garentoft

for a second i thought this said MMA

On a nearby farm, which lay close to the coast and had an accompanying fisherman’s wharf, Eirik finished wheeling in the last of today’s catch, which consisted of various amounts of salmon, sardines, and halibut. The fishermen had by now returned to the cottage, and it were only him and his two youngest daughters, Eileen and Freya, who marched back and forth with wheelbarrows full of fish. When they were all finally in the storage hut, they went through the process of putting them all into barrels of salt, preparing them so that Isabel could bring them to the market tomorrow. “Why do we stop fishing at night?” queried the ever curious Eileen, her gaze peeled to the dusk’s setting sun. “Because the fish need to sleep,” replied Freya matter-of-factly. Yet the duo both glanced to their father for confirmation of such a theory. He broke into a hearty chuckled, and wrapped an arm around each of them, before telling them an old Ayrian story about when Garen “the Seafarer'” first brought their people to the ocean, and how then they, too, had thought that it would be impossible to fish at night, until an old man, who was only remembered now as “the Nightfisher”, had pulled a sea snake from the ocean one night. Nowadays, however, everyone knew that the man had simply caught an eel. The three followed the cobbled steps up to their main farmhouse, and the smell of roasted lamb wafted through the windows as they passed by, causing the two girls to rush head inside, they had been hungry from a long day of work. Eirik’s stomach, too, rumbled, but he thought to catch one last glimpse of the sunset. It was a thing he had always enjoyed watching, and he would not miss it, even for lamb. As he made his way inside, he were greeted immediately by Isabel, who rushed up to offer her an embrace. This had been her traditional greeting for him returning home from the wharf ever since the day she had learned to walk. Anastasya stood over the fire, carefully tending to the lamb, though briefly turned to offer him a beaming smile. Upon hearing his entrance, Saoirse and Margrait, too, exited their room to greet him, “Cousin Klara said cousin Maya keeps eating the seeds you sell Uncle Sigismund for their chickens!” Margrait announced. “You really ought to start charging him less for them,” Ana added, barely able to contain herself from chuckling, the imagery of Maya stuffing her face with seeds were one that everyone in the family considered hilarious. “He really ought to lock his pantry properly!” He quipped in response to his wife, before he offered her a peck on cheek, “Food smells delicious.” Isabel had already sat herself at the table, patiently waiting for the food to be served, Margrait and Saoirse were discussing what they would wear to the upcoming Barovifest, and Freya and Eileen had broken into an argument about who would be able to catch a sea snake first. He stared at them for a prolonged moment, and felt a great sense of relief from the normalcy of their circumstance. A humble farm, a humble wharf, a humble family, and a humble life. There were no need for grandeur here, despite the fact that he possessed enough wealth to spend on vanities, if he had so desired. The door to the study was ajar, and he carefully placed two knocks on it, before entering. There sat Alexander, carefully counting the money that Isabel had brought back from the market and updating the sales ledger. He took after his mother, she was always the smarter one of the two. “I’ll be done in a moment,” the boy stated, briefly looking up to his father. He had grown long brown hair, and his deep blue eyes almost felt piercing upon him, “Is mother almost done with dinner?” “Aye,” he responded, and took a moment to inspect his son. There was something unfamiliar about him, as if the boy didn’t belong here. He, by all means, looked like a true mix of his parents, his father’s hair and face, while he held his mothers eyes. Even then, it were as if he were an intruder, a presence that was not meant to be here. “I’ll come when I’m done.” Eirik slicked out of the room again, the door creaking as he closed it carefully. His face scrunched up, and reality began to set in. Ana had always said that the miscarriage of Alexander had been a punishment from God, yet Eirik would never admit to her that he saw it as the opposite. To him, it were a gift. As he made his way to return to the dinner table, a simple thought prodded his mind. “Who’s dream is this?”

"Oh, how predictable humans are," mulled Matyas with a shake of his head. "Poor Borris, he must not let it get to his head."

VE MAMETVAS I VE VAESZI EDYKT THE DAUGHTER OF THE WATERS EDICT Issued by THE DUKE OF VALWYCK On this 10th of Joma and Umund of 419 E.S. VA MEA MAMETVAS, ISABEL, MEA LIFST, ANASTASYA, AG VE EDLERVIK Hello, Isabel. Congratulations on your hauchmetvas, I have been looking forward to this day ever since the day you were born, and I am filled with pride to see you standing before me like you are today. Anastasya, you might be confused as to why this is also addressed to you, but I’m sure you shall see with time. Isabel, the happiest day in my life was the day that you were born. I still remember it with extreme fondness, when I was presented with my baby daughter. It may be that most Dukes would have hoped for a son, but that was not such for your mother and I. The burdens of past traditions did not bear heavy upon our minds, we needed no male heir, and the change that has been put forward in the past represents only further this mindset. I do, however, wish to apologise to you, Isabel. The Golden Bulava has weighed heavy in my hand, and for that reason I have been far more distant from you and your sisters as I had hoped to be. Nevertheless, I have seen you grow as a woman. I laugh now when I think back on the whale noises that you used to make, to now instead see you sit upon the Royal Duma as an ambitious Royal Alderwoman and as a true heir apparent to our family duchy. For the pride you have instilled in me, Isabel, I shall see that this is duly commemorated, not only for yourself, but for the future of the Baruch Dynasty. I hope that you, as well as your descendants, shall take great pleasure in what the future holds for your house. To Anastasya, you are the one who has kept me in this world on multiple occasions. I must admit that whenever I have seen only darkness, you were the only light that I could find. With due time, however, you brought into my life these five other lights that are our daughters, and I can never repay the debt that of which I owe you, but I think it is only right that I commemorate you and your legacy appropriately, for everything that you have done for me and this family. Thus I, as Duke of Valwyck, proclaim the following: I. That Isabel Alexandra Baruch be granted the titular Viscounty of Voron, thus becoming The Honourable, Isabel A. Baruch, Viscountess of Voron. II. That all future heir apparents to the Duchy of Valwyck shall, upon their birth, or the moment they assume the position of heir apparent, be granted the titular Viscounty of Voron. III. That a residence be constructed in the lands of Valwyck, which shall be granted as the residence for the heir apparent on their wedding day. IV. That Anastasya Isabel Baruch née Bihar shall be named Duchess of Valwyck in her own right, ruling jure uxoris alongside myself, thus becoming Her Grace, Anastasya I. Baruch, Duchess of Valwyck, alongside her already held titles. BY MOUNTAIN, RIVER, AND COAL, His Excellency, Eirik M. Baruch, Lord Palatine of Hanseti-Ruska, Duke of Valwyck, Count of Ayr, Viscount of Voron, Baron of Gant, Laval, and Riveryn, Lord of Jorenstadt, Guardian of the Hanseti Coast.

