louislxix

balance-default, sounds epic

EMPLOYMENT WITHIN THE ROYAL TREASURY KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM Issued by the Office of the Royal Treasury On this 12th of JOMA AG UMUND of 427 ES VA BIRODEO E HERZENAV, Positions to ensure the Aulic duties of the Treasury Office are to be reimplemented taking the previous treasurer Ser Brandt Barclay's innovations into consideration, opening employment for the denizens of Haense to work alongside the Royal Treasurer. It is the responsibility of both the Treasurer and their subordinates that the Haeseni economy is revitalized following the long drought of prosperity subsequent to the Urguani-Oren war. In order to coordinate this effort, the Office of the Royal Treasurer does hereby establish the following offices: DEPUTY TREASURER, held by [VACANT] It is a known fact of government that any leader requires a first officer to ensure the smooth running of his office. It is clear, then, that the Royal Treasurer will require an assistant in managing each of his daily tasks so as to ensure a more seamless, well-run office. The Treasurer’s duty to the Kingdom will be shared with his Deputy, who will serve as both an administrative and organizational foreperson, as well as an envoy between the councillor and his Kastellans. The Deputy Treasurer is to be responsible for managing: The organizational work of the Treasurer’s office Undertaking the usual responsibilities of the Treasurer when they are not present Aiding in keeping all pertaining ledgers up to date, or improving them Communication between the various Kastellans and the Treasurer to ensure that the performance of each branch is optimized to the fullest extent KASTELLAN OF STEWARDRY, held by Esmee Kortrevich (@dove) For lack of proper flexibility, the Office of the Seneschal is being placed within the Office of the Treasury. It is now that the Seneschal continue their duties of “overseeing the administration of the Kingdom’s land, land record-keeping and infrastructure,” under the Treasury Office, so that the two closely aligned Offices can work effectively together. Instead, they are retitled the Kastellan of Stewardry. The Kastellan of Stewardry is to be responsible for managing: The management of properties within the Kingdom The sale of properties within the city Collecting taxes yearly from property owners Evicting properties for which tax has not been paid in a timely manner The employment of stewards to aid in managing properties The Upkeep of ledgers pertaining to the branch Administrating the interior land of Karosgrad KASTELLAN OF TRADE, held by Leopold Morovar (@HogoBojo) For years, Almaris was thrust into a conflict of immense scale which disrupted the balance of international relations. The Tripartite Accord, though effective in the military realm, did little to restore global cooperation in the era of peace. Trade is an excellent tool to encourage cooperation between the Dual Monarchy and its foreign counterparts, and it is the duty of the Kastellan of Trade to ensure that this end is met. The Kastellan of Trade is to be responsible for managing: Trade that is explicitly external The upkeep of all international Haeseni shops and stalls and ensuring that: They remain stocked with merchandise Tax is paid on applicable properties Shops or stalls can be appropriately established, through work with the Office of the Envoy Financial agreements are considered and met, through work with the Office of the Envoy KASTELLAN OF DOMESTIC TRADE, held by Zoya Ruthern (@veganwalmart) Internal trade is as important as its external counterpart, hence another Kastellan should be charged with managing the trade-orientated, domestic affairs within the Kingdom. The Kastellan of Domestic Trade encourages a productive internal market by working closely with those who maintain shops or stalls. This is while bringing in capital for the Royal Treasury itself by retaining a Government owned shop, so that its citizens can be provided with desired commodities. The Kastellan of Domestic Trade is to be responsible for managing: Trade that is explicitly internal. The upkeep of all internal shops and stalls by cooperating with property owners Ensuring that each are kept up to date with new merchandise, or stock Optimizing the internal market, for example finding solutions to not having the same stock sold at three different stalls Owning and retaining a Government owned shop Keeping the stock, and merchandise up to date KASTELLAN OF LABOUR, held by Godric Colborn and Adele Ludovar (@Seuss and @CopOwl) Without the Kastellan of Labour, each branch would face hardship in meeting their duties to the Treasury, due to the inherent need for resources to be readily available to them to be effective. Labour is the backbone of the Royal Treasury, guaranteeing that prosperity can be reached. They meet the demand with supply, and promote employment so that the treasury remains rich in productivity and stock. The Kastellan of Labour is to be responsible for managing: The allocation of resources to the several other Kastellans The facilitation of labour to gather resources to supply the various ventures of the Haeseni crown Incentives and compensation for labourers under their employ The upkeep of the Royal vaults IV JOVEO MAN His Royal Majesty KARL III by the Grace of Godan, King of Hanseti and Ruska, Grand Hetman of the Army, Prince of Bihar, Dules, Lahy, Muldav, Solvesborg, Slesvik and Ulgaard, Duke of Carnatia and Vanaheim, Margrave of Korstadt, Rothswald and Vasiland, Count of Alban, Alimar, Baranya, Graiswald, Karikhov, Karovia, Kaunas, Kavat, Kovachgrad, Kvasz, Markev, Nenzing, Torun, and Toruv, Viscount of Varna, Baron of Esenstadt, Kraken’s Watch, Kralta, Krepost, Lorentz, Rytsburg, Thurant, Venzia and Astfield, Lord of the Westfolk, Fidei Defensor, Protector of the Highlanders, etcetera. His Excellency, Ser Grigori Vyronov, Lord Treasurer of Hanseti-Ruska, Knight Bachelor

