Halt

“ … How strange. Never did I think I would part with a student like this. Most lost their ways … or their lives.” -VILLORIK CARDINAL JORENUS Naf zwy 7th hag i Vzmey ag Hynk i 566 E.S. It was one of those clouded nights when the stars lay hidden behind a veil. The kind of night one could get lost in—without constellations to guide a Prince of Galahar’s northern way home. Cloudy nights often gave themselves to foggy mornings, and this one would be no different. He had fallen asleep and woken up the same way—holding the reins of Villorik’s horse. Again. Daydreams were the only dreams his mind knew, the favored refuge of any child. This week marked Sigmar’s ninth winter. His eighth had been marked by his first kill—a soldier twice his age and twice his height, but only half his spirit. Sigmar had watched as that man’s soul slipped into the stream. That moment would be forever stained in his memory. He would continue to see him, that lingering specter of half-light haunting his periphery. But the boy felt little pity; perhaps a consequence of the accursed crown he wore. Reining in the horse, he resolved that the ghost would soon have company. So long as this was the road he was bid to follow—Villorik’s road—there would be more. And for a while longer, he would have to brave it. Some lessons had yet to be learned, and some truths yet to be told. He learned that a man’s worth could be measured by the care he gave his horse. He learned of the fragile threads of fate, and how easily they were severed. He learned to wield a sword, and that it was his mother’s grace that made it swing true. As for truth? That was less about learning and more about instruction. He had been taught these things, not through words but instead by example. Villorik had sown a seed, and perhaps that was why the boy was forever addressed as a sapling. The Patriarch revealed little of himself—his givings were anonymous, the purest form of charity. It had taken relentless prying for Sigmar to glean even that much. By their final campaigns, Villorik’s gait had slowed. He no longer led the charge—he only directed it. For all the times His Eminence’s glaive had saved Sigmar from certain death, by the end, it was Sigmar’s gilded blade that rose to save Villorik’s life. Any soldier—any decent one—knew to make peace with death from early. And from a distance, it had always been clear to Sigmar: Villorik had died long ago. The first time, when his heart broke. The second, when his spirit did. When one Amaya of Venzia passed. When the late Pontiff fell. The light in his eyes had begged for an early reunion. But Sigmar had denied him that—until he didn’t. Villorik had stolen him from the safe fold of his mother’s robes and never returned him—at least not as he found him. In doing so, he had unmade a prophecy that destined the prince for fiery ruin. Yet, through this, Sigmar was given another chance at life. When some fiery ruin did come—from the maw of a wyvern—it was once again Villorik’s grace that saved him. By merit of his worth, Sigmar, the second son of Josef, was afforded more time. The seed Villorik planted would be sown. And if another of Barbov’s blood was made to face the same trials by fire, this prince would shepherd them as he had been shepherded. After all, the purest form of giving was anonymous, and so it would remain. For the all the time and effort Villorik had so freely given to an overprivileged, provincially-driven boy—Sigmar resolved it was only right to repay that debt in full. In the same manner, with every care for propriety and courtesy afforded to this undertaking. Those who knew, knew. Those who did not, were never meant to.

