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Fabian Kortrevich clinks a celebratory bottle of Carrion with the Koenas in a rare moment of reprieve after all their hard work. After years of debates; discussions; proposals; drafts and drafts again — the flame lit so long ago is at last catching. And even so. This moment will be his last rest before departing on an unexplained hunt for the next few Saints’ Days; he is, after all, never idle.

Fabian's whittling knife scrapes cuts of maple and pine; a crib, taking slow and steady form from what once were trees as tall as his dearest business associate's son shall grow.

Fabian Kortrevich is elated by the twin sparks of hope in these dire, difficult times.

The Archivist, fingers still stained with aged ink, pours himself yet another glass of absinthe.

Horen’s Welcome | 483 ES The youngest brother of the Countess of Jerovitz has not been seen in two Saint’s Days, having been last spotted in the Bard and Bottle Tavern in Valdev, the Royal Capital. He is believed to have been captured by a jaded madman, known to the family, or the bandits which roam the North. Sergei has just reached his twentieth name-day. He is tall, with brown hair and gray eyes, and a warm complexion; last seen in his black-and-yellow Brotherhood tabard. Any information as to Lord Sergei’s whereabouts are to be sent to and will be rewarded with coin or favor from His Excellency, Lord Fabian d’Arkent-Kortrevich, upon successful discovery of his brother's whereabouts. [A print etching of the young man is attached.] SIGNÉE PAR, His Excellency, Fabian Otto d’Arkent-Kortrevich, Grand Lord of Hanseti-Ruska, Archivist to the House Kortrevich

this is art.

Fabian d'Arkent-Kortrevich drowns in waterlogged historical records.

A Kortrevich mourns the loss of one of their House's greatest pillars of the last generations, carefully framing a few selections of the late Ser's work for his office wall.

Henrik wails tempestuously between long lulls of silent, wide-eyed observation, often hushed or brought to the coos of infancy by the presence of his parents; a stormborn child, to be sure.

Fabian d'Arkent-Kortrevich schemes to pit the sausage-merchants of Valdev against one another in a bidding war just as soon as he recovers from testing the absinthe recipes into which he has put his heart, soul, and last bit of good health.

Fabian d'Arkent-Kortrevich receives his personal invitation with no shortage of glee, delighted to see childhood friends married at last and honored to be thought of in their preparations. He pins it to the wall above his own desk, circling the date, and sets at once to a hunt for a gift worthy of such a well-matched couple.

