Sarmadonn

'Danger' Dougal MacDuff, the five-time Champion of Lallybroch and rightful Grand Champion of Karosgrad, smiled a toothless smile as he struggled to read through the missive. "Godan is good," he said, before going back to bloodying his knuckles against the head of his training dummy, the likeness of which bore a striking similarity to that of Oliver Renault.

+1 Spot on.

A BEAR’S SLUMBER AIN NESTI’S SLUMBNA c. 397 The final moments of His Grace, Ruslan Baruch. The once quiet courtyard in the castle of Lichestadt now echoed with violent coughs, a noise that was familiar to residents of the castle by now. Unable to dismount his steed, even after every stubborn attempt, the now weakened Duke was helped off with the aid of his usual nurse. Not even the decline of his health would stop Ruslan from visiting a certain tree house just outside of Karosgrad. Doing his best to walk on his own, it was time again for Ruslan to be put to bed, his body could not handle the physical strain of what he once used to enjoy doing for his free time. A man of few words already, it did not seem possible he could grow even quieter, but he did. The risk of using his tumor-ridden lungs was not one he was willing to take. As he was being assisted through the empty courtyard, he shot a glance at the Church of Heinzreich. His lip remained stiff as the northern winds took upon the sound of bustling merriment, the memory of one of his wedding receptions flooding the mind of the ailing Duke. The vows of his marriage being recited echoed throughout the church, while Ruslan stood in front of his nerve-ridden betrothed, stoic as ever. A Duke has a duty to his house, A duty to produce heirs to carry on the family name. That was all he saw the Ruthern girl as - A means to produce children. He remembered how afraid Marjorie looked, after all, she was being sent away to live with unfamiliar faces. Over the course of their marriage, he could have rid her of the fear she carried with her, make her feel a part of the family even. But he did not do that, he made her fears come true. His eye twitched and his mouth drew into a frown, before he continued through the courtyard. A series of wheezing coughs erupted from the Duke but a few steps from the church, bringing the once proud man to his knees. With a palm planted atop the ground, his eyes trailed off toward Valwyck’s Haeseni chess board as he shakily dabbed the blood from his mouth with a handkerchief. As he sat, gasping for air, he could almost hear the bickering of the Baruch children. “Ye chea’ed! Ah ken!” whined a young Georgina, stamping her foot in protest as Juliya rocked in the corner, simply sobbing to herself. Viktor stood proud, his arms folded across his chest and a smirk plastered on his face as he retorted, “Shu’ up! Ah won, ye los’. Tha’s ‘ow the world works. Ge’ used tae i’, woman.” While the children argued, Ruslan sat near the board, working on his yearly Duma transcript. He had already rejected the children’s offer to play with them, and their constant bickering was getting too much to handle. “Enough! Ah’m workin’, take yer noise somewhere else.” The children fell silent, their countenances marred with frowns and looks of sadness, before leaving the Duke to his work. His breathing steadied as he felt the touch of the nurse against his arm, and with trembling legs he rose upright once more. He shot one final glance at the chess board, he knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do to go back to that day, just for one more game of chess with his family. Ruslan lowered the blood-splattered handkerchief from his lips, taking in a raggedy breath as he made his way through the hallway door that his nurse opened for him. His eyes glanced around the mostly empty feast hall, empty with the exception of his nephew, Odrin. As he moved past the young man, he placed a hand on his head, perhaps for the final time. The Duke’s eyes then looked to the left, where he was met with his portrait that hung above the piano. It was not that long ago where he looked every ounce of a formidable Duke. His face plastered with a look of regret when he turned away from the portrait, as if he could have somehow changed something to not be in his current situation. A man once known as a dangerous opponent, an avid duelist, brought to his knees by a disease. He heard the door to the kitchens behind him close; a servant girl emerging from behind it. Her familiar, dark blue eyes met the Duke’s, and the two stared for a few moments. A smile formed on Ruslan’s visage, offering a slight wave at the girl, who in a certain light, may have resembled him slightly. He turned away then at his nurse’s tug, heading towards his bedroom. As he was led toward the library he took a moment’s rest, laboured breaths escaping his lips. A flash of gold caught his eye, his daughter draped in the fabrics of her wedding dress. The young woman, joyous as usual, made her way over towards Juliya and Georgina, who both had been feasting on bits of chocolate. “What do vy think, papej?” With his approval of his daughter’s wedding dress, the two young Baruchs stood up, admiring the dress and conversing with their cousin about her upcoming marriage. Right before his eyes, the little girl he once knew was now a woman, and the same fate would soon befall the rest of his children. Extra time with his family before they grew old was now impossible, things he could have done or said differently was another regret he’d have for the rest of his life, though today was different then the previous days. Ruslan felt odd, he knew he wouldn’t have to live with this regret for long. A light tug at his arm forced the Duke’s head to turn, it was his nurse ushering him up the steps. After the first flight of steps, he began to suffer yet another coughing fit. After a few moments of rest, he glanced behind him at the staircase leading back down to the hallway. His brows rose momentarily, deep down he knew he would not see his feast hall again, and he was afraid. He thought of many things, yet one stuck out to him more than the others. Is he prepared to leave them behind? He scolded Ser Viktor often as a boy, but he cared for him as he would any of his children. And