Ser Martinus is seen receiving a troubling report detailing monster sightings in a small village just beyond the Crownlands. O’ does the eye of the sun oft gaze down ‘pon the realm of Arcas. As the skies drifted across the lands, they left in their wake the brightest sunlight, which staves away the darkness of mankind and creatures of darkness alike. The rays of said light reached all, from the lowest valleys of the south, to the mountainous terrain of the north. Some such radiance was known to have reached the land on which Hollyhold was built atop—the keep of Ser Martinus Horen, or Márton. T’was the 10th day of Harren’s Folley, a day wherein the sky was painted a misty gray, void of the usual light it so regularly graced the land with. Heavy rains pattered down atop Ser Martinus’ plate while forming puddles, which patterned the walkway adjacent to Carolus’ Bridge. His warhorse, among others, cantered forward, splashing peasants and other bystanders in their wake. Over his shoulder, the sight of the capital was fleeting. Slowly shrinking behind him as he moved further down the bridge, one which he had crossed a thousand times before. Every time but one, he rode with his blade at his hip. Many trips were quick, gritty reminders of mortality—the cut threads of brigand lives. His favorite outings were the ones with long hours spent with the love of his life, dancing in the warmth of the summer seasons, or exploring faraway lands. As he rode far and yonder, he’d dip his head one last time in reminiscence of the one fair lady who had been beside him from the moment he first arrived in Helena until now. He could not bid her farewell, for he knew she would scream bloody murder; for his journey north would be his last, and he knew such, but she could not. His love for Octavia was bewildering; she would come to learn of his fate in due time. He had left a journal bidding his own love and joy. Expressing both his regrets and joyous occasions, he reveled in the youth he spent in Aeldin and the time he was knighted before the entirety of the Empire. From his time as regent, his service as a Dragon Knight, and his successful skirmishes and battles up until the day of his trial. He left no detail hindered, no stone unturned, and all that would come to read his journal would come to understand the heart and soul of the man who wrote it. To his dearly beloved, Octavia, he would bid her farewell, leaving her a poem to pair with his poetic departure from the realm. He would express his dismay in the task at hand and for his general line of work. But alas, without servitude to those above us, we are naught but creatures befuddled by chaos with no order to contain our darkened hearts. “Ser Martinus!” Hailed a brother, not by blood, but by way of the sword. Martinus abruptly came back to reality and returned to his senses. Time had passed, passed indeed, for the sun had set behind the veil of clouds. They were no more than an hour’s ride from their destination. The terrain had all but gone rugged and wet; marshland was in the distance, wild, and animalistic. Fog had begun to roll in, rendering their visions thin and short. Martinus, whose golden hand had his horses reigns grasped ever tightly, would take the lead and advance forth into the unknown. His kin, igniting the way, with flickering torchlight barely poking through the dense fog as they neared the village. They were beginning to think they had rode all this way for naught, for it had been a quiet and quaint journey thus far. There was not a single beast or demon in sight. Some of the knights and legionnaires spoke amongst each other: “Whatever it was must’ve fled,” chuckled one from behind a visor. Their banter was hastily dismissed by Martinus. A thick stench of rot and decay would soon begin to fill their nostrils, making their eyes water and causing their faces to tug back in sheer disgust. Martinus knew, then and there, that this was no fool’s errand or senseless misadventure. He glanced back within his group, his eyes upon a youth in particular, who had recently joined his brigand of knights and squires. “Careful and quiet,” he began to say, though before he could finish his sentence, a horrific screech was heard originating from somewhere off in the distance. The screech of a banshee or ghoul, no doubt. As this unseen beast’s momentary terror came to an end, the fog partially gave way, and the brigands now found themselves within the heart of the devil’s frame. A village stood before them, with obviously ransacked houses partially enclosed by blood-laden walls. Promptly, Prince Martinus would turn to his kin, with his good hand sat upon the pommel of his blade. He glanced briefly at the sight ahead once more before drifting his gaze toward the youngest of the group. “Home! Ride fiercely, and do not look back, Adalbert! Ride home and inform the others of our findings. All of you, return to the place from where we came.” As Martinus spoke, his brethren, strengthened by war and bloodshed, faltered for but a moment. Surely he did not intend to walk in there by himself? Had the prince ordered his own death? These were questions he could not answer. As Martinus spoke, the sounds of not one but many foul creatures would be heard encroaching upon their position. At the behest of the prince, the youthful squire and his escort slowly withdrew, surely doubting the integrity of the order that was given. Right or wrong, an order is an order, and perhaps against their better judgment, they adhered to it. So, the Dragon Knight drew his blade one final time and stood beside his men, offering them a final nod so as to usher them off. They rode forth and forth into the fog, partially lit by torchlight, which, in turn, would diminish. One by one, as they continued down the path, the torches faded away. Accompanied by horror and torment, a lone man was reduced to bloodcurdling screams and then silence. Written by Adalbert de Villeneuve and dubbed “Writing Upon the Wall," this was all that was left in young Adalbert’s household when it was repossessed by the Imperial Government.