12th of Gronna & Droba | 482 ES PRELUDE By this writing, I hope to expand upon the structure and expectations of those within the Court. Make no mistake; the Court exists as a means of exercising the influence of the Monarchs by the hand of the Consort, and to serve the Palace and keep it lively. This, I do not dispute. But since assuming my Post, I have also seen the Courts act as more. As the grounds upon which nobility and common-folk alike may come and be merry; may come and learn and share in their heritage; may, under the shelter of the Prikaz, be as one people. It has become a passion to fan the flame of this possibility. Accordingly, those who would claim titles and the posts which accompany them should, I think, be as guides. And by this writing, I hope to illuminate the values I wish to see those guides embody and aspire to; and through them, create a Court which acts as an Institution for the betterment of Our People. FOR THE HEARTH (in full, For the Hearth of the Realm) I so propose this motto for the Esrova Prikaz as a reminder of the courtier’s ultimate duty. As those who dedicate their lives to the blade defend the Lands; as those who dedicate their lives to the law keep its Balance; so too should those who dedicate their lives to the court nurture its Hearth. Our task is not to lounge about, willfully idle: it is to fan the flames of the enduring Haeseni spirit; to protect Her traditions and pass our customs on to the next; to better ourselves in the pursuit of passion, and in doing so, open the doors for those who come after us to have bountiful paths upon which they may pursue their own joy. So we do at the guidance of the Queen, and by her will; and so we do for the Home and Hearth of our people. THE TENETS I so propose the following Tenets as a code of conduct for those who hold rank among the Court; as a guide for the values we seek to weave into our work; as a summary of the traits we have seen through the Queen-Consorts of Hanseti-Ruska, and which they sought to teach and impart upon their own courts, in their time. POISE Virtue 4:9 And so I am the Most High, and in pursuit of My Virtue, I bid my faithful this: You shall not raise a hand in wrath, nor in envy, nor in any kind of sin. If the Royal Court is to be the threshold of the Monarchs’ home, then it must be one where all may enter and be welcome; so long as they, themselves, are welcoming to the rest. It is the practice of poise which allows those of all Hanseti-Ruska’s many walks of life to share the Prikaz’s comfort with courtesy to one another. So brings us to the purpose of Etiquette, which as I have so often challenged my students to know, is to speak the language of respect. To know the titles and honorifics of Court and Society is one thing; to act with respect towards those in your company is another, and is as the difference between knowing a vocabulary and speaking a language. Very few enter the Halls of the Prikaz with a full and complete understanding of every demand made by the formal codes of etiquette; but those who come to burn brightest are willing to learn and who forgive errors with grace. To have poise is to balance compassion and discipline – to be warmth without scorching – and to move with a sense of pride in the self and in the service at hand. TRADITION Spirit 2:17 So to you Sons of Joren I admonish: There is no innovation in faith. If the Royal Court is to shepherd the customs of Hanseti-Ruska; to invite its Houses to share and celebrate their own cultures; to protect and preserve the practices which have guided us through centuries, then it must always be with regards and respect to Tradition. We are a people who have endured wars across Continents. Not all of our ways are ancient; but whether passed down from a decade, or a century, or an era forgot, it is Tradition which has long since guided the Court and those we serve. So it becomes the duty of the Court to keep Tradition as one keeps a flame; to know those which may no longer serve us as a people, but which have a place among the annals of our history; and to keep alive the ways of those who have come before us. Tradition shall guide the Arts; the Wardrobe; the Studies and the Way of the Court, particularly those of the Queen’s lineage, and shall always be bided as a guiding light. REVELRY Virtue 3:6 And I have given unto you the wine of sacrament, and the wine of merriment, and I have promised you the world and the Skies. One cannot possibly tend a Court without celebration. Passion is what draws so many into the Court; passion in the purviews which they ascend to Master or Mistress of; passion for people; passion for, in healthy measure, libation, and this passion has been so demonstrated through the Revelry the Court so often hosts. It is, in fact, the heart of the Court to host. We may speak endlessly of poise, and tradition, and etiquette, and demonstration, but it is all rehearsal for a show never put on if we do not open our doors and welcome the rest of the Realm into the hearth we keep - or bring its warmth to them. AND SO ON. If this writing pleases Her Royal Majesty, Amaya of Venzia, and if it resonates true with the Courtiers who have been steadfast in their posts – some across entire continents – then so shall it be. If not, then I may have an early retirement before me. I would thank our Queen Dowager, Sofia of Hyspia, for her tutelage in my first years in my position, which I assumed not so long ago, though it feels as if I was a child; my mother, the Grand Lady before me, for her diligence in her duty; my late lord father, for teaching me in his way these very tenets; my wife and truest love; and, of course, my most honored friend Amaya, for her spark. SIGNÉE PAR, His Excellency, Fabian Otto d’Arkent-Kortrevich, Grand Lord of Hanseti-Ruska

Fabian d'Arkent-Kortrevich sits alone at his desk; where he has mourned his father, and his uncle, and now his aunt. He is not yet thirty; though heavy with a hundred regrets, not the least of which that he had never truly known the Princess now gone. She had been formidable and beyond him in his youth; then, when they might have stood on some even ground, he had always assumed the time would simply.. come. It had not. And now, his knee aching from a wound wrought by her youngest daughter's blade; his eyes damp with tears for the woman lost, it never would.

Fabian Kortrevich pins the missive to the frame of the wall above his desk, so he might never enter nor rise from his chair without remembering whom he serves. He sits, then, at the chair; the ornate script above his head, the endless rolls of parchment before him. For the Crown, he thinks. For the Queen. For the hearth. He sets, once more, to his duty.

Fabian Kortrevich stood, still, in the courtyard where hours before his uncle was before him. He had not known the man well. In truth he was unsure if he could've ever known him at all; a throne, Fabian thought, was a certain kind of divine stage, and whoever the man behind the crown was seemed likely to forever remain a mystery, even if the lord had spent another decade at his side. He had cried for him; was just finishing in that garden, though whether his tears were for the King he had known or the man he had hoped to, he was unsure. After a breath, he stood somewhat straighter. Adjusted his sash. Fixed his cape. Thought of the Queen Dowager, searching the palace for her heartsick husband. Thought of the Queen Consort. Thought, of course, of his desk. Then he turned, and made his way back to the Prikaz walls built for a new king; a young king, and a queen who's court would need its shepherd. There was, as always, work to be done. -- Georgina Helaine babbled in her cradle, her grandfather little more than a blurred memory and a trinket upon her shelves. Later, she would wonder for her namesake; burn in her very blood to know where he had gone. But for now, the girl knows nothing of kings and their hearts, and cries for nothing but hunger.

Georgina Helaine... ...cries, mostly.

Fabian Kortrevich brings the judgment before the Queen himself, in a right tizzy about not only two members of the Brotherhood turning against one another - but two debutants!

Fabian, in an uncharacteristic but perhaps understandable state since his father's death, chases the courier foolish enough to deliver a copy of the hearsay to his door out, whacking them upon the head with it repeatedly. "A prinzenas is a prinzenas, nie matter how heavily with sinful child!"

