Thedeadoor

[Written in an old, worn journal] = Entry 1 = As I write, I do not yet know who I write for, I do not know why, other than the dream I had this night before. I've dreamed of my words, set on paper, my thoughts and my wonders. This dream, this vision, I've come to realize was given to me by the All Father, the great and powerful, the savior of my soul. Perhaps these words will be for none but me, perhaps these words are simply the way the All Father has guided me to my reflection. Let them be found by none or by many, for I do not question when such visions are presented to me. Who am I to ignore this? Less than that of the All Father, that I know to be true. As I sit and I think deeply on which words to place and for what purpose, it comes to me, that of my salvation. When young, I had little, I had few. When I look upon those who have many, I know this to be true, I could see at a young age, my misfortune. Though with the little that I had, my mother, my sister, and not much more...what I had was mine and I was glad to have it. I am a highlander, as was my mother, my sister, my father before me, and his father. Our blood had been cursed it had seemed with little mina, no steady home. My home was among the trees many times, found in tents, in caves, on top the hills. Our food was not obtained from farms, it did not come from taverns, or delivered to us on silver plates, with a kneeling servant and a ******* crown placed upon our heads. It came from blood, sweat, suspicious trades, from taking the few we needed, from those who did have the many. We all survive in this world, in the ways that we know, though I think it is few, those who have survived the ways that my family and I have. To many in these times, survival looks like hoarding, it looks like deception in political pursuits, and cunning minds of business folk. This is important for all that I am. My lowly place in this land, the struggles I've had before me, these have shaped my hands and my heart. Where once my heart was full of youth and awe of but a simple butterfly, now, this heart is hardened like stone and cold like the ice. Though coldness and hardness are nothing compared to the rage within my blood, the anger that days onward, will continue to threaten to consume me. This I know to be true, it is what I am. My mother and my sister did not leave me silently, they left me screaming and bleeding, it was the same day my eye was taken from me. Many moons ago this has happened and yet as I write, I can not write the details. The little I had before me, was taken from me. The day the warmth left my body, as if I had died once already and now live as something else. I am Brandr but not the same Brandr once known by those I once loved. See now, this anger, this rage, this need for vengeance and blood that had nearly corrupted me, was the strongest and most intimidating foe I have met. For this corruption to be one with me, to know me deeper than I know myself, to strike at all the parts I am weak, in a violent silence, it nearly guided me down a path far from that of the flame. "Suffer not the unworthy" In this corruption, I had been unworthy. Though through all of the darkness, through the blackest of nights, the flame of the All Father guided me home. I have asked to myself, to the All Father even, when in isolation 'Why did I have no home? Why have I never known this?' and to that, I received an answer. My home is no structure, it can not be contained within walls, for it is too grand, too powerful, my home is with the Red Faith, my home is in my duty to spread the flame, it is in purpose where I find my place, the greatest purpose to stand against the Long Dark. And so I write with this entry, through a path of thorns and corruption, one can still find the Faith and one can still be saved. To Elle - The Justiciar, I say, for those who deny this truth, for those who dare stand unworthy and say to me "There is no way", let my hands guide them to the flame and let them find peace through the burning of their corrupted flesh.

=== “The Erling Foundation of Oren” has been renamed to “The Erling Foundation” as efforts are moving to extend past the Empire. Ownership has been given to Nokah Erling, Hakon Erling’s surviving son ==

== Updated with an employment section ==

+1

This letter is hitting kinda different

============= My problems with Oren ============= What aren’t my problems with Oren? The Orenians killed my father and some **** Orenian by the name of Castelo married my mother and thinks he can replace my Erling name. Then you have those guards in blue or really, any of those guards in Oren. I’ve heard stories of their doings, to their own people and to my family. My problem with Oren is that they believe if they wear fancy clothes and put on those silly wigs they have, they are better than me because I have a few less mina. Well, they are wrong. It is us with a few less mina that put in the most work into their Empire and we are fully capable of running things better. They are born into power, it does not mean they understand it. You would think, as well, with all those fancy guards Helena has, that it could protect it’s roads better but clearly they can not. Oren’s roads are unsafe. I do not suggest traveling on them anymore. I see no reason to even enter Oren as it is. Anyone reading this letter should listen well to my words. Oren is not safe. - Nokah Erling

==================== Change of ownership ==================== Following the death of Hakon Erling and his son, Nokah Erling, being of proper age, The Erling Company is hereby transferred in full ownership to Nokah Erling.

