louislxix

@importanthippo@Demavend@Gustando@Malta

"Well. . You can always come here whenever you wan' some sun, yanno?" A grey-haired Barbanov sat in a lonely cabin, leagues away from anything or anyone. Three loud thuds echoed from his door, prompting him to stand and meet his guest, hobbling with the aid of an old, unsure cane. The door swung open to reveal a royal courier, sent by one of his kin, bearing a letter. It was the letter of his wife’s death. Years had passed since he last saw her, yet the news still anguished him. First, he felt sorrow, then a wave of guilt for not being there for her. The prince of old contemplated steps toward atonement, considering living out his days in her name, for good. Fickle and wroth as he was, those thoughts soon diminished into hate and doubt. He welcomed the courier inside under the guise of allowing him some rest after his long journey. Except it would only be a renewed Nikolas who left the cabin that night, a bitter cloud followed him on his return to humankind.

PETYR THE DROWNED The day was dim and young, a summer morning's mist cascaded around the lands surrounding Mathandún, the family seat of House Baruch. Petyr Baruch woke from his sleep to the sound of his sister’s voice, “Petyr yer never goin’ tae get better if ye sleep all day and night.” He spoke in an ailing protest, but managed to shift to one side of his bed, sitting upright. “Come now, ye have nae seen Karl, or any of yer other peers in months now. I have got ye a horse ready to leave. Hurry!” Petyr nodded wearily, washed his face, and dressed before meeting Maira at the Keep's gates. The mist clung to his pallid face, as he mounted his horse, while Maira did the same. “Let’s be off,” he remarked with a gesture towards the road. In a canter, they headed towards the Haeseni capital, in silence at first, until Petyr finally spoke, his voice grainy. “I have let the Brotherhood down- I did nay fight hard enough to be well, nay doubt Ser Caspian is displeased.” Maira clicked her tongue and reassured him, attempting to lighten his mood with a jest, “I’m a handful enough fer th’ Marshal, never mind ye.” Bearing a delicate smile, he nodded- the mood brightening as they continued. Along the way, they reminisced on their growing up, from Maira playing tricks on their father, and Petyr giving in to help her. They reminisced about their childhood- Maira playing tricks on their father, with Petyr giving in to her pleas, and helping her. They recalled the pride she and Karl felt when Petyr won his first joust and tournament, the time she had to carry him home on horseback after he drank himself sick at the tavern, and how she sat with him most nights when he was horribly sick with the pox. As they neared the city, Maira rambled about an arranged marriage. Suddenly, just as she spoke the final word, a wild boar shot past them and startled her horse, its front legs rearing up. A damp crunch sounded as she thudded off to the side and tumbled down the river bank. Then a splash as she fell into the rushing waters. Petyr quickly dismounted and dove into the river after her, grabbing onto her hand. The current was strong, and they were pulled under. Everything happened so fast as they struggled to reach the bank. Bubbles escaped Petyr’s mouth as he gasped for air. His hand found a rock embedded in the riverbed, allowing Maira to scramble across him onto a patch of muddied earth. Maira spluttered, gasping and coughing up water, her hand shooting out to pull Petyr ashore. But his strength was gone. His fingers slipped away as he sank beneath the surface, face-down, floating lifelessly down the river…

Petyr Baruch reflected on his first day in the field as Sergeant. Should I have dug into the ground and burst a pipe? Should I have fed herbs to Marus? Should I have drowned him in goat's milk to relieve him? His shoulders rolled into a content shrug, "It was all in a good days work."

Petyr Baruch initially nodded in agreement, but after a moment of further thought, he shook his head and set the letter aside. "A good idea in theory, but our people could take a five minute ride on horseback to the next city along instead, stock up on cheaper paper, and never have to buy from the crown again. It would likely end up with the Kingdom making a marginable profit. If anything, setting a minimum price would stop shops from undercutting us, and their peers. A better solution for all." Later on in the day, the Baruch Heir nailed a poster next to the Aviary, illustrating a figure hoarding all of the country's paper: 𝕮𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖕 𝕻𝖆𝖕𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝕰𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞 𝕸𝖆𝖓

Petyr Baruch stroked his beard that had recently started growing in. The heir remarked, "King Baldw- Siegmund, almost has as many wits as I do. We should honour all who die for our country."

