Draiden

Aedan sat in his barren court, hidden amongst the backalleys of Alisgrad as he read over a missive sent to him by the... Chancellor? Chamberlain? He didn't quite know the difference, nor did it matter. To him, it was just another honorific given to some stooge to handle minor administrative tasks for the crown anyways. The nature of the missive, however, was quite troubling, and he had many restless nights fighting himself over what to do about it. He had a lot of pride for what he and his lineage were, as furtive as it seemed to be. A long line of warriors and scholars, bred from bloodlines of royalty, fighters, heroes, alchemists, drunkards and scoundrels. Through the eyes of his predecessors, Norland had always been watched since the foundations of Seahelm were laid centuries ago. He wondered what they would say; how they would react to behold Alisgrad now. He was unsure of what they'd think of it. It didn't matter much anyways. Where was Aedan's beloved lineage now? Living in an alley and written off until needed to do what must be done. It seemed a common theme, at least in recent generations - no one had the courage to do what was right except the Farettos, and the Farettos always suffered for it. A price to pay for everything, he figured. Half of his body lost to the tides of Svarlandic chaos and a war that some thought would never end, and no thanks but continued service to a crown that could not bear its own weight. Some predecessors took that mantle with such a ravenous fervor, but not him. Such a warm-hearted soul was not meant to be a dog of war. An age of heroes came and past, and Aedan was merely a bystander... At least he didn't feel like a hero. Heroes were celebrated, and he felt like any decision he made would be met with ridicule regardless of what he said. No other paths to take except the one that led away. He gathered up what little possessions he had left after the sacking of Varhelm and left his cold corner of the new city. He felt old, weighed down by the mistakes and responsibilities inherited from his forebears. Yet he felt somewhat liberated as he left through the front gate - as if the weight had been lifted for his new path into the unknown north. The path of the Warrior Priest. In Alisgrad, the rumored legend of the Barrel King hopefully lived on, though its newest denizens hardly knew what it meant. His last notes would seem nonsensical to them, but yet they managed to resonate with a few. Peace out, everyone.

Aedan raises an eyebrow at the missive. "... Who the hell is Vangel?"

Aedan smirked at the flyer, he himself being a travelling doctor. "Why didn't I think of doing this? This is great."

Somewhere in Varhelm, a Red Priest laments the passing of Father Paco. "Adios, Padre."

Aedan Faretto knew only two basic rules to fighting - hit the enemy, and don't get hit by the enemy. He thought about all the confusion as to whether or not Oren "won" this raid, despite not setting foot into the city. A lot of people showed up to both fight and be fought, but less of his comrades in purpose not littered mass graves on the Haenseni roadside, and he himself managed to walk away from it with only minor injuries. "The best success is coming out ahead of people whose entire livelihood is fighting and nothing else, I suppose."

Aedan Faretto would go back home to Norland alongside his brothers, relatively silent among the whooping and hollering of "IRON FROM ICE!!" from Norland's sons and daughters. He had no personal qualms with the Ferrymen, and ultimately didn't quite understand what business the people of the Rimeveld had in the conflicts of Eastfleet... ... But he had to admit, he'd almost forgotten how fun it was to fight.

Adan squints at the note. "... This is the second time I've seen this ad. Isn't there some kind of vetting for the notice boards?" Adean writes a letter back. Aedan, Castellan of the Purifiers. Norlandic alchemist. Half of me is made of rock and metal. Write back.

don't care + didn't ask + cry about it + stay mad + get real + L + mald seethe cope harder + hoes mad + basic + skill issue + ratio + you fell off + the audacity + triggered + any askers + redpilled + get a life + ok and? + cringe + touch grass + donowalled + not based + your're a (insert stereotype) + not funny didn't laugh + you're* + grammar issue + go outside + get good + reported + ad hominem + GG! + ask deez + ez clap + straight cash + ratio again + final ratio + stay mad + stay pressed + pedophile + cancelled + done for + mad free + freer than air + rip bozo + slight_smile + cringe again + mad cuz bad + lol + irrelevant + cope + jealous + go ahead whine about it + your problem + don't care even more + sex offender + sex defender + not okay + glhf + problematic

Aedan Faretto would hold his hands up defensively. "Before anyone says anything - I didn't do it."

Aedan would frown behind his porcelain mask. "Mera? Get the ball. The aurum one."

Aedan Faretto, despite his favorite team being knocked out cold in the semi's, would take advantage of this exciting development as the Dunes prove themselves able to contend with the juggernaut Saints. He'd begin taking bets all over Almaris on behalf of his part-time employer Velsyni Indoren, who had taught him the beauty in all events is not necessarily the events themselves - but rather the mina to be made in the process. "Father above do I love a good gamble."

Aedan would read over the wanted poster with a frown. "Man, I didn't really understand the importance of shutting up and covering your face when committing a crime until now - we hardly know anything about this guy, if it is indeed a "he"

Aedan Faretto would whoop and holler at the Beserkers' newest win, proud as can be that his brother was continuing to do the clan proud. He'd throw himself relentlessly into the celebratory riot at the Indoren Corner Club, eventually being arrested for destroying half the tavern by himself. He was quoted to have said "BESERKERS BALLIN!! LETS ******* GOOOO!!"

Skjord would comment to a local news source, "Yn ov tchaem hjaet-bjutchaed mae en bjaetchwaen mae laeks. Ae tchjnk tchaet schjuld bjae ae fjovl, bjutch aetch's njotch fjoor mae tchjo haet tchae plaeyjaer oor tchae gaem - mae rjovl aes tchjo plae, aent ae schjuld plae baetchaer."

Ballin and bucketpilled

Skjord would clear his throat and lean forward into the pinecone to speak to the press. "Aet vaes ae hjaerd gjaem, aend tchae Fjyxens plaeyjed vaell. Ae hjaev njotchjngk bjut raespjektch fjor thaem. Ae only hjope vae sjaem aenaergyj njaextch vaek aegaenstch tchae Krjovs. Tchaenk yjou." Aedan would loudly applaud the Beserkers' win this week alongside his cousin and fellow superfan, pleased that they had a game where their star players weren't ejected for fighting or allegedly cheating.

Skjord would read over the game scores, fuming under his helmet at what all these big, complicated words meant. "Tchjs aes bjullshjetch. Thaeyj djdn'tch aevaen gjaetch maej njaem cjorraectch. Aetch's Skjord Svardssen." He'd groan and turn to Lindhardt, who had been helping him read. "Yjoor fjaeltch fjoor maekjng tchaet djumb jyok tcho tchaet mjonk."

Aedan Faretto would continue to cheer on and support his younger brother, proud that he has proclaimed himself the king of making BUCKETS on these fools.

Babe, wake up! New CRP battleground just dropped!

Aedan would look over the missive, his expression indecipherable behind the white porcelain of his mask. Many thoughts went through his head; many emotions. How much of a coward does this man think Vane is? Nevertheless, he found himself unsure of his comrades in purpose, and he'd lift his eyes to the occupied mountains on the horizon - Watching. Waiting.

Reer ed (I am drunk)

Jager would welcome Halvar to the Father's halls with a joyous embrace, laughing and smiling. "Took your sweet time, ja? Kept all of us waiting to farm cabbages for a few years?" He'd laugh, clapping the fallen king on the shoulders. "Bah, I'm just messing with you, lad. Welcome home."

