pkdon

"Our sister returns." The Crown-Prince looked to his brother with a smile.

Marcus Tiberias looks at his win tally... positive by the month's end he dreamed.

The Crown Prince watched his wife and child from afar, lingering in silence by the door-frame so as not to stir them from their sleep. Those princely chambers were quiet, so much so that the fall of the infant’s breath seemed loud - peaceful, unlike his elder brother. A warm hue enveloped him, spouted from the lantern atop the bedside table. This one looked far more like him than Caius, which Marcus had found amusing; for there was no crown waiting for this one, no burden of inevitability pressed upon his brow. And in that absence, he felt something unexpected - not relief, but gratitude. A second son. The life he had once yearned for in his youth, devoid of crown and duty. To choose one’s place besides history, rather than beneath it. He reached out, fingers brushing lightly against that purple swaddling cloth, his features softening but slightly. “You are blessed, my son,” Marcus murmured at last. “You must protect your brother, always.” His gaze lingered on both mother and son, submerged in a deep fondness. As he stared, the image of his own brother grew ever clearer. His most trusted ally, his most dear of friends. There was strength there, much like Titus’ own, not that which is measured by inheritance, but by a purpose yearning to be forged. This child would not rule. He would stand. Whatever storms waited for the Empire, whatever fate demanded of the heir, the boy would not face it alone. “The Crown, and the Sword.”

The Crown Prince's verdant hues washed over that proclamation, not lingering on the words, nor their implications. The parchment was lowered, whereby his gaze passed beyond that chamber unto the great map of the continent, splayed across the wall afar. He traced those familiar lines - the borders inked, the frontiers marked, the southern lands yet unconquered. "Our work continues."

"Oh, this is my son!" Exclaimed the Crown Prince

Issued and averred by the office of the IMPERIAL CROWN ✠ HEED, TO ALL; Benches groaned under crowded knights and soldiers, tankards brimming and clashing in raucous rhythm, the air thick with rowdy song - some tuneful, most slurred - and the tang of spilled ale. Armor piled against walls like shed skins, the groomsmen donned their wedding finery amid gales of laughter. At the heart, The Crown Prince Marcus Tiberias reigned atop a table, bottle raised high, his jeers and cheers shattering the night. Hours of revelry heralded the true feast: a dwarven rally at dawn. The merry host spurred out still singing, half-drunk, wholly eager, to greet their "foes" - one hundred Imperials matched by a dwarven line of equal steel. Elated, these men were able to find a dancing partner. And so they did, lining up opposite each other before at last, the Bachelor’s Party was underway. At first, one might have thought the alcohol to have taken its toll on the Imperials. A few soldiers had tripped over their feet, some driven off their horses by heavy heads. Prince Johannes led and corralled the fighting force alongside his nephew, the aforementioned and celebrated Crown Prince, returning the men to their senses as they picked up their weapons and regrouped in the forest to hold their ground. The dwed cavalry had attempted to catch the enemy young heir of Blackvale unawares, riding him down as he marched back to the forest. Prince Willem van Aert was not one to yield so readily; as the galloping hooves drew closer, the Lodenlander planted his feet firmly into the ground. He weaved a lance, then another, his pike bringing down the third cavalryman. The merry host lay down arrow fire, covering the van Aert as he at last rejoined them. They held by those trees of gold leaves, as both forces prepared for the final engagement. Down the path, the dwed host approached in formation, clattering their swords against the shields as they marched with haste. Not long after, the skirmish began, a test of dwarven steel against the Imperial counterpart. Misha, the leal elf, was first into the fray, charging headfirst into the enemy lines. He found himself at odds with three dwed at once, yet their swords faltered at the sight of his fury. The dwarves pressed their advantage, bringing more and more against this lone elf, almost bringing down the rampaging menace, until the Prince of Blackvale broke through. Just as Misha before him, Martius van Aert brought his axe down upon the skulls of their shorter foe, sending them scurrying one by one. Just behind, the Turtle Knight, Sir Frederick Euler, rained down a hail of arrows; combined with his javelin, the strong arm of the Adrian made porcupines of the dwarvish infantry. The enemy cavalry took a detour up the mountainside, admiring the horizon before joining the fight. They were first met by the Grand Knight’s squire, Corswain, who lanced the mountain-detoured cavalry, then harried footmen; Prince Johannes swept through with his shortsword, piercing the brittle dwarves plate as their blood lay splattered across the winding cobble path. Their numbers dwindled, and their resolve had shattered. The Crown Prince and Sir Ghetsis Mareno were the final nail in the coffin. The Myrnish knight cut down the entire regiment of Irehearts with his longsword, an unrelenting and unforgiving menace to any foe that had dared cross him. Five charged him at once; none would live to tell the tale. Prince Marcus dismounted what cavalry remained, rendering them dazed and confused as they attempted to retreat. He ran them down, as he did the infantrymen that remained. The party was over. AVE IMPERIUM! H V M A N I T A S I N V I C T A “Für Gott und Kaiser,” HIS IMPERIAL HIGHNESS, Marcus Tiberias of the House Horen, Crown Prince of the Empire, Duke of Grense. NON DVCOR, DVCO

