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Username: arxchn0 Character Name: Tossair Chirr'parir Affiliation: Kingdom of Norland Desired Rank: Vanguard Which games will you be attending?: eldmyr & totenpflaz

A Nordic elf gaze upon the parchment in passing, a low grunt leaving his scarred lips. “Personal vendettas carried out by sellswords is a meaningless, empty revenge. At least have the gall to kill the disgusting bastards yourself. At least have pride that you slew them or died trying. No, just like them in the end, you use others to your own end,” he paused for a moment as his mind had wandered. Tossair didn’t bother desecrating the missive, instead leaving it for some fool bastard to go after Idunian-owned land. “Let the impure ones continue making an actual difference upon this land whilst you all squabble for centuries more to come.”

The meaning of the surname ‘Chirr’parir’ was ‘Harbinger of the Wolf’ in elvish. Thus would the rather manic TOSSAIR heed the call to slay a creature he absolutely hated and bring home whoever the Nord was.

“IRON FROM ICE!” Was declared verdantly by a Nordic elf, of which had been present for the talks.

PRACTICIONERS OF THE DARK YOUR ROT WILL NO LONGER BE TOLERATED ᛊᛏᚨᚾᛞ ᚨᚷᚨᛁᚾᛊᛏ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛚᛟᚾᚷ ᛞᚨᚱᚲ Issued by HIGH-KING HARALDR, on the 7th of Edvardsawnd, IAÁ ASKR AR 604, AGE OF REKINDLING; PREAMBLE Heed those loyal to the Allfather. For some time now, it has been unclear on the status of the Voidal magician. Yet the scripture of old speaks of it as quite simple; those who draw from the dark powers of oblivion are not to be tolerated or welcome. Even the common magician is deemed as no better than an Ibleesian and thus is Unworthy. It is for this very reason, alongside the conduct of many of these practitioners, that I shall see to their status as banished from the Allfather’s nation and His vassals. Your unfiltered magic does not need to taint the land. Your tools of oblivion must not cross our borders, lest you incur our wrath imbued by the almighty Dawn Lord. AND SO IT SHALL BE, BY THE WILL OF THE FATHER, as High-King of Norland, High Chieftain of the House of Ruric, Chieftain of the Clan Edvardsson, Jarl of Verdegrad, Blood of the Herald & Lord of the Ashwood Throne, Protector of the Highlanders, Haraldr av Edvardsson Ruric, Henceforth order this declaration to reinstate the ban of Voidal magic. No one shall practice this foul magic, use items enchanted with it or petition the use of void spells for any use without the express permission of the High King of Norland. All items voidal in nature are to be collected and destroyed if held or sold without express permission of the High King of Norland. If any Nord or Norn suspects another of using such magic or can identify its use, they are to report it to a member of the Council, High Keeper or the High King himself. AND SO IT SHALL BE, BY THE WILL OF OUR ALLFATHER, HIS MAJESTY, Haraldr av Edvardsson Ruric as High-King of Norland, High Chieftain of the House of Ruric, Chieftain of the Clan Edvardsson, Jarl of Verdegrad, Blood of the Herald & Lord of the Ashwood Throne, Protector of the Highlanders HER EMINENCE, Sissel Freysdóttir av Ruric, Master of the Order of the First Flame, High Keeper of the Red Faith & the Flame Imperishable Scribed by, Tossair Chirr’parir Drengr of the Northern Host, Purifier of the Order of the First Flame

“Under one God,” a certain Nordic mali repeated, only letting out a chuckle. “Only by the ALLFATHER will I be united.”

Tossair observed the missive through the eye-holes of his decorated helmet, a dry huff of air leaving his nose as he read the signatures. It was ironic to him, even if stewed within his own newfound bias against the Laird. Regardless, it was indeed a festival to enjoy..

A wandering hedge Knight had gently torn the missive from one of its many pinned locations, reading over it. His brows raised as he observed the final words and titles of those who signed and stamped with such pride. “It is quite interesting that mankind thinks they can be friends with the fae, let alone proclaim themselves ‘Queen’ and ‘Ambassador’. The fae realm is not your home.. Yet here you ladies are.” The ginger concluded his monologue by crumpling the missive, seeing no purpose in preserving it.

There was a pleasant smile upon the mali Nord's face, for he gazed upon the title 'Boy-King' written upon the parchment within his iron clad hands. What a wonderful imprint, he thought. Of course he had always meant it oh-so lightheartedly. For in truth Haraldr was perhaps a friend after the time he has spent telling stories to the boy.

reserved

For a brief moment the creased pages of the delivered missive were held gently in a Nord's hands after an incessant crow pecked upon his boots with the paper clutched in it's talons. The words upon the paper sent mixed feelings throughout his core. An innocents life shed for a rebellion? How could it be allowed to continue to fester in such a depraved cast of shadow? Without second thought it was shredded, wrought to nothing but tinder and the crow shooed away with a disturbed trill of fear that Tossair might swat at it. After several missives he'd read from the Empire, he pondered; where would the inner conflict lead them? They had eradicated two forces that opposed them, one being of their own God. He knew this bloodshed would crescendo into something far uglier. "The Empire will fall." he muttered. "But when the hearts of men within this rebellion are weighed against their sins, will they find their respite?"

There stood Tossair amongst the fires of the tavern, warmed by it's gracious heat. When the aforementioned missive was passed around he had managed to lay claim to a single copy. A new council was always upon the horizon, and here it was in it's new form. This was the first issued missive he had read that offered him surprise and the tiniest, nigh unfathomable ounce of comfort. That they had been given the grace of forming their own council and naming it with their sacred language. Yet no smile formed. The missive set upon a table for the next to read.

There stood the Nornish mali before the raging fires of a pit, huddled for warmth amongst a raging storm. A favorable turn of events, to the gathering he had witnessed in Grense. As the paper of the missive crinkled in his gloved hands, he only muttered, "So it would seem at least one of our own will see justice for what these bandits have done. Their punishment will be swift and brutal, I hope." Then, it was discarded into the flames before him, embers jumping up and nipping at both air and fur of his attire, raging forth and spurred on to continue providing that piercing warmth that kept all safe in the blizzard.

To say that Tossair were baffled after that short read was an understatement, "What in the absolute hells is going on."

Reaffirmation of Knighthood Name (and House if applicable): Arthur Ashdown Age: 26 Knighted By: Aragon Silversteed Moniker: N/A Liege Lord: Arthos Silversteed Lands: N/A Are you willing to reaffirm your vows of chivalry and fealty to the Emperor and Country?: Forever and Always. Coat of Arms: N/A