-blood, you were forever my family. Though I had not riches to give you, I’d have proffered you everything. Though I was never your Father, you are the daughter which I had always dreamt of. Though my bones have become brittle and my mind weak, I would forever raise my shield in your defense. And though you are gone, to never again grace my company with your presence and laughter, I will forever love you, and while many promises I have broken, that one, Anabel, shall never shatter.”

The aged Knight would stir from the floor, only now raising himself upwards as he looked about his empty surroundings. Standing now, he’d walk to the corner of his barren abode, where a small wooden rose would sit upon a table. Gathering it tenderly, he would hold it within his once dexterous hands, twirling it to view the craftsmanship he had once put into it. His bag loaded, but none as heavy as the burdens with which he toted, the man looked a final time around his once dim isolation, before closing the door. And the dawn would break and the sun would rise, and the Paint Knight was set to return home once more.

((Anabel and Graham will always be one of my favorite stories on LoTC, in the years I’ve been on the server, I’ve never had something quite like it, and I use it as a constant reminder to why I still play. I’m sad to see her go, but every story needs its end, and every good one leaves you having wanted more. Thank you so much for the memories of Graham and Anabel, and I hope that wherever you take yourself on a new character brings you just as much enjoyment as I got from making this story with you. I hope you enjoy the little story I wrote for this, as I felt this was nothing less than what it deserved.))

Pierce would scratch his chin. “Well...”

Pierce would frown heavily upon hearing the news, his eyes growing a puffy red as he remained in recluse behind locked doors of his room. The news of Celest traveling fast to him, the tragedy struck hard. He’d move to his feet, as his face grows stern, taking careful notice of the palace as he descends to his throne room. Upon the throne, he’d take a small, silk pillow in his hands, turning it over as he walked towards the courtyard. His steps would tread carefully towards the fire, tossing the pillow into the flames, lowering his head in a brief silence, paying his respects to the fallen Bear.

Graham Milner would receive notice of the death far after the event had unfolded. From within a small cabin in the woods, he’d pour a rather large glass of whiskey, bringing it to his lips and swiftly downing the contents, allowing the alcohol to pour down his throat. Pouring another, he’d raise his glass. “To Celest, I shall see you in another life.” He’d consume his second drink, continuing to pour until the contents of the bottle were empty. He’d push back his matted, now graying hair, lowering his head as he mutters a few words in her tongue. “Tjote vi villi ki dvol eilifu, ert minni villi kvikr ir ert faedra.”

((RIP Celest

Hahaha, had to be done

Not quite @Rave_Cave_marb

Discord: you know

Skin: Generic Noble

Bid: 6100

Discord: you know

Skin: Generic Noble

Bid: 5500

Discord: You have it

Skin: Generic nobleman

Bid: 1700

Pierce would smile upon receiving the invitation, brandishing a rather elegant quill to sign an RSVP, eager to see his cousin wed. 

Pierce I would blink upon reading the missive, considering greatly the length of mental trauma and abuse one must endure to publish such a subjective, ill-informed rambling. 

“Huh.” He would huh.

Hey ya, I like that +1

Pierce would receive news of the older Knight’s death, and a look of sorrow would cross his expression. As he’d reminisce painfully of the times his guard stood by his side, he would hold his fist to his chest, a final salute to the man. “A friend for life, a companion for ages, and a protector...always.”

Pierce would receive a missive informing him of the death of Tiberius. His lips would curl downwards in a frown as his expression shifts entirely, a look of sadness spreading entirely across the young King’s visage. He’d sit up from his throne and walk up the long, winding stairs as his head hung low. Memories of the man’s dueling prowess and ferociousness in combat would enter his mind, resting uneasy as he walked up each stair, his footsteps echoing heavy across the palace halls.

As he’d past his piano, he’d pass his digits along the wooden surface, his light blue eyes passing over each key as his fingers apply a slight pressure to let out a somber tone across the empty palace. He’d reflect upon the memory of his performance for Ester and Tiberius, an appreciative applause coming from the usually violent and aggressive man, a brief smile would form on his face, replaced only by sadness moments later.