while Kaustantin was insufferable at times, how could he not be proud of the man he became? His worries and fears were put at rest, he realized that it was now the duty of his family to look after each other. His nephew was Lord Palatine, his niece was a Countess, and his cousin was a knight, who had married a woman that taught Ruslan that there’s at least some decent foreigners. He was proud of them, and he was prepared to speak to them one final time. After several breaks, Ruslan finally made it to his bedroom hallway. Through labored breaths, the Baruch managed a subtle smile, amused at how difficult it was to climb steps that he had done before a thousand times, without struggle. His nurse opened the door to his bedroom, stepping back and allowing His Grace to enter first. As he entered, the angered yell of his wife caught his attention, forcing his head to turn towards the woman with tears in her eyes. “Nie - Just hang it up!” The young Duke, visibly angered, set a portrait down on the table. He remembered this portrait, it was a portrait of himself. There was another with him, but it was not his wife. For years, he allowed his marriage to be loveless, for what he thought was a good reason. Too long did he allow the ghost of a girl to rule over his marriage, and while he missed her dearly, the living needed his attention more than her. He felt a small moment of pride, because while it may have been too late, he realized there could never live a better wife than the one he had, and he made sure to let her know before his final days. The shutting of a door caught his attention, it was his nurse closing the door behind them. She moved past the sickly Duke, placing a small cup of tea at his bedside before making her way back over to him. The nurse attempted to grab his arm to aid him to his bed, but she was waved off promptly. If this was Ruslan’s final time walking, he would do it on his own two feet. Settling into his bed, he ordered his nurse to send for his family, all those that were home in the keep that day. With a quick bow, the nurse hurried out of the room, leaving him only in the company of his thoughts. Ruslan looked around his bedroom slowly, taking in a labored breath as he reached for his tea. He brought the cup to his lips, closing his eyes as he took a long sip. When his eyes opened, he was met with a frowning girl, a face all too familiar to him. “Are vy even listening?!” The young boy nodded quickly, setting the tea down on the wooden floor of the tree house. The blonde girl had been explaining what happened to her that day, and every word was clear to him. This conversation was one of many he had with Analiesa de Astrea, and he remembered each one as if it had happened just hours before. During a time where his beloved mother had passed away and his hard working father was slowly losing his sanity, his best friend may have been the only source of happiness he could have. It was hard for him to regret much. He had spent as much time with Analiesa as he could, but he always wished he could have saved her from her fate; or at least that is what he thought. The children conversed for what felt like hours, as they usually did. They laughed, shared their usual strawberries grown from the bush outside, and discussed what life would be like when they are both older. The young boy turned to the tea he had set down earlier, before it all started to come to him again. He stared at the cup of tea, as tears slowly started welling up in his eyes. Will his final thoughts be of ghosts, or the living? He glanced back to his friend, before taking a deep breath. “Ah need t’ get goin’ now, Analiesa.” The girl frowned at Ruslan’s sudden need to depart, so like usual, she protested against it. “But why?! Vy just got here, and we’ve so much more to talk about!” A singular tear began to slowly fall down his cheek, looking back to the tea as he prepared to answer Analiesa, but not without hesitation first. “Because yer dead, an’ Ah need t’ let ye go. My family needs me now.” The words stung the young boy to say, but he knew they needed to be said. He couldn’t allow his last memories to be of those who are gone, but instead those that are still with him. As he looked to gauge Analiesa’s reaction, it was not one of confusion, nor malice. The girl didn’t speak, but instead displayed a smile the Duke had so desperately missed. Despite being taken from him too soon, the memories of his loved ones lived on through him. Only the forgotten are truly dead, and so he would never forget his father’s hard work or his mother’s love, and he would certainly never forget Analiesa de Astrea. He lifted his cup of tea off the wooden floor, and with one final look at his best friend, his eyes closed as he took a sip. With his eyes now opened, he was back in his quiet bedroom. He lifted his hand to wipe the tear away from his cheek, before hearing frantic footsteps downstairs. He placed his cup of tea down carefully, before settling back in his bed. He knew it was the end, but he was content that it’d be surrounded by the family he loved dearly. One last time to not only see his loving wife, but the girl he had known for as long as he could remember. One final moment to look proudly on the man his son grew to become, and the man he knew would lead his House to an even better future. He blames himself for driving Margot away, but he was happy he’d be able to spend his final moments with her, time spent away from her made him come to see how much he cared for her. One final embrace from his youngest child Annabel, a girl he rarely punished or scolded, and one he struggled to watch grow up. And while he knew it may not be possible, he wanted to see his oldest child, Eleanora for a final time. From holding her at birth, to watching her hold children of her own, he saw it as a privilege to have been able to raise such a caring woman. He took a final deep breath, as his vision began to blur. The footsteps were now on the same floor as him, and before he knew it, the door to his bedroom swung open quickly. But he did not see who came in, nor did he feel the bed he was lying on. Ruslan Baruch was dead. His Grace, Ruslan Eirik Baruch 1798 | 1844 351 ES | 397 ES