Ser Ailred greeted the King in the seven-skies, tapping the top of a full flagon with a finger. "What a way to go, eh?"

The Vanguard awoke early in the day to carry out his duties of which the Marian Retinue entails, wiping the dark bags beneath his eyes and tending to the freshly lined scar below his eye - it was a tale to tell one day, for it was product of the capture of Philip III. Despite the early morning lethargy, the missive served as a reminder as to why he served his King and Country, bringing a diligent smile about his face.

Vladimir walks by and serenades Ernst in his grief.

Vladimir Barrow var Ruthern could be seen approaching the Haeseni docks, donning an entirely black garb. Coming across a blonde haired, blue eyed man, he came to a standstill. The shaking figure asked, "Who are vy?" In which Vladimir replied, "Vengeance."

Vladimir Barrow turned up to the steps of Vidaus from his nearby home after reading the missive, greeting the Baron of Rostig with an arch of his slitted brow. From there, they delved deeper into the Castle and discussed the meat of the missive. @indiana105

Grigori Vyronov prayed that night for a victorious war campaign against the scum.

Brick, an elder Ferryman wiped the thin layer of dust from his sword, arriving back on the shores of Almaris.

Brick one of the most time-tested Ferrymen to date seemed to have lost purpose in his ailing age. He no longer brought his sword to a whet stone, or shined his armour - instead, upon a porch, wistful memories would come to mind, as a cigarette was smoked. "A shame, that I will see this generation rise, and now fall. And the second, well," he coughed into his sleeve, "I may not be around for." - "Let the next beginning be just as compelling, and that our sight not be lost," the old man muttered, raising his cigarette in toast.

From the Seven-Skies, the former Duke of Vidaus welcomed his wife with open arms, uttering nil as they reconciled.

YOUNG PRINCE OF THE FLAME For you to be in question of ascent, first and foremost, to strive for ASIOTH, one must make show of their mettle and exhibit their merit. To persevere through the exhausting path granted. To bridge the gap between disloyal, faithless descendants, to formidable Titans of yore. To serve - but not in the interest of oneself, for the Archdrakaar and he only. Boons o’ weight, they are your gift, but shall you spread your wings, or keel? Mind, or knowledge, do not forget they are your boon moreover - but shall your mind swell and burgeon like a leech? What are you now? A sorrowful young Prince - but what could you become? A Brother o’ mine - no, a comrade? Side-by-side, or alone, accursed to a shallow, mortal grave? Your heart is discontent, but are you willed to oppose further anguish, in the strive of ASIOTH. Will your avid flame quell, young Prince? Or will it flourish? TRIAL OF DEVOTION To open your mind for enlightenment is where your story begins. The holds of you, likely, are donned with mats of prayer - but not for he, the Great Titan. Where is the faith in that? You must construct a shrine, keep it safe and sound from the eyes of the peering, faithless ilk. Use it to undergo prayers for, and in the name of the Great Titan. TRIAL OF FORBEARANCE What do you know of perseverance, Prince? Of dedication? Of the will of yourself? Descendent now - only those of vigour can withstand what is to come in their path. So what vigour holds in your bones and mind? You must take upon a pilgrimage, spanning from the fiery heart of the Firelands to the hostile climate of the Rimeveld. For five days and in rags you shall wear, to prove one’s mettle. All found on your venture shall be documented, be it our shrines - or all else that piques an interest. In case of a shrine, you will restore it to an unsullied state if blemished. [I expect you to have an ST watch over this pilgrimage.] TRIAL OF PERCEPTION The minds of dragons are as staunch as the body of themselves. Yet - frail they might become, burdened with knowledge. Does your mind hold strong as your being might do? Gifted, we are scholars, in tow, I expect you, Prince of the Flame You must study any three of the Aurelects of our kin, to be acquainted in your strive of ASIOTH. No ordinary, fickle descendants may comprehend it so, but are you ordinary? Write an exposition of your understanding of our Aurelects, or, a story that invokes the themes of three which you have comprehended. [I do not expect you to write an entire thesis, but your understanding should be shown in what you write for me.] Here you venture on your path of ascension - Prince of the Flame. Shall you persist or perish on your track to Ordainment? [This letter is only available to myself and another, it is not public.]

