Jump to content

ContestedSnow

Member
  • Posts

    95
  • Joined

  • Last visited

Reputation

684 Legendary

About ContestedSnow

  • Birthday 03/31/2001

Contact Methods

  • Discord
    ContestedSnow#9580
  • Minecraft Username
    ContestedSnow

Profile Information

  • Gender
    Male
  • Location
    Australia

Character Profile

  • Character Name
    Viktor var Ruthern
  • Character Race
    Highlander

Recent Profile Visitors

2776 profile views
  1. "Dobry. The fate of Winburgh." The Duke of Vidaus marked drily as he tossed aside a sheaf of papers; upon closer inspection, they were munitions orders. Instead, he sunk down to rest atop his ducal throne and rested his eyes a moment.
  2. Viktor var Ruthern, Sergeant of the Brotherhood, grit his teeth as he composed a letter to inform the Queen of the progress of the northern operation. Many missing and slain amidst the push, and Dagfinn was among the missing. He knew that for certain, for he had been among the riders whom had sallied out to save any stragglers, and he had seen him disappear just moments from rescue.
  3. Viktor var Ruthern scowled as he looked out over battle-plans and parchments strewn upon his desk. He had been uncertain what fate had truly befallen the King after that fateful day, and had held his tongue for wont of some measure of respect for Amaya and the others. It was better to not spout unfounded nonsense. He was concerned, naturally, for his cousin, however. They had known each other since they were boys, himself an especially petulant one in those years past, he could certainly admit. And for just as long, he had considered Aleksandr a friend of his, in spite of the disagreements they had through their lives. They had shed too much blood alongside each other for him to express doubts, and they had both become old men, now. The Ruthern knew he was a far-changed man from the boy he had once been. That thought caused another to cross his mind, and the words escaped his mouth in a murmer, "And how have vy changed, coz?"
  4. The Duke of Vidaus regarded the declarative missive with a scowl. The shadows under his eyes had grown some since that King had fallen ill. 'If vy are loyal and a good friend...' He recalled those words with a further grimace. What had he been thinking?
  5. Issued by the DUKE OF VIDAUS On the 12th day of Vyzmey ag Hyff of 515 E.S. To the Noble People of the Kingdom of Haense, It is with a heavy heart and profound sorrow that we convey the news of the untimely passing of a cherished member of the esteemed House of Ruthern. In the quiet residence of the Castle of Morteskvan, within the walls of the ducal chambers, tragedy has befallen the realm, as Mikhaila vas Ruthern, the beloved heir to the Duchy of Vidaus, has departed during the sacred act of childbirth. Her motherhood was a sacrament held most dearly, and her great love for rearing the next generation, unfortunately, claimed her life. Thus, we dub her as ‘Mikhaila the Mother’. Mikhaila was not only a beacon of hope and ambition for the next generation of the House of Ruthern but also a symbol of unity and strength for the entire Kingdom of Haense. Her untimely demise leaves an irreplaceable void in the hearts of her family and friends, and is a great loss to the future of the Ruthern lands. In her brief time among the people, Mikhaila demonstrated unwavering dedication to her kin and a profound sense of responsibility towards her noble lineage. Her compassion, wisdom, and kindness were virtues that held the path of those fortunate enough to know her. During this time of profound grief, let the people come together as a kingdom to offer solace and support to the grieving House of Ruthern. The loss of an heir is a tragedy that extends beyond the confines of a family, touching the very essence of the shared community. MIKHAILA ‘THE MOTHER’ VAS RUTHERN 484 ES - 515 ES In her passing, she has left the last of her children to prosper in her stead. The title of Heiress now rests upon the shoulders of her eldest daughter, Lady Tatiyana Josefina. In time, she shall earn the title of Baroness, just as her mother did before her. DRUZ GJERNZ AG GRYVNZ, His Grace, Viktor var Ruthern, Duke of Vidaus, Count of Metterden, Viscount of Greyspine, Baron of Rostig, Lord of Morteskvan, Patriarch of All-Ruthern and Protector of the South
  6. Viktor ‘Daemonsteel’ rest, a hand raised up to grasp his forehead. He nursed a rather splitting headache, after that final bout of peace talks. The Duke sat in his Sergeant’s uniform, sporting scratches and dents from battle; the once brilliant shine of the plate dulled by a decade of gunpowder and soot and blood, no matter how thoroughly it was cleaned and polished. “Et es done. A life, many lives, spent for this goal. My whole childhood, and those precious to me taken. There’s precious little time to rest on laurels, with much reaping required for what we have sown.”
  7. The Duke 'Daemonsteel' recalled the pitious look he had given that Crown Prince laid amongst the dead of the enemy. He recalled too how he had pulled that man up to his feet; he hoped that this display was not to repeat itself, after his return to the field. A bastard was no heir, if he was struck down again in another of these damned fields. "Fool prince." He may perhaps have understood the thoughts that the Prince had held, but still, he was a hypocritical man.
  8. "Frankly, this much es charity for these fools who have harboured nie guilt slaying the men and women of our nations, even before this war began. He refused to surrender, and they have either sand in their ears or lead between them for they seem niet to understand basic common. We shall have our peace." Viktor 'Daemonsteel' spoke, having witnessed the failed summit himself. That they considered not following through on their initial promise was a great shame on the Covenant, he thought. They ought aim for what they always have, to kill the enemy, and see that there is no more Veletz for them to scramble back to, or an Adria for them to hide behind.
