erictafoya

An old Fisherman smokes that good uruk bush in a small wooden fishing hut somewhere in the north as he read the missive with a smile. A single *puff* came from the insane man of fish as he cheered "Y'know, I do love some Orcish Green. That hits different!"

Located in an unmarked lake somewhere, a certain Fisherman enjoyed his little retirement in his shed. Though he continuously found open letters from all over the world suddenly flooding his hut! Where in the world would he able to store his fish? Disgruntled by the act of flooding his small safe space, the man, who at this point was clearly manic, sent the Abbot-Bishop Leofric something that he thought he needed, in the hopes these letters would stop!

 

An inspired, and slightly manic, fisherman raised his fist up in the air as he read the missive from the King "Tell em'! That's it - tell em Aleks! They've slaughtered their last holler - or whatever these kids say nowadays!!!"

The supposed "King who Stayed" scratches his beard as the missive was given out. He seemed perplexed, and very confused on a very important matter. An essential matter, one would call it, as he held two bands in his hands "I just don't get it!" exclaimed the King Fisher in some unmarked lake "Do I wear this burgundy headband still? Should I wear whatever kind of red that is now?? Can I still fish there??? Godan. . . I better choose wisely else they'll make another song about me"

The Poet Marshal looked back on the events of the day, reclining on his office chair lazily for the first time in what seemed to be months. It was no secret that he was a very tired man, though his energies were spent on the front line cavalry alongside his King ( @Mio). Despite the clear and seamlessly easy victory, there was a lingering, almost itching thought.

"How much more can they take?"

Somewhere in the seven skies, an ancient ally of House Barclay smiles with his old friend "The Northern Fox" as he looked on to the recent events. . . The man bearing a Red Bull on the back of his armor smiled and said "Now THATS a Barclay Bargain!" ( @Miniguy15736)

Meanwhile, The Poet Marshal of Haense is simply happy that his cousin and close advisor, Alfred, finally had his moment to shine. ( @Gandhi)

 

VOLUME TWO

— — —

A FOUNT OF POETRY

— — —

 

ISSUED BY THE

ON THIS 8TH DAY OF WZUVAR AG BYVKA OF 513 E.S.

✧──────────────⊱🜂⊰──────────────✧

 

 

Thirty years ago, the world lost one of its brightest stars in Sir Borris Iver Kortrevich. . . my great uncle and one of the greatest poets in all humanity. Growing up I always read the works of Sir Borris. In fact, he was the sole reason why I’m able to read and write today. Those poems he wrote from childhood to his last breath inspired me to become the writer I am today, and today I share with you some unseen gems.

 

To be a good poet, one must be consistent, diligent, or heavily meaningful in writing. . . Sir Borris had all three qualities and much, much more. With every fiber of my artistic value as both a participant and enjoyer of the arts, there have been few who could even hold up to the standard of which he built, and there will still be few as time goes on.

 

Without further adieu, for the first time in history, I have the honor to present. . .

 

Nine Unpublished Poems

By

Sir Borris Iver Kortrevich

 

 

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Completed on 27th of Msitza ag Dargund,  480 E.S. by Sir Borris Iver Kortrevich

Published on 8th of Wzuvar ag Byvca, 513 E.S. by Leonid Marco d’Arkent-Kortrevich

 

 

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[!] A portrait of an adult Borris Iver Kortrevich 

@tcs_tonsils_

 

 

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After it All

 

Take heed, my Love,

For the day may come when I am not but dust.

If in grief, keep it brief.

Do not mourn my passing.

 

Don’t forget that which was,

Yet do not forgo that which could be.

For when I am but rot and bone,

I hope you find another home.

 

 

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Shades

 

Wind die down, Wind die down.

Let us not, in torrent, drown.

Calm your rush which pounds at the door.

Causing crisp chill to flood from the floor.

 

Leave us so that warmth might resume,

Be not this our frozen tomb.

Keep the fire’s roaring blaze,

Steady within the harth’s homely base.

 

 

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Songbird’s Melody

 

Only a peak

Is what I seek,

To look upon her face.

But far beyond,

That tender song,

Is the beauty underneath.

 

 

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Worth

 

How do you define your worth?

By wealth given to you at birth?

Or the titles awarded by those seeing mirth?

