Ryanark

Hannes was last seen stuffing something in his coat's pocket...

Hannes liked what the Holy Man was saying.

Hannes collapsed in laughter in his cell.

Hannes prayed in his tarnished armor, missing a gauntlet from his hand. "God's peace shall grace Acre once more, and then all of Oren."

Hannes stood up from the meeting room's chair in Castle Vilain, shaking Hadrian's hand before he picked up the fasces leaning up against the table. From the bundle of sticks bound by leather, he removed the gleaming axe from within.

"No maidens, no honour, no Blackvale." Hannes mused, after Frederick whispered into the Marshal's ear, thereafter he scribbled onto a piece of paper, sliding it over to Hadrian.

Hannes sits on the foyer’s armchair, tapping his finger patiently against the wood.. By his side, the fasces leaned against the chair.

Hannes signed the accord with a smile, in a room full of good men.

MC Name: Ryanark Discord: Ryanark#1488 Image: Description of Image: This is an inscription on the entrance wall of Castle Vilain. Dimensions: 4x2

CONCERNING DISTURBANCES IN THE UPPER PETRA A depiction of the Petran forest and woodlands near Acre, just below the Adriatic tent. TO THE LECTORS OF OWYN, LEX ARCANA, AND THOSE WHO SEEK TO CULL EVIL FROM OUR LANDS, In recent months, the King’s third Adriatic was fleeced of its original intention by a disturbance so grave it risked the lives of all its high-priority participants, including the King himself. The apparition of our departed Emperor, Philip III, was manifest in the center of the Adriatic Tent, preceded by the rumbling of tree roots that slithered up from nought to swathe the pavilion in a deadlock, where none could escape from either flank or front. Our brave guards attempted to beat down the stalks with their swords illuminated by the flame of Owyn. However, the illuminations of the ghostly being diverted this flame and set the tent into a blaze, smoke clouding the vision of our nobles and disorienting His Majesty, whose shock at the sight of his late father reduced him to a still for a moment. Before Our King, the figure spoke strong, and verily claimed the following: * The existence of beastly creatures within the forests, by the name of ghouls and skinwalkers, * The gravity of fighting back said beasts should the King desire peace, * A prophesied death of one of His Majesty’s peers within the next tensome years. We humbly request the assistance of any man or woman of knowledge regarding the mystic and/or dark arts to enlighten the Petran Legion regarding the ghost’s nature and objective, as well as to study the beasts, so called “ghouls and skinwalkers” (as dubbed by the residents of Acre), that foul the lands of the Vienne Forests and Acre province alongside the King’s Guard and the Knights of the Order of the Red Eagle. For the time being, our knights and Legionnaires are urged to carry aurum armaments at all times, and to pray to St. Edmond of Lachsin, St. Amyas of Yore, and St. Lucien of Ulmsbottom in order to protect them on their travels north of the Upper Petra. GOD WILLING, His Royal Excellency, Conrad Armande Ashford de Falstaff, Lord Chancellor to the Kingdom of Oren Sir Hannes de Vilain, Baron of Acre, Lord Commander of the Petran Legion

Discordtag : Ryanark#1488 MC Name : Ryanark RP Name : Hannes de Vilain RP Age : 48 Are you a Nobleman representing yourself? : (N/A If representing someone) Yes

Hannes departed from the battlefield, bag of orc tusks and pillaged loot in tow over his shoulder. Whistling and humming along the way back home, "... Landsknecht Voran..!"

"Beat fire with fire, they say." Hannes mused, as he actually considered the suggestion of the missive.

Hannes signed the missive, "Landsknecht Voran." He said with a proud smile.

Hannes poured out one last drink for an old buddy onto the soil, and taking one glass of whisky for himself to say goodbye to the loyal man-at-arms. "Rest well, Shield-Brother."

Hannes set the missive of the fundraiser down, walking over to the specific corner of a cupboard whence he sent his heel into a loose part of the hardwood floor's planks, it came flying out and the man reached down, removing a secret stash of mina. Briefly, he counted it to be around 106 marks, to be exact. With a huff, he set out to the city from Acre before replacing the floorboard.

whats your moms number

Hannes applauded the Westermen for their bravery, his applause echoing throughout the jail in which he was confined in.

based take from a based man, gtfo of our rp

Hannes stood at the precipice of salvation as he was heaved off the battlefield by stretcher, muted as he always were.

With a great thud from the courtyard, Hannes came rushing out to lay his unprepared eyes upon his wife, laying ever so silently in the gravel. It was as if one hit his head with a mallet, the pure shock fogging his mind as his ears rang deaf, clutching Amelia's limp hand. He shut his eyes as they welled up with tears, a giant lump in his throat as he tried to utter a single word. His lips danced, but there was not a word that dared to escape him, it was impossible.. Even as the servants came rushing out to console him and escort him away, Hannes tried his best to protest, but only groans and unrecognizable speech echoed from him, the death of his wife shall take years to heal, confined to a body with no means of communication is surely a fate worse than death.

Hannes imagined the future chaos ensuing to extinguish the rebels of Pinemaw in the thick Ebonwood forest.. Oh, god.. They're in the trees!

Hannes flipped through all his articles of clothing for the wedding.. Burgundy, burgundy, why is there so much burgundy?

"Intelligence gathered by this and other governments leaves no doubt that the Urguani regime continues to possess and conceal some of the most lethal weapons ever devised. The King is a homicidal dictator who is addicted to weapons of mass destruction." The Baron spoke to his men atop the dias, clutching the podium. Eventually excusing himself from the dias to find these thanhium bombs that he spoke of.

Hannes beat his pike against the floor in a foreboding rhythm. Dum.. dum.. dum..