SLEEPING BEAUTY The Duke of Alban, Marus Aleksandr had promptly returned from one of his many fishing trips. Yet he had returned with no fish, or anything to show for it - really, he enjoyed the time spent by himself. Often he caught haughty reflections of himself in the still waters which he fished in, bringing memories from his childhood to mind. Memories of sparring and training with Ser Flemius, as he aimed to drive the pent up anger from the boy. Memories of his family who surrounded him - either loving the small child or loathing him in those moments together. The reflections also brought forth memories of his beloved wife, Henrietta. Though those turned bitter, as he recalled how lousy and unattached he had become, not just to her, but everybody around him. A smile pranged his lips however as he came across Henrietta at the strike of midnight, having returned back to their Palace apartment when nobody else was there to linger. They shared a small conversation - “Hen, ea promise to be better, none of these prolonged trips, no, not anymore. Ea too vow to spend time with us, our family.” There was a pause, before his wife retorted, “Ea –... Ea believe vy, Marus.” Elizaveta was found and reunited with the Royal family too, making things all the sweeter. However, that sweetness turned bitter. Marus before heading for their bed found a frown to be trailed across his face, spotting a few dust specs across his boots. Hence, he shined the living God out of them, not fretting on the amount of polish which he dolloped and rubbed onto his boots. Later on in the night, Marus turned onto his side amidst his slumber - the fumes of the polish scattering upwards and into the lungs of the Prince. And so he rested there all night, having faint, evocative dreams. None stirred him to wake, not ever, the life drained slowly from his face. By morn, he was cold to the touch and stiff, his wife and children soundly asleep in the bed beside him, Elizaveta and Matyas having snuck into their chambers in the midst of the night. Birds chirped until they reached a crescendo, waking all but Marus within the chambers of their apartment. Henrietta dawned an eye open, reaching to tug at Marus’ shoulder to turn and face her - she assumed he was awake, as he never slept in and would often spend the morning on runs. Ser Flemius had seen to that, making sure that Marus would be forever as fit as a fiddle. “Papej, Papej!” Shouted their children, clambering over the sheets in order to rouse their father awake. “Matyas - stop climbing over your sister!” Henrietta scolded, pushing herself up to a seated position. She now grabbed Marus’s arm, forcefully turning him onto his back. “Wake up, Marus!” She teased, playfully, only for the cold, dead gaze of her beloved husband to stare back at her. Her youngest, Elizaveta, pushed forth - excited to spend time with her father, having been separated from him for so long, yet instead of her father’s cocksure smile, she was met with a blank, cold stare. Screaming ensued from the Alban apartments, clamoring and violent sobbing of both Henrietta and her children. The Prince’s wife clung to his corpse, resting her head against his chest, refusing to be moved from his side, even when his brothers eventually came to investigate the disruption. She refused to allow them to remove him from their bed, screaming hysterically while Matyas clung onto his trembling sister, Elizaveta. Eventually, she had to be subdued, and Marus was removed from their bed, never to share it again. Marus Aleksandr Barbanov [1828 - 1854]

