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DUMAPALOOZA - THIRD TIME'S THE CHARM Issued on 13th of Sigismund's End 1896 The Duchy of Adria, a title often attributed to political paper, has not had lands for any of her people or kindred to coalesce for well over a century. As any good Sarkoz should, we bemoan the deprivation of a proper land to call Adria, one where we may exercise our ancient, vaunted customs. Now, we seek to re-unite those who have wandered aimlessly in this time of interregnum- not under the banner of Sarkozic, but under the banner of Adria, that which we may all claim as ours. House Sarkozic, however, invites all the remaining cadet-houses of House Carrion and those families of influence in Adria’s past to a formal Adrian Election regarding the title of our forebears. It is long past due that those of Adrian stock aim to return to the days of the Cercogstva Adrija; and we are here to retrieve one through a fair election that has been delayed, but never forgotten. There shall be drink for all, revelry, and celebration for this joyous occasion. INVITATIONS ON THE FOLLOWING RULES: 1. The Duchy of Adria shall only be elected by those Crow Elector Houses specifically named within this document. 2. The Duchy of Adria shall neither be a titular nor roaming title; it shall be bound to its allotted land within the Lower Petra known as Velezetia. it shall be bound to the allotted lands decided by the first elected Duke. 3. Although he is not required to hail from Adria proper, the elected Duke of Adria must reside primarily within the Duchy of Adria. He who neglects this duty is liable to be deposed. 4. The elected Duke of Adria may not hold any higher title, nor stand to inherit any higher title. Such candidates are hereby barred from holding the Duchy of Adria unless they renounce their previous titles or inheritance. 5. The Duchy of Adria may never be conferred, inherited, purchased, granted, or otherwise obtained through methods other than election by the Duma. House Sarkozic var Aaun invites the following Honourable Electors: THE PONTIFICAL THRONE His Holiness, Pontian IV - @Balthasar THE HONORABLE CROWS Aaun Sarkozics - @Beamon4 Balian Sarkozics - @Matheaww Barbanov - @GMRO Barbanov-Morovar - @HogoBojo Basrid - @JoanOfArc Tuyvic - @gavyn Rutherns of Hanseti-Ruska - @Demavend Rutherns of Balian - @Aehkaj Ludovar - @CopOwl Petrine Ivanovich - @excited Aaunic Ivanovich - @Calvin_ Varoche - @Enlightenment ESTEEMED PATRICIANS OF VES Bracchus - @Publius Montelliano - @TwistedFries Ren - Last descendant of Watanabe - @Moo_bot Kortrevich of Jerovitz - @Phersades De la Baltas - @monkeypoacher Ratispora - @Optimus420 Jewelbeard - @Nooblius BIRDS OF THE FEATHER & ESTEEMED GUEST Western Turkin - @Tibertastic Esteemed Guest - Ottomar von Alstreim, Last Descendant of Duke Franz Nikolai, Margrave of Vanderfell, Lord Vandalore - @Ramon Esteemed Guest - Anton Siegmund Tuyvic, Son of Duke Franz Nikolai @GMRO Esteemed Guest - Erik Euler, Architect of the Adrians @Laeonathan

THE LAST GOODBYE FINDING RESOLVE AND RESOLUTION This is written from the perspective of someone broken by emotion and escaping into their own mind to find solace in face of the reality of the world. It might be triggering to some audiences and elicit emotion in those who have gone through a similar set of experiences. As someone who has gone through plenty in my life, I hope to depict a tale of overcoming adversity rather than being imprisoned by it. Nonetheless, this is a fair warning to those that would rather not be reminded of such times. The City of Crows was a place usually filled with liveliness. But inside a small estate set by the wayside of the Karosgrad Colosseum emanated an unusual stillness. From the very moment one approached the door a lingering sense of sadness was felt. There was only pain now. Where the spacious home had once been filled with laughter, joy and active children, there was only this silence, this omnipresent feeling of death. Were it not for the whipping of family banners from the wind and the rattling of the tugging lantern chains, one might think it abandoned. In truth, it was far from so instead those inside were no longer fully grounded on this earth. But for now, the living room only held one figure whose gaze did not wander; that gaze was settled, settled forwards and staring off somewhere distant. Beneath those lost eyes, the elderly man’s beard had grown dishevelled from a lack of care and his mopish hair, which clung to his cheek and even laid strands across his