Masouri

Justinyn loaded a case of Carrion Black onto his mount, quietly without disturbing the rest of the camp, and pulled himself up on the saddle and kicked off from Ghaestenwald. He knew where he was going - and soon enough, there it was: the tree. The tree his brothers had once called home. He sat beneath it as he always had, the night stars above him, and opened the first bottle.

Shortly after, Justinyn went to grab Carrion Black.

✠ Discord & IGN Usernames: Masouri ✠ Full Legal Name: Justinyn var Ruthern ✠ Age (Must be over 18): 22 ✠ Running for Which Seat (Burgher of X): Valmont ✠ Residence (Must be within constituency): Castle of Chalons, Valmont ✠ Provide a brief account (100-300 words) of your standing, trade, or service to your community, by which you claim fitness to represent them in the Burgherraad: I will not pretend to be a politician. I am a soldier, one who has spent years in service to Sir Antonius, purging darkspawn from his lands and standing watch over his people. That is my qualification. Not words, not ambition, but years of work with the sword. I came to Valmont with little to my name. What I found here was a lord worth serving and a people worth protecting. I will never forget that. I’m a close companion of Sir Antonius, and I’m dedicated to serving his people. What I promise, I deliver. Valmont does not need another man of fine words, it needs a man of action. My agenda will consist mainly of providing for the veterans and soldiers of the Duchy of Valmont. You, my friends, have served in many wars of the Imperium - it is time you were rewarded for it. Pensions, farm land, and other compensation should be granted to the veterans of the Empire for their service.

ISSUED BY BY BONES AND BARROW, House Ruthern pledges its sword, its blood, and its name to His Holiness and the Crusade set before us. Through the annals of history, the blood of Ruthern has always heeded the call of the Mother Church to battle. Once more, our banners will march. All bannermen of House Ruthern are to report for duty - armed, sober, and presentable. We have a reputation to uphold and filth to purge from this earth. I should not need to explain which task takes priority. If God wills it. So does Ruthern. Justinyn var Ruthern

Banjo puffed on his cigar.

ISSUED BY The streets of the Imperial Capital were finally beginning to settle outside as the last of the merchants left for their homes to be replaced by the quiet, steadfast patrols of knights and tavern-goers. Yet within the small Ruthern abode, it was only getting louder. Karl and Lukas were at each other's throats over something Justinyn had already stopped listening to. He sat at the far end of the table, parchment flat before him, quill in hand - staring down at a blank page. Finally, he slammed his fist down hard enough to send ink skidding toward Karl. “Enough! Both of you, sit down and make yourselves useful for once in your miserable lives.” Justinyn shoved the blank parchment across the table toward them. “Write. Now.” His eyes cut to Anya, “And you - make sure they spell it right.” MANY HARDSHIPS HAVE BEEN SHARED BY THE SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF THE RAEVIR; and there will be many more ahead. Many have perished for their pride, whilst others have forsaken it entirely, tucking tail for easier paths - content to forget their roots and dissolve into a world that does not want them and never will. They made their peace, forgetting us, leaving us to the cold and bitter wild without so much as a backward glance. I do not forgive it. I do not forget it. But I am done letting it define us. Not I, nor my kin. Our leaders, once great, have disappeared or forsaken us. The old kingdoms are dead, and they are not coming back. Good. We would not wish them restored; they were weak, and their end was shameless. Never again will we be ruled by the weak and ineffectual. We do not mourn what failed us. We must look forward and build something new. The House of Ruther stands once more as loyal sons of the empire, growing from strength to strength. Our Black Company marches - blades whetted in the wars of the Imperium, in the blood of darkspawn at the Empire’s far reaches. We have earned our place, not by birthright, but by steel. It is not the place of the Raevir to remain at the feet of others, and it is not the place of House Ruthern to watch its kin collect dust while their fortunes rot. So we raise the call. Not to the glory of a dead kingdom. Not to the names of lords who abandoned you. To you, the ones who are still here, still standing, still Raevir in your bones, even if you have forgotten what that means. Come and remember. Join your kin if you wish to make something of yourself. If you seek to build, rather than mourn. If there is steel in you yet. Stand with us, or be forgotten. Justinyn var Ruthern