425 HSFR SNAILULA ONE RULES AND REGULATIONS Issued by THE HAESENI FEDERATION OF SNAIL RACING On this 7th of Joma and Umund of 425 E.S. INTRODUCTION: While the 391 HFSR Snailula One Rules and Regulations, which were introduced by Eirik Baruch, have yet to see themselves be used properly, the HFSR has under it’s new combined leadership of the Lord Alban and the Grand Prince of Kusoraev seen a renaissance to the concepts of Snailula One, with most recently a minor practice race held during the hauchmetvas of Lady Sorina Luceafaru. The 419 regulations added major changes to the sport, such as the introduction of the fastest lap, qualification, and collisions. These amendments to the 419 regulations seek to further advance these rules for proper racing. THE CHAMPIONSHIPS: The Racers’ Championship: The Racers’ Championship is for the individual racers and their snails, allowing them to show their superiority on the track with their snails. The scoring for the racers’ championship is based on their finish in every race, with the top ten being awarded points in the following order: 1st: 25 points 2nd: 18 points 3rd: 15 points 4th: 12 points 5th: 10 points 6th: 8 points 7th: 6 points 8th: 4 points 9th: 2 points 10th: 1 point Fastest Lap: 1 point The total of the racers' points is added together to create the racers’ standings, which will be decided by the total tally of the racers’ points, with the highest scoring becoming the HFSR Snailula One Drivers’ Champion. The Teams’ Championship: The Teams’ Championship is for teams of racers, allowing them to show their ability to train and cooperate together to consistently perform well as a team. A team may consist of two individual racers. The scoring for the teams’ championship is decided by adding the two total tallies of the racers’ championship scores for both drivers, to create their total tally as a team, with the highest scoring becoming the HFSR Snailula One Teams’ Championship. RACING RULES: Basic Movement: At the start of every round, all racers will have to do a /roll 20, their snails’ movement (or lack thereof) depends on their roll. The rolls follow the rules: 20 out of 20: Very successful, Snail moves forward two spots. 10-19 out of 20: Successful, Snail moves forward one spot. 2-9 out of 20: Unsuccessful, Snail does not move. 1 out of 20: Critically unsuccessful, Snail does not move and stands the risk of crashing. Qualification: Before the beginning of every race, the starting order must be determined through qualification. This shall be done through every participating racer performing a /roll 20 three times, with the results of their three rolls being added together to create their qualification sum. The starting order shall go from highest sum to lowest sum. Crashing: When a racer rolls a 1 out of 20 on a roll, their snail stands the risk of crashing on the next turn. Whether this crash or not is determined by the usual /roll 20, but following rules: 20 out of 20: Snail does not crash, and moves forward one spot. 10-19 out of 20: Snail does not crash, but does not move. 1-9 out of 20: Snail crashes and is out of the race, classified as a DNF (Did Not Finish). A crash will trigger a Safety Snail. Collisions: When a racer is present on the same tile as a racer who has crashed, they stand at risk of colliding with the crashed racer, in turn causing them to crash as well. Collisions are especially dangerous, as they are essentially out of one’s own control. Whether a collision occurs or not is determined by the one who would be collided with performing a /roll 20, according to the follow rules: 20 out of 20: No collision occurs, and Snail moves forward one spot. 7-19 out of 20: No collision occurs, but Snail does not move. 1-7 out of 20: Snail is collided with and crashes, classified as a DNF (Did Not Finish). Safety Snail: When a snail crashes, a Safety Snail will be triggered. All Snails must stay behind the Safety Snail, which will be placed in front of the leading snail. The Safety Snail moves one tile forward per turn, allowing the race to still move along. During a Safety Snail, all snails, except for the one that crashed, follow the basic racing rules.. The crashed snail, which determines how long the Safety Snail is present for, uses a /roll 20 adhering to the following rules: 10-20 out of 20: The crashed snail is removed, and the Safety Snail ends the following turn. 1-9 out of 20: The crashed snail is not removed, and the crashed snail must roll again the next turn. Pit Stops: A Snail is required to make at least one pit stop during a race, during which the snail is fitted with new slime to make sure it can make its way through the entirety of a race. It is up to the racer when they want to do their pit stops, as they can be done at any time. Pit stops have mixed results, and adhere to the following rules. First, a roll must be made to see how many turns the pit stop itself lasts, this is done using a /roll 3: 1 out of 3: The pit stop lasts one turn. 2 out of 3: The pit stop lasts two turns. 3 out of 3: The pit stop lasts three turns. After the conclusion of a pitstop, the racer will roll three times in immediate succession during the same turn, which shall follow the normal rules for movement. This allows the racer to move far up the grid, with enough luck. Shortcuts: Each Snailula One circuit is constructed with a series of shortcuts, which lucky snail racers gain the opportunity (or misfortune) of using during the race. To access a shortcut, one must have been present on a shortcut access tile. While shortcuts will generally shorten the duration of a race, snail racers stand higher risks of crashing. On a shortcut, the movement rolls are decided by a /roll 20 according to the following rules: 16-20 out of 20: Very successful, Snail moves forward two spots. 12-16 out of 20: Successful, Snail moves forward one spot. 6-12 out of 20: Unsuccessful, Snail does not move. 1-5 out of 20: Critically unsuccessful, Snail does not move and stands the risk of crashing. TIZ LIFST I SNEGLZ, His Highness, Matyas I. Bihar, Lord of Alban, President of the Haeseni Federation of Snail Racing. His Serene Highness, Karl S. Bihar, Grand Prince of Kusoraev, Vice-President of the Haeseni Federation of Snail Racing.

@Tythus @Telanir Hello. I believe that it is essential that the server demographics (particularly where the players log on from, nation-wise that is, I could care less about @Fionn__TWG's coordinates, which I already have). Please make an effort to respond to this thread with the according server demographics, so we can truly see the makeup of this server which we know and love, I believe this will be a big step forward in increasing our playerbase, since, after all, we do wish to reach 500!

Hello, GMRO, as we just discussed in VC this very moment, I do believe that as the Lord of the Craft is a very Anglophone Minecraft roleplay server, the obvious deduction would be that those within other language spheres, such as the Francophone, which we see a great absence of on our server, would maintain their own Minecraft roleplay servers within their language. This principle could also apply the Spanish, the Chinese, and possible even the Japanese, of which we scarcely see around this server, at least from my own knowledge. Your lack of interest in the Asian language spheres and their presence on this server makes me believe that you have an incredibly Eurocentric, or perhaps even a strictly Anglocentric view of this server, which I believe is a mentality that needs to change for this server to push forward to finally reach the Road to 500.