A LETTER TO THE ROYAL DUMA ON DEGENERACY To those seated in the Royal Duma, Degeneracy has long been a plague in our Kingdom. Unfaithful, vile creatures have free reign to barge into our lands, alongside those undesirable, setting a horrible precedent in our city, and vassal holdings. Children are exposed to immodesty, such as individuals parading around the city in more skin than clothes. Then there is the case of savagery, such as Ologs clearing out our bustling streets as they hurtle into the city. They yell unintelligibly, their only reply being the locks of doors sliding, and a headache for our Brotherhood of Saint Karl. Our Kingdom is of Canon, not defiled beasts, so do not let these degenerates continue to batter our city’s principles, and faith. Signed, Lord Petyr Baruch JURASZ VE KOENGZ DUMA INTRODUCTION A bill that defines the crime of degeneracy, and those considered degenerates. I. Necessary Definitions Ill-dressed: Immodest clothing, revealing excessive skin, up to the discretion of the Brotherhood of Saint Karl. Undesirable: An individual deemed degenerate by the Crown. II. Additions Ch. VIII. “Regarding degeneracy” VIII. I. Let those who are deemed undesirable by the kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska be guilty of being a degenerate. VIII. II. Let those who are considered Orcs be considered undesirable. VIII. III. Let those who are considered Ologs be considered undesirable. VIII. IV. Let those who are considered Goblins be considered undesirable. VIII. V. Let those who are considered ill-dressed be considered undesirable. VII. VI. Let those who are considered degenerate be barred from the Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska. Introduced to the Duma by Lord Petyr Baruch in 529 E.S.

Petyr Baruch bristled upon reading the letter in its entirety. Yet, rather than to let wroth consume him, the devout boy fell on both knees and held his hands in prayer. "I do nay pray for ye to be on my side, Godani, but for me to be on yours. If it is true, and ye would have me, guide us good canonists to banish these foul demons, for my faithful sister."

Ailred Ruthern applauded from the seven-skies, his pride evident as he watched his relative wear the stitched breeches - a feat that few MEN could achieve. "The last time I witnessed such cowardice was during the Siege of Southbridge, with soldiers bickering like lobsters in a boiling pot."

HELL YEAH

Nikolas examined the formal missive with a hint of suspicion in his eyes as he accepted it from his wife. The seasoned prince let out a sigh, his voice conveying a mixture of skepticism and contemplation, "I'd be inclined to believe that such weighty decisions are rarely influenced by isolated incidents. There's likely more to the story." Nonetheless, Nikolas couldn't help but ponder whether his recent clash with the Matriarch during that rather tense family dinner had played a role, particularly given the outcome of their duel. His brows furrowed slightly, a sign of his internal musings, as he considered the possibility of House Kortrevich nursing a grudge or seeking some form of payback. However, instead of fear, an almost eager gleam flickered in his gaze. If change was in the air and challenges were brewing, he wasn't one to shy away. The notion of confronting a potentially vengeful house only heightened his readiness for whatever might lie ahead. As his mind ventured back into history, he recalled a dispute from his youth, at the midst of night, many a year ago, where he stood victorious over a defeated Vladrick Kortrevich. Back then, Nikolas had worried that the wrath of a house might just befall him, leaving him hopeless in defense. But now he almost welcomed the thought, a glint of a smile touching his lips. For Nikolas, the prospect of a challenge and the intrigue of conflict were as alluring as ever, a fire that had only grown with time. — ✤ —

Nikolas peered through a scope towards the dark night sky, its canvas adorned with a myriad of stars. He cross-referenced his wife's most recent publication: The Haeseni Zodiac. "A fine reformation, dear," he praised, his tone carrying a hint of genuine admiration. His gaze eventually shifted from the celestial expanse through the scope to settle upon Mischa. "You have truly outdone yourself," he continued, his smile both fond and intriguingly peculiar... ... Their shared warmth was momentarily suspended by a hacking cough into his sleeve, followed by a subtle wipe of the tip of his crooked nose.