OzYmandi

A Speech -=- A man, dressed in rather finely tailored clothes, a cloth stringed across his leather waistcoat depicting the colours of Adria, as well as another one wrapped around his waist, depicting the colours of House Rubens, made his way to the middle of the square, near the Bank and the Tax Office. He cleared his throat and called out. “Hear, hear, fair people of Belvitzia and the fine Duchy of Adria! I, your Alderman elected as of the last Duma, and Judge of the Appellate, come with an announcement to make, and news to relieve the tense ears due to recent squabbles on the street. It is more than clear that, unfortunately, our city is divided. Divided between people whom have an opinion, and those whom have other. People that think there is no saving this fair town, and people who are committed - like me - to the betterment and prosperity of fair Belvitz. The squabbles of people in positions should not interfere with the lives of you fair folk, yet it has. I come publicly to announce that; there is naught to worry, fair people. Naught at all. I come to publicly announce that I shall not allow the squabbles for power, the hunger for money and the blindness and naïveness of those who seek simply that will, in any way, jeopardize the state and well-being of the fair people. And hence, I come with the relievement. Know, people of Belvitz, that those not committed to the prosperity, to the betterment of our fair city, and utmost, our fair Duchy, graced be the Duke, shan’t be allowed to jeopardize, in any way, those who seek it. I come publicly to denounce, but not by name, for those who find themselves guilty of having such positioning shall know. I come to denounce those who refuse do not actively work for the betterment of our fair city, and yet still hold titles and authorities. I come to denounce those that, even though lacking said privileges, do not atleast try to improve. I’m not speaking of the merchant, or the peasant, or the mason. I speak of those who are known. Those who - in lust for power and pure greed - seem to think that the prosperity of fair Adria is below their own needs. Ignore me or heed my words. In the end, I merely represent those who wish for me to represent them. I come speaking as Albert Brussels, not Judge Albert, or Alderman Brussels. I come speaking as a fellow citizen, one who is subject to their squabbles for power and - dare I say - ignorant decision. I come with a plea, fair people, open your eyes. Choose wisely the ones that represent you. Choose wisely, for they are the ones who decide for you. They are the ones who speak for you… That is all, fair people… That is all…” The man nods to the few people that heeded time to his words, grimacing a bit and walking to his home, located in that same square, to his fiancée and the warmth of his firepit, a flag of Adria and Belvitz hung on a side of his door, a Imperial one on the other.

Albert Brussels, Alderman-elect, claps! “Wonderful work, Ser Basarab!”

A dead dark elf who knew the Prince all too well smirks from whatever hellhole he’s dead in. “Heh. Took a while.”

This manages to be more power-grabbing and self-protagonizing than HedgeHug’s MArts... And that, friend, is a hard thing to do.

“Aren’t you the one who couped Sutica under a heresy such as clericism, then proceeded to seemingly lose power both ‘holy’ and political, even though, according to my studies, specifically on the clerical tenets presented publicly in the Library of Dragur, says that ‘thou shan’t interfere with mortal politics’ yet you took a nation to yourself and is now rebelling against another? You are a hypocrite with your own self, I wouldn’t expect an ‘Ettindom’, whatever the **** that is have good leadership when they are advised by filth like you.” Albert rambles.

“Mi libed too lung, did mi nub?” The shaman questioned himself, sitting down at the floor of the forests surrounding the Dominion. They’d let him in, eventually, spoke to some Dominionites and killed some in other occasions. It was a fun life. A fun way of being. Though, in a way, it bored him. All the power, but none at all, at the same time. “I’z about tik tuh go…” The thought of leaving… Dying? No. Just leaving. He had done it before. Left everyone and everything. Went to further augment himself in his powers… Lighten himself in the darken wisdom he had gotten, in all those years of sickening, corruptive power. Some orcs feared him. Certainly not Shamans. He didn’t fear them either. Didn’t make sense to fear them. He killed what they praised. The all-mighty spirits and their lessers. It was almost too easy at times. “Mi’z nub goin’ tuh Ztargûzh’Ztroh, nub.. Da’z fuhr hunurable urukz… Lyke lat, hopefully.. Dun’t go lat’z popo’z way, hrm?” His son… He had one. Spirits know who birthed the product of a Dark Shaman’s needs. Like his father before him, Nûrzum could only hope his son would not go the same way he did. More-so, he hoped he’d go the opposite. “Lûp’Ilzgûl, mi kub.” He cackled, his voice echoing through the silent forest, to which the Shaman made sure was empty - atleast of hunters. He stood, having his staff for assistance as the son did nothing to help his crooked, old father. A mix of disgust and pity for the Orc. The Black Uruk took a final look at his creation. A creation that for the first time didn’t involve killing anyone, nor using his powers. Really, he was proud. The forests never welcomed him well. He didn’t know if it was the might of the Aspects he always so proudly complained about, or simply a druid stalking him and making his life hell. One of the two. He started pacing off. Where to? Nowhere in particular. Away. From the world, he hoped.. Though, that’d mean death. He didn’t want to die. Atleast not now. But… It felt necessary. He didn’t really know why. He never did, though. He never knew why things happened. Never. And no one was to know what happened to him [OOC: So,, Gothâr was fun to play. Atleast for a while. Dark Shamanism is cool, it’s a really good magic, and I reccomend anyone try it. Maybe wait a bit for the re-write. And, this sort of marks the beginning of me trying to reconcile with a community I have been part of in the past and want to be part of again. So.. Yea. What goes goes. Thanks for Lhindir and all the dark shamans for enduring my bs at times and all the people who endure me in a regular basis. o7]

A probably long-forgotten Visaj smiles, rubbing his hands together for a moment, before pacing off, hoping they’d re-integrate them, and happy to see his family still with high standards.

“No clue.” Albert Brussels, the clerk, responds.

A dark shaman quietly plots.

Albert Brussels frowns upon reading this. “Here I thought they were nice folk..” - Gothâr snarkily laughed ”’Uman priezt in Arberrang... ‘E’z lucky mi waz away...”

“Quit using titles like humans do just to look cool!!” Albert Brussels, official scribe of Claudius Bracchus in the Imperial Parliament yells in anger!

Gothar snickers.

makes sense, let’s have an RP wedding not happen IRP. and people wonder why lotc isn’t ‘great’

Oof was I too late x-x

A dark shaman packs his stuff, more than ready to kill an aspectist.

Gothâr blinks as Krugmar now has a crown... “Dah Krown ob Krugmar... Huh...”

“Everything about this is right...” Albert mumbles. ”Except the party you chose, vriend... Your only mistake.”

Gothâr’Ruk frowns as the music in the background of said fight sounds oddly orcish... “Aren’t dey twiggehz?”

“T’ingz are gettin’ intereztin’...” A grizzled dark shaman, who’s always watched from afar comments, rubbing his hands together in expectancy!

Albert blinks as the Rubens of Leeuwenhof aren’t invited. “Theres our banner in the Imperial Halls... Okay then.”

“You’re funny. Atleast that.” Albert Brussels, member and supporter of the Priorist Party, smirks, chuckling.

Albert sits quietly inside his study, in Belvitz, small lines of tears falling down his eyes. He cleans them, stands up and sighs “Man up, Albert...” he murmured to himself. Shooting a lil’ kiss to his to-be wife, he set off to Leeuwenhof, to assist his cousin in anything needed.

Albert Brussels hadn’t spent – or rather – hadn’t ever even spoken to him. He knew of the man’s achievements and history, thus, he lowered his head and nodded twice. Writing a letter, upon finishing, he threw it into the fire. “Hmph...” he shook his head. “Best not meddle with what isn’t mine.”