Decided to go through some of the characters that I'd played since coming back to the server around the time Covid hit. Pretty interesting to see how much some of these characters changed through the time in which they lived, and it's always nice to look back at the stories that they told. I'm only really looking at the ones that I've concluded (or are in their final acts). Lauritz Christiansen The only character on this list to actually be dead. I always look back on him quite fondly, he was the first character I really played since coming back, and I quite enjoyed the journey that he went on, from being a nobody to becoming the President of the Imperial Senate, and then later on being offered High Justiciar of Haense and being part of that project when independence happened. Harren var Ruthern A character I originally took on as just a side character to help @GMRO bring House Ruthern back properly. Also happened to be the character I met my favourite workplace acquaintance on (unnamed for legal reasons). While I didn’t play him for as long as the other characters on this list, he was definitely entertaining, and being part of bringing Ruthern from a County, to a Margraviate, to a Duchy was incredibly motivating, especially since I feel like I genuinely contributed to that. Franz Barbanov-Bihar A character I often feel as though I underrate when I evaluate which ones I played the most. @seannie offered me the chance to play one of his children when he was King of Haense, and I’d say I’ve made the most of it so far. From Knighthood to bossing around the Duma as Grand Maer with @Emenzi and to founding the House of Morovar and giving @Mio (who continues to impress me to this day) a chance to lead a House, to now being the Oracle has been an incredible journey, and I’m excited to carry it on until the end.

Matyas seems really really excited on Adele's behalf.

Was it sadness that Franz felt? Mayhaps regret.

The Duke of Valwyck wonders which Duke to make the Second Ducal Union with.