 

Do you listen to other’s words?

Taking heart of insults given?

If so, then leave, take pack and go,

For your future they have no power to sow.

 

 

---

 

 

We are No Longer Children

 

Wan lit faces pass us by,

Their looks only a blur.

For in this moment is you and I,

Finally, finally, finally.

 

Too long we played hide and seek,

Our livelyhoods the prize.

Now finally, finally, we’ve finished our bout,

Love to find the light.

 

 

---

 

 

Capture of a Little Kortrevich

 

Brutal hands have dragged me here,

Torn my shirt in two.

 

My head was bashed on rock and stone

Causing me to bleed.

 

Why have you gone and captured me?

What wrong have I done?

 

For you were the love of Vasi, no?

Who placed a child in her womb.

 

Yet the monster deep inside she saw,

So from your arms she fled.

 

What a fool she was to trust your heart,

The villain in the night.

 

So you broke down our door,

Demanding the one you thought you knew.

 

You have grabbed both men and children,

Hauling us into the darkness.

 

Yet men did come to our aid,

Even those we fought against,

 

For in your rage, you skipped a page,

Harming a wife and lady..

 

You truly are not a man of wit,

And Your anger is unbecoming.

 

Take to heart these simple words.

Your reckoning soon arrives.

 

 

---

 

 

Death Sentence

 

Hands a ‘rolling.

Hands a ‘rolling.

Fates’ threads cut clean.

 

No ballads shall seek to praise you.

Nor poems, songs, or odes.

 

Alec, Alec, a sad sight to see,

A blot on the face of earth.

The stain upon the land of man,

Yet man he was but not.

 

I hope you suffered, kicked and squealed,

When a’last the lever dropped.

 

You never learned,

Till that final breath.

Your reckoning at last did come.

 

 

---

 

 

Sins of the Father and Mother

 

How can I forgive?

What terror I received on your behalf!

You Left, I cried, “Gone, Gone.”

 

Still now you ask for return,

Like you have done no wrong.

Yet I see the demon in your children’s eyes,

The man we all despise.

 

 

---

 

 

Nikolai - 480 E.S.

 

 You are interesting as I look back on life,

For now I see the struggle.

It was always there, biting at the foot,

Like disease within a murky trench.

 

You had demons, more than other do,

That caught you when looking back.

The mysteries of practicies,

Your name falls from the group.

 

There were faults,

Bloated and Porous,

That followed where you led.

Perhaps if those were set aside,

You’d still be here a while.

 

Yet you looked for ways build the house,

To stand up for what was true.

You raised another’s foolish child, 

With compassion in your heart.

 

For that I’m grateful, I truly am,

Though I seldom care to say.

In days I couldn’t find my way,

You lead me in the dark.

 

✧──────────────⊱🜂⊰──────────────✧

 

 

His Excellency, LEONID MARCO D’ARKENT KORTREVICH,

Lord Marshal of Hanseti-Ruska, Master of the Arts of The Esrova Court, Archivist of Koravia, Squire of The Order of The Crow, “Orcbani”, “The Poet Marshal”,  War Poet.

 

From a crowded office in the Brotherhood Barracks, The Poet Marshal penned a letter congratulating his fellow poet and good friend Marius. In that letter, it would read:

 

"To my good friend, Marius,

 

Or should I say, Baron Lovetts! I could see none more deserving of a promotion. Your works have not only inspired me to do better but have inspired the hearts of an entire army. Some call us propagandist, but in truth we are and always will be artists. I suppose poetry really is a gateway to greater things, huh? Enjoy your well deserved promotion and I look forward to our future projects with one another."

 

Your Friend,

As the Coalition forces charged from that dreaded throne room they were bundled up in, The Poet Marshal lead a charge alongside his brother-in-arms Ser Mikhail Valkonen ( @ClatterCake) and his fellow commander, Sir Percy de Lyons ( @Shmeepicus)to their northern wall, with a few more warriors. As the group cleared the enemy trenches, a moment came to the Marshal. A realization. . . Something clearly inspired him that day.

"The calm before the bloody storm. . . From their walls shall they be torn. . ." muttered the Poet Marshal after publishing what was his finest work yet. . . The finest of them all would be found at the March, for they have sealed their fate.