If I Was in Oren [A Norlandic Poem] == If I was in Oren, I'd powder my wig Join up with the guard and arrest me some kids If I was in Oren, I'd pay bandits to kill Then blame it on Nordlings, oh man what a thrill If I was in Oren, I'd go visit Haense Where they store things in their heads Not so hard without brains If I was in Oren, I'd buy me a dog I'd call him a Hound, have him jump like a frog He'd do what I say and if he declined I'd call him a Nordling, the fault is not mine If I was in Oren, I'd start me a war Our needless aggression can be such a bore You may think the aggression would be quite fun But no action is had when needing to run If I was in Oren, I'd say others have worms To distract from the fact that corruption is norm As a matter of fact, the more that I know If I was in Oren, I'd probably go

============================= =========== As Brandr makes his way from the Nordling tavern, helmet planted on his head, hand on is hilt, he stops on his path on a high mountain, looking down at the lands. He draws in a long sniff of the air, his large chest puffing out at the inhale, followed by a slow, long exhale. He was ready to die that day, to see the All Father in all his glory, to be rewarded for his many victories in battle, in the name of Bjorn, the great warrior paragon of the Red Faith. While politics of the Orenian Empire are far above his understanding of the world, he knows the strength of Oren, as much as he knows of their hatred for his people. Just getting word of the ban from Haense, against the people of Norland, he was ready to pay their fine with blood. Brandr gives a grunt as he continues on his way, drawing his arming sword and patting his helmet as he makes his way down the mountain and on the path towards Haense. His large body lumbers along the dirt paths slowly, his heavy arms swinging back and forth, his eyes set forward, determined, on his path. The day was clear and warm, birds chirping up in the trees, butterflies hovering over the grass, though as if a devil in a church, Brandr charged forward with blood lust, ready to turn the skies red. After all, these lands were too warm for his taste. While on Brandr’s stride towards Haense lands, he halts, spotting a young blonde haired girl on the same path. She can be no more than 15, his head tilting, his one good eye scanning the girl over like potential prey. He walks forward slowly but with heavy steps, his feet pounding into the dirt, his wooden shield patting against his furs. With his arming sword still in hand, he holds up his free hand toward the girl who is examining the wooden travel signs. “Þú nei meiri move!” He exclaims, raising his voice into a grumbling shout. The girl turned around, clearly scared, explaining how she was only trying to get home. Though Brandr questioned her in regards to her relation to Oren, as this would matter on how he acts further. Upon the girl confirming she is of Oren, he gives a toothy grin, stepping forward and twirling his sword before he hears the ear piercing language of an orc behind him. ”Iz latz okeh?” The orc drew his sword, ready to defend the Orenian girl. Brandr made a slow turn towards the green giant, growling at his oncoming presence, then side stepping along the path so both the girl and the orc were in view. The orc steps closer to the situation, his eyes locked on Brandr as the Nordling raises his sword, aiming the tip towards the orc, speaking in a raspy demand for him to leave. Though the deep Norlandish tongue of Brandr makes it so the orc has no slight idea of what Brandr is demanding, though the orc understood the raise of the sword. The angered orc now demands a – “KLOMP!” Brandr huffs, lowering his sword as he marches in front of the Orc, glaring forward and questioning his actions of defending an Orenian girl. ”Þú fit með mrær ór oren?” His words nearly spitting a venom at the Orc’s face. The orc affirms his defense of the girl and Brandr removes his wooden shield from his back, bashing at it with his sword, teeth gritting, ready for a fight. He was not going to let some green skin get in his way, especially in defense of an Orenian. If the Orc wanted the girl’s safety, he will have to take it. “Þú munu haftilr takoreninnr mær!” At that, Brandr charges forward at the orc, shouting as he pushes his shield forward before swinging his sword down at the orc. The orc seems caught off guard by the aggression and strength of Brandr, struggling to deflect his blows and keep him away. The Nordling fights with such an anger and fierceness, that it is almost animal like. His large arms and frame, while slow, bash hard at the Orc’s defenses. During the fight, the Orc manages a heavy punch to Brandr’s gut which pushes him back, knocking some air from his body. The Orc then takes his chance, charging forward at Brandr, swinging to cut through his midsection. Though Brandr quickly shoves his shield forward messily for the Orc’s blade, knocking it from it’s path as it crashes into the wood, splintering part of the shield. The nordling then growls as he slashes his sword for the Orc’s torso, connecting the slash and dropping the Orc. Brandr shouts, immediately jumping on the orc and sending a flurry of punches and elbows to the Orc’s face. When the Orc is hardly conscious any longer, Brandr stands up in his victory, roaring as he bangs his sword on his shield multiple times. He then bends down to the defeated Orc, searching over his body for any mina. While he finds some other items, he leaves them. “Þú gereigir fit með oren” He says, his words once again spitting some venom. Brandr turns his head slowly, tilting it as he sees the Orenian girl still standing there, most likely frozen in fear. He then turns back to the down orc, sending a hard kick to his head, the Orc rolling over into the grass, unconscious. Brandr then marches over to the girl, placing his shield on his back once more, arming sword still held in hand, dripping with some blood. The Nordling was quick on breaths but proud to have won his fight. Despite the girl being of Oren, Brandr seemed to have respected the girl for staying around or perhaps figured her not so set in the head. Either way, he kept his sword down as he simply extended his hand with a singular demand- “Mina” He says with a grunt. The girl nods and reaches for a pouch of mina, stating it’s all she has. As Brandr takes the pouch, he looks it over, nodding to himself and then sheathing his blade. He raises his arm and points down the path, his hand then waving her off. The girl then quickly goes on her way, Brandr watching her with a narrowed eye. As the girl fades into the distance, Brandr turns back to the Orc, glancing over his still breathing body before speaking a raspy line- === “Fyrir bjorn” === With that, he makes his way down the path towards Haense once more.

