erictafoya

The Victory of Eight Nations [!] The final push at Breakwater Keep –_–_–_ The day was early on the 4th of Sun’s Smile. . . Men loaded their siege engine. . . Spotters saw towering keep in the distant mile. . . On this day - the brigands will meet their brutal ending. _–_–_– Men and women fought, both young and elder. . . Donning steel arms and armor. . . Adria had not known what fate befell her. . . Only that soldiers would meet, in hopes of glory and honor. –_–_–_ Stones and shots crashed against the walls. . . Commander’s barked at their soldiers with courage and pride. . . Concrete crumbled like dust as towers fell - no matter how tall. . . One wonder’s how the enemy felt on the other side. . . _–_–_– Breaches were made into the Valetzian defenses. . . The earth below scorched till unrecognition. . . Eight Nations rallied upon the allied trenches. . . To slay the enemy and take the keep! That was their mission. –_–_–_ And yet, for one moment there was silence. . . A pause in all fellows no matter what creed or nation. . . Some chanted for glory, other’s thirsted for violence. . . One could cut the tension with a blade as they grew in anticipation. _–_–_– Finally! The charge order was given. . . The war cries echoed through the air. . . Allied warriors ran forwards, so brave and so driven. . . Some trudged carefully, some without a single care. –_–_–_ Arrows whistled so quickly, one would think it was song. . . Men charged forth into the fray in a daze of confusion. . . Something was not right, something was wrong! The Army of Eight had overextended themselves like a foolish protrusion. _–_–_– Suddenly - The brigand saw a chance, an opportunity! They left their decimated walls for one action - to fight! The battle was brutal and grueling, yet the eight had found unity! The Veletzians struggled and retreated to the Covenant’s might! –_–_–_ One by one, they fell to our blades. . . The enemy scattered across the bloodied field. . . Thousands littered the grass in the ultimate trade. . . Even the proudest brigands knew when to yield. _–_–_– The siege was one - a decisive victory. . . Triumphant warriors wept, cheered, and were jolly. . . God smiled today on the strongest and most worthy. . . The world now knew of. . . His Lordship, LEONID MARCO D’ARKENT KORTREVICH, Master of the Arts of The Esrova Court, Archivist of Koravia, Squire of The Order of The Crow, “Orcbani” , War Poet

Leonid rowed through the northern rivers of the Highlands, singing a tune. . . "Because I'm a Highland Boyyy - Oh I'm a Highland Boyy"

Leonid knew he looked good in pink. After all. . . he was an I-Leo.

A weary yet still poetical squire yawned into his glove as he read the missive - the leather stained with ink so black that you would never think this came from a brown cow. . . He knew that there was more work to be done, more orcs to fall victim to his blade, more tusks to wear.

A fisherman looked at the chaos ensuing in the realms of Canon, looking at the missive with pride and pure joy "OH MY GODAN THEY'RE F*****"

Leonid looked upon the genius work of ART that his dear cousin published. It seems the new age of Kortrevich and Haeseni artwork would flourish in his time.

The Master of the Arts smiled brightly upon the story, penning a letter to its author an offer that she cannot refuse.

The War Poet read the missive carefully and signed the Hussaryian upon hearing the grim news that befell the Gant. While he did not serve as long as his contemporaries, he held the Marshal with high regard during that service. Now twenty, and a man in his prime, Leonid did know that the task was now up to him and his peers to pick up the pieces left. It was the end of the old Marshal, but the start of the New Generation.

A tired war poet read the missive, and the missives that came afterwards, with a sense of delight and excitement. Leonid looked up to his brother in arms, Mikhail ( @ClatterCake ), and said to him simply, "I could write a play about this" before returning to piles upon piles of scribbled parchment. Meanwhile A retired fisherman seemed to be enjoying himself over this whole ordeal. The life of politics have gotten interesting as soon as he departed it. "Oh well" he sighed shortly afterwards before drafting a letter to the Queen-Mother. "If you ever need a fisherman, don't talk to me I'm retired. But I am single." - Timofei Petrovich [!] A drawing would be showed at the bottom of it.

A retired fisherman looked upon the missive with an amused smile dawned across his face. It seems that, ever since retirement, the geopolitics of Aevos have shown itself. Perhaps fearing the presence of the Emperor of Fish. He never knew, but he penned the new Muldav Menace just once to commend him of his attempt, finding it all hilarious. "To the Menace of Muldav, No battle is ever more intense than that of the heart. Like a elegant Northern Salmon gliding through the ice and wind, you shall soar high no matter the outcome. Should you fail, know that there are friends for you that you can come to for comfort and consolation." - Very Respectfully A man who loves fish Timofei Petrovich.

In the emptiness of his own home of Fortress Ileana, Koravia, a certain poet would still seem to hide a smile as his eyes scanned through collection of monologues - a certain intensity grew as his pupils wandered. Perhaps it was envy, or the greatest admiration, or both, or neither. . . Not even he would know the answer to this. However, he did know that he would need something big - something so big that even a thousand monologues would struggle to keep up to it. The poet sought the mountains once more. . .

