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Ser Fiske’s Travels or An Unfinished Tale of Pilgrimage [[OOC: About a year ago or so, I chose to take my then main character, Ser Fiske Vanir, on a pilgrimage. Not just your typical 'im on holiday/hiatus, thus absent' pilgrimage, but one I roleplayed planning in advance with the help of VIROS (Whom I wish to once again thank), who was High Pontiff back then. We wrote up places for my character to visit and three relics to retrieve. I would then write a story out of this journey, though I'm afraid I never quite got around to finishing it. And now, with it being a year since I started writing this, my character long since then pk'd, I do not think I intend to finish this story anymore. Perhaps I will one day, but for now I decided I would post it for eager readers in it's unfinished form. With that in mind, I hope you enjoy the part of the tale I did end up writing!]] The Serpent as it sails through frozen waters, the icy mountains of Serrimor in the background. Ser Fiske ‘the Daring’. That’s what our pilgrim Vanir had been knighted as last month on Arcas. Since that night in the throne room of King Josef of Haense, things had gone fast. He had planned his journey long in advance, with the help of the High Pontiff. All he waited for was for himself to be finished with his squireship and to be knighted. After such had happened in the latest court gathering, he’d said farewell to his friends and family in the Haeseni capital, before retreating northward to his castle in Vasiland so he could prepare for the journey. He and his crew loaded their supplies aboard and then boarded his private sailing ship, The Serpent, as they set sail northwards past Valwyck, through the icy waves. As they began passing the frozen shores of Serrimor after a few days of sailing, he turned to what would be his confidant on this journey: his travelling journal. Prologue It has been about a month and a half now since our departure from Arcas, and think we can see the northwestern tip of Aeldin on the horizon now. Initially, the weather conditions were very favourable for us, the wind in our sails as he we sailed north from Haense, past Serrimor and the southeastern shores of Atlas. The large stretch of eastward sailing from there to Aeldin was a different story though, as the wind was no longer in our backs. The journey was slow and took longer than expected or at least hoped. Our supplies have run low, near the point of rations, but we will be able to restock soon upon our arrival in Aeldin. One good thing about the length and low intensity of the trip was that I got a lot of time to think and read. About the places I’m visiting and their Saints, but also about why I’m going on this pilgrimage. I guess there’s multiple reasons for it, that I’m just now really coming to understand. Late last night, we docked in this harbor town called Reden, the first place we spotted here on the coast of Aeldin. A few of my crew stayed on the ship while me and some others went to the local tavern to get our bearings and to get a proper bath. We returned to the ship around midnight, refreshed and having found the market square where we could restock our supplies. Sadly that’s where disaster struck though this morning. We’d bought all the supplies we needed to refill our stock no problem, but when I wanted to buy a map of the waters between Fjordhem and the mainland, I suddenly realized I had been pickpocketed and my pouch with minas was gone. We looked around for a bit to find the culprit, but couldn’t find anybody of suspicion. After that I decided we’d go back to the ship and we’re now on our way to Powys where we’ll probably arrive tomorrow around noon. I know God has His ways to try His servants and challenge them, but this just felt like punishment. Perhaps He wants me to learn a lesson about greed and temperance, or maybe that I shouldn’t be so reliant on money on my pilgrimage. But I don’t know. The White Cliffs of Powys Chapter 1: Ulmsbottom Upon seeing them, I was blinded by them in the morning light of the rising sun. The white cliffs of Powys! They are truly a sight to behold, beautiful and towering chalk cliffs that rise out of the sea like a wall. We docked in Powys like the High Pontiff had suggested me to, and it immediately became apparent why he’d done such. Powys seemed like a much safer harbortown than Reden and with an even bigger market. I suppose it would have been wise to follow the plan laid out for us by the Pontiff, but that’s all in hindsight. We simply stretched our legs for a bit in Powys and asked for how to find the Monastery at Ulmsbottom, as well as delivering a letter His Holiness had given me to a priest at the local cathedral. The man seemed ecstatic to receive a letter from the High Pontiff himself, albeit it wasn’t for him but for a man called Friar Griffith, who wasn’t present at the time. While walking through some fields after I left the cathedral on my way back towards the harbor, a most curious figure blocked my way. He was a robed figure with brown hair and a black, wreathed apparition. The figure asked where I was going, to which I stated I was going wherever the good Lord’s grace led me. Then the robed man said to me, “Wherever you go, or whatever you attempt, Iblees will resist you.” For a moment, I stood in silent surprise to these words, before I remembered the prophetic saying, and said, “The Lord is my helper; I will not fear what man can do unto me.” Then, to my utter confusion, the robed figure disappeared from my sight in the blink of an eye, and soon I resumed my way to the harbor, and to Ulmsbottom. When we came to the rocky island of Ulmsbottom, some guards welcomed us on the dock, and invited me to come with them to meet the overseer of the penal colony that the monastery was part of; warden Bedwyr Hughes. The warden was a middle-aged man with one of the biggest moustaches and some of the thickest eyebrows I have ever seen in my life, giving him a stern and imposing look. After talking some with the man however, it turned out he was a calm, temperate and kind soul, and we quickly hit it off. He showed me to a guest room in his home where I could stay, and then took me to the old Ashford House, now their family