Ruslan Baruch smiles the Sun's Smile. The Duke looked over towards his cousin, holding the missive up. "Heh. Good fer' 'em, the Barclay heirs will carry strong, Ayrian blood in 'em." @indiana105

THE DUCHY OF VALWYCK; FIEFDOM ELECTIONS OF 392 E.S. [!] a painting depicting the annual gathering of the Baruch Clan along with their Ayrian Subjects. By the will of His Grace, Duke Ruslan Eirik Baruch, the first election of the Fiefdom of Valwyck shall be called for the seat delegated to the House of Baruch. As Duke Ruslan serves as Lord Speaker of Hanseti-Ruska, the seat of House Baruch is without a proper representative who will fully embody Ayrian values and Baruch traditions. His Grace seeks to hold an election for the seat, the first of its kind, in order to allow for proper representation of the Ayrian subjects of Valwyck along with the Baruch family themselves. Representative Representatives are elected to serve the Duchy of Valwyck, encompassing the Fiefdom of Lallybroch, by popular vote. They are tasked with giving voice to their constituents within his Majesty’s Royal Duma by proposing and shaping legislative bills. Representatives may be of any birth, common or noble, as long as they are Ayrian. Representatives serve a six-year tenure or until His Grace, the Duke of Valwyck, calls a new election or removes the representative to reclaim his seat. For a citizen to nominate themselves for any of the above offices, they must satisfy the eligibility criteria: I. Candidates must be at least 13 years of Age. II. Candidates must be residents of the Duchy of Valwyck, or tenants of the Fiefdom of LallyBroch. III. Candidates must be of Ayrian descent. IV. Candidates may only nominate themselves for office. His Grace, Ruslan Eirik Baruch, Lord Speaker of the Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska, Duke of Valwyck, Count of Ayr, Viscount of Voron, Baron of Gant, Laval,and Riveryn OOC INFORMATION Please Include the Following in your Application: IGN: Character Name: Age: Place of Residence within Valwyck (Lichenstadt/Lallybroch)