WENT DOWN A HILL “Why’s he running?” -Kazmir to Vargys Long removed had the legendary captain Banjo been from his fighting days, enjoying fine wine and finer women. Content with his life after swearing off politics, Banjo spent his time in the defunct lands of Aaun until a young upstart named Captain Vargys and his lieutenant Kazmur convinced the captain to join arms with them for old times' sake. It was a band of thirteen good soldiers set to fight as friends as he once had done. The group marched towards Lemon Hill where some fun could be had; he had heard after all many sheep could be found following the Pontiff’s will. By coincidence, it seemed that the Tar Anorhil was amongst these sheep, there to do the bidding of his often-absent master at Lemon Hill. One could only guess what he was there for; to write his missives, conduct his meetings, wipe his mouth from nonsensical babblings, who is to say? Whatever it was, the Tar seemed so intent that he was caught with his pants down as he wrote down every instruction from his master. So intent was he in his works that he continued late into the night whilst his master, Fleeper-somethingicus, mysteriously vanished for a vision that surely announced that Banjo had come out of retirement. Tar Anorhil moved quickly. He jumped from Lemon Hill, he barrelled headfirst after slipping upon a lemon peel alongside his knightly companion. Oh, how he fled! He cracked his head on the way down, almost escaping from how far he fled! A well-placed arrow caught him in the back as he was captured. The old captain laughed at the wicked writer of the Pontiff, for he knew that his day had come. Anorhil went up Lemon Hill to fetch his master’s bidding. Anorhil fell down and broke his crown, And caught Fleeperus quitting. Anorhil got up, and home did trot As fast as he could caper, yet caught by the mob and out of a job, His ‘Pontiff's presence a vapour. A letter was pinned at the bottom of the missive. To the Realms of Aevos, It took one raid to capture one of you and I will not stop here. Further bloodshed comes to the high and mighty and those who run from it. Signed,

TO FELL A STAG Issued by the DUCHY OF VIDAUS On the 10th day of Jula ag Piov of 567 E.S. SANGKRUV I RUTHER, PRIDE COMES BEFORE A FALL. The House of van Leuven has caused insult to one of our own. Accompanying as a guest of the House of Ivanovich into the Aestmarch at the viscounty of Koppany; our sister, Lady Isabel Victoriya Ruthern, was gravely insulted on account of her lineage. If the house of van Leuven wishes to seek ill against the esteemed house of Ruthern, it has found it. It shall know no peace until the matter is settled. FOR the insults against Lady Isabel Victoriya Ruthern, Cardan van Leuven shall offer a full apology to Lady Isabel Victoriya Ruthern. The House of van Leuven shall furthermore host a joust in the kingdom’s tourney ground at their own expense in honour of House Ruthern. To the House Leuven, we expect a response by the end of this year. Our terms are merciful, but they will not remain so. My advice is to accept them while they last. DRUZ GJERNZ AG GRYNZ, His Grace, Dmitry var Ruthern, Duke of Vidaus, Count of Metterden, Viscount of Greyspine, Baron of Rostig, Lord of Morteskvan, Lord of Barrows, and Protector of the South

FREEDMEN AT LAST Issued by the KINGDOM OF HAENSE On this victorious 18th day of Gronna ag Droba of 560 E.S. VA BIRODEO HERZENAV AG ELDERVIK, IT WAS IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT IN THE WORKER’S WEEK THAT THEY CAME, AS IS OFTEN THE CASE WHEN THE DAELISH REAR THEIR HEADS. Some attribute this to their disgusting, blanched-pink flesh and ginger locks, though truly it is a symptom only of their cowardice. Eighty “raiders,” more likely the man-concubines of the Daelish chief, rode through the gates with blades drawn. As the some one-hundred twenty Haeseni that mulled about the square turned to meet them, the green and red trousers of the great chief were surely soiled brown. As quickly as they came, did the cravens hoist up their kilts (Common: “Dainty Skirt”) and turn heel. Praise be to young Acolyte Jan, whose hand was surely guided by THE LAST PROPHET, SIGISMUND. In case any were curious, Marius Audemar was unable to attend to the dismay of many. As the chief waddled as fast as he could, weighed down as he was by his load, an arrow soon found itself pierced through his decorative dome. The rest of his band were torn from their horses, and beaten to death by the assembly of the commons in the Aleksandrplatz. And so those Daels that survived fled screaming while the Prince Sigmar Lorik and Duke Dmitry of Ruthern rallied the people. They were chased first to Nataliyino, where they were slain in the fields. It was here that Prince Josef, the Oracle of Maenvestiyaeo, thrust his pike through three Daels and dragged them from their scrawny nags. Then unto the river, where they slipped and drowned on the rocks. Those few dogs that crawled into Waltonburg opted to slit their own throats, a final act of cowardice, before the justice of the Dual-Kingdom. Only one was brave enough to hang, and hang he did. It is said that this was the best of Daeland (and a wayward Ferryman). If that is so, then we advise you, the Daels, this: Follow the example of your brethren. Slit your throats and be done with it. Shoutout to my Ruthern kin, Rhys and Viktor. GODANI JEST WIELKI, His Grace, Dmitry var Ruthern, Duke of Vidaus, Count of Metterden, Viscount of Greyspine, Baron of Rostig, Lord of Morteskvan, Lord of Barrows, and Protector of the South His Royal Highness, Sigmar Lorik, Prince of Hanseti-Ruska

