TreeSmoothie

An aging Baron sat alone in his quarters, smoke from his cigar clouding the room. Choked sobs could be heard from outside, dulling to ill-hidden sniffles as his attendant read aloud the flier. "King Adrian is dead," John Augustus mumbled. "Long live ... Queen Sybille."

♫♪ “Dear god, sorry to disturb you, but … I feel I should be heard loud and clear. We all need a big reduction in the amount of tears, and all the people that you made in your image – see them fightin’ in the street. Because they can’t make opinions meet about God …” ♫♪ “BOY!” House Galbraith’s affairs – and by extension, John’s – was hardly ever kept private. It was like an open book to all of Balian, a book formerly closed shut by chains and rope and glue that was brutally torn apart against the will of the writer. As a child he sulked the streets weighed down by the fear of his father and the judgement of others. At one point, it became a burning hatred. It was a day like no other, a sunny day. He’d just turned eleven, or ten, or … those things blurred together. He was young, he recalled. An Ensign in the Armada! Young John, the boy thought, was invincible now, complete with the too-big armour he wore and the heavy sword he could hardly yield. And as he rounded the corner to the square and stopped at the gate, his pride all but withered to a wisp as he felt a rough hand yank his shoulder, turning him about on his heel, to face the looming figure of his father. Carles. He couldn’t remember what the man said. He felt the sun stinging his eyes and, suddenly, his armor was too heavy to stand in. The words hurt worse than they usually did. The boy felt his mind blur and fade, only coming back ‘til, suddenly, a different figure stood before him. Adrian. “John. Are you alright?” He’d never been called by his name before, only ‘boy’. That was enough for the young Heir to decide where his loyalties laid for the rest of his life. ♫♪ “And all the people you made in your image, still believin’ that junk is true. I know it and so do you, dear … god. I can’t believe in …” ♫♪ So John became Adrian’s ward, and by god, the talk with Carles about it felt more like a hostage negotiation than anything else. For decades after he’d continue to call himself the King’s Ward rather than Carles’ son. He announced Adrian, he stood beside him in meetings, and nearly died protecting him in the Siege of Balian. As his vision ebbed to black and a spear dug into the socket of his eye, John wept, because he knew few would weep for him, for there would be no funeral – Carles wouldn’t waste mina like that, he thought. And then he awoke on a surgeon’s table, Adrian and Rhys lingering beside him. The King had made him the first Balianite to receive an animatii craft from him, a new eye. And he continued to know where his loyalties would lie. Carles died of mysterious circumstance, something only John, Rhys, and Godani himself knew the truth of. The now-Baron of Castelorena was all grown. He’d go on to marry Princess Lucia of Hyspia, and King Adrian fronted the bill. John would reveal to the King he had conceived bastards, and King Adrian kept it a secret and offered advice and, need-be, a sword if they got out of line. John lingered in the corners of taverns and the alleys of streets; when there was slander against Adrian, he’d cut it short with a blade. He’d even planned to slay Andromeda over her mistreatment of the man, his hatred knew no bounds. ♫♪ “I won’t believe in heaven or hell - saints, no sinners, no devil as well! The pearly gates, no thorny crown - you’re always looking us humans down! The wars you wage, the babes you drown, those lost at sea and never found!” ♫♪ Adrian & Dante were the closest thing John had ever had to a true father, there when he was at his highest and his lowest. He’d work to become the Royal Legate of Balian, a preacher of peace so that he might see both men become old and wrinkled like the eldest oak tree. Many a visit to Veletz and other realms, unarmed, un-manned, and many a time sent back with little progress - of course, peace wouldn’t last, and John watched both … especially Adrian … stress. The King had grown a ratty beard and a certain desperation lingered in his eyes like that of an animal cornered against flame. A ticking bomb, a shaken blast potion. And so the Royal Legate felt that familiar, gnawing, tearing, ripping fear in his stomach like he had before to Carles. Adrian was dying. God, he was dying. So John swung his sword just a bit fiercer each siege ‘gainst Veletz, spent his time in the mines digging for Daemonsteel, loaded each trebuchet shot they’d lob at Breakwater Keep like it was his last. It didn’t stop Adrian from aging, in fact, he saw the old King less. “We’ve won the Siege of Brasca Keep – but there is much more to come.” ♫♪ “And it’s the same the whole world round, the hate I see helps to compound! The FATHER, SON, AND HOLY GHOST, is just somebody’s unholy hoax! And if you’re up there, you’ll perceive, that my heart’s here upon my sleeve! If there’s one thing I don’t believe in . . .” ♫♪ Anger continued to boil inside the man until it reached it’s worst point, when bandits assailed them outside of the city. John rained hell on foe and friend alike, explosions rocking the Balianese countryside to its core and fire burning grass to ugly crisps. He was captured, and for a year and a day, the Royal Legate rotted in shackles. And when he was freed by Rhys, he roamed the streets, lost, after being given the rundown on the newest Duana meeting. “King Adrian has blacklung. We’re unsure how much time he has left.” The man truly was dying. With hair unkempt and eyes glossy and tired, he trudged toward two familiar faces for comfort – Gwenyth and Robyn – yet he had the opposite. “Your son died, John,” Gwenyth spoke. “But Adrian won’t follow the law against child soldiers - that’s why Alfonso died,” muttered Robyn. He lost Alfonso. He was losing King Adrian. The man balled his fists, preparing to wail on the Magister without so much as a second thought, but the de Lyons walked off, and so John was left to wander the streets amiss. He lapsed, and suddenly he was held in the arms of his beloved paramour Rhys. For the first time in years he cried aloud and voiced each little worry, and for the first time in years he felt safe. And he recalled, too, when King Adrian supported them against all odds … and law. “You two love each other,” spoke he. “You have my blessing to marry him.” ♫♪ “It’s you, dear god.” ♫♪ And now, he was dead. Adrian was dead. Alfonso was dead. John still had much to live for, but he’d never quite be the same. Each month of Sun’s Smile he’d mourn, and on that day, the 10th, that mark on his chest would burn as hot as white flame. The Baron of Cascanova would begin his descent into madness earlier than most holders of the Pertinaxi Sigil would, and one day he was destined to burn out and reunite with them in the heavens or join Carles in hell.