gaze. The Patriarch of House Colborn was listless and all strength had long since left him, his greyed hues which so often held warmth were empty, filled only with a void of vitality, lacking in life and any sense of emotion else than hopelessness. Was this oblivion? To be cursed with a rarely seen long-lived star who others envied, only to watch those beloved part from this world, to be burdened with pain, again and again, assaulted by quandary after quandary. Was this life? To bring about and birth endless treasures only for them to be taken before one has a chance to appreciate them in their fullest value. To experience things that stab wounds to one very soul that not even prayer can heal, that cannot be mended by magic. Was this fate? To work until one's bones were brittle and one's hand could barely rise properly, only to be punished and put in one's place, to be reminded of the woes of the world and to be pained by twisted reality. A burst of hoarse croaking laughter escaped the elderly man’s throat as if a thousand grains of sand sliding against each other, his throat more parched than a man wandering the desert, as if water couldn’t sate him anymore. With each set of sounds, his throat twisted in pain, eventually leading to a series of coughs, and only a few more pained croaks as if he had swallowed a fly followed. There was a ringing in his ear which had yet to disappear since he had heard the news, that dreadful set of news. Whenever he tried to remember it was like an onset of fog clung to his very mind. What have I forgotten? What was it I’m trying to remember? His mind could not sustain this line of inquiry for long before the fog overwhelmed him again, eliciting another series of wind whistling through his throat, barely able to be called a chuckle, more if anything as if the soul was attempting to leave his body. In his blurry vision which grew darker with each coming moment he could see two figures, two adult men who spoke in the room before him, he could almost hear their voices now. Yes, almost. He was trying his best to make out those voices. The blonde-haired man and his opposite who wore a well-trimmed dark mane walked about the room, two opposites. Why can’t I remember their names? In the chair sitting across from where the disheveled man had sunk into the sofa was a figure he was far too familiar with, the third one present. It was from this man a much deeper and stern voice carried forth. “How long will you do this to yourself?” Adrian’s eyes were still staring in the direction of the two younger images who were silently laughing in the distance as if still alive, a distant memory of better days. The only thought lingering in his mind was why couldn’t he hear them. Breaking his line of thought was the sound of someone clicking their tongue, far too familiar. It caught his attention as it continued in its deeper tone “How long Adrian?” With his name being called he caught himself and as if echoing the thoughts of the person sitting across from him he asked himself. How long has it been? With each moment after the miasma which covered up his thoughts slowly loosened, each eliciting a thought. How long have I been sitting here? Before he could ask himself the next question he heard again that voice, the voice of his father. “Would you rather trick yourself until you are your own prisoner, guard and executioner? And what for? To live out a fantasy of what once was, of what cannot be any longer even if you so dreadfully wish it to?” gruffed the voice, one strained from many years of pipesmoking. He could almost smell the tobacco waft off of his father’s breath, strong and overwhelming. “Will you not return to them?” came the next sentence which echoed now through the elder’s mind. With what had clung across his mind and left it clueless slowly clearing, so did the vision around him, the brightly lit room full of warmth, with its two presences slowly breaking and giving way to an empty home, dark and empty. The fireplace held not even embers and brought no warmth to the cold which filled up the place. “Return to them? Who will I return to? What do I have left to do?” He asked himself while looking to the window which reflected in it a gaunt and harrowing face, his boney cheeks most prominent. His hands which had lay slack slowly making for it, twig-like fingers lanky and absent of warmth, clinging as best they could to a feverishly sweaty forehead. Next to him on the sofa sat Anabel with a tray that held a set of steaming soup bowls, her hands scarred with half-bandaged