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About garentoft

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    I have a toxic taste in women.
  • Birthday 11/26/2000

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    Enrico Amadeus
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  1. Joseph notes this down and prepares to attend unless his trip to Banardia prevents him from doing so.
  2. Joey was unable to comprehend this loss.
  3. A freed man far across the seas smells a faint whiff of newborn Barbanov, he sheds a tear of joy. "Another one," he chimed jubilantly.
  4. IRP Information Name: Joey d'Arkent Age: 8 Home Nation: Balian Do you agree to the CODE OF THE COMPANY?: Yes OOC Information MC Name: garentoft Discord: garentoft Timezone: GAST
  5. News travel quickly around the world, and surely even those in far distant lands would come to hear of Otto's resignation. It took a couple of weeks, but Otto found a letter on his desk. "Thank you, for everything." It simply read, without signature.
  6. "Another excellent candidacy, woah!" mumbles Franz, incoherently.
  7. "He has the same glint in his eye as my arch-nemesis Igor Kort did," mused Franz.
  8. Name: Joseph d'Arkent IGN: garentoft Affiliation: Balian
  9. "Truly a candidate of great ability, I ought to vote for them!" Said Franz Leopold, Prince, Oracle, and most importantly, five term Maer of Karosgrad for a period of twenty years!
  10. Somewhere, somehow, a man felt his already wounded heart ache more than usual.
  11. these guys got me crying in the ******* club
  12. ayo who this big guy with the realm leader tag?

    1. Mio


      stawp im blushing 

    2. ferdaboy


      inshallah we shall have our revenge i swear it upon the almighty haense will fall