Fabian Kortrevich approves of this light-hearted reporting.

Fabian Kortrevich begins the precise whittling of a lady's fan for the Princess Isabel, humming a merry tune to himself.

Fabian Kortrevich learns of his childhood friend's passing upon the return of a wedding invitation. He recalls a soft-spoken girl for whom he travelled a tundra to deliver flowers; a stoic princess who guided him through a stony labyrinth to freedom; a wounded warrior upon his door. He leans back in his office chair overlooking Valdev, a city Rosalind will never see; a city, he thinks to himself with a sniffle and a bitter smile, she would have hated. The tears were coming, then, hot and unwelcome; he was a man now, a grown man, not the tow-headed child who thought the pagan princess who pressed a diamond in his hands for his homeless friend was the nicest girl he'd ever met, and now she was gone. She was gone. It would be a long and quiet night in the soon-to-be-wed's apartments, save for the occasional, broken sob, and murmured prayers to a God she had not believed in.

Gronna ag Droba, 481 E.S | Tobias’ Bounty, 61 B.A [[June 10 / 1PM EST / 5PM GMT]] It is the delight of the Houses d’Arkent and Kortrevich to announce the long-awaited nuptials of Augustina Catella and Fabian Otto. Their courtship first bloomed at the Symposia Pragma of their youth, and in the tumultuous years since has not only endured, but flourished into a love rooted in mutual respect and creative spirit. Their matrimony shall unify not only two young hearts, but dignified Houses of the North and South, and it is with great pride that both families invite their dearest friends and extended kin to the festivities which will mark this most joyous occasion. [A depiction of a noble wedding.] The Prelude The couple and those who wish to join them shall shatter plates outside the sacred walls of the chosen Basilica to ensure no ill spirits encroach upon the day. They shall then drink from one cup of wine, representing the blood of the family and the shared times, both bitter and sweet, which lay ahead. The Ceremony The Ceremony shall be held in the Church of the Holy Supernals in Portoregne, Capital of the Kingdom of Balian. The couple shall walk down the aisle together, united before GOD, and upon their vows have their hands bound with cloth; lives and customs both entwined. The Reception The Reception shall be hosted near to the Ceremony. Following the ceremony, the celebration shall move to a dinner featuring cuisine of both Balianese and Haeseni origin. The couple shall observe a number of post-ceremony traditions from both cultures, along with dancing and revelry. Gifts are not expected, but will be gladly accepted. [Portraits of the bride and bridegroom by Lady Augustina herself.] SIGNÉE PAR, His Excellency, Fabian Otto Kortrevich, Grand Lord of Hanseti-Ruska, Archivist of the House Kortrevich Her Ladyship, Augustina Catella d’Arkent, Lady of Salia, Court Painter of the Palatio Arancione Alongside the immediate Families, the following Individuals are Personally Invited to join in celebration: His Royal Majesty, Georg I Her Royal Majesty, Sofia of Hyspia His Serene Highness, Aleksandr Otto Her Serene Highness, Amaya Milena Her Royal Highness, Elena Casimira Her Royal Highness, Lydia Antheia Firress Marian Her Ladyship, Nataliya Amador His Lordship, Aleksandr Audemar Her Excellency, Josefina Barclay Her Ladyship, Theodosya Cecilya Barclay Her Grace, Roslin Baruch Her Ladyship, Ailsa Baruch His Lordship, Alasdair Baruch Her Ladyship, Alyona Godunov His Lordship, Malcolm Gant Her Ladyship, Callista Kervallen Firress Franziska Morovar Her Ladyship, Emigliana O’Rourke Her Royal Highness, Briar Pendraic Her Royal Highness, Rosalind Freysson Ruric Her Serene Highness, Analiesa Josefina Her Ladyship, Aleksandra vas Ruthern Her Ladyship, Stefaniya Ipera vas Ruthern Firr, Gawyn Tiber Her Ladyship, Allessandra de Vend His Lordship, Haus Weiss-Vuiller His Lordship, Walter Weiss

Fabian Otto Kortrevich blindly signs the missive, far too impressed by The Alchemist's vocabulary to strain his eyes reading any further, and idly wonders if it isn't time he take up his childhood interest in the alchemical sciences once more.

Fabian Kortrevich packs his pipe, cracks his knuckles, rolls up a newspaper, calls for his secretary to put on a fresh kettle, and prepares to rock this.

Fabian Kortrevich is pleasantly surprised to receive a personal invitation, having been drafting similar for his own impending matrimony. He beams, delighted for the long-awaited union of his cousin and the Baroness, and at once begins elaborate gift plans heavily featuring fresh cuts of poppies and kaffa lillies.