pkdon

((MC Name: )) PKDON Name: Haldir Vote 1: Theveus Sythaerin Vote 2: Theveus Sythaerin

so based and mytrapilled. best post in lotc history

Haldir nods approvingly with a double thumbs up.

Auctions over - will be dming the respective winners on discord

PKDON’S SKIN AUCTION ☩ Selling off some of my older skins! Also selling a commission slot for mina so check that out :J my PMC: https://www.planetminecraft.com/member/pkdon/ Thank you 2 @venclair for letting me use her auction format RULES ↬ Do not edit your comments. Please post a new one with your new bid! ↬ Bidding begins at 12 USD! ↬ Bid increments must be 1 USD ↬ Payments must be made within 48 hours of winning, otherwise they will be sold to the next highest bidder. ↬ Do not resell/claim/repost these skins. ↬ All transactions are done through PayPal. BID FORMAT ↬ Discord: ↬ Skin Name(s): ↬ Bid(s): Bidding ends AUGUST 2ND @ 8 PM BST / 3 PM EST Willing to do colour changes! If you have any questions or concerns, contact me on discord: pkdon _____________________________________________________________________ MINA COMMISSION SLOT Starting bid: 200 Bid increment: 50 SKINS In Shining Armour Northern Fella Tudor Fella Adventurer Fella Gloomy Fella Squire Fella

“I don’t recall any mad hound Vuillers, perhaps they are confusing it with a mildly agitated puppy. They’ll write about anyone these days eh. And it seems just about anyone can be Prince of Vilachia.” queried Prince Hadrian, Patriarch-Dynast of the Pertinaxi, Lord of Verkraft

“AND WHAT OF MY POOR DOG, CHARLES! WHAT OF POOR VEREMY!” Hadrian cried, stricken with grief at the loss of his faithful furred friend.

Prince Hadrian towering over Captain Pavel Ivanovich "NO KINGS BUT US!" Came the cheers of triumphant men, resounding through the walls of Vienne. The fighting was swift - those who fought were cut down, chase was given to those who ran, and laughter to those successful. The brave fighters of Blackvale and Acre had sent their message and their resolve was ever stronger, with seemingly so few obstacles to stand in their path. But in the Renatian Prince, he mustered regret. His blade was sharp and true, and it found two men on that day. One, a boy he had never met, but far too young to have wielded a blade against him. The second, his own blood. Hadrian had never met the Ivanovich, but knew with certainty that he descended from the venerable St. Arpad. There he stood, unlike many of his countrymen, in the courtroom, staring down his retinue. As the blades clashed, the Ivanovich lurched into the fray. The van Aert was taken aback by the boldness of the Captain, his charger blindly darting towards the mass of soldiers before it. “By God.” he thought, “a madman.” He knew, though, that he must intercept the advance, lest his comrades be plowed down. He thrust his pike towards the Ivanovich. Thud. With one strike, he brought Pavel crashing to the ground. Dazed, the Ivanovich stumbled to his feet, swinging wildly at the Blackvale Retinue - to the end he fought, unlike many. Though proud of his cousin’s last stand, he could not express it - the battle still raged on. He launched a firm kick to the Ivanovich’s chest, sending him to the ground once more. He ended their exchange quickly for there was not a moment to waste. His blade found its target and struck true, ending Pavel Ivanovich’s life before his time. His blade bloodied, he continued on, chasing down those who fled. As the battle’s end drew, Hadrian scoured the bloodstained city, searching for the body of the man he had slain. The fog of battle that clouded his mind had now subsided, and all the Prince could think of was the face of Pavel. He searched for hours, nearing at last a wheelbarrow with a pungent stench. He held his breath, uncovering the potatoes that hid the warrior. His face drooped, a solemnness awash his features. “This is no place for you.” He muttered, running his fingers over his eyes and hoisting the man into his arms, carrying him as he trudged through the Orenian lands. By the holdings of the Knightly Order, the Renatian had set his cousin to rest, under the watchful gaze of the Corsair Prince, preserved by the earth for only time to gnaw at. “Rest well my brother. We shall meet again soon.” Hadrian rested his Renatian Cross at the base of the man’s impromptu grave, and marched off towards Acre, as many were now, a kinslayer.

Bidding is closed.