  9. The Duke of Vidaus nods slightly as he reads, a scowl on his brow. "To remove Veletz- or Adria as et es called again. Et es all the same state, and such es righteous. Their attempts to worm their way out of fault or guilt es poor bait that should niet be taken by any sensible man of the Covenant.- They will come before the Covenant if they seek the close of bloodshed, and know that the end of their realm es the price they pay. Justice es harsh."
  10. "The same enemy pulls on a new mask, dons a new name, and makes demands of the Covenant. If Veletz wishes peace, then surrender." Viktor 'Daemonsteel' remarks, his expression unchanging as he continued war preparations.
  11. The aging Duke Viktor 'Daemonsteel' swore he could still smell that overbearing stench of sulphur and steam and saltpetre even now, as he set to work saddling newly broken warhorses, and busying himself with the ledgers of the Northern Thunder's ammunition logistics alongside the Patriarch. It was bothersome work, and tiring, but rewarding to spy these leisure manors peeled away by the fruits of his labour. He recalled, though. There could be no rest until the fight was finished. He and his Brothers would continue till that end, no matter the cost in blood. Their honoured dead deserved no less than victory.
  12. Viktor 'Daemonsteel' busied himself with the saddling of newly raised and trained horses, his brows set in a fierce scowl. The work never stopped for the Duke-Quartermaster, and there was still much to do yet before this war was won. They shall take to the field yet again.
  13. Viktor 'Daemonsteel' rested, in the lingering smoke and fires of the ruined and conquered keep. The battle was won, and that Savoyard sun rended and torn, stomped under foot. He had organised a small retinue of men to collect and gather all of the loot that he and they had secured, and new Veletzian horses to pull the wagons once more, in the close of victory. With a frown, he noted that he had not spied any of the team he had lead in their special assignment since the close of the operation. Hm... He recalled the din of cannons firing, the shaking of the very earth beneath their feet and above their heads. The stern expressions of those he had shelled a path for the great Covenant host to take alongside. Familiar faces, and those he had only interacted with in correspondance both. A pious King, an honourable Knight-commander, a leal Amiratus, and the faces of those he was proud to call peers and Haeseni comrades both. All had operated in unison, and all had done their jobs as perfectly as the now-veteran siege engineer and officer could have hoped. Even when he had stormed off to locate the Patriarch in charge of the banner, he had trusted that his team would handle the job. "Patriarch, the last round has opened up a breach into the main keep, right behind the curtain wall!" The Duke had proclaimed such at the Patriarch's side, after surveying a final strike clearing away through his dirt and smoke-streaked binoculars. Operation Underminer was a success, and the path was clear. All that remained was to push, and to finish the fight. He had thanked the comrades whom had undertaken such a mission in his head, and elected to spare the words until Northern Thunder had finally settled atop Drusco. He did not see them immediately following the battle, though he could have sworn the King of Aaun had been slaughtering foes at his side in the thick of the melee.
  14. When his cousin, Viktor var Ruthern, had heard the news and seen the return of the Marian's body to the capital, he had bore a steelly expression. It would not do to show anything less than fierce anger and indignation. Alas... When the time came that the Ruthern Patriarch had privacy, he slumped back against the wall, and eventually took a seat by a fireplace in a small house within Morteskvan, nestled in the first bailey, between the kennels and stables. He lifted a hand to rub his forehead numbly, gazing into that meagre, freshly stoked fire. Andrik was gone. Though they had been born cousins, they had grown up and lived their lives as brothers. When Viktor had felt his back to the wall in the past, he had known Andrik would be there. A leal man, and a proud one. And though he had caused Viktor trouble doubtlessly, he had been happy to have him by his side in the fray, always. He had joined many of the Duke's other siblings, now, robbed from this realm and lifted to the Seven Skies. Only Villorik and Aleksandra remained. And so, the aging Duke of Vidaus mourned tearlessly in solitude. What more could he do? Other than to mourn now, and to continue the fight. "Vy were cost vyr life, but vy went with pride and honour, Andrik. My brother was nie dog."
  15. The longer that the Duke of Vidaus marched, and the older he grew, the more his thoughts wandered to the past. His memories were largely poor ones, punctuated by great bounds of bloodshed and regular suffering, but there was still much he could appreciate. The love of his long-dead mother, playing in the streets of Karosgrad, winning his first victory in battle, lost loves, the pride of fatherhood, and the joy of grandfatherhood. Thoughts flickered through his mind, fleeting as they were; no doubt his comrades had the same memories. And the Raev they slew on opposite sides of the field, and even the Veletzians. No doubt they had such thoughts. Were their thoughts of their homeland or of such memories when they drew last breath? What would Viktor's thoughts be, he wondered? Perhaps the Motherland, or the lands he left behind, or the family he lost, or the family that he would likely not rejoin in the Skies. It did not matter. As long as he still drew breath, he had his duties and his responsibilities. His place was to rule over his lands, and to march, and to kill the enemy. He continued to ride in the Crown Prince's column, for as long as it needed march. He must fight, as they all must.
×
×
  • Create New...