Karenina by Lord Alban Published 418 E.S. To all the women of Haense who fought against the chains of tradition to cement their daughters and their daughters’ daughters with bright, hopeful futures. Karenina was, by all means, an ordinary girl. Her father was a farmer, who produced the majority of Zesganburg’s potatoes (at the time, potatoes were quite the unpopular crop amongst farmers, as the memories of the famine of 77 L.A. were still spread amongst the population). Her mother, on the other hand, was a teacher at the University of Zesganburg, a professor of history and philosophy. Together they had only the one daughter, Karenina, though she had previously had two older brothers, Valdemar, who had been recruited into a seafaring expedition to discover new lands to the south and never returned, and Otto, who had been conscripted into the armies to fight in the War for the East and perished in the siege of Lukasstadt. Zesganburg was a smaller city, far in the west of the Valtzem of Czsenschyzcieo, nowhere near coast or water, only plains upon plains, and whereas the distant capital, Senoderij, was governed with what most assumed to be grand prosperity, with two universities, the majestic palace of the Valtakoeng, the square of three founders, and a population that seemed to double by the day. Nevertheless, this were all fantasy for Karenina, for she had never visited, nor had her parents. Only Otto had been, when he had been conscripted to the army, and thus her only perception of the place came from the letters he had sent to the family. There was little to do in Zesganburg, and Karenina, who was nineteen years of age, spent much of her time attending the university of Zesganburg, where, unlike her mother, she had taken upon herself to study the arts of state and government, and when she was not studying, she spent her time working in one of the local taverns, the ironically named Sailor’s Refuge. It was a place where you could come upon many archetypes of people, the libertines, the genuine sailors, the dejected nobleman, the alcoholics, and so many others. The laws of the Valtzem were ones rooted in ancient tradition, at least, that was what the nobility and the politicians preached at public assembly after public assembly. Elections were held every fifth year, and Zesganburg, being one of the larger jurisdictions in the Valtzem, was granted three seats in the Senate of the Valtzem. Nevertheless, it was not as though the system itself was inherently flawed (Karenina had, to be honest, never quite concentrated on this matter of state, at least not presently), it were instead the laws of land ownership, which extended all the way from the Valtakoeng himself, and all the way down to farming peasantry where Karenina found her root. The law was, in all regards, one of a simple oppressive nature. The law itself did not prescribe much, it were no hard law to interpret or read. It was such that only men were allowed to own any land within the Valtzem, whether it were that of a Barony, that of a mere house on the streets of Senoderij, or that of a farm outside of Zesganburg, only men were allowed to be landowners. It was this mere fact that had inspired the young Karenina to study law and politics, for ever since her brothers had disappeared or died, the local government had begun planning for the future of their family farm, which they were eager to ****** once her father died. Rumour, as it stood, were that they wanted to use the area for a new urbanisation and industrialisation project, something which Karenina did not believe she could let happen to a farm that had been in their family for fourteen generations. So Karenina studied law and politics with great intensity, and a couple of years later she graduated from the University of Zesganburg as the top of her class. Ironic as it were, women were allowed into government possessions, and with her newfound degree, her parents pressured her to try and get into the local government, so that once her father passed, she may argue for the farm to be passed to an uncle or some other male relative. Of course, this did not satisfy the young Karenina, who had been forged into a woman of ambition, who instead proclaimed to her parents that: “I shall not sit upon the Zesganburg Council and wait for status quo, I shall sit upon the Valtzkoeng’s Senate, and I shall bring change.” Of course, as any parent should be, they encouraged Karenina to grasp for her dreams. Perhaps, though, in this case, it were only because they were unaware of what her dreams truthfully were. Elections were coming up, and Karenina began on a path of political campaigning, she brought up many topics, agricultural subsidies, education in the far reaches of the Valtzem, and much else, though especially, she did bring up her passion for abolishing the landowner’s law, which was met with mixed responses from the people of Zesganburg. However, as she returned back to the farm that day, she were met by all her belongings cast outside, and the furious shouts from both of her parents. How could she betray the traditions of the Valtzem? What gave her the right to think that she was so important that she could throw centuries of tradition into the flames? Who was she, to think that people even wanted this changed, for would they not have brought it earlier if they did? The shouts all turned into one droning sound in her ears, it was all the same. Her parents had failed her, and in their eyes, she had failed them. Her eyes streamed with tears, for she only wanted what was best for the family, to preserve their farm, and now instead she were cast out from this farm. It were a betrayal of the most brutal kind, cast out by the family that she sought to save. But dreams are not so easily shattered. Karenina dragged her belongings with her into Zesganburg, where the owner of Sailor’s Refuge allowed her to use a room as a residence, until her political campaign was over. He was not particularly sympathetic of her views, but nevertheless could not simply allow her to remain on the streets, especially not after she had worked for him for years. Karenina carried on her campaign while residing in that room. Although she felt as though her efforts were wasted at times, after all, she had started this journey for the sake of a family that, because of it, wanted nothing to do with her. Her dream was not just for her family. It represented not merely the saving of her family farm, for if that were her real ambition, she could have just as easily cast her dream aside in favour of her parents’ pragmatic solution. Instead, she felt that she could not relent in her cause, whereas she may not be able to save herself, or the farm of her dynasty, it was very well possible that she could save others in the same position as herself. If she just carried on with her campaign and succeeded, she could get into the Senate, and she could foster change for the entire Valtzem. The rest of the political campaign was long and tedious. She was, at times, met with fierce resistance for her main principle, and found herself beginning to rely on other political changes she wished to bring, instead of that of which she dreamed. At the end of the electoral period, those three elected would be announced, in order of most votes, and were announced to be such: Stefan Tiedushtzk, Jakob Ekamognnen, and lastly, Karenina Pisacenaseretem. She had done it, she had been elected to the Valtzem’s Senate, and travelled forth then to the capital, a place she had longed to see her entire life, and now she were to not only see it, but live in it, as a representative of the people of Zesganburg. Senoderij, however, was nothing like how Otto had described it to her. There was no prosperity in this city, and most of what she saw, beyond the facades, was a mass of dejected and hopeless people living in poverty and starvation. Indeed, the beauty that she sought was also present in the city, in the closed off district belonging to nobility and politicians, where she was made to live, though the rest of it was a crushed dream, a lingering pile of rejection from the prosperity of those who hold it clutched to themselves. Likewise, the Senate was not what she thought it would be, either. It were filled with corrupt politicians, who were bought out by businessmen and entrepreneurs seeking to further themselves in an increasingly unstable economy. Most of her attempts at change were met with fierce resistance, these businessmen wanted no subsidies to farmers or to educators, indeed, the more uneducated the population was, the easier it is to make them work in industrial projects with no future ahead of them. To her surprise, however, the only one that was not met with resistance from the businessmen, were the one that allowed women to own land. Perhaps it were so, that the more landowners there were, the better it were for these businessmen. It was instead the old guard, those of noble status, that resisted fervently to her idea. To own land was a right for men, and men only, they said. And their minds were not swayed, and if the old guard were not swayed, the politicians (controlled by the businessmen), eagerly stuck by their sides, for they wished to remain in good favour with the Valtakoeng. And so, Karenina returned home from her first five years in the Senate, having been immensely unsuccessful. She did, for a time, consider retiring then, as a failed Senator of Zesganburg. But, of course, she had yet to bring any real change, and her dreams and ambitions were much too fierce to surrender to her hopelessness. She campaigned ferociously to be re-elected for the Senate, and barely scraped by, to return to the Senate once again. This time, however, she had learned from her first five years, and the game of politics became easier for her to play with time. She made vague promises to the politicians and the nobility alike, and steadily her work began to come through. Farm subsidies were increased, for the politicians had been convinced that their factory workers needed to be fed. Education subsidies were increased, for the politicians had been convinced that educated workers were capable of more profitable work. Her changes were slowly being put through, yet before her still stood the last one, her dream. It were the final Session of this Senatorial Period, where she brought it up again. She had spent five years building relationships now, and it were the pivotal moment of her career. Much to her surprise, the old guard nobility felt as if they owed her for some past reforms in regards to taxation, and for this reason decided to support her. Additionally, they had heard rumours going about that she had caught the eye of the Valtakoeng for a position in higher government, and wished to keep her on their good side. And so, for the very first time in the history of the Senate, a law was passed unanimously, and women would now be able to own land. This were Karenina’s first victory. The only one which she desired, and her dream had been accomplished. Nevertheless, there were resistance from many to this law, and her family did not welcome her with open arms, in fact, they had not welcomed her at all. She was still disenfranchised from her parents, who wanted nothing to do with her. She did not wish to return to Zesganburg, nor did she really wish to remain in the capital, now that she had seen the truth of it. Alas, the choice were not hers, for it took only a day after the Senate was dissolved for a letter to be sent to Karenina. It was from the Valtakoeng, who offered her the seat of Archchancellor upon her council. She almost declined the offer, but realised then that it would become a true opportunity for her. She had had one dream, which she had accomplished, but with such a position, she could continue to foster change on a much larger scale, and fulfil the dreams of others. Karenina became Archchancellor for twenty-three years, in which grand reforms were born to the Valtzem by herself and the Valtakoeng. Truthfully, the state of Senoderij improved, so that it were finally what Karenina had thought it to be when she was younger. Likewise, other cities began to grow, Zesganburg had become thrice the size after twenty-three years, as job opportunities increased in these cities, dragging people from the capital. After those years, she retired, and founded an orphanage for girls in Senoderij. She raised plenty of orphaned girls, giving them good educations and setting them up for the future. Once Karenina, some years later, grew ill and passed away, the girls took over ownership themselves, and decided to bear a common last name to honour the woman who had raised them, as so, they all became Karenina. Even though she was dead and buried, the spirit of Karenina would live on forevermore. Her spirit is not just that of women’s rights, or that of ridding ourselves of any oppression or repression. The nature of the spirit is much grander than that, it is a spirit of the ever blowing winds of change, no matter what subject it is. This spirit does not represent change just in one regard, but change in all regards. The world is endless, and so is our potential for change and improvement. This is what the spirit of Karenina represents. Let it guide us further.

"I have thought long, and I have thought hard," stated the Lord Palatine. He did not reach a conclusion to his statement, nevertheless, he proceeded to, a couple of minutes later, begin ranting to three of his daughter (specifically Isabel, Saoirse, and Eileen) about how he spent much of his time in his childhood in Providence, and how he yearned to hopefully visit again in his lifetime. @sarahbarah @Toffee @lalosia

"Teamwork makes the dream work!" proclaimed the Lord Palatine of Haense.