THE GREYGUARD THE DUCAL GUARD OF HOUSE BARUCH For generations, the Greyguard had served as the primary levy within the County of Ayr beneath the House of Baruch. Forgotten for nearly a century, the Greyguard had all but ceased to exist upon the elevation of the House to ducal status. In the wake of the reforms of Koeng Josef I, allowing Haeseni peers to hire and retain personal guards for their own protection, Duke Ruslan I has decreed that the Greyguard is to be reformed. Whereas the Greyguard of old was largely a peasant levy, drawn from demesne of House Baruch, the current iteration of the order shall consist of no more than four elite men of preferably Aryian stock. His Grace, Duke Ruslan I calls forth for any and all willing northmen to present themselves before him in Litchestadt. HISTORY OF THE GREYGUARD The Order of the Unbowed — The Greyguard’s predecessor — was founded during the reign of Otto Marius Baruch, Count of Ayr in 1611 at the start of the Greyspine Rebellion. Count Otto marched the Unbowed down from their mountain keep, Jorenstadt, to reclaim their seat of Saint’s Rest from the imposter Kovachev who had sworn fealty to the Kingdom of Courland. The levy fought well, however they failed to fully reclaim the land and so Count Otto ordered the retreat back to his mountain keep, knowing that he would need as many men as possible to join with his Ruthern allies to eventually launch an attack on the Courlandic invaders. Count Otto eventually led his host to join the Rutherns, where they routed the Courlandic forces during the second battle of the Rothswood to restore the Kingdom of Haense. Ser Aldrik founded the modern Greyguard in Atlas, after the construction of his keep, “Greyguard Hold”. Aldrik and the Greyguard soldiers had multiple small disputes with the monarchy over the legality of having a levy, despite Aldrik reassuring that they would only be used in favor of the King. However, Otto II insisted the Greyguard be reduced to only a few bodyguards instead of an active levy. These bodyguards participated in multiple wars, protecting their Count from enemies such as Renatus-Marna and Norland. During the reign of Marius Karl Baruch, Count of Ayr the Greyguard served as it had in his father’s reign. When Greyguard Hold was infiltrated and taken by Arberrang, Count Marius called the Greyguard and marched upon his old home to vanquish the Arberrang dogs and reclaim his family’s seat. Count Marius and the Greyguard were victorious, and the Greyguard once again were able to defend the lands of the Baruch family and assist in the protection of northern Haense. Count Marius led the Greyguard in the crossing to Arcas, before his abdication in favour of his grandson, Jan Eirik Baruch. Jan Eirik Baruch, Count of Ayr saw the Royal Levy Ban of 1709 and so he integrated the Greyguard into the Royal Army in return for the position of Commandant. He served in this position, with the Greyguard under his control in the now Royal Army, until his expulsion from the Kingdom for conspiring against the King and other allies. The Greyguard then returned home to Ayr, not wanting to serve anyone but a member of House Baruch, swearing now to Sigmar Joren Baruch, Count of Ayr. The Greyguard then saw a period of inactivity spanning nearly the entirety of the next century. It was only in the year 1833 that the great-grandson of Sigmar, Duke Ruslan I of Valwyck, reinstated the order upon hearing of the declaration of war on the elves of Haelun'or. They now serve as an elite guardforce, tasked solely with the defense of His Grace along with the other members of House Baruch. RANKS OF THE GREYGUARD CHOMANNDAIR The Duke of Valwyck | Commander The Chomanndair of the Greyguard is a title assumed by the current head of House Baruch. If the patriarch deems fit, however, he may appoint another member of his house to take up the position. As commander of the Greyguard, he is responsible for the maintenance of the order as a whole. This includes periodically engaging his men in duels in which their skill shall be tested against his, the outcome of which shall determine the continuity of a Greyguard's tenure. GREYGUARD Faithful Guards of House Baruch The Greyguards are men or women sworn to the protection of His Grace and his House whenever they are called upon. They are permitted to live within the village of Lallybroch, located just beyond the walls of Litchestadt, where they will receive room and board free of cost. In addition to this, each Greyguard shall be allocated pay of 10 Mina on the eve of each Saint's Week. Their position is not guaranteed, as they must prove themselves worthy against the Chomanndair whenever he so wishes. Should he deem them unworthy, he may strip them of their title and its benefits on the spot. Signed in 386 ES, His Grace, Ruslan Eirik Baruch, Duke of Valwyck, Count of Ayr, Viscount of Voron, Baron of Laval and Riveryn, and Guardian of the Haeseni Coast Anyone interested shoot me a message via inbox! Or even better, shoot me a msg if you're interested in playing an Ayrian!

((Username)): _BigDon_ Name: Thormyr Ireheart Age: Please do not ask me my age. Are you a citizen of Urguan?: Yes Are you of Urguan’s Folk? (A Dwarf/Honorary): Dwarf

The Duke of Valwyck, Ruslan Baruch, sat within his keep of Litchestadt after court had finished. He prepared his traditional Ayrian armour, along with a special weapon he had made just for the occasion of killing elves. "The pointy-ears 'ave made their final mistake, Eirik." He told his eight year old son, shoving a freshly made steel sword in to the young boy's hands.