cuts from her labor. “Find your resolve my son. . . find it as you once did in your youth and bring about the change you want to see in this world. I know you are capable of it.” So came the last words before the elder returned fully to reality as he was jolted by a warm hand, which reached out and caressed his sunken cheek. He barely managed the words through parched lips. It came out in rasps. “My child. . . how long have I…?” With the fog gone now, he knew he’d been through a cyclical process - this wasn’t the first, more so the third or fourth and Anabel had been by his side through it all - his far too kind granddaughter - they all were the treasures of his long-gone Gwyn and what she had wished for the most. That was what made all of this so difficult, with each of their deaths a part of her died with them, a part of her he could never reclaim nor hold to him tight. With each pressing thought, small beads slowly rolled down his cheeks, staining the warmth which covered his right side. Her expression was weary and helpless as she was already not good with people as it was. But even the face of his granddaughter which seldom held much but shyness was covered in worry. With a voice like the soft midsummer gale that carried forth words. “A few hours, I had to reheat the soup twice.” She intoned the last perhaps more in an attempt to hide her worry. But she clearly wasn’t willing to divulge exactly how long it had been. “S-So long?” “That long, yes,” she answered. With the warmth leaving his cheek, his watery eyes drifted down to an extended bowl, held by a caring hand. As his hands gripped around the shape and found long heat he sank in a spoon and ate a mouthful of soup. To his surprise, it tasted better than anything he’d ever eaten, not because of the flavor, but rather because of the hands who had toiled to make it. “Baldram helped, even he seemed to realize what state you’ve been in. . . since.” She caught herself and became numb, her body rigid. He would have let loose a boisterous chuckle in moments like these in the past yet he didn’t find it right to do so, nor was he able. With all he could, he finished off the bowl after an extended period of time sat in relative silence. Though Anabel still remained by his side through it all with fidgeting hands and stirring the cushions of the sofa ever so often. “I’ve sat still for far too long.” Came a voice that had recovered some from having been wet with a meal and his appetite filled. “They say a blade will lose its sharpness if not used, but a trained blade never goes fully dull, ha.” He let out a very short laugh as he monologued a little for the first time in days, weeks even. Putting the bowl down on the tray and extending a thank you to his granddaughter he pushed off of the sofa and came to a stand, making way for his study. While making his way up the stairs brief flashes of what had put him in his state came over him. He had held onto the lifeless body of his grandson Godric with a grip so strong it had split nails and broken a finger. The man’s leg had been as best as possible sown back to where it had been cut off so that he might be whole for a funeral. Thunk, thunk with each step upwards carried another memory. He had wailed his eyes out until red and baggy, his very body broken, wracked with emotion - as if gripping onto any last memory he could of his precious descendant - the heart of his heart and gem to his eye - priceless to him each branch that made up the Colborn tree. Thunk, thunk it continued. He had returned to a home abandoned by Godric’s daughter and his eldest son drinking away his woes, the little one closing himself off from the world. They each sought their own ways to escape from reality and to close themselves off from accepting what it all meant. He had sunk into the sofa then in a moment of helplessness, in a moment of delirium, stuck there as if piecing together a time before all of this had happened and bringing it into reality. He was a craftsman since birth and adventurer by choice, but no tool could fashion him a replacement, no vision or dream could replace what he had lost, and no amount of travel could find his grandson. Thunk, thunk he finally came to a stop at the top of the stairs in front of an oaken door. With a rattle of keys, he slid a key forward and cranked the path open to his study. “I will be the change I wish to see in this world, my fate my own, my journey one of my own making.” He muttered a promise he had made to himself many years before when he had told his father after