THE CHANCELLOR’S REPORT: ‘A Sun Yet to Set’ BAR MAAN OVARE SYR Issued by the LORD PALATINE On this 14th of Gronna and Droba, 418 E.S. VA BIRODEO HERZENAV AG EDLERVIK, A SUN YET TO SET At the start of my tenure as Lord Palatine, I wrote in 404 E.S. about how our Kongzem stood on the Eve of War, that a great conflict were to come into the world, where we would stand side by side with our dwarven allies, not only to heed their call to defend them against aggressors from the Orenian State, but additionally as it were our duty as Canonists to follow the decree of the High Pontiff. In my own mind, I believed that our Kongzem had its own reasons, besides our obligations. It is a process that I myself worked hard on within our legal sphere, and it is one that our foreign diplomacy now has furthered too. We are now completely and utterly independent of the Orenian State, we have rid any chains that still lingered from when our nation achieved independence. Recently, the Orenian Empress, albeit in disguise initially, were entertained in our city to an informal meeting on diplomatic matters. She was, during this period, treated by the principles deserved of a guest without ill intent, and was allowed to take her leave untouched as the meeting ended. However, as a delegation of Haeseni traveled to Arichsdorf for a duel of champions, they were met by the steel of the Aurelian Brotherhood, who received nothing but a slap on the wrist and a pat on the back from their Emperor for their good efforts. I will leave no doubt about it. We are still at war. Rumours have circled to and fro about peace between our Kongzem and the Orenian State. I assure all of you who read this, Haense stands with Urguan. We will continue to stand with Urguan. Our obligation still stands, as it has for the entire war. We may lose battles, we may win battles, whether in victory or defeat, the fact that Haense stands by its allies shall not change. As the Orenian State once again prepares to march on Urguan, so do we march to rally to their defense. I would have perished had I not persisted. The sun has not set on our war, and as such, we shall fight with unyielding strength and enduring passion until it does. KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM. DECREES FROM THE DUMA In recent years, the Duma has passed a variety of bills of action from the Crown, and it is prudent that these be addressed swiftly in my writings. Baron Filip Amador has been tasked with the deconstruction of Knoxville, and the Koeng at a later court assigned this land for the Oracle of Maenvestiyaeo to create a new seat for himself after the burning of Krusev. Additionally, a statue to commemorate the Karenina Accord and the subsequent Karenina Law has been commissioned. And lastly, Lord Konstanz Barclay has been assigned to design and construct more farmland and farm houses outside of the city. TRIEK TIZ WIEHR. BEGINNING OF LIFSTALA Albeit not a matter for my office, the Lifstala is a staple of Haeseni tradition and culture, and I am pleased to see the signups for it, as well as the great amount of work that the Queen’s Council has put into preparing this season of it. I do fondly remember the one which I participated in during my youth, and hope to see that those who have signed up for this one enjoy it. ZVAS LIFST TRIEK. CZAK DONA EAM, HERZENAS HAENZ His Excellency, Eirik Baruch, Lord Palatine of Hanseti-Ruska, Duke of Valwyck, Count of Ayr, Viscount of Voron, Baron of Gant, Baron of Laval, Baron of Riveryn.

Yet another letter arrived to the poster, who was certainly exhausted from the offers by now. It read simply: "The Duke of Valwyck would be most pleased to show you the lands of Valwyck, and offer you the opportunity for a home and farm within these lands to grow your own crop, should such notion be of interest. Do send a letter to the Duke, Eirik Baruch, if such is potentially of interest to you."