MC Name: erictafoya11

 

Discord: erictafoya

 

Image: 

 

Description of Image: A propaganda recruitment poster for the BSK

 

Dimensions: 1 map only

 

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Brotherhood of Saint Karl
A Call to Arms

 

 

KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM

 

 

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The Kingdom of Haense and its people have prospered through tumultuous and perilous eras, and yet here we still stand. Through comradery, bravery, and resilience, the Haeseni people have been stalwart defenders of their own and thrive through any opposition. Our cruel and vicious enemies attempt to test this resolve, and hopes to break out hopes and win this war.

 

We will not allow that.

 

The Brotherhood of Saint Karl has been at the forefront of the fight against all of our enemies for centuries. From our Imperialist oppressors, to our current Veletzian foe, we have stood victorious countless times and countless times we will stand again without fail.

 

But we cannot stand alone.

 

Join us, and continue this glorious battle in defending our motherland. The aid  of the citizens is much welcome to be able to continue this fight and ultimately claim victory over our enemies. We will provide training, a home, and all equipment necessary. All you need is courage, and we will provide the way. The question remains. . . .

 

Will you answer the call?

If you are interested, please reach out to Sergeant Konrad Stafyr or another Officer to be recruited.

 

 

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---

 

 

His Excellency, Leonid Marco D’Arkent Kortrevich.

Lord Marshal of Hanseti-Ruska, Master of the Arts of The Esrova Court, Archivist of Koravia, 

Squire of The Order of The Crow, “Orcbani,” “The Poet Marshal,” War Poet.

His Lordship, Konrad Stafyr

Sergeant of The Brotherhood of Saint Karl and Head Recruiter

In a far away distance was a man who was not so much bothered by war, but by the daily catch. Upon hearing the details of a seemingly brutal battle, The King Fisher could not help but see if she was safe. Alas, he would breath easily and smiled knowing that the Haeseni people kept their promise. . .

 

They kept her safe.

Leonid looks at the missive with envy "Non ******* way. . . Dimi get's married before ME?!"

The Poet Marshal looked over the Covenant's battle plans somberly as he knew he needed to send even more, and newer, men into the ranks. As time goes on the old faces go, and some are even younger than him now. . . He sighed heavily and rolled the map into his hand. "I suppose - we're back. Though we never really left."

Little did the Baroness know what menace she has brought to the world as the infant future Baron would seem innocent. . . for now.

The 'War Poet ' Leonid seemed confused at the setting of the play, as he himself wasn't even aware that his betrothed had been captured! A tragic tale of how war separated the two more than they already were.

A fisherman sat in a tavern near yet far from his Queen when he heard a curious tune that recalled his gloried tale. He seemed to smile at it, though he quickly departed to not draw any attention toward himself…

 

((Genuinely top 5 best things that I’ve experienced in my five years being on this server. Thank you so much! This is a wonderful Christmas Present and I hope you have an amazing holiday!))

1 hour ago, critter said:

“The silencing order had been given,

and all men held their noise no matter how driven.

Time had come to drag the enemy from the keep they lived in.

Every man fallen today would be a bloody addition.”

Leonid d’Arkent-Kortrevich, The Fall of Brasca, stanza II. 507ES.

Leonid is just now realizing his work has attained the "Quotable" level of influence, and could not help but feel just an ounce of pride for his work before going back to bashing every single mistake he's made in poetry over the decade.

Leonid was there, on the Bloody Battle of Brasca. Despite being carried away in injury, he recalled the details of the battle from his own perspective and that of many of his surviving companions. He looked on to his work with a mixed expression of pride, solemn, and guilt. Had he just profited off of the demise of others? 

 

A conundrum indeed

 

 

Leonid, recovering from his wounds received on the field of battle, soon found out the solemn news and, despite their differences, he felt sadness for the priest and his Weiss allies. He soon brought pen to paper once more, despite recently writing in his bed, and returned to his work. . .

The Saint Who Walked Among Us

Hater's say Cyyan's heart is weak, real ones know it's strong and resilient

A Knightly Poet rested in the comforts of his own home as he recalled every moment of that day in his head... On his table rested his latest work inspired by today's events. He could hardly hear after spending such intimate time with the trebuchets, but he knew that all efforts were worth it.