the tragic passing of his mother, that he wished to return to their homeland, to Haense. His father having seemingly expected as much handed him a bag and retinue, to offer him safe passage. “Your journey will be difficult, there will be times when you wish you hadn’t taken this path and instead taken the easy way out. Will you still travel down this thorny road knowing so?” As if responding to that distant past he whispered beneath his breath, when coming upon his armour and sword. “Now and forever, for inaction is the death of Man and sloth is the downfall of his Kingdom. I will carry forward my virtues and bring upon them my beliefs, my hopes, my dreams.” With newfound resolve he donned himself fully as he had done in times past, slinking his blade into its scabbard - sister to Aeternus. In its shimmering reflection, he saw his sharp gaze which carried with it the strength of his youth before fully sheathed. The blade had been maintained with great discipline as he had been taught to, perhaps he had forgotten to maintain himself - but he wouldn’t forget how - he would forge of himself a new blade that would shine brightly. When he finally came down the stairs with the sounds of his heavy steps following him, strained by his aged body which might give out any moment, he saw at the door his Burgrave Rudolf Vyronov - ready and waiting. He was the diligent sort and a truly loyal retainer, as his ancestors were likewise, once and now again bannermen of his family and bonded brothers. “Have I kept you waiting?” He shot back with a grin that finally graced his features. “Not at all Bossir, I have readied your horse and stand ready for your orders.” The Vyronov stepped forward and hung a cloak around Adrian’s pauldrons, clicking them in place. “Let this old man ask you something Rudolf, not as your liege, but as an elder.” He stated while opening the door to the fresh wintry wind outside, blowing into the home, as well as showing the black steed stationed outside. Turning back for a moment he spoke the all too familiar words. “Your journey will be difficult, there will be times when you wish you hadn’t taken this path and instead taken the easy way out. Will you still travel down this thorny road knowing so?” The younger Vyronov looked at Adrian with no uncertainty and flashed a small cheeky smile that he so often hid behind his well-mannered exterior. “Where you go I follow, where you ride I travel and where you die I shall draw my last - now and forever.” Adrian couldn’t help himself from letting out a chuckle. “Well said. If I was cursed with a long life it seems I was likewise blessed with good company and companions, you never disappoint my Burgrave.” The Vyronov held in his head thoughts of the Elder that he might not realize, for to him, he was more than his liege. No, it was fair to say they were family and he had guided him like a father, and he wouldn’t forget it. Whipping up a storm the two set off for a Haeseni Monastery where the holiest man of all lay in a coma. When let into its hallow chambers the elder kneeled down at the head of the Pontiff’s bed, speaking softly, he recited passages from the Scroll of Auspice. “Bear witness to this prophecy of Sigismund, of the line of Joren, revealed in his last days as he gaze into the Face of God. Attend, brothers, and record my revelation: Behold, and the shadow of GOD is cast thrice upon the land, and thrice the light of instruction is obscured, and men tread the sea in its wake. Now Iblees is rising from the Void. And his chains are augmented, and they are become two wyrms, one beautiful and one terrible. The world is given over to them. The first wyrm is Vargengotz, and he goes forth to conquer and to rule. His six heads bear six crowns, which are the great kingdoms of the world, and he lets no evil be spoken of him. His body is black iron and his wings are dark smoke. The banners of the world are struck down before him, and the sky and mountains are his conquests. And Vargentgotz calls forth three deceivers in the guise of messengers, with wings of cold fire. They are called Justice, Glory, and Reward.” Scroll of Auspice 1:1-9 “The Evil Heart of Iblees rears its ugly head. In my moments of wavering strength, it has taken two of my descendants from me, brought to the Seven Skies before their time. When the deceiver of Justice came to us in the image of St. Karl. His words were not of Justice but in its stead wrath misguided. When those present were fooled I was not swayed, nor did I listen. Holding in my heart the Holy Scrolls to