"Will they ever stop yapping?" mumbled an aging Royal Legate, happily sipping on his 4th mug of spiked eggnog. "Where is their jolly spirit?"

A pygmy dragon finds the young butler . . . somehow, via letter magick . . . carrying a letter! After breaking the seal upon it, he'd find the following; "Ave, segnor Butler! I am John, Baron of Cascanova. Our manor is in dire need of staffing; we'd love to have you! I do warn you, we have many ... rambunctious children. Spray them with water and they'll be kind as a cherub. Send me a bird if you're interested. - J.A. Galbraith"

"Really chalkin' himself full of titles, ain't he?" murmured an aging Baron as he stacked bricks. "And imprinting their own House's coat of arms on a holy organization." He tapped at the tree in the middle of the emblem, before slapping some paint atop it to use as a mixing palette. "Crazy."

John stood, in silence, before a urn of his son's ashes. Bitter tears stung his cheeks and burnt his eyes red - he was tired. But he gripped his sword, knuckles white, and prepared to fight that same fight over again as little Alfonso would have. "Barbarians," he spat. "Murderers."

The Barony of Cascanova announces the death of his lordship, Alfonso Darius Galbraith. Perpetrated by an unknown, now deceased, culprit, our beloved son will be cremated at dawn, his ashes to be used in all three crematorial rites. May his life be remembered as what sprung these traditions forth, and never be his killer recalled nor cherished. Long may his spirit live in tandem with Godani, a martyr to Balian and House Galbraith. Alfonso Galbraith’s urn, decorated with a duck. The first of three rites, utilizing a standard cremation ceremony of burning the deceased’s earthly body into ethereal ash. Since the ashes are only made for collection, purity of the ash isn’t as considered, and thus they’re often sent away with prized possessions and their finest garb, alongside whatever else might be important to the individual. After the ashes are collected, a special vase is made detailing their life – battles, a specific scene, and other imagery. In the case of the death of the child, something important to them like an animal is used instead. Such vases are first built from metal, then lined with clay, to ensure the urn cannot be shattered. A blade forged from Alfonso Galbraith’s ash. A tradition reserved for those who perished wielding a weapon, fighting until their dying breath. By siphoning blood out of the individual and burning them with only their body, the blood can be boiled over for traces of iron and carbon from the ash, alloying it with other metals to forge a blade that contains the deceased. Though these are often only used as display, some – such as those of especially great combative skill – are brought into battle with hopes of the ancestor’s blessing. A statue of Alfonso Galbraith, wearing Balianese Armada plate. Reserved for statesmen, diplomats, and those whose influence touched the realm beyond the Barony’s walls, the Effigy of the Eternal rite involves burning the individual’s body alone for pure ash. After going through a sieve to further remove impurities, the remains are processed and added to water to become a paste, which is then applied over a statue of the deceased’s likeness. The resulting color is typically a dull gray or tan, though the more ash there is, the lighter and, uniquely, bluer this pigment becomes. As a result, children’s statues are smaller and darker. Alfonso’s legacy will be remembered for generations to come – the same cannot be said of his darkspawn assailant. Let me tell you now, maleficar; I will put the fear of Godani into you. IN HOC SIGNO VINCES Signed, His Excellency, John Augustus Galbraith, Baron of Cascanova, Patriarches de Galbraith, Ward of the King, Secretary of Diplomatic Affairs, Royal Legate.

John cannot wait to be reunited with pookie.