♜ Discord: Sarmadon#1404 ♜ Skin Name(s) with Skinner’s name: simple gambeson lol @venclair ♜ Bid(s): $10

Duke Ruslan Baruch read over the missive, nodding slowly. He whispered to his close ally, Ailred var Ruthern. "Lord Marshal, Ah' guarantee ye' these pointy-ears will give in. They don' wan' no parts o' this, Ah'm tellin' ye'." He nodded several times after his confident statement.

The famous Ferryman Worm nearly sheds a tear at the Orenian women being auctioned, but he musters the strength to hold it back. While he respects the female kind, he understands why this is being done. He comments to himself, "The way of the world, I suppose. . ."

NOMINATIONS FOR THE 382 ES GENERAL ELECTIONS KRUZAE ZWY KONGZEM 4th of Tov and Yermey, 382 ES DLUM VE EDLERVIK, DRUZ VE EDLERVIK VA BIRODEO HERZENAV E EDLERVIK, By the will of His Majesty, Koeng Heinrik Karl II, the elections of 382 ES shall be called to elect eight officials. Nominations shall now be open for the next month, and citizens of the Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska are called upon to fulfill their civic duty to vote. Eight of these officials shall be brought onto the Royal Duma, including a Grand Maer to manage and improve the institutions of the city of Karosgrad. These eight officials shall be elected under two offices, which are; ROYAL ALDERMEN Seven Royal Aldermen are elected as representatives of the whole people of Hanseti-Ruska, by popular vote. They are tasked with giving voice to their constituents within his Majesty’s Royal Duma by proposing and shaping legislative bills. Royal Aldermen may be of any birth, common or noble. Royal Aldermen are recommended to produce at least two bills during their four-year tenure. GRAND MAER The Grand Maer of Karosgrad is elected by majority vote to represent the people of Hanseti-Ruska in the Office of the Lord Seneschal and assume the duties of management of the city’s social institutions, assisting in growth of the city’s business and economy, and bringing city wide events to Karosgrad. This role is vital and important to the city, and its abilities depend on the office holder as well as their desires to shape the city to its betterment. The Grand Maer may be of any birth, and does not sit on His Majesty’s Royal Duma. For a citizen to nominate themselves for any of the above offices, they must satisfy the eligibility criteria: 1. Candidates must be at least fourteen years of age; 2. Candidates for Grand Maer must be a resident of Karosgrad; 3. Candidates for Royal Alderman must have a residence within Hanseti-Ruska; 4. Candidates must not have a criminal record; 5. Candidates must not be a titled peer or regent; 6. Candidates for Grand Maer cannot be a Laurir; 7. Candidates may only nominate themselves to run for one office; 8. Candidates cannot bribe potential voters, or otherwise purchase votes; 9. Candidates must not use any signs for their campaigning process on Private property (unless given consent of the owner) , and thus they are strictly prohibited to do so and will result in a fine. 10. Candidates may make public missives, speeches, and host rallies. It is highly encouraged that ALL candidates make campaign posts and host public rallies to boost their chances of election! NOTE: You may still campaign while nominations are being verified ((OOC : CANDIDATES HAVE UNTIL THURSDAY 5 PM EST TO RUN)) CAMPAIGN POST TEMPLATE Please include the following in your application: IGN: Character Name: Age: Place of Residence / Street Address: Position: (Alderman or Maer) [Link to Campaign Post] IV JOVEO MAAN, His Excellency, Ruslan Baruch, Lord Speaker of Hanseti-Ruska