NAF VE TURNI I ROSTIG ON THE TOURNEY OF ROSTIG Issued by the DUCHY OF VIDAUS On the 10th day of Gronna ag Droba of 559 E.S. SANGKRUV I RUTHER, AFTER MANY YEARS, IT IS WITH GREAT PRIDE THAT I INHERIT MY BIRTHRIGHT. To this, I extend my thanks to those who gathered to celebrate alongside my kin. For those who could not, I have penned a recounting of the day’s events. The joust was won by Firress Vasilia Barrow, who dehorsed the Lord Vitomir Korvacz. The bastard was notably bet upon by the Count of Ayr, Duncan Baruch, who garnered a heavy purse of coin for it. However, the young Korvacz showcased a great display of his own, handily defeating each of those he placed against within the first round. One should not forget the success of a smallfolk boy, Tomasz van Karoswald, for defeating both Sers and the noble blooded alike. The first bout; I. Firress Vasilia Barrow, who won against Firr Demos Emberveil. II. Firr Tomasz van Karoswald, who won against Ser Sigmar var Ruthern. III. The Right Honourable, Duncan Baruch, who won against Firr Greiret Elverhilin, after they took to foot. IV. His Royal Highness, Joren Manfred, who won against His Lordship, Tihomir Ivanovich. V. His Royal Majesty, King Karl VI, who won against the Firress Mara Vanir. VI. His Lordship, Vitomir Korvacz, who won against His Lordship, Sigmund Ludovar. VII. His Royal Highness, Aleksandr Leopold, who won against Her Ladyship, Catarina Valkonen, after the two dismounted in favor of melee. The second bout; I. Firress Vasilia Barrow, who won against Firr Adrián Antonio once the two were called to dismount. II. Firr Tomasz van Karoswald, who won against The Right Honourable, Duncan Baruch. III. His Royal Highness, Joren Manfred, who won against his brother, His Royal Majesty, King Karl IV. IV. His Lordship, Vitomir Korvacz, who won against His Royal Highness, Aleksandr Leopold. The third bout; I. Firress Vasilia Barrow, who won against Firr Tomasz van Karoswald. II. His Lordship, Vitomir Korvacz, who won against His Royal Highness, Joren Manfred. The final bout; I. Firress Vasilia Barrow, who won against His Lordship, Vitomir Korvacz. In regards to the melee, it was fought in brackets, of which the victor was the Prince Sigmar Lorik, who triumphed in the final round against Firr Adrián Antonio. Two men stood out from their peers in a remarkable bout, being the Prince Joren Manfred and Ser Gentry Ruthern, with the Prince narrowly besting the knight. The first round of the melee; I. His Royal Highness, Aleksandr Leopold, who won against Ser Sigmar var Ruthern. II. Firr Frederic, who won against His Lordship, Andrei Kortevich. III. His Lordship, Tihomir Ivanovich, who won against His Lordship, Vitomir Korvacz. IV. His Royal Highness, Sigmar Lorik, who won against Firr Greiret Elverhilin. V. Firr Adrián Antonio, who won against Firr Tomasz van Karoswald. VI. Firress Vasilia Barrow, who won against Ser Gerard aus Welle. VII. Firr Demos Emberveil, who won against Her Ladyship, Nadya Weiss. VIII. His Royal Highness, Joren Manfred, who won against Ser Gentry Ruthern. The second round of the melee; I. Firr Frederic, who won against His Royal Highness, Aleksandr Leopold. II. His Royal Highness, Sigmar Lorik, who won against His Lordship, Tihomir Ivanovich. III. Firr Adrián Antonio, who won against Firress Vasilia Barrow. IV. His Royal Highness, Joren Manfred, who won against Firr Demos Emberveil after his disqualification for drawing a blade. The third round of the melee; I. His Royal Highness, Sigmar Lorik, who won against Firr Frederic. II. Firr Adrián Antonio, who won against His Royal Highness, Joren Manfred. The final round of the melee; I. His Royal Highness, Sigmar Lorik, who won against Firr Adrián Antonio. DRUZ GJERNZ AG GRYNZ, His Grace, Dmitry var Ruthern, Duke of Vidaus, Count of Metterden, Viscount of Greyspine, Baron of Rostig, Lord of Morteskvan, Lord of Barrows, and Protector of the South