"YOU ARE A KRUGSMAS ORNAMENT!" The Prince quipped back, sending a postcard to the dwarf

Issued and averred by the office of the IMPERIAL CROWN ✠ HEED, TO THE ALLIANCE OF THE TWO BROTHERS, AND THE PRINCE OF THE STARS; When first we came to the dwarven lands, your walls and gates could not save you; at every turn of the winding paths of Kal’Baraz, one could find the corpses of dwed and ork kind littered, so many of whom had attempted to flee upon sighting the bold Imperial charge. In our second engagement, the outcome was less plain. The plentiful additions to your defences made it more difficult for our forces to penetrate your gates, and I bore witness to the fabled dwarven engineering, with traps of redstone intended to catch our soldiers unawares in their bouts of boredom. They did not work, in fact I believe they worked against you, but I commend the effort nonetheless. It did not change the fact though, that even with such battlements, so many of your men had perished. Our host returned to Rittersburg with far more gained than what had been lost, our greatest expense being time. And it does not change the fact that our siege engines will render all this effort futile, as it will for the orkish capital too. The walls you find such faith in shall fall, and you with them. This is destined. But until that day, you may find contention with such a notion. You may think it mere conjecture, grounded in the brazen hubris so very typical of mankind, bar your Belethian Paramount of the Blood of course. The sons of Krug and Urguan could never and will never be defeated by humanity, standing ever defiant against Imperialist expansion. One may look at the histories and think they substantiate this, surely it must bear credence. Hear me plainly: I invite your forces to meet with us in the open field, with no tunnels to disappear into and no ramparts to lean upon. Let all bear witness to whether you are more than just the fortresses you hide behind. We shall bring no more in number than you - one may even posit our own side being outnumbered. If you believe your strength is real, bring it forward. If you believe your gods favour you, let them watch. If you believe this war is not already decided, prove it. We will be there. AVE IMPERIUM! H V M A N I T A S I N V I C T A “Für Gott und Kaiser,” HIS IMPERIAL HIGHNESS, Marcus Tiberias of the House Horen, Crown Prince of the Empire, Duke of Grense. NON DVCOR, DVCO

"This is the same alliance we just defeated at Urguan, yes? I fail to see the fourth brother in all of this." Marcus queried of his father, strolling leisurely through the palace gardens. "I pray the Lord Paramount of the Blood shows us mercy." The Prince picked up a pebble, skipping it across the pond surface.

"Oh, this is my wedding!" Marcus Tiberias exclaimed as the missive was passed to his hands.

“It seems they could not handle the charge, perhaps their swords were too low down?” Prince Marcus remarked to his father

Within the Knight’s Hall, breathed a low steady noise. Two men sat opposite each other, attended by their squires. Leather straps were drawn tight, buckles clicking shut one by one. The steel plates kissed together with familiar clacks, as pauldrons were settled on the shoulders to bear them. One looked across as he fastened the final clasp of his vambrace. “It is time, brother.” The Crown Prince spoke, his gauntlet striking into place at the flat of his palm. He reached for his sword, as untested in true battle as he. Nevertheless, it held a surety that it should not falter, bolstered by the conviction of his own heart. “The sons of Malin were wise to cede peacefully. Those spawn of Krug and Urguan are gravely misled.” He rose to his feet, helmet nestled against his cuirass as his eyes wandered out the stained-glass window. “This is not ambition. This is birthright. Mankind was destined to lord over all.”

bring back buckler i miss using my melee weapon

The young princeling pressed the final stroke of his signature upon the parchment, it lifting with a certainty. His verdant hues traced those present; lords, knights, envoys, each witness to the occasion. He spoke then: "Here, before God, we prove that division was never destiny. The Holy Imperium guides all to salvation. Mankind united, at last." Prince Marcus Tiberias extended out his hand then, a firm shake exchanged between him and the Basileus. His attention set upon a map of the continent, lingering upon where Lotharia once was, and the orks that hosted them.