which I leave my trust in.” With more intonation he spoke yet again, lowering his head further towards the ground as if beginning to bow - bowing to God. “Then I found in my land a woman strung upon a cross, perverting the holy. Below she was written in my people's tongue an idiom dear to my heart that only daemons could whisper or know, but I did not waver. When the man of many faces appeared before us I knew it was the deceiver of Glory, and so I swallowed my pride, revealing to the Knights and Acre my failure, trusting in the sacred.” When his palms finally touched the ground he came to a full kowtow, his head touching the floor. “Thus came the last deceiver of Reward before us in the shape of Sigismund III purporting to represent the will of the Golden and the wealth of his legacy, but in him, I found none but Avarice, and so my faith was tested yet I did not waver.” Remaining as he was with tears straining at the corners of his eyes only held back by his own will he spoke in a shout for the first time since Godric’s death. “I will have NO DEBTS LEFT UNPAID during my watch, their evil will be returned threefold, each a mortal blow to their cohorts for the sins against my heart and soul!” “NO EVIL LEFT UNPUNISHED on my watch for my hand will strike that which corrupts the land and the heart of Man, a vessel to the holy, may I take up my sword to strike them down in His name!” “This will be MY LAST GOODBYE to Him, for the forces of Iblees shall be vanquished and their influence freed from the earth at last. A Crimson Inquisition to guide us on such a path towards salvation!” With his last words echoing within the bed chambers it seemed to stir something in the Pontiff as his fingers slowly curled, slowly waking, slowly returning to his flock. Only time would tell if the Elder would have his answer, but he was ready to wait, wait as long as need be. For no man or woman to feel what he had felt, helplessness ever-permeating, pieces of their heart ripped from them. “Holy is thy cross and holy is thy word, crimson is thy punishment.”

ARMY OF THE TRIDENT, THE WATCH OF ADRIA His Grace’s Grand Army of the Realm of Adria, the Greycloaks of the Karlsfork “Men of Virtue, Soldiers of Fortune” “The horn sounded a third time, and suddenly I knew I would live, and I was muttering soft prayers as the ground shuddered under the boots and shouts of the charging men coming from our rear. For the Greycloaks, at last, had come.” - Journal of a Coalition Soldier, Unknown ON THE WATCH After seeing the merit of a standing guardforce during his tenure in the Atheran capital of Petrus, Duke Hugues var Victor of House Sarkozic commissioned a retinue of watchmen and light infantry as to keep the peace of his ducal seat, Brelus. These humble wardens sooned earned the moniker ‘greycloaks’ for their sweeping steely capes and their honesty in regards to its grey histories; neither one rife with great victories nor great defeats. For this, the Adrian Guard does not parade itself as a bastion of chivalry but instead a crucible of men, rendering steel from dross. Armsmen of the Watch consist of a sizeable portion of Adrian foot in times of war. They are trained as infantry to provide both mass and missile support to Adria’s armies. However, in peace, whilst other militaries squabble in noble politik or delude themselves in mercenary work, the Army keeps discipline through servicing the Novellen County. Whether manning gates, minding crooks, or maiming monsters, the Greycloaks fill the role of local sheriffs to insure the Duke’s peace is upheld. In times of peace, the Armsmen of the Watch maintain His Grace’s realm, building up their swelling numbers, and pass on martial knowledge to the next age of warriors and lords. Ones who have proven themselves to GOD and to Adria are granted the premier lands on the Trident, luscious farms to feed swelling Adrian families and titles to embolden and empower the worthy warriors of Adria. ON HIERARCHY “Above all, the slothful and sinful detest change while the ambitious and diligent revel in it.” - The Book of Saints, Unknown The Adrian Watch maintains the hierarchy set forth by the Vibian Doctrine, a code of military logistics created by the former Imperial Marshal Vibius de Sola and revised later by Lord Paul Sarkozic to apply to the reformed Oreni Legion during the Schismatic Wars of 1490. The hierarchy of the Greycloaks is as followed: COMMANDER: At the head of the Greycloaks is the Commander. Both in the tactician’s tent and on the field, the Commander has proven his expertise