Lafskolwolk’s Chains by Lord Alban Published 417 E.S. For Adele, I promised that I would write while you were travelling. The Kingdom had been ravaged by civil war for decades. Those who remembered a life before the war were far and few between, for as the dawn of the year 178 A.L. came upon the Kingdom, did only those who had been born before 113 A.L. remember a time without war. A hundred and thirteen years since the landing of our people on the shores of Zanjylund came a great calamity, a split in the royal family caused the people to split themselves between three factions, those who had sworn themselves, as it were in those days, King Willem II, the legitimised bastard son of Valdemar I; those who swore themselves to his younger, yet legitimate brother, Tomasz; and third of all, those who had came to lose faith in the royal family during the years of hardship, and proclaimed themselves to stand in the name of the Republic, where no man should lead with sole power. Of course, King Willem II had passed long ago, only two years into the years of conflict had he been assassinated by a man only remembered as the White Crow, who none had heard nor seen of since the attack. He was succeeded by his son, King August II, who had lived well into his old age, yet passed some ten years ago. After August came Valdemar II, who reigns to this very day. If you ask the other side, you had King Tomasz I, who wrought his armies together like steel, building a staunch base for his support with old military officers of the Kingdom, who held a great love for him. But even he was not to escape from the finality of death, and he was succeeded by King Diedrik I, who takes his name from the very founder of all our people. Diedrik, despite his old age, still lives. Indeed, for us historians, the trouble is discerning perhaps how to differentiate between the lines without coming off as too inclined towards either side, hence why I take myself the liberty of describing both sides as monarchs of our realm by their own respects, something which likely will change once the war ends, if it ever does, but during this time can become a matter of life and death. So do remember this, that if you run into a soldier clad in gold and red, that the line of our monarchs goes August I, Frederik I, Willem I, Valdemar I, Willem II, August II, and then Valdemar II, who is our current King. And that if you come upon a soldier clad in black and white, that the line of our monarchs goes August I, Frederik I, Willem I, Valdemar I, Tomasz I, Diedrik I. And that if you come upon a soldier dressed only in a simple brown, that we have no King, and that our people shall rule themselves by their own will. Frederik L. Lafskolwolk He leaned back in the chair with a heavy sigh, before moving to close the book. Forty-three years, he lamented, forty-three years and we’re still at war. Indeed, nothing that was in his grandfather’s writing could ever quite encapsulate the torment that Rickard felt. His grandfather had been an old man at the time of his writings, one who had seen the joys of growing up without the darkened cloud of war looming over his head. The man came to father children late in his life, mainly for the sake of supporting his side in the war, while Frederik L. Lafskolwolk claimed to be non-partisan in his writings, he had been a republican through and through, and only saw fit to have children when he had justly decided on his path back in 178 A.L., where he had written the book much less as a slice of our Kingdom’s history, but rather as a tool to indoctrinate his children in the future. His father, on the contrary, never got to grow up at all, indoctrinated into becoming a republican fighter since the day he was born, he only just married to conceive Rickard before being captured and executed by Willemite forces. Rickard, however, had been lucky enough to escape any sort of indoctrination. His mother had been nothing but a tavern wench, and held only allegiance to the coins that were slipped into her hand. He grew up in the warm confines of this tavern, where it felt as though the war never quite came. Soldiers came and went as if it were nothing, hell, once they got drunk enough, you would witness those from different sides making merriment and singing with one another as though they weren’t going to kill each other as soon as the next day. One day, when he had been in his older teens, practising his sword fighting in the room that belonged to him and his mother, a great fire had begun to spread through the tavern. Even a tavern, it seemed, could fall victim to the brutalities of warfare. Screams from men and women bellowed as people were no doubt murdered all across, while the sizzling of the fire lurked ever closer. He had seen fit there to escape through a window, landing in a soft cradle of hay, before running as far as he could with his sword in hand, until he arrived at the town of Letzengard, having only escaped with his father’s blade and his mother’s diary. Even now, he did not know what the fate of his mother had been when the tavern burnt, and the lack of clarity perhaps offered him some sort of comfort, the hope that his mother were still alive somewhere out there, looking for him still. Someone knocked on the door, followed by the simple query: “You ready?” It were, of course, Viktor, who had come to befriend in Letzengard eight years ago. Were he of his grandfather’s convictions or those indoctrinated into his father, surely he would feel ill at ease by his friendship, if he hadn’t simply murdered Viktor upon the realisation of who he were. Viktor was, which one may consider to be highly problematic considering Rickard’s family history, the son of Willem, which would bear little significance if that Willem were not Willem III, the son of August II, and thus, according to the Willemites, Viktor was the heir to the throne, who would succeeded his father, perhaps in a time of peace. Viktor, nevertheless, was his best friend. Or his only friend, rather. Rickard was not the sociable type, what had happened to his father had made him that way. He feared people, well not people, but he feared the possibility that one may manipulate and indoctrinate you into a certain type of thought without you even realising. Why, then, had he chosen to befriend only he who stood to gain the most from manipulating him for his cause? It was rather simple, when one’s ancestors had been the cause of a war that had lasted over a hundred years, one came to hate oneself, and it was Viktor’s self-hatred that attracted Rickard to him like a moth to a flame. They both yearned only for the same thing, to be free of the chains of their ancestors. Frederik who had chosen to send the Lafskololwolk family, which had previously been a prestigious family of historians, scholars, and scientists, with great status within the Kingdom, down the path of rebellion and Republicanism, which had cursed it with near extinct, as those few who remained besides Rickard fought every day for the Republic they were manipulated into believing in. It fuelled within Rickard the desire to break with this, to stand up for what he believed was right, which would have been no problem if Rickard himself had the faintest connection to any school of thought, beyond the one that prescribed him to fear the very thing he desired. The only cause which he believed in were the cause of not believing in any causes, a paradox. “Yeah.” came Rickard’s response finally. He had honestly forgotten where they were going, ever since he had befriended Viktor he had been thrust into, what was to most people, a life of luxury, where he resided in the Palace within the Capital. It did not fall in his nature to decline offers, despite his lack of desire for any of them. He had never wanted to live in this Palace, but when Viktor had posed the question, he nodded his head with gratitude and accepted. The same had occurred recently, when Viktor had promised to make him the Archchancellor once he inherited. Rickard did not have the slightest passion for government nor for power. He only desired to be unbound by the chains of his grandfather’s sin. Of course, such desires had little to do with whatever public appearance Viktor had gotten him into. The most frequent one were to watch military parades and imagine that he had any sort of idea that he understood how an army functioned beyond the bare basics. He simply applauded and cheered for the passing soldiers, yet worst of it all were that he always had to specifically greet his own regiment, the small force that Viktor had convinced his father to assign to him of all people, the one with the specific task of rooting out the last Republican insurgents in Baumkretz, where his last remaining relatives had been heard of. Days passed after the parade, in which the only thing Rickard could think of was the departure date for the mission at Baumkretz. A week, six days, five days, four days, three days, two days, one day, the day. The regiment had gathered outside the palace, lined up all proper in their uniforms, saluting him as he made his way past all of them. He didn’t speak a single word to them, nor did he greet them in any way. He had no care for these soldiers assigned to him, he had no reason to gain attachment to any of them, what point would it serve if they were to die, anyway? Was that not the destiny of any soldier, to fight and die? Only cowards survived, he thought. With their weapons and armour properly packed onto the back of the carriages and carts, they set off towards Baumkretz. It was an isolated stronghold of the Republicans, completely surrounded by Willemite territory by now, but the old fortifications of the Baumkretz had stood the test of time, and allowed Republicans to continue operations, as siege equipment was currently preoccupied in the east. They had, however, been allowed a few experimental weapons. Cannons, a larger siege weapon using gunpowder capable of firing powerful projectiles over a vast distance. And a smaller, similar piece of machinery, that had yet to be named properly, they also utilised gunpowder to shoot projectiles, but over shorter differences, and were carried by soldiers themselves. As much as Baumkretz was a mission to wipe out the remaining Republicans, it was also a mission to test their new weaponry, perhaps moreso than it was the former. It took a week and a half to get to Baumkretz, which left one with far too much time to think. While the soldiers drank and spoke, celebrating their future victory, Rickard spent his time alone in his carriage, only accompanied by his own thoughts. For him, this mission was not about testing weapons, nor was it about wiping out Republicans. He had to exterminate the remnants of his family, what remained of his grandfather’s manipulation and indoctrination, the lies he had presented to all of his kin. Once this had been done, he considered that he may finally be able to move on and transcend his chains. He could settle down, start a family perhaps, and live a comfortable life. Nobility and titles would surely be afforded to him too, due to his relationship with Viktor. But for now, he could not desire any of these things, they were thoughts for the future, ones that he did not even know yet if he were capable of having earnestly. The Republicans were alerted to their presence as soon as they arrived, of that he was sure, nevertheless he reckoned that they did not have the gall to take the offensive. Instead, indeed, they allowed them time to set up the cannons from within their tents, aimed to destroy the southern wall of Baumkretzen, which had been evaluated by the military scientists to be the most vulnerable one. It had undergone renovation attempts over a hundred years ago before the war started, which were never finished properly. With this in mind, they nevertheless wished for an element of surprise, and prepared to strike as soon as night fell on the Kingdom. The surprised residents of the old fort were greeted with flashes in the night, with which came the horrific booming crash of the cannons, followed by the sounds of crumbling walls. Indeed, it took not many volleys of cannonfire before the southern wall was naught but rubble, and the soldiers, armed with their hand cannons, began to rush through to decimate their enemy. Rickard was the last one through, and he walked with a freezing calm, no amount of blood, death, nor destruction would affect him much. These were not people he called about, whether it be his own soldiers, the family of his that allegedly hid out here, or any Republican that he came across. And as dawn began to rise, the fort had been taken. Or was it really taken, as much as it were reduced to a shell? It was now only littered with corpses, of which Rickard carefully expected, attempting to make out which, if any, had been his relatives. He discovered three, and thought of it to be the last of his kin, yet this bore him no satisfaction. He had hoped that, upon knowing that they were all dead, and that he were the last, and that none suffered from his grandfather’s schemes anymore, that he would feel liberated and free, a new man. There would be no more chains, he had promised himself, yet he discovered that he still felt chained. Rickard did not spend any time thinking as they travelled to return from Baumkretz to the capital, he had realised as soon as he stood in front of the bodies where it had gone wrong. He always obsessed over chains of evil, once forced upon you by another, a dark shadow that looms behind you, persuading your mind into actions against your will. He realised now, that such was not a chain at all, and that it was not real. These men had not been forced into anything by their grandfather, this was their own conviction. They were not products of any indoctrination or manipulation, they simply fervently believed in their cause. They were honoured upon their return, the heroes of Baumkretz. They received medals, and Rickard himself was granted, ironically, the Barony of Baumkretz. The King had decided that he would one day rebuild a castle there. Rickard, however, had changed his mind. For once, he had found a cause within himself. He had become no Republican, nor one of the Pretenders, yet he had discovered what his chains were, and he, mournfully so, had decided that he must tear them off. Following the ceremony, Viktor tried to greet him with a hug, but was not met with any sort of embrace but that of a cold steel dagger, plunged deep into his chest and heart. Indeed, it were not any chains of indoctrination that had bound Rickard. He had been bound by his love of another, that which he felt for his companion, Viktor. He could not, as long as he loved Viktor, push forward to do what was right for not only himself, but for all. And he could not stop loving Viktor as long as Viktor lived. This was tragedy manifest, for these two had come to love each other through time spent together as each other’s closest companion, and to see it ripped apart at the seams for a supposed greater good brought pain to even the spirits above. But such is it with all things, that that which brings us the most joy, will also bring us the most pain. Rickard never did recover from his actions. He became nothing but the flames of what the idea he embodied. It is yet unclear whether his successes justify what he did to himself and his love, for while he, after seven years, had managed to bring peace to the Kingdom, where the father of the son who he murdered sat solely as King, this granted him nothing. He took his own life mere hours after the peace was signed. One could hope, perhaps, that he would reunite with Viktor, if he could bring himself to forgive him.