Brandr gives a deep belly laugh as he’s read aloud the contents of the document. He leans back his large body into the wooden tavern chair as it creaks, bringing the tankard of mead up to his mouth and chugging it quickly before slamming it down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ek takfimmr hundreð minfranr oren menn, þá gefþatr aptr til oren menn. Ek segðþessir inn nafninn ór bjorn” He then stands from his chair, grabbing his helmet and setting it on his head, placing a hand on the hilt of his Nordling arming sword, making his way from the tavern.

Upon possible re-reading of the document, while the company started in Helena, it’s interests are throughout the whole of the Empire. This allows for much land use of potential future taverns.

======== The Erling Company ======== [A Josephite organization] Brief history: The Erling Company was founded by Hakon Erling, the previous Head of the Golden Skulls Company and ex-Sheriff of Oren. When Erling was Head of the Golden Skulls, a contracting company, a lot of his work was based around protection, bounties, and other alike services. He was much more used to jobs needing muscle, however, after Imperial law put a quick stop to the Skulls and he stepped down as Sheriff, Erling realized he needed to think outside of what he was used to, to support his growing and already large family. Living now in Helena, surrounded by an ocean of businesses such as the Carrington & Co., it was clear where he needed to bring his efforts, into business. With his already existing Erling Foundation, where he strives to give to the poor and children of Oren, it only made sense to create as many businesses and jobs for those poor as he could. This is when he got the idea to create a holding company, known as The Erling Company. This would allow him to create various businesses and venues securely, all the while giving work to those in need of it and supporting his family. What is The Erling Company: The Erling Company is a holding company, meaning by itself, it does not produce any good or services, rather, it holds ownership or shared ownership in various good or service producing businesses. The Erling Company will be looking to acquire all types of businesses from taverns, theaters, storefronts, any anything in between. Jobs: The company will offer a variety of jobs, putting people to work who need it. Many of the jobs will consist of good, reasonable work, rather than hard physical labor. Jobs can include - Tavern work - Security - Theater work - Art - Tailoring - Shop keeping - And much more Pledge to Charity: A pledge of The Erling Company is to send a good amount of it’s profits to The Erling Foundation, where those profits will then go towards charity work and grants, for the poor and children of the lands. The Erling Company will also support other charities with it’s future businesses. Erling finds this to be one of the vital parts of the company, to source income for a greater cause, giving back to his people. All businesses, all profit, will go towards charity work, no exception. Current assets: Relations/Employment:

I just think there are better arguments for the tech lock. Even for things like this, I don’t mind some terraforming to shape the world/add cool places. Tor has an awesome look to it. Given, this is quite extreme terraforming, so I understand your point.

I understand this is a pro gun argument at the bottom line and I’m very neutral on that topic. However, I can’t stand this argument. LoTC is a medieval /fantasy/ rp server. Magic, orcs, elves, obviously that’s not medieval because that’s fantasy. We have our medieval themes in things such as tech, building style, so on. Medieval themes are constantly explored, as are fantasy ones. Fantasy doesn’t exclude medieval and medieval doesn’t exclude fantasy.