in combat. A master strategist, resource allocator, and soldier, the Commander can be trusted to always steer the Greycloaks to success. The Commander of the Greycloaks is Rickard Barrow. ((arkantos1279)) SENESCHAL: Supporting the Commander in all affairs of drill and warfare, the Seneschal serves as second in command over the watch, the first captain . The Seneschal is well versed in all manners of combat, and a leader on the field and in council whose authority is trumped only by the Commander. BRIGADIER: The Brigadiers of His Grace’s retinue is the most feared of the Greycloaks, by both his foes and his own men. A draconian drillmaster responsible for the smooth operation of the Army, the Brigadiers are both a Drill Master and a Field Marshal, ensuring that the Greycloaks always emerge from the fray tinged in the red of His Grace’s enemies. CAPTAIN: A strong and capable officer corps makes or breaks an army, and the Captain of the Watch are the best out there. With decades of experience leading troops through the thick and thin of battle and drilling them in peacetime, Captains are responsible for the Greycloaks effective operation. Entitled to full runic carbarum and in charge of a full division or specialty, Captains of the Greycloaks represent some of the best of Adrian command. ENSIGN: A lower corps officer, an Ensign represents an Enlisted man's transition into Greycloak leadership. Ensigns execute commands at the head of smaller regional battalions. Entitled to the same benefits as a Serjeant, as well as the added authority of officer status, an Ensign is well on his way towards Captain advancement. SERJEANT: The highest attainable rank for an Enlisted man before his transition to the officer corps, the Serjeant is a grizzled battlefield veteran who has demonstrated an embodiment of Adrian spirit and a mastery of martial skills. The Serjeants are a sight to behold on the field, and compose the official honor guard of His Grace. ARMIGER: After further training and gaining a true understanding of the battlefield, an Armsman is tenured as a Armiger. Entitled to the top notch armaments and many years of training, the Armigers are a sight to behold on the field, fighting alongside their fellow Armsmen to strike down all which stand in the way of His Grace. ARMSMAN: Surviving the cruel whip of the Disciplinarians and trained in the art of spear and sword, Armsmen are the bulk and backbone of the Watch. Armsmen are supplied with feared Adriatic steel and dressed with the infamous grey cloaks that strike terror into His Grace's foes. INITIATE: The new-bloods, those who have yet to earn the privilege to wear the iconic greycloak. Initiates train for weeks on end, drilled by the Disciplinarians and scolded by their superiors until they attain the rank of Armsman. Initiates are granted no pay and receive last-pickings in armaments and armor. SPECIALIZED RANKS DISCIPLINARIANS: Appointed from amongst those men of the rank of Serjeant or higher, the Disciplinarians aid the Brigadier in his drilling of the Greycloaks, and run training sessions in his absence.The Disciplinarians are experienced soldiers who dedicate their peace-time to the maintenance of the combat-readiness of His Grace’s Armsmen and the readying of the Initiates for promotion. QUARTERMASTER: A Captain by rank, the Quartermaster is a logistics specialist responsible for maintaining the armory and storehouses of His Grace’s Army, as well as sourcing armaments for promotions and in times of war, and directing the supply train and setting camp into hostile territories. FIRST SURGEON: An experienced medic with surgical training, the First Surgeon is responsible for the care of soldiers on and off the field, and maintaining a store of physician’s potions and administering healthful practices to the Armsmen as needed. FIRST ENGINEER: An experienced tinkerer with a background in siege weaponry, the First Engineer directs the construction and movement of siege machinery and the installation and application of machinery and practices as well as maintaining the structural defenses of the Greycloaks’ holdings. ON PAYMENT “To ask another man’s blessing is simply to avoid taking responsibility.” - Adrian Proverb Armsmen are granted a flat mina wage dependant on their rank and tenure. Bonuses are allocated to the more diligent soldiers whom have performed their duties beyond expectations, whether that be in proactive service or diligent recruitment. Lodging and equipment are granted to all of the Guard’s sworn swords. Those who serve