RUSTED STEEL The Death of Ailred var Ruthern The Battle of Southbridge was minutes away, gallant cheers of the tripartite sounded throughout the lands of Oren. Emerging from the horizon came the final Urguani ship of war, poised with trebuchets aimed for the Orenian fortress. A silence therefore followed, men scattered to arm the trebuchet - the Urguani shared final sips of their strong ale - the Ferrymen exchanged quiet jokes, riled for the battle to come - the Fleivers of Blackvale primed and ready to fight, all stood with theatrical twirls of their blades being swung about. Though, much of the Haeseni kneeled and prayed, from where the Field Marshal Ailred Ruthern joined them. Planted into war-torn soil was the tip of his steel blade, Ailred uttering a prayer amongst himself and a few of his men “O Saint Emma, may you protect me and my men on this day - this day of reckoning.” As the trebuchets fired overhead, the walls of Southbridge began to collapse. Men surged forth from the siege encampment, screams of “Krusae zwy Kongzem!” echoed over the Orenian fields as Ailred led his men in a valiant charge once the walls had fallen. A slaughter commenced within Southbridge there and then, Orenians without their gates or walls to hide behind were soon overwhelmed. Piles of Imperial bodies scattered the remnants of the fortress minutes into the battle. Those few Imperials left fled from the fortress, in which they were swiftly chased back to their city - or into the jaws of death. Those five minutes of fervent battle were soon followed by ten of rounding up those brave few who remained. The Battle of Southbridge was drawing to its end. Alas, triumphant screams, songs and chants filled the occupied fort - for the battle was won. Many had expected a long, grueling battle, yet few lives were lost and the Orenians crumbled as the constant barrage of trebuchet fire battered them. Helmets were tossed into the air, with the Haeseni crowd gloating, “Krusae Zwy Kongzem - Iv Joveo Man!” Ailred seeing this - fell into a dazed moment, this was the one thing he had always craved for in his life. Being Duke bored the life from him, and he felt most of his joy upon the battlefield - but not for the bloodshed, no. It was for the love of his Country, to serve his King and people well, to have done a greater good for his realm. To reign triumphant and prove his worth. He had done exactly that, and now he removed his helmet to join the cheers of his people, standing aside Edmund Barclay and patting then gripping his shoulder. His helmet was removed and furled between his arm and chestplate thereafter, the Marshal erupting with a proud “Krusae Zwy Kong–” His clamor cut short, amidst that renown call. Slicing it through the air was the whiz of an arrow - aimed and shot by one of the few fleeing Orenian men. Ailred’s grip of comradery around the shoulder of the Barclay soldier, whom he had fought with since his youth, fell loose. The air around him became a white blur, the Field Marshal panning slowly across to Edmund whose mouth fell agape. That whizzing arrow lodged into his eye, erupting the vessel with blood and temporary agony. Yet nothing parted the lips of the late Duke. If only he had worn his helmet. Ailred Ruthern slumped onto the ground, with no parting words to those around him, instead he became one of the countless in the blob of Orenian bodies. Gargles of blood spilled from his lips as his eyes glassed over, struggling to comprehend that fateful happening. At least his one desire of not dying grey and old within the Duchy of Vidaus came true to him - even if he did not know it himself, before he perished from this world. Ailred Ruthern [1801 - 1854]

Marus Aleksandr spent the day consoling his wife, appearing stoical in the majority of the day.

Brick the Butcher of the East slept uneasily hours after the battle had ended - it was bittersweet, for they had reigned triumphant. Yet, his wounds ached his body, as he recollected Sir Mohammad Hassan (@Werew0lf) striking his horse down with a pike and being swarmed by a flock of Imperials. He made it out alive is all he thought, which led to the eventual retreat of Imperials into their city.

Ser Ailred Ruthern watches from the closet, mumbling almost incoherently "F-Fidei Defensor. . ."

The Ruthern Abdication of 404 E.S. To the people of Hanseti-Ruska, More often than not it is seen as common for the passing of inheritance to occur after the death of a Lord. I have been the Duke of Vidaus since the year 384 E.S. since the passing of my father, who was shortly after joined by my wife. These passings left my first years of Lordship in dismay - years of inconsolable dolour that plagued my mind and repulsed wanting to leave me. Hence, my last wishes or thoughts upon my death bed would be ones of misery, knowing that I was to leave my own son in the same state I had been in. No son should have to lead a house carrying such burdens. So on this twentieth year of my Lordship, I hereby abdicate my titles and leave them in the safe hands of my firstborn son, Rhys Ruthern. He has grown to be a capable man, one who I completely trust alongside his wife, Marie Ruthern. May they reign over the house of Ruthern with nobility, understanding and kindness. While my Lordship has proved dutiful and fulfilled, it has not made me content. The tensions of Almaris have brewed to a zenith. And yet in this age, I find it exceedingly troublesome to manage both my Dukeship and the other duties which I have found bestowed upon myself. In this abdication - as my son becomes Duke of Vidaus, let it be known that I have only retired from the limelight of Lordship. King Sigismund knows what I must do, and it shall be done, for this Kingdom. Free from the burden of Lordship, what time I have might now be spared for other interests and duties - ones which my efforts can be fully fed into. This would be my newly granted rank of Field Marshal in this Urguani-Orenian war. The war we find ourselves to be in, it is akin to a somnolent winter night. If we shall persist and not falter. I shall do my darnedest and see us victory. May my son prosper as Duke of Vidaus, and I prosper in the field of battle. Krusae Zwy Kongzem Iv Joveo Maan! Signed Knight of the Marian Retinue, Field Marshal of Hanseti-Ruska [!] Ser Ailred Ruthern circa 404 E.S.