  13. THE HEART OF THE KING “When one has governed men for a long time, when one has thought that one has acted for the best, when one knows the pains the task has entailed, and then suddenly sees that one has never been either loved or understood, but merely submitted to, then one is overwhelmed with bitterness, and wonders whether one could not have found some better way of spending one’s life.” - Maurice Druon He took off the Crown of St. Francis and placed it on the pedestal before him, where it nested upon a black velvet pillow. It was a soft bed for something that was so heavy. If that pedestal had been a man, he thought, it would have shattered and broken to pieces as soon as it felt the pressure of the Crown. The Royal Chambers were eerily quiet in the middle of the night; not even Sofia snored. Of course she didn’t, she was perfect like that. The two children, their two children, rested gently in their crib, and perhaps even if they weren’t, they chose not to react for his sake. Being awake at this hour of the night was not unusual for him. He had done so countless times as a younger man, working diligently in what he deemed bids to improve the Kingdom or the lives of his people, the sort of thing that a young, over-eager King does. But this was a different type of night, the dull droning and thumping of his body had told him so, and the hallucinated illuminations of the one he lost long ago begging for his company only made it much clearer. He took another moment to return his gaze to the Crown of St. Francis, it looked so pristine, so elegant, so Royal. A true testament to the glory of the Kingdom, one that would certainly bestow any who were it with incredible grace. But there was no tormentor greater than that Crown; his father had called his own a Crown of Scars, but he did not feel that his own wounds had yet healed, instead they stood exposed to the world, seeping his blood onto the path upon which he walked. He drew in a deep breath and went to grab his coat and his cape before he turned to the door. He took care to not make a sound, gently sliding it to a close. Then, in the cover of night, he hurried through the Esrova, until he arrived in Valdev proper. Every time he exited his chambers, he shut his eyes and hoped to step into Karosgrad. That was his home, where he had grown up and reigned. This new city, this new world… It could never be home to him, no matter how much he tried. The very world around him were no longer his own, and he felt estranged from the very air that he breathed. Nevertheless, this city that he slid through was enjoying a quiet night, though he imagined bustling merchants preparing their wares for the next day; or perhaps the odd poet mulling about trying to create his magnum opus, or even the shattering of glass as a group of thieves rob a bureaucrat’s house. Anything, surely, that his mind could come up with to make this city feel more familiar, more like a home. But instead it was the silence of the night that met him, and nothing, nothing could stop that silence from feeling louder than the marching armies of a warlord. Across the bridge then, alone; alone as always. He couldn’t help but feel that he had always been alone. Of course, he had spent his entire life surrounded by people, but he was a King, and a King is no ordinary man. His father, the only man that could understand this plight as well as he had died over two decades ago, and the two friends who he had shared the plight with, Alexander and Charles, they too had passed now. Their sons, newly-made Monarchs, would come to know it: but he remained the only one, he thought, to truly know it. He had siblings, too, but he’d come to understand that being a Royal without true responsibility had a very precarious effect upon the mind. It was the escapades of Marius that had dragged him into the Petran Civil War, one caused by a love affair of his. He would never admit it, but a part of him was jealous that Marius had been in the position to stoke such a fire in the first place: a man of such prestige, but with the tremendous wall of his brother the King behind him to defend him at every turn. He sometimes wondered if Marius were grateful for such. Analiesa, too; she had by far been the closest in their youths, but as they grew older they grew apart, and these days he couldn’t help but blame himself for how she had turned out. Nikolas, well, he didn’t have much to say there. He had left long ago to devote himself to his studies, and he could only hope that he was satisfied with such. Arriving at the tourney grounds outside the city, he stopped, meandered into the stands, and took a seat. He imagined two young men, himself and Aleksandr, clad in their respective armours: himself in white, Aleksandr in black. They strode upon their steeds with the elegance befitting of those who were once the finest jousters of the Realm. He had always told Aleksandr that he considered himself the finer of the two, but in truth, he’d always thought of them as equals upon these grounds. The two young jousters atop their steeds crashed into one another, and indeed did they both fall to the ground with a roaring THUD! He imagined, perhaps, that this could have continued on endlessly had he chosen to keep watching. He left the grounds again, and turned around to gaze back at Valdev for the last time. A wistful sigh: he imagined that it were Karosgrad instead. He and Rhea ran through the city, swerving from side to side to avoid the peddling merchants and strolling citizens, making the rounds through the old statue of his grandfather, the city docks; which were always a disappointment to him, for they presented no ocean, and finally into the Lily Gardens in the back of the city. In one of the larger trees there was where they’d built their hideaway, while every other child of the city wasted their time with Kid Kingdoms (so-called Kiddoms) and Hoonse. He and Rhea vowed to explore as much of the world as possible. He wondered if he should pen her a letter. The farmlands that surrounded Valdev were a sight that would fill any great farmer with pride, and any industrialist with endless ideas to maximise profits and industry. In Waltonburg, upon a hill, stood a lone windmill. It reminded him of many years ago in Jerovitz, where he and Esfir had sat atop their windmill, dangling their feet idly over the edge as they conversed for hours in what seemed to be an endless conversation about themselves and the world around them. She had deserved better than to be Queen of Haense; a quiet and enjoyable life of merriment with her husband, and sometimes he lamented that she had been the one to let go of her birthright. Somewhere along his path, he came about a book that was stuck in the mud. It had deteriorated far beyond any identification or comprehension, but he nevertheless came to think of the time Audo had been his ward. It had certainly been a learning experience for both of them, a teaser of fatherhood for himself. He had always had a fond eye for the Weiss, picking him as a ward by his own volition and desire, for he had seen something special in the boy. Of course, Audo eventually came to inherit the titles and responsibility of his House, and the two of them did not speak as frequently as he would’ve liked. He knew, however, that the sky was the limit for Audo, and he hoped that he would come to serve as Lord Palatine, as he had intended him to. He sat atop one of the many roofs of the Esrova Prikaz, his feet dangled idly off the edge, as he peered far away north, towards the lake which Friar Josef had decided to call Lake Georg in his honour. Here he watched the River Lahy split up and surround the city