long and well are rewarded with pastures off the Trident and pickings from Brelus’ merchant quarters, enabling them and their progeny a way to enjoy civilian life after time spent in service. Wages are paid every two years on the month of Sun's Smile, the Minae originating from the Ducal coffers. Pay grade is described below: COMMANDER - 500 Minae SENESCHAL - 400 Minae BRIGADIER - 350 Minae CAPTAIN - 300 Minae ENSIGN - 250 Minae SERJEANT - 200 Minae ARMIGER - 150 Minae ARMSMAN - 100 Minae ON HONORIFICS “But even the greatest of suns wears to the coming dusk.” - Adrian Proverb Those who have gone above and beyond the call of duty in the battlefield or the like are awarded the Honors of the Trident, medals given by His Grace himself. The current list of medals is as followed: BULWARK OF TOBIAS - Awarded to those whom have shown great acts of valor during a defensive siege, the Bulwark of Tobias is named after the famous defense of Mount Augustus led by Tobias ‘Rosebud’ Carrion during the Orenian Civil War of 1456. The medal is composed of a red and black tower overlaying a grey shield background. When awarded, the pay wage of the recipient is increased by 25 Minae. CROSS OF WOLDZMIR - Awarded to those who have defended their brothers in faith against tremendous odds while facing those of opposing the religion, the Cross of Woldzmir is named after the famed warrior-woman Blessed Emma Vladov and her strategic prowess during the Schismatic Wars of 1490. The medal is composed of a golden Aegis cross on a circular white background. When awarded, the pay wage of the recipient is increased by 40 Minae. SPARROW’S VALOR - Awarded to those who have kept the virtues of Exalted Owyn and kept Humanity pure and free against encroaching races, Sparrow’s Valor is named after Saint Thomas of Gaekrin, the once Crown Prince of Kaedrin who led countless victories in conquering the Elven State of Malinor and defending the invading Dwarven Armies in the First Human-Dwarf War. The medal is composed of a black, flying sparrow across a yellow shield. When awarded, the pay wage of the recipient is increased by 25 Minae. DRELIK’S BLADE - Awarded to those who have charged into the fray despite unsavory odds and come back to tell the tale, Drelik’s Blade is named after Ser Drelik Letholdus, whom on multiple occasions, destroyed leagues of enemies outnumbering him ten to one, giving him the moniker ‘Champion of Oren’. The award is a custom-crafted sword from the forges of Adria, embedded in the hilt the decorations of His Grace himself. When awarded, the pay wage of the recipient is increased by 20 Minae. MARIAN CROSS - Awarded to those who show chivalry and honor in face of danger or certain demise, refusing to take the easier and immoral approach, the Marian Cross is named after Gaius Marius, King of Hanseti and First Hochmeister of the Teutonic Order, who conquered the Kingdom of Oren itself yet treated the people with respect and kindness. The medal is composed of a black crossed overlaying a white background. When awarded, the pay wage of the recipient is increased by 30 Minae. WINGS OF PERTINAX - Awarded to the single man who has shown the greatest sword skill in the entire army, the Wings of Pertinax is named after the Imperial Prince Pertinax Horen, who was accredited to being one of the greatest fighters in the ancient First Empire of Man. The medal is composed of a winged helm overlaying a purple shield. When awarded, the pay wage of the recipient is doubled. ON ENLISTMENT “Duty measures the distance between the lord and the fool.” - Adrian Proverb To join the Greycloaks, one must qualify all prerequisite requirements as stated. The Greycloaks make no special exceptions, keeping armsmen at the greatest standard in discipline and order. The requirements are as followed: - One must be of human or elven descent. - One must be of at least fourteen years of age. - One must be of the male gender. - One must be a citizen of the Duchy of Adria. APPLICATION FORM All questions must be answered in a clean, literate handwriting. Those who cannot write nor know one who can may apply in person to the Lord Commander himself or his armsmen. I. Name: II. Age: IIa. Date of Birth [if Known]: IIb. Location of Birth [if Known]: III. Race [Human/Elf]: IIIa. Culture [Heartlander, Highlander, Wood Elf, etc.]: IV. Status of Blood [Nobility, Gentry, Commoner, Former Nobility, etc.]: V. Place of Residence: VI. Martial Knowledge [Trained in Weaponry, Archer, etc.]: VII. Skilled Labor [Farmer, Lumberjack, etc.]: OOC MC Name: Skype ID: