ferdaboy

Laughter. Laughter escaped his lips, incredulous as ever, as his son Aleksandr told him of the news. Zofiya, his daughter, had fled. “Surely not,” he muttered with a shake of his head. A Barbanov? Fleeing her Kingdom, one built upon the backs of her ancestors? A people that bent the knee to her name, promising her health, respect, and wealth? His son’s eyes betrayed no lie. Frustration brewed within the Oracle, growing in intensity with every passing day, eventually becoming bitter anger. How could this happen? He railed against his family in cold silence - his children, his wife, even Zofiya. How could one cast out the gifts of her birthright? The blood and labour of hundreds of thousands amounted to nothing to Zofiya. For what? For the empty promises of a cruel world beyond the borders of his house’s Kingdom? The ensuing days were met with constant pacing across the empty halls of his home. He considered all. Perhaps he could buy her return, with the promises of her weight in gold, books or even toys. Anything, to promise her return. Even the brief consideration to petition his nephew to rally his banners and find her, to return her to him by force. Then came the realization, that neither gold nor gifts could repair what he had broken. As the weeks went, he found himself lamenting of his mistakes, spending his time in her room, hoping that everytime he closed his eyes and reopened them, that she would be there. Yet all he had to remember her by was her circlet. A symbol of what she had left behind. In these pitiful moments of self-loathing, he thought of the memories they shared. These were not of warmth, love, nor laughter- but of distance. How often had he cast her aside, for his duties, his personal ambitions, or even for a simple lack of caring? He clutched the circlet in his hand, its cold touch a reminder of his failures as a father. He rose. Convicted in what he had to do, even though he was sure to fail. He fastened the circlet to his belt and descended the tower. He would leave the safety of his home, his Kingdom, and find her. She would not be convinced to return with a promise of toys or books, but a commitment of his own making.

"40,000 minas!" yells Jan Radovanic from the crowd!

u are objectively evil larry

Huddled around a fire, a group of Haeseni brooded over the day's events. The air was thick with the smell of broth that sat above the fire, the contents of the blacked kettle it sat in nearly emptied of food. The closest to the fire sat Josef and his son, Aleksandr. The father sat in silence, seemingly awaiting for his son to finish his soup. Aleksandr brought the bowl to his lips and drank the remaining contents of his broth. A heartbeat later, Josef extended a hand expectantly to his son. “The journal.” He demanded, and his son obliged. Josef began to read from the leather-bound book. Entry 1: 9th of Wzuvar, 556 Ehr Sigmunda Entry 2: 11th of Wzuvar, 556 Ehr Sigmunda Entry 3: 12th of Wzuvar, 556 Ehr Sigmunda With a sigh, Josef shut the journal and handed it back to his son. He shook his head as his son looked to him. “Vy are niet a storyteller. Less is more, boy.”

Josef nodded, the safety of Josef the Bear was paramount to the nation’s wellbeing and prosperity.

"Let my brother speak for himself." wrote back Josef, "No matter the charge you wish to place upon Andrey, there is no crime greater than fratricide. It is Marius' blade that will be bloodied with that of Barbanov blood, damning himself."

Cuckoldry Or Fratricide I have been away for far too long, and in my absence, it seems you have lost all reason. The dark encroaches onto the light, and you busy yourself with putting our brother, Andrey, to trial? War looms on the horizon. Our Kingdom dances on the edge, desperate for all who are able to serve, yet you turn your back on them, again and again. First, Deia - a soul with an eternity left to serve the kingdom - cast aside. And now Andrey. Tell me, brother, who will it be next? Will it be I who falls under your misguided judgment? Have you truly learned nothing from the Alstions? You unleash your pup, the Marshal, upon our brother Andrey - for what? You have branded the man treacherous, a criminal for the assault on Marus Weiss. But this Marus dared to defile the sanctity of our brother’s marriage, making foul advances on his beloved wife! And what did you expect to happen, Marius, that Andrey should stand watch, cuckolded by your soldier and watch his sacred bond torn asunder by the lust of one? Tell me, brother, if such an affront was made against the Queen, your wife, would you stay your hand? No. You would see the wretch’s body swing from a rope, strung up alongside the rest of the vile criminals. You call Andrey’s actions treachery; I call yours fratricide. Learn from Charles, and release him. All can be forgiven, brother. HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, Josef Stanimar, Duke of Galahar, Oracle of Maenvestiyaeo

all these comments about defending your own city are just pointless when half of the raiding rally dont even play the server actively comments would be valid if raids were done by actual roleplayers and not a shadow rally

“James did not kill Alexander.” Remarked Josef at the mention of his brother-in-law. “A poor investigation may cost you your crown.”

"Justice delayed is justice denied. The anger this man feels is righteous. Let men fight their wars, lest you wish for things to boil beyond what you can control." commented Josef offhandedly, as he caught wind of such a missive on his travels. "History shows that forceful action have often led to just and successful outcomes, as seen by the war on Veletz." "If a man believes he is owed, then what other man has the right to challenge such a belief?"