VOLUME ONE — — — ALL THINGS HEAL — — — “She is not a trophy, Leonid. She is another young person, with a heart of her own” ISSUED BY THE ON THIS 8TH DAY OF WZUVAR AG BYVKA OF 503 E.S. ✧──────────────⊱🜂⊰──────────────✧ There are lessons to be learned with every event we experience in life. Such experiences, however personal they may be, can be expressed through the form of a story - in this case, poetry. For further context, every event that inspired these three pieces have already occurred, and therefore have been settled. It is important to make that context clear not only to prevent unnecessary issues, but also to convey the theme of this particular anthology. Without further adieu, I do present. . . ✧──────────────⊱🜂⊰──────────────✧ I 8th of Msitza ag Dargund, 499 E.S. | 8th of Amber Cold, 1946 E.S. Our journey starts with an event that is followed with what many refer to famously as “THE FIVE STAGES OF GRIEF”. There are many moments in life where we as people will not succeed. As many wise Haeseni mentors have said in the past, “Failure is the greatest teacher”. “SHATTERED” is a piece that I wrote during my time of failure, and is not meant to bring pity towards me, but to convey the emotions I felt throughout the entire ordeal. . . https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/230667-shattered-499-es/?tab=comments#comment-2006846 ✧⊱🜂⊰✧ II 27th of Wzuvar ag Byvca, 500 E.S. | 27th of Snow’s Maiden, 1947 E.S. There is truly no greater way to display your demands through a strongly written letter. “TO THE MAN I CALLED BROTHER” was not a piece I originally intended to be released to the public, for obvious reasons. However, I felt it important to publish it long after the conclusion of the events as to tie in better towards the end of this lesson. As is famously said, a challenge met is a challenge given. . . https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/231271-to-the-man-i-called-brother-500-es/ ✧⊱🜂⊰✧ III 14th of Wzuvar ag Byvca, 503 E.S. | 14th of Snow’s Maiden, 503 E.S. There is nothing more honorable than a duel. The actual events that inspired this poem actually occurred a few days after the challenge was originally issued. I’ve only recently written it to allow for “old wounds” to heal. “A BRAWL BETWEEN BROTHERS” paints the pictures exactly as I remembered it that day. Despite it being an honor duel, in reality the true events are not as clean as the reputation it may bring. . . https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/231276-a-brawl-between-brothers-503-es/ “All things heal. . . Sometimes they do not grow back quite the same - but yes. All it takes is time” ✧──────────────⊱🜂⊰──────────────✧ His Lordship, LEONID MARCO D’ARKENT KORTREVICH, Master of the Arts of The Esrova Court, Archivist of Koravia, Squire of The Order of The Crow, Slayer of Orcs, War Poet

_—_—_—_ —_—_—_— “I have to see if he is worthy. . . I have to see if he is strong enough. . .” Written on. . . 14th of Wzuvar ag Byvca, 503 E.S. | 14th of Snow’s Maiden, 1950 F.A. _–_–_ The streets were cold on that snowy eve, A young, stubborn bull charged forth, red locks flowed through the frosty breeze, the brunt of his blade sunk deep in the pell with unmatched force –_–_– The pride loved to say, “A challenge met was a challenge given”, and so the brothers in arms would duel this day. Both men separate in life, yet so equally driven. _–_–_ The seconds met in the center, The King of the pride set the terms, a young bull glared and awaited the first blunder. Despite all efforts, the sewer rat held firm. –_–_– Atop the mountain they rode, Within the very grounds where it all started, That fateful day where she had said that dreadful ode. The coming duel would truly never be for the faint hearted. _–_–_ Droplets drummed on their steel plate. Present echoes amidst intensifying silence. Beneath one helm held worry, beneath the other held hate. Both men were readied, holding their blades up in defiance. –_–_– Boots clambered in the dense mud. A fiery bull made his move first. Swords met with a clash - and then a sudden thud! The rat sent his pommel across the other’s chin - a sudden burst. _–_–_ Promising a self victory, the challenger swung in retaliation. The rat fell down and winced, though held on to his rival's wrist! Duelist sunk on towards the ground - abandoning all skill and patience. The fight was as clean as the mud they wrestled in, employing knees, elbows, kicks, and fists. –_–_– Hours pass by and the two are bruised, bloody, and drained. The mud had all but dried up - their bodies encrusted. Neither man had seemed to waiver, cower, or feign. All caution was tossed with no regard - In GOD they truly trusted. _–_–_ In a sudden blink, both men had ridden themselves of a helm. Whilst the two did fight like brawlers, steel met flesh harsh - blunt. The rat took hold of the steel headpiece and smashed it against the bull who fell, ever defiant, perhaps too defiant, the man struck took full forced brunt. –_–_– It was clear who would win, but victory had yet to be seen. A final attempt to fight back, the knelt soldier coiled his arms like a snake. The rat met with a hesitant scream - a glint formed beneath his eyes and droplets gleaned. A final war cry was all to be mustered as the bull faced his fate. . . _–_–_ Alas! A thundering roar came from the Lord Lion. “Enough!”, he demanded, a gruesome yet survivable end. The medics flocked towards the injured, almost as if flying in. For the two had fought valiantly for their love - for their love returned to tend. –_–_– Forgiveness is a process earned through time, not blood. Tis’ a problem that can never be solved by fighting others. However, none may deny the sheer effort brought through tears, sweat, and crimson floods. Many can learn, sing songs, and tell the tale of. . . “I forgive you, respect you, even. I am still hurt by your actions and words but it will heal with time. . .”