Courtesy: Council of Renatus DECLARATION OF REGENCY 8th of Sigismund’s End, 1713 His Imperial Majesty has deemed it suitable to pursue an extended absence as he partakes on a sentimental pilgrimage across the fabled continent of Aeldin, where his progenitors hail from. It is due to this that the Privy Council has come together to declare a state of regency across the Empire in order to better maintain the prosperous state of the Realm and to continue the ongoing war against the EU. Therefore the following is declared: SECTION I: REGENCY The Arch-Chancellor, Wilhelm Devereux, shall ascend to the position of Regent and assume the responsibilities of the Emperor until His Imperial Majesty returns. The Privy Council shall aid the newly-named regent in leading the Empire, just as they would assist the Emperor. However if a matter arises where two or more members of the Privy Council deem an issue to be so serious it should not be handled by the Regent alone, then the matter shall be handled democratically by the entire Privy Council. This can also be invoked to revoke, undo or alter the decisions made by the regent. SECTION II: WAR While most matters can be entrusted to the Regent, all matters pertaining to war shall be handled by His Imperial Highness, Martinus Horen, until His Imperial Majesty returns. This position shall be guided alongside a The Regent and a War Council that shall persist of the Grand Marshal, the Grand Knight, and the Siege Master, Tiberius Horen. If these terms are not held to then any additional powers granted to the aforementioned shall be revoked and the Empire shall sit without a sole leader until the return of His Imperial Majesty. IN NOMINE DEI THE IMPERIAL REGENT, Wilhelm of the House of Devereux, Regent and Archchancellor of the Imperium Septimus. HIS IMPERIAL HIGHNESS, Ser Martinus “The Lover” of the House of Horen, Prince and Dragon Knight, and Warlord of the Imperium Septimus HER IMPERIAL HIGHNESS, Amelia Philipa of the House of Horen, Princess of Alstion and the Imperium Septimus, Duchess of Alba and Furnestock, Lady Keeper of the Privy Seal of the Empire HIS IMPERIAL EXCELLENCY, Darius of the House of Ault, Grand Knight of the Imperium Septimus, Ordermaster of the Imperial Order of the Red Dragon and chaste servant of God. HIS IMPERIAL EXCELLENCY, Charles-Edmond of the House of Talraen, Minister of the Interior and Arch-Seneschal of the Imperial and Royal Crown of Exalted Godfrey and Renatus-Marna, Baron and Lord Protector of Rennes HIS IMPERIAL EXCELLENCY, Rozmeo of the House of Kastrovat, Lord Marshal of the Imperial Renatian Legion

Courtesy: Council of Renatus A GREAT FACADE. Issued and Confirmed by His Imperial Majesty, Antonius I of the House of Horen,12th of Harren’s Folly, 1711 Yet another instance of Norlandic idiocy: one could deem it expected. Those of lackluster minds were once again fooled by a ploy -- a feigned missive sent out by the Imperial Grand Knight, Darius Ault, of a proposed deposition to lure them into our palace. And, as schemed, the wretched followers of Clan Ruric succumbed to Imperial Might. To their dismay, the portcullis slammed to a close, those within the throne room resembling squealing vermin who have been cornered; Bewildered as their flighty response to a feigned claim cost them their lives, the Norlanders soon realised these moments inside of the palace were their last. The Imperial regime considered pity, unable to initially unsheathe their swords and deplete the Norlandic forces - but rather heaved their heads back and relinquished laughter at the feeble attempt. Despite this, the Norlanders persisted, unwavering in their attempts to flee -- though to no avail. The laughter encompassing the room soon ceased as their ichor besmirched the lavender carpets: yet another rebellious effort thwarted. In light of this, one would hope today’s events serve as a reminder for any Adrian migrating to Vilachia to not side with men who so blatantly are outwitted by Imperials in a desperate attempt to relish in a moment of glory that will evidently never occur. No dignity, No wits, No brains. —- “It was such a good bait, I’m not even mad about it. They did all the small things perfectly.” -Hot_Dip

Courtesy: Council of Renatus THE EMPEROR’S JUSTICE Issued and Confirmed by His Imperial Majesty, Antonius I of the House of Horen,12th of Harren’s folley, 1710. ✠ Peace, prosperity, and cooperation define an Empire and lead it to glory under GOD: a divine accord that was severed this Saint’s Eve. His Imperial Highness, Yury of the House of Horen, has been accused of leading his men into the Adrian Capital of Ves; In light of these allegations, as stipulated in Imperial Law, a trial will be held in the Imperial Capital of Helena to determine Prince Yury’s innocence and where he may safeguard his rights as a citizen of Man. All viable witnesses, which include but are not limited to: His Royal Majesty, Marius Barbanov II, and the Adrian populace may attend to testify their accounts of the occurrence. But to you, my fair friend - Marius, there is no need to summon a member of my family to stand trial, for the Emperor’s justice shall always prevail; Prince Yury would have stood trial regardless of your request. OOC: The trial will be held in the Imperial Throne room tomorrow, Tuesday the 9th of April at 3:30PM EST. IN NOMINE DEI HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY, Antonius I of the House of Horen, Emperor of Man, King of Renatus, Marna, Mardon, Salvus, Seventis, Savoy, Courland, Santegia, and Norland, Duke of the Crownlands, Avar, and Frederica, Count of Helena, Alamar, Frederica, Thesmer, Thelen, Lorath, and Cantal, Baron of Darkwood, Gravelhold, Fidei Defensor, Protector of the Heartlanders, Highlanders, Farfolk, etcetera