A WEARY DUKE’S GOODBYE THE DEATH OF GAREN BARUCH Issued by the COUNTY OF AYR On the 16th day of Tov ag Yermey of 538 E.S. TO THE PEOPLE OF THE MOUNTAINS AND THE LAKES, It is with great sadness that we announce the passing of Garen Baruch, the once Duke of Valwyck, and now Count of Ayr. In his youth, Garen had wished to be a knight, briefly attaining the rank through his service throughout the war in the Midlands. Fighting by the Grand Prince Ivan’s side, the Royal saw it fit to knight the young man. Garen served as a knight for a few years, before the death of his brother and heir to the House and the Duchy. Reluctantly, Garen took on the mantle, and sought to lay down the foundations for his home, Valwyck. Many years passed, where one would rarely see Garen outside of the Westerwald, and eventually his keep had been completed. It is uncertain as to why it was, but the Duke sought to seclude himself from his people, and rarely stepped outside of the Westerwald until his death. He leaves behind his heir, Maira Baruch, and her brothers and sisters. @Trinn BY MOUNTAIN, RIVER, AND COAL, Her Ladyship, Maira Baruch, Countess of Ayr, Viscountess of Voron, Baroness of Laval and Riveryn, Lady of Jorenstadt, Guardian of the Hanseti Coast

Crash! Only moments before had the Oracle-Prince and his wife stood within the Kastell Lesanov, palms grasped tightly in preparation for something entirely unknown. Their bond had allowed for little questioning of the other’s thoughts or desires, though allowed much more room for debate and stubborn bickering. Thus, this decision had been a mutual agreement, come upon after days of discussion. Josef wished to see the stars, and Milena desired to explore those realms beyond that had haunted her dreams since her childhood. The wind howled in their ears, a forceful rush of white noise…and then quiet. Breathless did they both arrive at this unknown destination, unsure if they had been successful or had been cast into some eternal darkness. As their eyes adjusted to their newfound surroundings and their clinging grip loosened upon each other's arms, they realized they were standing within a darkened forest. Towering fir trees stretched towards the sky, which was streaked with an endless array of those stars the young Prince found so entrancing. Underfoot was a blanket of pine needles and softened soil, the air scented as if a fresh rain had only just recently fallen. For the Haeseni pair, it reminded them of home, yet something entirely unfamiliar. It was exciting, their first true adventure as a wedded pair. “Where do you suppose we are?” Milena queried as they warily began to trek. Josef only frowned, something Milena had noticed he was prone to doing whenever he was at a loss for words. He had hoped to see the stars, but they still seemed so far away. For a long while, they continued to press along through those trees. Day and night blended together here, those celestial bodies above always sparkling no matter how long time ran onward. In their exhaustion, the pair sought refuge amidst a collection of tall stones, arranged in a great circle and laden with markings unknown to either Bihar. Amidst the collection of fallen sticks for a fire and the gathering of moss for bedding, Josef realized how famished he had become. He knew Milena, lithe and willowy as she was, would likely be wanting for a meal sooner than late. She was more than content to allow him his husbandly venture, more intrigued by those ancient runes and desiring to mark them down. Thus, did the Oracle-Prince take up his sword and dagger, to conquer for them some worthy game. Hours passed, though still it felt that the day had never come to an end. Milena had long concluded her studies of those etchings by the time Josef stumbled back into their encampment. His countenance was splattered with blood, his armor equally stained. His breathing was labored, his blackened hair clotted with dirt and mud. Within his fist was gripped, by the tail, the corpse of a slain wolf with reddened eyes. An unnatural creature he had caught prowling that mysterious plane. But for Milena, she was greeted by a greater horror. Those icy blue eyes she always found such comfort within–lacked its other. A bloodied socket, empty and devoid. “By Godan,” His wife uttered then, almost at a loss for words, “What have vy done?” Josef had no excuse, nor did he seem proud. Within, he felt ill at ease, feeling some consequence had finally been delivered, punishment for their excessive curiosity. It was only strips of fabric torn from Milena’s gown that concealed the Prince’s loss, a makeshift patch. The stinging is what kept him keen to press on, almost a reminder of why they had come this far. A hasty meal was had, all the while Milena providing a lengthy lecture about his foolishness in the face of his ambitions. He knew she was right, but he would never admit it to be true. His goals had gotten him this far in life–he would have what he desired. They finally departed that clearing and trekked further. For weeks, it was much the same. They had made half a dozen camps, though now Milena often accompanied her husband when they desired food. His lost eye did haunt him, but not so much as to weaken his resolve. Months had passed to that lonesome pairing, though it gave them plenty of time to further strengthen their bond. Finally, they arrived at the foot of a colossal mountain at the end of that second or third turn of the season–or what season they could discern. It seemed to reach endlessly upward, practically touching the stars themselves. Infact, the Oracle thought he could almost make out some of their lights knocking against that far-off summit. A weathered, rocky path seemed to spiral ahead of them. It was all the sign he needed. “It is just as I said, Milena. We shall touch the stars.” His voice was firm, assured. Something compelled him from within to press onward. Any reluctance Milena had was washed away, in quiet admiration of his sudden willingness for leadership. A true prince, set on building his legend. The ascent was thrilling, if not perilous. Neither had ever been much afraid of death, so the thought of falling sidelong off those sheer cliffs did little to deter them. Halfway up, they sought a few hours of rest in a hollow cave, painted with further runic symbols as they had seen in that stone circle down below. Whomever had marked them down was long gone, but a certain energy remained that was palpable to both noble travelers. Finally, they made their final push to reach the summit, feet sore and legs aching. The soles of their shoes were worn entirely through, their features drawn from the exhaustion. The sight they beheld was all the more exhilarating to that beleaguered couple. Above, those stars gleamed and glinted like thousands of diamonds. Hues of amethyst and verdant green, deepened blues and bright streaks of silver made up the canvas upon which those heavenly lights were strewn. It was all Josef had dreamt of, all that he had begged his mother to allow him to study as a child. Now, the expanse of the heavens was laid out before him, awaiting his exploration. Their secrets would be revealed, for him to keep alongside his wife and share with their future children. But as he reached to hold one such star in his hand…its light singed at his palm and fizzled out, only leaving behind reddened flesh to signify its existence. He tried once more, only to be met with the same result. That eagerness turned to ash in his mouth, a greater sense of disappointment filling the void it left behind within him. Standing aside him, Milena seemed to be watching her husband, paying witness to the result of this long journey and the impact it held for Josef. Her darkened eyes filled with some sort of unspoken apology, though it did little to uplift him. In that moment he realized, it was only he and Milena who would remain undiminished. She who was tangible, who would not falter or burn out at his touch. He, who would shine down brightly upon her and give her hope for their future. A strange lesson to learn, after such an arduous trek and the reality of his childhood fixation coming to nothing but disappointment, but one learned nonetheless. Stars are fleeting–but true connection was worth more than the entire night’s sky. It was only a shame they could not remain on that summit for eternity.

