garentoft

"As the wheel of time turns, so does generations come and go, don't they." John VII nodded his head sagely as he intruded on the conversation, lovingly holding the hand of Andrik III. "Though, I do not think us dead should worry ourselves about it."

Harren leaned back in his chair, comfortably sipping a cup from within the Haeseni embassy in Oren. "Oh goodness." He grumbled to himself, as he began to read over the ultimatum, "I hope this does niet turn to violence. I do niet want to see lives lost over some woman." He waved with his hand dismissively, before gesturing to the other warm cup of coffee on the table, "Join me for a cup?" He inquired of his wife, Adalia. @shay Meanwhile, Franz, who had by now lost any notions of society and warfare, continued to roam around the southern jungles with a makeshift spear in hand, grunted with great joy as he managed to spear a pig-like creature through the gut, knowing that dinner was served for the day.

i would love some LC +1.

A simple peasant farmer, who's name was largely irrelevant (and which none bothered to learn) began to weep, for he had loved their leader so dearly as one does love a leader who loves the people, for she had done so much for him and everyone else, for their people as a whole, to bring prosperity and betterment upon them. Yet, while he was sorrowful of her departure, he knew in his heart, just as she did, that they had been put on the right path. Nevertheless, the farmer would go on to have a quiet and simple life, and would eventually pass from old age many years from now, thus his son would inherit the farm, and continue just as he had.

The news were delivered to Harren by a courier, and the Ruthern who was now in his late twenties, himself a father of three, and a husband too, began packing enough belongings for a brief stay at Vidaus to mourn their father. The carriage left Providence on a quiet morning of the summer month of Vzmey and Hyff, and drove through fertile, lush fields, that were growing all around the Orenian capital, before it carried on into deeper forests, with grand trees standing with their proud green leaves, before it finally came near the colder parts of Almaris, reaching up to the beginning of the Rimeveld as it finally arrived at Vidaus. As he began up the steps, and finally stepped through the gates of the keep, it felt largely unfamiliar to him. His older brother, Ailred, had done some renovations through the years, and the absence of most of his family, parents, siblings, et cetera., made him feel more unwelcome than he ever had before in the place of his birth. He began to meander through the halls of Druzstrat. First, he came to a painting of a young blonde woman and a young raven-haired man. They were both dressed in wedding clothes, it was, after all, his parent’s wedding in 352 E.S. Maric looked happier in that painting than Harren had ever seen him, despite all that their family had achieved in the meantime. Down the corridor hung another painting, painted on the beaches of Sutica. There was Maric, cheerfully holding some sort of ball in his hands, while Ailred, Antonina, Tatiana, Harren, and Mikhail crowded around their mother, who was holding Marjorie as a babe. He didn’t remember the trip himself, but could tell it dated back to 358 E.S., the same year Marjorie was born. The painting that followed immediately after was more familiar, while the location had been the exact same. They were all older, he must’ve been around seven back then. Him and Ailred were kicking a ball around, Antonina and Tatiana were arguing. Marjorie was watching her older siblings, and Mikhal was nowhere to be found. Mother looked like she was having trouble standing, and Maric generously aided her with a concerned expression. While he only remembered tidbits of the vacation, the tragedy that came not many days after they arrived stuck much more to his conscience, just as it had when he was older. He couldn’t bear looking at the next painting for very long. It was too grim, much too sad for a man of his usually cheerful demeanour. Children should never have to go to a funeral of one of their parents so young, especially not when their father would be appointed Lord Palatine, effectively leaving the children to their own devices with a group of poor servants and tutors, who could barely keep track of one of them at a time. Then came a painting to lighten the mood a lot, it was from Spirit’s Eve of 368 E.S. Maric had dressed himself up as an orc, and followed his children around diligently. Ailred had proclaimed the entire festival to be heathenry, and, of course, refused to dress up for it. Antonina and Mikhail had both stayed at home, which had left Harren and Tatiana as the two only properly dressed up for it. Marjorie was crying somewhere, because her older siblings had refused to let her dress with them. The corridor of paintings wasn’t much longer than that, as being Lord Palatine had gotten harder for his father, he had stopped commissioning paintings of the family. Though, Harren had maintained the tradition for his own family, and now eagerly awaited walking through that corridor in Oren. As he was about to open the door to his room, Harren recalled an obsession from his youth, and made it out on one of the balconies, where his two old cannons still stood. Whether or not Harren shed any tears that night was unsure, nevertheless, the sound of two cannons firing from Vidaus rang throughout the entire kingdom.

"Don't care, didn't ask." remarks Ruslan III Amador, the long-dead Baron of Mondstadt, from the Seven Skies, as he somehow overhears Britannus.

John VII shakes his fist from wherever he had gone to the afterlife, looking to the love of his life, Andrew III, and proclaiming the following: "They forgot about us, how dare they! Was our love for nothing?" John lamented, knowing full-well that he was simply ahead of his time! @Emenzi

"Hauchpapej, just before vy get mad at vyr other grandchildren, none of us like Aleksandr either!" Harren quickly added, to avoid allegations of racism against himself!

[!] Not shortly after, a simple courier of peasant origin would deliver another letter, bearing the seal of House Morovar. "Lord Speaker, It would be my honour to also support the motion to make Bossir Mondblume the Lord Handler for this session. I do fondly recall days where him and I sat on the Royal Duma together when he was nought but a Tribune, now risen to the grand stands of our society's finest. I do vote da in favour of Bossir Mondblume. His Highness, Franz Leopold Barbanov-Morovar, Duke of Schattenburg, Baron of Ghaestenwald KM EK."

Franz, who by now lived inside of a hollowed out tree, was unable to receive his invitation, and it was likely Otto August @Miothat received it in his place. Eirik thumbs up at the invitation, "PAPEJ, AH'VE GOT TEH GO."

"Eja!" greeted Franz, poking his head in through Therasia's window!

Harren did not care the first time his sister got married, nor did he care the second time. He simply passed the invitation to his wife, Adalia, so that the she could begin preparations for the wedding, while Harren went to train the U15s of Greyspine United on the Tusball court by the riverside. @shay

Eirik Baruch erupts into incoherent screams of pride and excitement.

The Baron of Ghaestenwald sweats profusely.

i only play jocks

"Mm," pondered Franz, sat leaned against a willow tree in close proximity to Ghaestenwald. "Igor had been falling for years, if I recall?" He questioned the tree, which, should you be in doubt, did not respond. "Downhill ever since he became Speaker, really. I respected him when we were younger, though, I suppose the reasons behind his tomber en disgrâce will remain beyond me."

Eirik Baruch is read his father's letter out loud by his tutor, Ludwig von Messing-Schaftenbauer. Full of glee and excitement to watch the duel, he begins whacking his poor tutor, who would later have to visit the local clinic due to a broken nose, with a toddler-sized practice sword.

gusanoarentonio supports the movement.

"I love this guy." says Franz.

Harren Ruthern - gusanoarentonio - Haense

@livrosemuseum date? x

missing the vailor library of dragur forever my minecraft home. x.

The Baron of Ghaestenwald (who, also, is the Vanir's uncle) gasps, due to a lack of invitation received to his tent, which was firmly hidden behind a tree line in the middle of the woods.

Franz thinks that awarding away the title of "Lady Haense" to someone dressing nicely is disingenious to what Lady Haense represents and symbolises, and that another name most likely should have been chosen, but alas, he, being middle-aged, prepares to act like a Dance Mom(tm) for the entire competition.