Courtesy: Council of Renatus CHIVALRIC RECONSTRUCTION ACT I. PREFACE We do issue this Act in recognition of the need for reform to the existing structures of Knighthood. This Act will therefore contain a number of provisions covering and pertaining to: the structure, formation and rules governing the Orders of Knights; the hierarchy of knights within the Empire; the general rules by which knights must serve. II. Knightly Structure No more shall all knights be held within a singular all-encompassing Order - although they will all still belong to the global community of Sers who are sworn to uphold their God-given oaths. All must, however, obey the Grand Knight who sits upon the Privy Council and lends his advice and sword-arm to the Emperor himself. The Grand Knight has the ultimate say on all issues pertaining to Knighthood, and is tasked with ensuring the sanctity of the role is maintained. All knights shall henceforth be grouped into regional orders who are granted permission to function within their localities by the Grand Knight and the Emperor. These Orders shall all, with only one exception, have Paramount Knights who lead their Orders. Paramount Knights shall answer to the Grand Knight and the Imperial Crown and maintain control over all knights within their subject Order. Ranking within such Orders is subject to the authority of the Paramount Knight - no more shall there be a centralised system of Knight Errantry - but knights may only be made and granted their spurs with the permission of the Grand Knight themself; the sanctity of the role must be held above all doubt. III. Knightly Orders The following Orders are granted permission to exist: The Imperial Order of the Red Dragon, they exist solely to serve the Emperor. They have no Paramount Knight, and instead exist as an elite of soldiery solely designed to protect the Imperial household and further their aims. Their writ runs true to this aim above all else. At the pinnacle of this Order shall stand the Dragon Knights, the foremost of the chivalric community. Their permanent existence is enshrined in law and listen to none but the Emperor himself. The Order of Pertinax, the force maintained by the Kingdom of Renatus The Order of Ursus, the force maintained by the Kingdom of Curon. The Marian Retinue, the force maintained by the Kingdom of Haense. IV. Imperial Rules There will remain a number of precepts which bind knights together across the Empire. All knights are required to undertake the same oaths to the Empire, and in the case of localities to their local ruler, and to God. All knights are also required to maintain the same Code of Chivalry; failure to maintain its precepts can result in expulsion and the honour being stripped away. Orders may add to this Code with their own additions, but they must also follow the central Code which has been passed down by knights from time immemorial. V. Knightly Code of Chivalry: ☩ A Knight of the Empire shall be loyal to the Emperor both in thought and in practice. ☩ A Knight of the Empire shall live by honour and for glory. ☩ A Knight of the Empire shall guard the honour of fellow Knights. ☩ A Knight of the Empire shall at all times keep the faith, ☩ A Knight of the Empire shall serve his liege lord valorously and with conviction. ☩ A Knight of the Empire shall persevere to the end in any quest begun. ☩ A Knight of the Empire shall never turn their back upon a foe. ☩ A Knight of the Empire shall refrain from the wanton giving of offense. ☩ A Knight of the Empire shall never leave an insult left unanswered. ☩ A Knight of the Empire shall never refuse the challenge of a duel from an equal or superior. ☩ A Knight of the Empire shall respect those placed in authority. ☩ A Knight of the Empire shall abstain from deceit and treason. ☩ A Knight of the Empire shall never draw his blade upon a fellow Knight in unlawful combat. ☩ A Knight of the Empire shall be vigilant and show courage in the face of evil. ☩ A Knight of the Empire shall at all times speak truly. IN NOMINE DEI HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY, Antonius I of the House of Horen, Emperor of Man, King of Renatus, Marna, Mardon, Salvus, Seventis, Savoy, Courland, Santegia, and Norland, Duke of the Crownlands, Avar, and Frederica, Count of Helena, Alamar, Frederica, Thesmer, Thelen, Lorath, and Cantal, Baron of Darkwood, Gravelhold, Fidei Defensor, Protector of the Heartlanders, Highlanders, Farfolk, etcetera.