Garen had known he had failed his son. He had missed his son's eighteenth name day, had failed to teach him how to hunt, anything a father would have done, Garen had not. Garen had no time to mourn, he knew his time was short, and he best prepare the next child in line to inherit.

"I must see this through. . ." Said Josef, preparing for the battle of a lifetime.

"WRONG!" yelled Garen Baruch, "Who are we as Canonists, MEN, whom fight over titles, land, women, the list goes on, to dictate what the orcmen do? They fight for something they believe is RIGHTEOUS and that in of itself is honorable. If these people wished for the Church's protection, they ought to bend to a liege that answers to the Church!"

After receiving news of the attack on his father, Josef made his way to the clinic, happening upon Milena as he inspected the beds, looking for familiar faces. Seeing her in such a state angered him, though he was glad that she had not died. Few people saw the world as they did, and the thought of losing her was unbearable. With a frantic shake of his head, he dismissed those thoughts and set out to drink himself to sleep, just as his father often did. The next morning, he awoke with the all-too-common bags under his eyes and his fingers bruised and bleeding.

Josef knew not what to make of his mother’s disappearance. In the following days, the Prince spent his time by the gates, hoping to see his mother within the many crowds that came and went from the Royal City, yet he did not find her. Wherever she was, he hoped she was safe, she had much to teach him.

Josie read the missive with pride, glad to no longer be shackled by written agreements. He could not contain his excitement at the possibilities of what was to come.

Garen made preperations in his home, Valwyck. Ready to stand beside the Rutherns for whatever may come.

"It is always odd seeing the same names post these letters, yet you never see them step foot outside of their hovels!" said Josef, having never met this Marc, but always finding his ramblings posted all over the city.

ferdaboy

Garen prayed to the Creator for Lug's wellbeing and sent him as much mina as he could spare.

Issued by the DUCHY OF VALWYCK On the 13th day of Tov o’ Yermey of 526 E.S. TO THE CROWN AND THE HAESENI LORDS, This letter was penned in direst necessity, to you, the Crown, and esteemed Lords of the realm. This missive regards my dearest daughter, Maira Baruch, who was cursed by a demon. The fiend, known as Sermi, who was taken in, fed and given work by the Crown has sinned again. She wishes to curse our children, the future of Haense with whatever foul magics she has at her disposal. Herein, I lay forth a petition before the Crown and Duma. I petition that the Brotherhood of Saint Karl take an aggressive stance on these demons and initiate hunts and bring these demons to the flames, whether they be found within Haeseni lands, or the broader Aevos. Sermi has made it clear that these cursed spawn can not be trusted, and it seems the only solution is to hunt them down beyond our borders. Let no child of Haense be afflicted by these curses again. His Grace, Garen Petyr Baruch, Duke of Valwyck, Count of Ayr, Viscount of Voron, Baron of Gant, Laval and Riveryn, Lord of Jorenstad, Guardian of the Hanseti Coast