"That's my daughter!" proclaimed the Lord Palatine.

Eirik was frequently seen in Lichtestadt making preparations for the debut, which was still a few years off.

Matyas Alban seems really excited. I wonder why.

SUMMONS OF THE DUCAL UNION To the Lords of the Ducal Union, Eirik Baruch, the Duke of Valwyck, Rhys Ruthern, Duke of Vidaus, Nikolai Kortrevich, Viscount of Krusev, Filip Amador, Baron of Mondstadt, Elimar Mondblume, Baron of Richtenburg. It has been thirty-four years since the foundation of the Ducal Union, and in that time it has achieved tremendously little, in fact, it has become quite obsolete given that period of time. It was in all cases, signed by people who have died many years ago, with whom the intents of the Ducal Union died. I, in my honest truth, had forgotten about this agreement until I was reading through a family archive, nevertheless, no efforts were ever made to formally disband this union. Perhaps the point for which I write is rather moot, what point is there in summoning an obsolete Union? I do not know, though I have always been one to think that things ought to be laid to rest properly and with due diligence, to which it saddens me that this treaty is, in theory, still in practice. After brief communication with the Duke of Vidaus, you are all summoned to a meeting of the Ducal Union within the confines of Vidaus on an agreeable date for all parties. We hope to see you there. His Grace, Eirik Baruch, Duke of Valwyck. His Grace, Rhys Ruthern, Duke of Vidaus.

"Hrm," the Lord Palatine offered a single nod after he finished the missive, and immediately glanced at Maric, who was on the other side of the square. "Tsch."

The Duke of Valwyck, having felt that he was about to receive mail sometime within the near future, stared longingly at his mailbox.

DREAMS A DOOR CLOSED NIGHTMARES “In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer. And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something better, pushing right back.” Albert Camus Snow had begun to fall through the skyward bars of his cell. One snowflake after the other landed gently in his palms, while the other guests from the wind swirled around him with great merriment, until the entire thatch floor of the cell had been covered in it. In this place, where no such thing as heat existed, the snow did not melt, and the passage of time had become completely lost to him. He only faintly recollected that he had come here in the summer, but bore no recollection of whether days, months, or even years, had passed. What was it to him, anyway? Every time he had finished a book, it was as if a new one appeared upon the shelves. He was certain by now that these were tales and legends, that he made up himself, and that none of them had any real merit in history themselves. From Hansentyr the Great Beast of the South to Lykenbirk the Bird Who Carries All Seasons, these were but fabrications of his mind. While great stories that he would make sure to pass on once he returned, they still spurred upon him a feeling of defeat, that all of this which was his, was nothing at all. He tried dejectedly, as he always did, to cast the blame off of himself. It were not his fault, for no one is a creation of themselves, but a creation of those around them. So indeed, he blamed his father and his mother, and all those who he believed to have slighted him, well-knowing that their influence upon him were, at most, the projection of a singular pea floating in an ocean. He knew that if anyone had had any effect upon him, it was her, and she had been nothing but light where there were previously only darkness. The rest was well and truly the product of himself. He was Eirik Baruch only because Eirik Baruch made him so. With a sigh that emitted only surrender, he sat himself down in the hay cot that had become his greatest comfort through this time, where he laid to read. In this world, there was nothing else he had to do. There was no Lichtestadt, no Duke Eirik Baruch, neither was there Karosgrad, and therefore no Lord Palatine Eirik Baruch, those two, were here, entirely gone, and left only Eirik Baruch with Eirik Baruch. And while others may find liberation in a world devoid of work, the diligent find themselves lacking in their distractions, and there was nothing Eirik Baruch feared more than to be left with himself. The door had not been there before, yet now it was. It was regal in it’s stature, marble streaked with gold towered high into the sky, and the distance from himself to the ceiling had grown tenfold. There were no door mechanisms, it was but an opening, beckoning him to come forth. A quiet grumble came from his lips, as he rose to a stand, and with great reluctance headed through the door. Only then, as soon as he stepped foot within the marble frame, shrieked a stinging pain through his body, from his toes to his head, it roared. And behind him had appeared that monster, the one which he could only recognise as a reflection. He turned, and the boy plunged forth his danger once again, cutting into a deep, seeping wound into his stomach. “You’re so selfish!” The boy taunted, “What happened to your duty?” With great futility, the man reached forward to grasp the boy, but the boy was nimble, and quickly swerved behind him, only adding another wound to the back of his thigh. “Did you give up? You gave up on everyone already?” The boy queried, once again raising the dagger for strike. He attempted uselessly to swat the dagger away, but instead was met only by a long gash that ran all the way down his arm. His blood were not the usual crimson colour, instead it bore a golden white-ish colour, as if the light were seeping from him, allowing darkness only to creep in. “I think I understand now,” continued the boy then, beginning to circle the man as if he were naught but prey, of which the boy could kill at only minute now, which he was only keeping alive for his own entertainment, “Duty isn’t real. You never cared about anyone. You shut down everything I wanted, not because you didn’t want it, but because you didn’t think you deserved it.” The boy paused, glaring at him with the tense anger that one could only have for themselves, expecting a response. But the man, who in the moment could think of nothing of the pain that he had brought himself, offered none. “You were right.” The boy concluded, “You don’t deserve anything. You don’t deserve to love her.” “But… I do.” came the meek retort from him, as the pain finally became too much to bear, so as to make him collapse onto his knees. “I don’t care!” The boy rasped, “You took everything from me with your lies!” “I gave you everything.” He offered in reply, finally allowing himself the ability to think as the boy’s onslaught died down. He patted down his pockets briefly, but there was nothing in them, and he could not yet bring himself into imagining any weapon into existence. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you!” The boy screamed with great fury, and brought his knife into his chest, once, twice… Again, again, again. The blade pierced through it countless times, neither of them kept count, why would they? With time, however, the pain of the blade became null, it came to be nothing but a numb thud against his chest, which nevertheless continued to lose it’s light. “I should’ve… You should’ve died all those years ago. I should’ve… I should’ve killed you! I should’ve killed you back then!” The boy took the dagger and pointed it toward his skull, the last remaining sanctuary from pain, which ironically was the cause of it all. “I-I…” The boy stumbled over his words, for once hesitating to act, “I can still fix my mistake.” In the boy’s hesitation, however, he allowed for the veil to be pierced by those who were saviours, the golden crow, the phoenix, the butterfly, the tiger, the deer, and the dragonfly. They emerged around him, circling him with great anticipation, or was it a silent encouragement of sorts? A reassurance that everything that he had in life, was something that he well and truly deserved, despite the boy’s protests? Wounds began to heal, and the blood turned from light to crimson to nothing. He felt once again a sense of strength, one which had felt lost to him in this cell for the duration of his imprisonment, yet now pulsed through his veins. He willed into his hands a blade, Heartache, one which he had frequently dreamt of wielding. With a swift strike, the boy turned to ashes, and fell strewn on the floor. He hoped that perhaps this was the last time he would see the boy, the one that had tormented him within this cell ever since he got here. As soon as the first step was taken through the door, the light of the sun, the real sun, came upon him again. He glanced back at the lonesome little cabin in the woods, which he had used his mind to turn into a cell, and began to walk in the only direction he knew for certain, that of home. Surely, he would greet his family with a big hug upon his return. He closed the door behind him.