In the dead of night, the tranquil Balianese countryside was laid waste to amidst a clash between the Armada and the bandits that plagued the realm; a rift bore itself between the earth and sky, and out spat red-hot flames that targeted soldier and thief alike. Explosions shook the earth, leaving craters so deep one could stand in them – the jousting ring thoroughly destroyed. The sky over Balian was black for days. The outcome was disastrous, and as the handful of survivors: Balthazar, Alfonso Galbraith, and a number of bandits fled, the leader of that troupe took one John Augustus Galbraith as prisoner after finding him fainted in the bushes. In the days following, a metal drake would visit Portoregne, a raggedy letter held within its maws sent by the Royal Legate . . . “HELP ME!!!” [!] A depiction of a very sad Royal Legate. You presume he drew this himself. Comrades! I’ve survived the battle with those wretches – but I’m taken as hostage within Fort Alexandros, they’ve overthrown the place whilst we were prepping for the next field battle. My current guards aren’t quite literate, so they don’t suspect anything of this ‘strange art piece’ I’ve sent you all, but … I don’t what they plan on doing with me. I’m scared. I have little food and water. I cannot move, my legs are broken. Worst of all, I have no lotion for my [pristine] skin nor cucumbers for my eyes! I’M ALREADY BREAKING OUT! I MISS MY BESTEST FRIEND, RHYS! And my family. Please, save me! - John [OOC EVENT INFO] Next Wednesday (December 20) at 3 PM EST! Rally in Balian’s capital.

DUUUDE this is amazing

The Royal Legate raised his glass, papers spread out in a mess over his desk. "GODANISTAN BLESS THE COVENANT! LONG LIVE ADRIAN!"

Yo!! If you enjoy cowboy rp, hmu on discord Username is velkuzat

A grizzled Legate grimaced at the flier, tapping the edge of a quill against the bottom of the paper. "Parents lose the right to their children?! And they're housing Andromeda? What a horrid realm."

This is just from my own personal experience- I'm apart of my state's swordfighting guild, it's almost impossible to use a spear with one hand unless you mean to throw it. It just doesn't work. Similarly, you can hold a longsword with one hand, but because it is long (and thus heavier), holding it in one hand and then trying to use it will hurt your wrist really bad whilst trying to fight with it (alongside doing very little in terms of force).

"Elves," remarked a rosy-haired Balianese man.

Spears def require 2 hands, longswords are about the same

A sparsely injured Royal Legate paraded home, the flag of Balian held high in the air. He stunk of blackpowder and flame, hair singed from all the time spent at the trebuchets. His armor was dented, yet he bled little, Ferrymens' blades too dull to cut. "We did it. We did it!"

An old, decaying yet living, Necrolyte meditated amongst the ash and brimstone of Hexicanum. Crooked teeth shown through its grin, whitened eyes shooting open to stare at the hellish rift beside it. "The threat felled, lifeless and cold," it rattled, "A life extinguished, threat undone, in death's embrace, a battle won." It came to a stand, trodding past smeared gore and shattered bone, around crook and cranny, over where 'Knox's phylactery once laid. "That thing threatened what I had built ... intermingling with mortalkind, acting like a mortal - building relationships," Kthak-al-zta spat at the cobble, cawing like a mangeridden bird. "It had the gall to threaten I! The gall!" Soon after, it returned to its old, bitter routine - slumber for a few dozen more years.

The sword shoud go boom and shatter if combustion is used

"My children are stronger at five than the average malnourished Veletizan peasant," the father of the pair spoke, smiling the sun's smile as he sharpened tiny swords for them. He was conscripted as a child, as was his father, and his father - so, of course, he saw nothing wrong it it. "War is our blood!" "Godani supports Child Labor. Equality for all, we say."

"The faechk? Callista's, like, sixty-something ..." John mumbled, squinting at the missive. "Poor woman."

The Royal Legate of Balian smiled the sun's smile amidst a stack of papers, files, and diplomatic letters. A pause in his duties, briefly, for glorious bloodshed.

In the dim-lit halls of Cascanova, a meeting brewed. At the front of it, John stood resolute, wielding the very blade his House's Patriarchs of yore did as they conquered. Tapestries lined the walls detailing their past greatness - an empirelike state, greatest amongst the Harvestlords, spanning across several fiefs and lesser lords. Each heirloom held the scars of their bloody past, each title holding thousands of lives taken for it, every Patriarch trained for war. True, his family once would have sided with the likes of Veletz, but the tides had turned long ago. The epitome of humility and courage, Lucius had forsaken such bloodstained past to side with Balian then. Raising the red, gold, and black banners of Galbraith, the Royal Legate prepared himself and his House to side with Balian and her allies now, and forevermore. "FOR GODANI!" "FOR KING ADRIAN!" "FOR HUMANITY!" , the man roared.

An aging Royal Legate dipped his head, staring down at the bloodied streets with an empty gaze. His young son - hardly six - stood with him in the bloodshed, carrying a sword far too large for his little hands. The Galbraiths stood in silence for a while. "Ave Balian - Long Live King Adrian. We must end this war quickly."