A DUKE’S GRACE With great elation from the Duchy of Valwyck, does the announcement of His Grace, Duke Ruslan Baruch triumphing over the dunce Orenian man come. From the wreckage and ruins of Lichtestadt came the strength from the Lorded duel combatant. Though this tale is not just of steel meeting the steel of another, for there was much peculiarity behind it. An ungodly presence was at play, only being akin to the profane, protectors of the undead hailing from Haelun’or. Through the eyes of others, shall this story be told, one of a god-fearing humble man besting the Iblees spawn that stood at his front. Which took place within the heart of Hanseti-Ruska, the stridently patriotic square of Karosgrad. A thud and the resounding jeers of Haeseni men and women, situated at the square stirred the Lord to light. His Grace, Ruslan had exhausted the majority of his day sitting between the pews of the church of Heinzreich, hands of his had been glued together in prayer. His utterance reached out for Godan; “Holy God, I have sinned in thought and in flesh. Thou art mercy, Thou art goodness, Thou art charity. With my own weeping spirit do I acknowledge that I have offended Thee. I know my sin, and do in Thy Name enact righteous penance as did Exalted Owyn. Forgive Thou me, O Fount of mercy, and accept my penance, that my spirit might return to a place of purity, and that I may strive to love Thee and do Thy will in all things. Amen.” Those boos soon turned to cheers as the stirred Duke rose from the pews and through the church doors. The crowds applauded, yet his eyes never once faltered, remaining sedate and glowering on the Othoman; his rival for three rounds of bloodshed. Minatory boots dragged along the cardinal grounds of Karosgrad, to the very center and heart of the square. A blaring voice, echoed from the Lord Marshal, sounding that the duel-watchers back away as to form a circle around the combatants. Glazing a look down the metal of his blade, only the command of the Marshal saw the Duke’s gaze drift over to the man. The Marshal who had been thinking; He is a natural, nie mere Orenian man could stand toe-to-toe with him. Scrutinizing the form of Ruslan, His Lordship, Ailred Ruthern stood proudly and firm on his very spot. His form lowered as the duel commenced, the intuition of Ruslan took straight to the weasley and scared facade of the Othoman. He had disassembled the quaking-of-foot Orenian exactly like how a child would dissemble a stack of toy building blocks. It was an easy first round and victory for the Duke. Though it was truly what everybody had expected, Ailred’s guard was loose and his boots planted less firm. His interest panned elsewhere, but as he circled off, the Duke caught unworldly incantations seeping from the bloodied lip of the Othaman. It was startling but he had no time to think about it as the second round was called into play. Rorislav who had previously donned a timid expression now heralded only aplomb, each and every strike to come from his blade was precise and completely in contrast to his first round. “What ill-will did he spew from his lips?” Pondered the Duke as the crowd broke their cheers, in place of an eerie tangible silence. The second round was all over, Ruslan had wobbled down onto a knee after the seemingly ethereal blade of Rorislav pierced immaculately to the armpit of himself. It felt off; strange. Only fleeting seconds of recovery were granted to the Baruch duelist, who had meekly returned back over to his starting position. Each and every eye in that square were placed on the man. His northern honour was at stake, his dignity, after all, it had been him who had called out the Othoman and not vice-versa. To oppose his caution of the peculiar man, at the go of the third round, another prayer parted his cracked lips; “My God; I love Thee, make me love Thee more.” Knowing something was astray, Ruslan allowed himself not to concede even any thought of defeat, his mind was pure and clear. But- the hands of Rorislav seemed deft and if not unordinary. No man could muster the way his hands moved around the hilt and handle of his blade. Precise to a tee and even against the resolved mind and form of Ruslan, the evidently preternatural Othaman brought his might in a chaotic swing to the helmet of Ruslan. It cracked under the immense and anomalous weight of the blow, splitting exactly in two. Fortunately not a scratch was visible on the exposed head of Ruslan, but it did pose a dangerous threat. It was first to blood, but his opponent’s intent was clearly something else. Of Murderous intent. Worried eyes scoured Ruslan, a nearly perpetual and terrified expression plastered the faces of his family. His daughter hid behind her mother’s skirts and his son peered through clammy fingers. A spark ignited as Ruslan amidst stumbling back caught sight of his family’s sheer fright. He had gathered all the strength he still had left, every muscle in his body twanged with a newfound vigour. Even an unshakeable remark passed; ”Nae helmet, nae problem. Godan prevails!” Having always been a pious man, since birth and baptism, daily penance; prayer, all of it. Godan was on the side of Ruslan. And when one has Godan on their side, to falter would be to disprove the will of God, or to show it was meant to be. Bearing a last herculean pass of his blade across the head of the man, Rorislav collapsed to the floor. Not a single conscious thought was bore from the man, though. . . “SPAWN OF IBLEES!” Bellowed out the only individual who had not been praising and huddling around Ruslan, but instead he had kept his eyes on the fallen duelist. The duelist who despite being rendered to darkness, moved his hands, arms and legs - whoosh - he had still been swinging about with his blade! His eyes cracked open, glanced at those gawking and then rolled to the back of his head. Something evil had overcome him, something which he had brought upon himself. Ruslan had seen the man’s lips incant after his defeat in their first bout. Screams rang like the bell of the gatehouse, the crowds backed away from what they thought was the devil. But not Patriarch Yaromir. A man of Godan approached the now frozen and unconscious man. Abruptly, Rorislav began swinging his sword upwards in a frail, but certainly unholy arc towards the pious man. Yaromir thudded onto his behind as Rorislav’s unconscious body clambered to the ground. The Patriarch needed not to say what it was, what he was, for the entire crowd knew; it was the evil work of Iblees. His spawn. The crowds dispersed and the unconscious unholy man was dealt with. Talks of the leaving crowd were heard through the air; “Ruslan bested the spawn of Iblees!” “The Duke has Godan on his side.” “He is a remarkable swordsman!” Might Godan continue to bless the household of Baruch, for they have surely done the world a good ridding this devil and hell-spawn. Iv Joveo Maan