of Valdev, the rushing waters of the icy river running briskly, all the way down to the south, where they would eventually end up in the oceans. Roslin had just left, but their conversation lingered yet in the air. Sure, he thought of him all the time, near constantly, in fact. But to put words to those thoughts, to speak them out loud, it was something he so very rarely did, and if he closed his eyes he could still hear their conversation echo around himself. It was special, wasn’t it? He always knew it, but this was the first time he had said; truly said it. His fist clenched tight for a moment, one moment of unbridled emotion in which the world froze around him. Once they had spoken of discovering a new continent together, they both knew Descendantkind was nomadic, moving between continents every couple of generations. But to do it alone? It had been immensely disappointing to him. But this wasn’t everything. If there is Almaris and Aevos, and all the worlds that came before it. Surely, surely there was more. And in that more, he believed, he earnestly, truly, believed that there would be him. That in some mercantile port, in a land that he had yet to learn off, would be a ship that had departed from the shores of Almaris thirty-one years ago. He knew at that moment that there was nothing else he could do, that no matter how much he desired to stay with that which he had, that he could not live with himself if he did not try. Finally, he made it to the docks of Amathine, and hoped that Idril had held true to her promise. There, a ship laid in the gentle waters, attached to the shore by a rope. It was by no means a large ship, if he recalled correctly the term was a sloop, a type of ship so small it could be managed by one person. Next to it were two shadows, Vladimir and Vanhart, just as they had promised. Greeting the King with what was a feigned, stern nod, Vanhart turned immediately to climb aboard the sloop. Vanhart, the Carrot (or the Flying Carrot, as he had dubbed him after he acquired a flying carpet), was a man who had lived what seemed like more lifetimes than most, one as a Duke-Consort, and another as a Marian Knight. He remembered that he had inducted him into the Marian Order to offer him a new purpose many, many years ago. “Are you sure you have to do this?” Vladimir asked. He was clad in the armour of the Marian Knights. It was long ago now, but he still remembered the day that he had inducted him into the Order of the Marian. As all things between those two, it had been casual and informal, as all things were between these two. Vladimir had always been his closest friend, and he would certainly have been a whole lot less confident in his decision if he hadn’t remained to watch over them. “It’ll be the death of me if I don’t.” He replied, and for a moment he offered Vladimir an apologetic smile. He had always thought that they were similar people, driven by their own curiosity more than anything. Vladimir nodded his head, “Good luck, Georg.” But he did not hold back, and instead pulled the unsuspecting Knight into a hug. He couldn’t help but cry, leaving was always going to be hard, but it certainly was not easy to say goodbye. “Goodbye, Vladimir. Watch over Stefan for me, please.” He murmured, releasing the Knight. He climbed onto his sloop, he had aptly chosen to name it Koravia. It had been the name of his horse, and now it would be the name of his ship; eternally that which carried him into the world. Vanhart had already raised the sails and lowered the anchor by the time he had managed to get his footing. Slowly, the Koravia began to move. He and Vladimir offered each other a last wave. “Majesty,” the aged Knight said, “... Thank you for bringing me along.” Vanhart had been his closest mentor, a fatherly figure that he had desperately needed throughout his life, especially after the death of his own. When he had told him of his plans, the Knight had refused to let him go, and offered only a simple prospect: He would either never leave, or he would come with him. As one story ended (or two), he imagined that a thousand other ones were only just beginning. Sofia would come to raise their two children into independent figures within the Realm, ones that took in the world through their curiosity like he once did. Aleksandr would stand at the front of the army, leading it into battle; meanwhile Amaya would give birth to an heir, Karl, whilst guiding the courts into a refined era of multiculturalism. Stefan would come to stand as a shining beacon of chivalry and Knighthood, coming to serve as Knight Paramount, and Franziska continued to run the Raev House to new heights (despite its debaucherous nature), while raising their branch of the Royal Family. Georgina, she will find me. Vladimir would finally retire as a Knight, and set off into the world in hopes of finding his own true purpose within it; he hoped that one day they’d meet again. Otto would retire to the south, where he managed to acquire a manor with a vineyard, becoming a famed wine peddler in his older years. Alyona, he hoped, would retire from her positions and devote herself entirely to her family, to give them the one thing that no one, except for he, had provided for her. Roslin would settle Valwyck by the water, and grow her Duchy into a bountiful home for the Ayrikiv people, bringing them to new heights of industry and innovation in which they would be unparalleled. Lukas would bring their idea to life, a construction-project to parallel even the greatest of all time, founding their home for knowledge and curiosity for all the world. Viktor would change the path of his House, becoming a man of compassion and cooperation; he wondered if he would ever get it together enough to propose to Katia. Edith, now the Queen of Aaun (he remembered vividly the coronation of her husband), would rise to great responsibility and power, and he was certain the history books would remember her spirit fondly. Arthur, valiant as ever, gave his own life to save the Kingdom, becoming a martyred hero of the people. Fabian – well, he couldn’t imagine Fabian doing much but working himself half to death. That man was dedicated and diligent to a fault; though he did wish he had spent more time with his nephew. Wilheim, in his retirement, devoted himself to the art of breeding horses, as his House had for generations, and the Reinmaren Steeds of Georgia would come to be known as the finest on all the continent. Josefina, on the other hand, was not a woman he could imagine ever retiring, and he was sure that she would eventually pass while sitting at her desk in the High Seneschal’s office. Ileana reminded her much of the spirit of House Kortrevich that he had come to learn in his younger days; if there ever was a woman to become the first Lady Marshal of Haense, it would be her. Avery, he was certain, despite their condition, would find a way to haunt him every now and again. Iosif would be another Pontiff whose tenure was mired in conflict among the Canonist Princes, though he was sure that he would be revered nonetheless, if not for his Piety, then for his musical skills. Eme-- The seas grew brisk as the sun began to rise above him. A wave rocked the boat, his attention immediately snapped to the vast waters ahead of him. He gripped the tightly wheel of the ship, steering it onto the right course. The winds rustled the sails, and a new day began. He cast one glance backward, but the shores of Aevos were far out of sight, his journey had begun. Valdemar, I will find you.
  14. "I'm a grandpa!" yells Georg, before shaking Vladimir's shoulders, "Look! I'm a grandpa!"
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