DREAMS SPEAKING TO THE PAST NIGHTMARES “The weak fear happiness itself. They can harm themselves on cotton wool. Sometimes they are wounded even by happiness.” Osamu Dazai. It was the scorching sun that awoke him, shining through the barred window in the ceiling of his cell. His head throbbed in agony, and his tongue was drier than the southern desert. His memories brought him no hint as to how he’d ended up here, and only the excited shouting of Isabel was ringing through his ears. As soon as he sought to push himself from the makeshift bed of hay, it disappeared from beneath him, and sent him tumbling onto the cold hard stones that laid the foundations of his imprisonment. Finally, the Palatine managed to push himself to a stand, and could properly look around the cell. It had vast bookshelves all around him, collection after collection of histories from the most ancient ones to those written within the last year, and directly opposing him was a large door, which with a gust of the roaring wind flew open, and the bright light burned deep into his eyes. He covered them, and pushed forward, plummeting into the roaring seas, which flung him from left to right, in circles, up and down, and with the final thrust into the depths, the sun and the blue sea disappeared, and darkness once more came to surround him, as it had done so often. Washed ashore on a small dock at the age of the sea, the old man, who he had seen so many times before. The silent figure that always sat there, with that fishing rod in hand, who had not caught a fish in all eternity. He proceeded forth, to sit down by the old man, who offered him only a nod of acknowledgement. The old man was, as usual, a figure shrouded in darkness, and he had never quite been able to make out any of his traits. “You’re quite selfish.” The figure finally spoke, and as he turned to him, the figure morphed, twisted, and warped, until the only thing that remained was the boy that he used to see in the mirror all these years ago. “Centuries of tradition… Tarnished, for what?” The boy inquired, his wide childish eyes peeled at him. “Tarnished…?” He responded meekly. The boy had caught him off-guard, he had always tried to repress him, and now here he sat, confronted by him nonetheless. “Was it your duty to? Was it for the family?” The boy pressed on, and his inquisitive eyes turned to a soft squinted glare. “No… It was for… Everyone. For the future.” He retorted, and yet uncomfortably shifted away from the boy. The mere sight of him caused him great discomfort, an inevitable confrontation that he had sought to postpone for as long as people. “The future?” The boy queried, and as the boy was but a machination of the past, so did he fail to understand the future as it were, and he never had understood it. “Yes, the future.” He affirmed with a simple nod towards the boy, who nevertheless looked as puzzled as previously. “Is that why you never did any of the things I wanted?” The boy continued, and offered a soft pout towards his adult counterpart, who could only feel his heart wrenching at the thought. “We never really wanted any of those things, Eirik.” The man replied, and brought his hand over to pat the boy on the shoulder, but the boy responded only with wrath, shoving his hand away. “That’s not true! I wanted all those things! Rosemary… To run away… Live somewhere far, far from here, where nothing could stop us. And you ruined it… With your duty, the things that you had to do, the future! You ruined everything!” The boy barked in rage, and began to clench his fists with fury, sending punch after punch after the man. “That was a fantasy… This isn’t a fairytale, Eirik. Sometimes we have to do things we didn’t want to, and sometimes we realise the things we thought we didn’t want were what we wanted after all.” He continued to explain, and the boy, perhaps in a moment of understanding, relented his anger at the man. Nevertheless, he rasped through gritted teeth, “Don’t tell me you love her.” “I do.” “No! No! No!” The fury found itself renewed, and the boy slammed fist after fist into the dock that the two sat on, “I would never do that! We would never.” “Tsch.” Eirik clicked his tongue, before pushing himself to a stand. His gaze turned to a soft pity directed at the boy, as he turned around, and offered one last glance back to him. “You’ll never understand, will you?” But the boy was gone, and the shrouded figure that always said there fishing had taken his place. The man stopped speaking, and only stuffed his hands in his pockets. He glanced up to where the castle rested, that white keep on top of the hill, but as he took another step forward, the ground beneath him shattered, and he landed with a thud, once again within the darkness of his cell. This time, the road home would be longer than usual. He thought that he may as well read a book, while he was here.