Finishing his descent of the palace, he’d begin walking down a long hallway. The silence palpable in the air as each footstep penetrated the wall of tranquility, Pierce would come to stop in front of a rather large room. Blinking, he would enter the room, looking around as he began to make the necessary arrangements. Starting with the bed, and other furniture placement, he’d light a candle in reverence. 

”Sorry it took so long, Tiberius, but I hope you enjoy the room.” He’d say simply as he nods his head, careful to close the door.

Guess who’s back, back again...Ivory’s back, tell a friend. 

Rip Marb, but an awesome assortment of data. Can’t wait to start seeing the CT kicking it into high gear. 

“Heh.” Rathal hehs.

Pierce I of House Devereux would sign the document.

Pierce prepares his swimming trunks. 

Pierce I would weep by his bedside, remembering many family meals and better times.

4 minutes ago, SinisterBlades said:

“Ay rememb'r w'en Curon wus ah respect'd ally. ‘Ow thae ‘av fallen.” A Longbeard Grumbled.

Pierce would recall when the Dwarves disrespected and outright declined diplomacy when an envoy was sent some time ago, followed by pissing on one of his vassals walls. 

The War Witan of 1725

Issued and Confirmed on 9th of Snow’s Maiden, 1725

The bear’s domain, defined by the leal vassals, territories, protectorates, clients, and subjects of the House of Devereux, the Kingdom of Curonia, and Iron Crown, has not been mobilized in its full military capacity since the bloody years of the War of Two Emperors. Now, the day has come to raise our banners once more, for honor and Kingdom to defend our human brethren against the encroaching dwarven corruption.

The King of Curonia, Pierce I Devereux, with in mind the mobilization of his realm, demands that the peerage and the military authorities from throughout Curon and its auxiliary forces attend his witan to discuss and enforce the Kingdom’s diplomatic and military agenda in the coming conflict.

The Following individuals and groups are called to attend the Witan along with their military representatives:

The House of Devereux and citizens of Avalain
The Knights of the Order of the Ursus
The Royal Army of the Kingdom of Curonia
His Serene Highness, Archduke Edward of the House of Suffolk, and the soldiers and citizens of the Archduchy of Suffonia
His Lordship, Count James de Ravensbourg, and the soldiers and citizens of the County of Ravensburg
His Lordship, Ser Atreus Falkenrath, and the citizens and soldiers of the County of Laria and the Avernian holds
His Lordship, Ser Angelo de Alba, and the citizens and soldiers of the County of Astorga and Ursidae Stronghold
His Lordship, Veres Draskovits, and the citizens and soldiers of the County of Oldenburg and Barony of Drakov
His Lordship, Gawain Harkness, and the citizens and soldiers of Frosthold and the Albian Stronghold
His Lordship, Ser Everette Landes, and the citizens and soldiers of the Barony of Barmount
Her Ladyship, Dame Klaudia Novaeux, and the bannermen, subjects, and members of House Noveaux
His Lordship, Aran Calafroy, and the citizens and soldiers of the Barony of Northgarde
His Lordship, Claudius Halcourt, and the citizens and soldiers of the Barony of Artois
Svetovic Vilchyc, and the citizens and soldiers of Volin
Beyarin Silversteed and the bannermen, subjects, and members of House Silversteed
Ajax Ironwood and the bannermen, subjects, and members of House Ironwood
 

At the Witenagemot, the Witans and their representatives will engage in discourse and logistical preparation for the coming war with the dwarves. 

May we stand as one for the Green Tide Rises. Ave Curonia.

((The Witenagemot shall occur on Friday, July 19th, at 6pm EST, in the Royal Palace of Curonia))

Signed by,

His Royal Majesty, Pierce I of House Devereux, King of Curonia, Duke of Curon & Umbra,

Count of Arbor, Albion, Avalain, Blackreach & Cyrilsburg, Baron of Arisan,

Hallowfell, Rivia, & Vasile, and Lord of Bear Mountain & Blackden.

Pierce I of House Devereux signs with an ornate signature.

Pierce I of House Devereux signs the letter in a rather flamboyant fashion.