A CELEBRATION OF HERITAGE In the year 668 A.A., Empire of Man ✠ DESCENDANTS OF THE ESTEEMED IMPERIAL HOUSE OF RENATUS AND ITS CADET HOUSE, THE LINE OF MARTIUS THE CORSAIR PRINCE, AND YURY THE BLACK-EYED. LET IT BE KNjOWN TO ALL: BY BLOOD, BY STEEL, BURGUNDIAE INVICTA. ✠ ✠ HARK Let it be known throughout the lands of the Empire, that His Lordship, the Baron of Pestilles extends his invitations to all whom it may concern. In honor of the coming of age of his twins, Matthijs and Romhilda, a merry celebration shall be held within the Halls of Zwartsteen, in the Principality of Blackvale. ✠ THE RITES On this auspicious day, the young Lord Matthijs shall prove his courage and skill in the time-honored rite of passage, facing his father in a duel upon The Narrow Gauntlet. His success in such an endeavour shall be assessed by his father, and a council of veterans. Similarly, the young Lady Romhilda too shall honour the age-old Lodenlander tradition, preparing the finest vintage of our esteemed house. Proceeding such, she shall engage in the ceremony of dance, as so to prove the grace and refinement befitting of a Lady van Aert. Following their trials, a feast in their honor shall commence, where the lords, ladies, and retainers of the Empire may gather to revel in music, song, and celebration. The day shall close with a tasting of the finest Lodenlander wines drawn from the venerable cellars of House van Aert, honoring both the legacy and the bright future of the young Lodenlanders. I N V I T A T I O N S His Imperial Majesty, Tiberias Horen, Emperor of Man, and his Imperial Household His Highest Majesty, Tar-Zôrzagar Arthalion, Apostolic King of Idunia, his Kingly Household & Noble Subjects His Princely Highness, Cassius Mareno, Prince of Myrine, and his Princely Household His Princely Highness, Erwin Barclay, Prince in Reinmar, and his Princely Household His Royal Highness, Edward II, Archduke of Alba, and his Royal Household His Highness, Adrian d’Asturias, Duke of Asturias, and his Noble Household His Grace, Earoslav Rostova, Duke of Krukiv, and his Noble Household Her Grace, Mirabella Rostova, Duchess of Eredmar, and her Noble Household His Grace, Theodemar von Kanunsberg, Duke of Kanunsberg, and his Noble Household His Grace, Heinrik Ludovar, Duke of Kvasz, and his Noble Household His Grace, Duncan Baurch, Duke of Valwyck, and his Noble Household The Most Honorable, Meili Altwegg, Margrave of Avistra, and his Noble Household The Right Honorable, Konstantin von Augusten, Earl of Constans, and his Noble Household The Right Honorable, George Aldersberg, Earl of Dover, and his Noble Household The Right Honorable, Arturas Whitewood, Count of Silasia, and his Noble Household The Right Honorable, Constance Devereux, Countess of Trier, and her Noble Household The Right Honorable, Elis d’Amaury, Countess of Rhoswood, and his Noble Household The Right Honorable, Juan Triunfante, Count of San Andriano, and his Noble Household The Right Honorable, Peter Rovare, Count of Stirland, and his Noble Household The Right Honorable, Vindelion von Zwei, Count of Zweiberg, and his Noble Household The Honorable Aerik von Wesenburg, Burgrave of Wesenburg, and his Noble Household His Lordship, Henri Halcourt, Baron of Artois, and his Noble Household His Lordship, Edwin von Brandthof, Baron of Brandthof, and his Noble Household His Lordship, Josef Galahar, Baron of Ghastenwald, and his Noble Household His Lordship, Larkin Winburgh, Baron of the Isles, and his Noble Household His Lordship, Leonid Othaman, Baron of Valles, and his Noble Household His Lordship, Alistair Treuberg, Baron of Treuberg, and his Noble Household His Lordship, Bastion Zenher, Baron of Zenher, and his Noble Household His Lordship, Leopold Helvets, Baron of Owynsburg, and his Noble Household Her Ladyship, Dame Lorelei Enswerp, Baroness of Rethel, and her Noble Household PERSONAL INVITATIONS Her Princely Highness, Madelief of Blackvale Her Imperial Highness, Lecelina Vestia, Duchess of Avar His Royal Majesty, Haraldr, King of Norland Her Highness, Ilse, Princess of Norland Her Highness, Adeline Alstion-Mareno His Lordship, Sir Lothar d’Amaury of Lorraine, and his pedigree The Faithful, Sister Frederica of Reinmar The Faithful, Brother Anton of Reinmar Dragomir Rauðrdrakar, Son of the Thegn, of Norland Ark of Horen ✠ VIRI BVRGVNDIÆ HIS HIGHNESS, Martius I van Aert, Prince of Blackvale, Duke of Veletz, Lord of Westmark, Patriarch-Dynast of Pertinax HIS LORDSHIP, Sir Carolus van Aert, Chaptermaster of the Black Dragon, Baron of Pestilles

Sir Carolus nods approvingly, contented with the work and diligence his squire had invested unto the task assigned of him.

EVAN!! GIVE ME FRP PVP, AND MY LIFE IS YOURS

SIR CAROLUS WIPES CLEAN HIS MIGHTY BLADE, WHICH HAD FELLED SO MANY. HE RETURNS HOME A VICTOR ONCE MORE.