Dearest Cousin, It appears as though you are operating under a few misconceptions that I feel need to be clarified in order to better the discourse. Firstly, I noticed this as a common problem with the contemporary faith, viewed both from inside and from the laity - a Keeper and a Purifier are not equivalent things. A Keeper ought to be considered a capstone rank within the clergy, since they are always most likely one of if not the most senior person in the room and hold the highest authority. Even you said afterwards in your reply that Purifiers of old go on to become Keepers. To compare and contrast a lesser rank to a senior rank as if their duties and responsibilities equate one another is unfounded at best, and a gross error in concept at worst. You also seem to be operating under the assumption that I believe Castellan and Scholars are separate ranks instead of equivalent ranks of separate specialization. I am not - and I understand the latter to be true. There is also a matter worth addressing when you say that my goal is to try and destroy the Faith from the inside-out by somehow turning entry into an administrative nightmare. That is simply not true. For the Purifier and for the Priest alike, the criteria for joining is roughly the same, albeit that, like you said, a Purifier wishes to fight. To say that placing clerical and administrative duties onto the Purifier as their would-be mentor (The Lord Purifier) deemed necessary speaks volumes concerning your own personal opinions regarding the duties and responsibilities of your station, because I personally do not feel that clerical duties are in any way, shape or form a burden as you seem to think. Though here is also an incongruity that I feel important to point out - that your perspective is slightly off because of the special nature of your station in particular. It is not rare knowledge to know that you are mentored by the High Keeper, and have to perform all of the administrative tasking for the High Keeper in her late age. This arguably puts you head and shoulders above someone like me, who is mentored by someone who is still capable of performing his clerical duties. This is in no way meant to offend you, but to point out that if you made a Flamebrand right now, you would probably succeed the role of Luminary, because you are performing well above the station of Hearth Sister. To us regular Hearth Brothers and Sisters, however, the task of performing any sort of clerical or administrative duties does not exist beyond assisting the Keeper performing them as they see fit. This brings up an interesting dynamic that I would like to point out - This means that a Hearth Brother/Sister has the distinct chance that they never perform any clerical duties whatsoever before undergoing their Keeper Trials. You also say that the Purifiers are not meant to uphold the standards that a Keeper does, yet this is also demonstrably false upon reading the duties and responsibilities of the Scholar - which explicitly says they should become Keepers. Not to mention that you have also written that Castellans may become Keepers as well. I am curious as to what you think the standard is for a prospective Keeper, because that is something that has yet to be defined. From your own words and from the words of those more senior to our station, Priests and Purifiers alike have the potential to become Keepers. I would argue that if any of them want to become a Keeper, then they must learn at least some of the duties and responsibilities of every station, as per the station of the Keeper, and do not necessarily need to specialize in any field but their own. After all, we need Keepers that are capable of a varied and diverse amount of studies - a Jack of all Trades, master of one. Of the changes suggested, nothing actually changes for a Purifier or for a Priest in their day-to-day lives unless dictated by the Keepers and the Lord Purifier. They will continuetheir respective studies in their respective fields as 'specialists' as you so aptly put it. It is only when they wish to take the next step - Keeper Trials - that they will actually need to learn the responsibilities of the other stations at all. Since you like to compare the clergy to a military; think of it as a high-ranking footsoldier or archer beginning to try and command multiple forces in battle. They need to understand the strengths and weaknesses of the other soldiers in order to effectively command, becoming a dabbler in all fields of combat; not just their own Again, this is all merely a suggestion. Your passion and dedication is likewise commended, and I look forward to seeing how the correspondence develops. Hearth Brother Aedan Faretto

Open Query to the Hearth Council A Keeper Trial Written 18th of Snow’s Maiden, 2A46 Foreword In my experience with the Order of the Purifiers and the clergy proper, I find myself grasping for reason to pursue the career of my forebears other than my sense of obligation to the Father and my personal beliefs of the Three Tenets. The current ranks and recognition for both the Purifiers and the clergy proper, the doctrine by which both operate, and the perceived differences between the two orders imply a few precedents that I hope to address and to have clarified by the end of this missive. Observations of the Clergy Queries Recommendation to the Hearth Afterword Ultimately, a fire burns brighter and burns longer if it is concentrated into one spot. Similarly, in my opinion, we must stand as a united front instead of a fractured religious body operating independently of one another. What I have posed are simply a few questions for clarity and a suggestion for a more unified front. If you have any questions, I will most likely be drunk in Varhelm’s tavern. Writ av Hearth Brother Aedan Faretto

Aedan would stare down as his stump legs in his wheelchair, anger welling up inside of him. Was he angry that his countrymen closed the gates on his shins, leaving him crippled and forever changed? No, he knew that if the gates had been shut any later there would have been more bloodshed. Was he angry that he spent the latter half of the battle firing a crossbow while strapped to the back of his king? No, he had taken down many Svarlings with his aim. No, what he was mad about the most was that he knew in his heart somewhere a Svarling was dubbing himself "the Crippler" and they were eating his legs and feet. This blow would hurt him more than any blade could. "... When I am able to stand and walk again, I am going to find that captain... and I'm going to cave his head in."