[!] A letter found itself drafted to one Rorislav 'Robert' Othaman @Gridlock To the pea brained dullard bootlicker of Orenian Society, Since our last meet in which you provided naught but senseless reviles, it is blatant that you should have come away from your lackluster and half-witted guard duty. I assure you would likely come up with another excuse, one common from the frail boned Orenian Ilk, being; duels are not permitted in Orenian law! Well, in that case if you desire to run that ill-washed mouth of yours for a moment longer I should challenge you to a duel on Haeseni soil. From where honour is gained akin to times of old, where men would clash steel with steel to settle disputes rather than to cry to the next pench-pinching laywerman. So if you wish to back your words behind true mettle, present yourself within Haeseni lands, and we’ll even make a show of it while you’re here. A duel. Though, with your first excuse offered, I can only surmise your boots would have too much of a woman’s tremble to come along? With hopes that you’ll not be an afeared shitbag, His Grace, Ruslan Baruch

Ruslan Baruch had sat in his office, gently thumbing the head of one of his turtles. A red haired Ayrian servant entered, delivering the sad news before departing. The Duke of Valwyck was not close with Igor Kort, though he saw the former Lord Speaker as a man he could somewhat respect. He exited his office, leaving towards a nearby mountain with bagpipes in hand. When arrived, he'd say a few words. "A good enough man, Ah' suppose. Wha'ever flaws he had, he deserved a better death. May ye' find rest, Lord Speaker." With that, he blew on the mouthpiece of the bagpipes for a few moments before heading back towards Karosgrad.

Duke Ruslan Baruch had just received the missive from one of his Ayrian servants, dismissing the red-haired man afterwards. His thumb would gently pet the head of one of his turtles as he read over the missive, eyes narrowed. "Interestin'. Ah' suppose his time was comin' t' an end. A controversial speaker, but a man Ah' did niet have t' many issues wit'. Here's t' his well-earned retiremen'." Ruslan took a sip from his Carrion Black, before standing to depart towards a certain treehouse near Karosgrad.

The Union of Baruch and Ruthern Marjorie vas Ruthern having a chat with her Hauchmamej on her wedding day. Throughout the beautiful city of Karosgrad, the Haeseni people were going about their daily routines. Some were at work, while others may have been relaxing in the famous Old Stout Crow Pub over a bottle of Carrion Black. The attention of the populace was caught by several red-haired individuals dressed in rough garbs and kilts handing out wedding invitations. When opened, the invitation would be for the wedding of Duke Ruslan of Valwyck and Lady Marjorie vas Ruthern. “Invitations! Get yer’ invitations ‘ere!” The men of Ayrian descent would shout, handing out as many invitations as they could. This glorious ceremony shall be held in the Church of Heinzreich, located in the castle of Lichtestadt at Valwyck and presided over by the Patriarch Yaromir. Afterwards, a feast will be held afterwards containing only the finest of cuisines, such as whale blubber and chicken. Guests may present any gifts to the Duke and Duchess during the feast as well. Special invitations have been extended out to: His Royal Majesty, Heinrik II Barbanov, King of Hanseti-Ruska and his noble pedigree @Rudi His Grace, Friedrich Barclay, Duke of Reinmar and his noble pedigree @ColdestPepsi The Most Honorable, Maric II var Ruthern, Margrave of Greyspine and his noble pedigree @GMRO The Right Honorable, Kazimar Ludovar, Count of Otistadt and his noble pedigree @HogoBojo The Honorable, Jan Kortrevich, Viscount of Krusev and his noble pedigree @Luminaire The Honorable, Britannus Vanir, Viscount of Varna and his noble pedigree @Legoboy7984 The Honorable, Aldrik Amador, Regent of Aurveldt and his noble pedigree @Pureimp10 His Lordship, Stefan II Vyronov, Baron of Astfield and his noble pedigree @Wolfey34 Signed, His Grace, Ruslan Eirik Baruch, Duke of Valwyck, Count of Ayr, Baron of Laval, Riveryn, and Voron, and Guardian of the Haeseni Coast Her Ladyship, Marjorie vas Ruthern of Greyspine OOC: The wedding is going to take place at 5PM EST on Sunday the 20th of June. (5PM EST 20/6/2021)