I have known Mick for the duration of the time I've been on LOTC. He was apart of the dwarven clan I joined and was willing to teach me the ropes of this server along with many other noobs. I've only known Mick to be truly caring about people and he goes out of his way for people. I've seen his work first hand whether it was Urguan, Krugmar, Myrine, or the Ferrymen, Mick has always done his best to bring up communities using his skill set. Never have I seen Mick hate another person out of character that has not truly deserved it (pedophiles). Mick and I have had our disagreements, and yet we still remain friends. I fought on the opposing side of the war with many of my old friends. Although many of my old friends have only shown me hate and malice since then, Mick has risen above this. He has made clear to me that he does not care for the 'mineman schemes' and 'omg kill haense' like most of the people who he surrounds himself with. To this day, Mick and I have had many laughs and talks about his vacations and current life. If this does not show you that Mick could not care more about the happenings of a minecraft server, I don't know what will. He simply does not have the interest or care to 'metaplay' against his 'minecraft enemies'. Mick does have a unique way of playing this server that contrasts the majority of people. He enjoys conflict and the narrative that is driven from it. I do not think it is right to punish a player for his way of having fun on this server. The roleplay Mick and his group has done, whether it be conflict or worldbuilding, add value to this server. Please reconsider his ban. Even under the most damning evidence of metaplay (which I am convinced there is none), there should be infractions given rather than full-on bans. This rule is enforced arbitrarily and I believe this is the perfect example of it.

On his day off, Ser Belisar decided to visit his favorite amusement park - Midget World. He dearly wished to ride the 'SUGAFOOT'S MANSION', but he was met with malice from one of the halfling workers. "Where are you going, giant." The halfling shouted at the him, pointing to a sign that read: MUST BE 4 FOOT OR UNDER TO RIDE The knight's day was ruined, but he was determined to return and fight for equality in Dunwen.

I HAVE A NOTE “She says I am the one, but that note is not mine!” - Banjo I have a note. A note written by noble Haeseni women, married women, who gave it to our Ferrymen, urging them to strip down. A note not of decency, but of indecency - a note filled with suggestive comments, unsolicited requests, and the hopes that our Ferrymen would abandon their loving wives and creed for a moment of misguided pleasure. But we will not be silenced. We have brought this note to the court of justice, demanding punishment to those who have slighted us. Yet, we find ourselves facing a sham of a court, where equality has been traded for a pouch of minas, where justice is blinded by the weight of a judge’s pocket. I have a note, but also a dream. I have a dream that one day, every Ferryman, from every boat and every shore, will not be judged by the bandanas they wear, but by the dignity with which they hold themselves. I have a dream that one day, the courtrooms of Haense will be filled with the air of true justice, untainted by the stink of bribery and inequality. I have a dream that one day, Ferrymen and Nobles alike will stand hand in hand, not in shame, but in mutual respect, without the fear of scandalous notes and oppression. Signed, Penned by famous Hyspian Activist,

Ser Belisar took a needed break from his heavy bag and glossed over the missive, “This August must be a shit boxer.” He commented from afar, perhaps this new Prince needed a few boxing lessons?