"Simply put," remarked the Field Marshal of Hanseti-Ruska.

Ailred Ruthern commented, "Less than 40k remains!" He had shooters.

The Duke of Vidaus stirred from a slumber, from where the moon glimmered light into his chambers - it must be the crack of midnight, so he thought. He had never slept full nights, even from his childhood. Hence, the retired Marshal took to his study and paused in his meander at a particular sight. The stamp of His Royal Majesty lingered upon a letter, at the dead centre of his desk, causing the eyebrows of the Ser to crumple in curiosity. An eyeglass was pressed over his eye as he unveiled the letter and read its contents. May you show our enemies the error of their ways, Prevailer. An angst smirk spread across his lips at that, was he too old? No no, he was in his prime, he told himself. May you return peace to our lands, and cast off the shadow of tyranny. Oho, I shall see to that. But alas May you exemplify what it means to be Haeseni. This one stuck with him for minutes. He even pressed a cigar between his lips in the meanwhile. He had always wanted to be a man of duty and purpose. One that would be looked up to when he lived no more. The exemplary Haeseni man. So as he rose from his study, Ailred found himself enraptured both by patriotism and a determined urge - to serve a final time perhaps. He signed the lorraine across his chest, uttering to the skies, his eye cast to the ceiling and to the heavens above, "They can kill me, but they canniet do me any real harm."

ONE CHANCE FOR THE ARCHCHANCELLOR [!] The Beautiful landscape surrounding Stone Tower and the tower itself is depicted above. To Orenian and its noble pedigree, Oho, wherefore art thou sixth brigade? The roads that encircle the lands of your Empire belong to nobody but the Ferrymen. You must be wondering how so many of your soldiers, citizens and politicians are so easily misplaced. Simply put, if night is not in the sky, and the sun shines - the Imperial State Army spends all of their time hiding. Just like animals in winter when the weather becomes tough, they hide. And when three losses are followed one after another, so do the Imperial State Army hide. Are you fighting for your Country and Emperor? Or are you fighting to save your own skins? There is no glory, or patriotism in this game of cravens. Hence, we ought to serve you a lesson - and the lesson has come. Your Archchancellor, completely unguarded and alone, has been captured by our constantly patrolling forces. Minuvas (@Minuvas) belongs to us now, and he shall be subject to everything to come, unless you act upon it. The fortress ‘Stone Tower’ holds him, come and get him to redeem your tarnished honour, through victory or defeat. For every half of the Saint’s hour, your precious Archchancellor shall lose the following in order: As per our complimentary service, his first ear shall be attached to this letter. At the second half of the Saint’s hour - his second ear. At the third half of the Saint’s hour - his left leg. At the fourth half of the Saint’s hour - his right leg. At the fifth half of the Saint’s hour - his left arm. At the six half of the Saint’s hour - his right arm At the last half of the Saint’s hour - we digress, he shall live, but be delivered to your doorstep in a sack. Signed Brick The Butcher of the East [You can come to Stone Tower uncapped.]

The Duke of Vidaus kneeled in the Church of Blessed Dmitry, uttering prayers for the true-to-faith canonist Pontiff. His prayers however ended in those commonly spoken by those of the Brotherhood of Saint Karl, deliberating on the inclining tension on Almaris. Uttering his final "Amen," Ailred then pushed himself from the blade that propped him up and prepared to travel to Karosgrad, an eager look to his face. The former Marshal twirled his sword at entry to the city, nodding at the soldier manning the gate @seannie "A pretender backed by traitors, is a traitor himself, nie?"

The Duke of Vidaus nursed a hand to his torturous head as he read over the missive within the sheets of his bed, hoping he would have enough strength for one of the to-be proudest days of his life - his son's wedding.