“Thank Godan. Ah’m sure yer’ a happy man now, papej.” Ruslan Baruch commented to himself while reading over the farewell, before returning to munching on his premium whale blubber.

IGN: Sarmadon (big don) Character Name: Ruslan Baruch

“Ah’ don’ know, the turtles jus’ don’ seem t’ get along anymore.” Duke Ruslan said, seemingly to no one but a painting that depicted himself and the late Analiesa de Astrea. He suddenly received the wedding invitation, narrowing his eyes as he read the part about himself. He scrunched up his nose briefly, placing the invitation down and picking up his sheathed sword before exiting his bedroom.

Celebrating New Life Bells ring the Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska, stretching from the Duchy of Valwyck to Karosgrad. The recently wed pair, His Grace, Ruslan Baruch and Her Grace, Elisabeth Baruch have brought their first sprightly Baruch into the world, a girl; Adryana Helaine Baruch. Thus, the Duke and Duchess sees it fit, that a celebratory feast is to be held, to commemorate the birth, and life sprouted. Each man, woman, and child within the Kingdom are invited to join the celebrations, to-be located at the castle of Lichtestadt, in the Duchy of Valwyck. Only the finest of food and drink shall be provided, and once the bellies of men, are filled with beer, and the women’s with wine, the rest of the night’s fetes are to take place: a brawl, is to be held outside of the castle, where one can prove their strength and expertise in hand-to-hand combat. Whoever triumphs above the rest is to be rewarded one-hundred and twenty minas from the venerable, Duke’s own coffers - alongside only the most delectable slices of whale blubber. Be sure to attend, and make merry with the Duke, and Duchess - while bestowed young - we all know that the Lord Ruslan has an ambitious future ahead of himself. So it would be foolish to not become acquainted and share in these cheery times. Special invitations have been extended out to: His Royal Majesty, Heinrik Karl Barbanov II, King of Hanseti-Ruska and his noble pedigree His Grace, Friedrich Barclay, Duke of Reinmar and his noble pedigree The Most Honorable, Maric Var Ruthern II, Margrave of Greyspine and his noble pedigree The Right Honorable, Kazimar Ludovar, Count of Otistadt and his noble pedigree The Honorable, Jan Kortrevich, Viscount of Krusev and his noble pedigree The Honorable, Britannus Vanir, Viscount of Varna and his noble pedigree The Honorable, Aldrik Amador, Regent of Aurveldt and his noble pedigree His Lordship, Stefan Vyronov II, Baron of Astfield and his noble pedigree Signed, His Grace, Ruslan Eirik Baruch, Duke of Valwyck, Count of Ayr, Baron of Laval, Riveryn, and Voron, and Guardian of the Haeseni Coast HIH Princess, Elisabeth Louise Baruch of Aldersberg [OOC: This is to be held on the date of 16/05/21 - Sunday - at the time of 4pm EST.]

The Ferryman Worm narrowed his eyes for a few moments, before a slow smile spread across his face. “Ahaha, niceeeee.” He said, turning to his left to resume counting Imperial loot.

Duke Ruslan Baruch dusted off his fine noble garment after a friendly duel with Edmund Barclay. He strutted on home, settling down inside his office before a servant dropped off a notice. He smiled ear to ear after reading, looking up to his portrait of Koeng Heinrik II. "Ah' love Haense. . ."

The famous ferryman Worm smiled ear to ear as the deal was signed. He looked over to his cart that had been filled with different sets of armour and weapons, mostly Imperial. "Ah, somewhere to finally store my hard earned loot."