RELEASED ON 14th of Wzuvar ag Byvca, 503 E.S. | 14th of Snow's Maiden, 1950 F.A. ORIGINALLY WRITTEN ON 27th of Wzuvar ag Byvca, 500 E.S. | 27th of Snow's Maiden, 1947 F.A. ✧──────────────⊱🜂⊰──────────────✧ [!] A note is presented with this particular piece, from the author who wrote it "To my loyal readers. Let this letter not deceive. All tensions between myself, Ser Mikhail var Ratibor, and the Lady Rosalind Weiss have been resolved personally. I've only released it recently in a wider project that collectively tells this story. I do hope that the message of my work is clear and does not offend any who may read its publishing." Your Author L.M.A.K.

A Warrior Poet scanned the missive over and over again - reading back every line to himself and tracing his fingers as he did so, a poor habit. Leonid finally grasped the true meaning behind this, or at least his interpretation of its vague meaning, and with a curious brow he looked on to his own work, which sat idle upon his desk. The young man scratched his ginger curls in frustration though looked to the poem as inspiration. He knew now what to write, he knew there was going to be a messy fight. . .

In his father's usual tavern apartment, warm and cozy after taking the day to relax, settle down, and write some plays, poetry, and perhaps even a book, Leonid heard the news relatively quickly, as one does in Haense, reading the missive from the distraught "Walking Saint" of House Weiss with much confusion. It was not until the war cries of Stassion, Aaun, and Veletz echoed throughout the lands over an outrage that happened over court. For a moment, Leonid thought "I could write a play about this" but shook his head as there was more work to be done. The Lordling Poet, recently squired under the Knight Paramount, once again took his furs and set them aside for steel. For he had much to catch up on. . . Though he did not leave his work without leaving a curious missive that only had one word written . . . B L O O D

Leonid opened the letter to reveal a PLAY was there from an old friend. He slapped his forehead, shocked "OH MY GODAN SHE BEAT ME TO IT!"

—- —- “You were so dear to my heart, I trusted you with it and you shattered it because you could not have it.” 8th of Msitza ag Dargund, 499 E.S. | 8th of Amber Cold, 1946 F.A. And when he fell, I do retell, my head rung, Like a weakened bell, I had been shattered. –_ I ran away, to keep at bay, my emotions wild, like the end of day, My light was shattered. _– I was blind, no longer kind, it had consumed me, like a curse divine, My faith was shattered. –_ And so I rallied, rode west and sallied, there I saw him, across the valley, That man I aimed to shatter. _– And so the bull, who was a fool, had seen his errors, like a dull tool, My mind was shattered. –_ I peered the edge, and saw only red, for I had lost it- and was good as dead, My will had shattered. _– I saw her eyes, they could not lie, our love was over, a terrible demise, My heart had shattered. –_ My life was ruined, for I had blew it, a sharp embrace, a crimson fluid, All hope was shattered. _– And so I trucked, I run-a-muck, but they followed suit, in great luck, My daze was shattered. –_ The heavy rain, had dulled my pain, I listened blissfully, Inner-peace I gained, My ails were shattered. –_ I rose again, amongst true friends, I had restored myself, and realized then… “The water has fallen, you must let it fall… Then it will come back up, and things will be better again” L.M.A.K.

We all appreciate you Yoppl!

Leonid sat in the feast hall tiredly, though with a proud smile. He would hold on to the shield from one of five enemies he fell this day, though now was the time for celebration.

For the last few months, Leonid had been training his heart out and pushing his limits to his absolute maximum. Upon reading the missive, an even brighter fire was lit underneath him as he now had a goal to reach for. The usually passive young man swiftly signed up for the tournament... "And now on to the present... what to get... I wonder..." He pondered to himself silently.

A strapping young Kortrevich man screams about the square in jubilant celebration "Papej retires, Rosa is doing great, and Mari is now Grand Lady??? OH MY GODAN."

Leonid cheers in relief as finally, for the first time in his now sixteen years of existing, he can spend even MORE time with his father. "But truly, I may have time to spend time with my papej, but he has been this court's daddy for decades."