chapel, where Pontiff St. Lucien was born and where they kept much imagery and many relics of this holy man. I asked for a moment of privacy, as I knelt down in prayer by the shrine dedicated to the Saint, and stayed there for a while in silence, taking in the scent of the little bit of incense that burned inside the little chapel. I prayed at length for the well-being of my family, both the living family members I left behind at home, but especially the ones that were no longer with me for they died when I was young, especially my parents. After all Saint Lucien was the patron Saint of the family. In prayer I asked St. Lucien, as well as GOD himself, to look kindly upon my relatives in the Seven Skies despite what mistakes they might have made in life, and furthermore I pleaded to be blessed with a good family of my own in the future. The front courtyard and entrance of the Reformative Monastery of HP St. Lucien I Once I was finished, warden Hughes joined me again and he took me to the Reformative Monastery of High Pontiff Saint Lucien. Upon getting there, accompanied by some of my crew and some of his guards, we found the monastery seeming deserted. We figured the monks were all at mass, for we didn´t know the time of day, and so he simply accompanied me to the reliquary to show some of the relics the monks held of their patron Saint. After some time of being there and still not having seen a single monk however, we got curious as to their whereabouts and began looking for any of them. We were just looking around the monastery´s training grounds, where I had hoped to join them for a drill session as is tradition for pilgrims, when we heard the monastery´s bells being rung. The warden, who was very well-acquainted with what certain ways of ringing the bells meant, told me that someone had just passed away. Therefore we headed to the monastery’s infirmary, not in a running hurry, but with slow, solemn steps, as I was instructed was part of the ritual the monks upheld in such a situation. When we came close to the infirmary, we could clearly make out the litany of the Saints being sang in chant by a choir of monks, and upon entering, we saw that the monks had all lined up in an orderly fashion to say their farewell to their deceased brother. A priest of the monastery came to the doorway to meet us and we exchanged a few words. He welcomed me to their monastery and apologized for the circumstances in which we joined them. He told us that a catechumen, not a monk, had suddenly passed away due to illness, which the priest explained to me was most terrible, as the poor soul had died before being able to receive baptism. Feeling sorrow for the poor soul, I in turn asked if I was allowed to also say a few things for the deceased catechumen, and the priest happily obliged. When it was my turn to kneel beside the deceased brother wrapped in stainless white sheets, I did not say a farewell, but instead laid my hands onto the man’s chest and closed my eyes in earnest prayer. I called upon Saint Lucien, the Exalted Horen, and GOD, to save the catechumen. Then, after my extensive prayers, to which the monks silently bore witness, I rose up a little and gazed upon the countenance of the deceased, waiting for the result of my prayer and the mercy of the Lord. After about ten minutes had passed, the warden placed a hand on my shoulder and said that while my gesture was of great symbolic significance and also greatly appreciated, it was time to move on. I thought he had a point, but waited yet some more time for GOD’s answer to my prayers. Scarcely had the space of two more minutes passed, when the dead man began to move a little in all his members and tremble with his eyes open for the practice of sight. The monks came closer to gaze upon the catechumen who they had formerly left dead in surprise, exclaiming loud praise to the Lord in ecstasy and immediately baptising the man afterwards. I stayed the night at the monastery then, together with warden Hughes and our men, and joined the monks in prayer the next morning, before being invited to furthermore join them in breakfast and their combat drills as was custom for pilgrims to Ulmsbottom. The High Pontiff had warned me already that these men were excellent martial artists, and I found myself easily outmatched by their champion in a friendly spar, as he had projected. We had a good laugh about it however, before I asked to talk to the man from the day before, who was recovering in the infirmary. I talked for a long time with the man, who’s name he told me was Bohemund and he said he was grateful for the mercy the Lord had had upon his soul, and thanked me for pleading patiently for it in prayer. Toward the end of the afternoon, one of the warden’s men told me it had become time to head back to the penal colony town of Ulmsbottom, and so I said my farewell to Bohemund. Upon coming out of the infirmary however, I was not only greeted by the warden and our men, but furthermore by a trio of priests, the headmaster of the monastery and two others, bathing in the golden light of the sun that stood low above the horizon already. They said to me that they wished to thank me greatly for the service I had provided the day prior with my prayer for the brother in the infirmary, and that they wished to give me something to take home with me from my pilgrimage. Then, from under a white cloth, they showed me an iron manacle, linked to a chain by a bolt. I had seen it the day prior in the reliquary, and they confirmed that it was one of their relics, once worn by Saint Lucien, then still known as Velwyn Ashford, as he ventured from Aeldin to Oren on a slave galley. I thanked them greatly for their holy gift and the many blessings that followed, assuring them that their gesture would forever stay with me. After saying farewell to them, we then left for the warden’s home in Ulmsbottom, where me and my crew stayed a few more uneventful days before setting sail for our next destination. Chapter 2: Wycke Shortly before me and my men were about to set off to Fjordhem, a dove delivered an envelope from home, containing some money along with a letter, a response to a letter I had sent home when I first arrived in Aeldin. I had told about how my money was stolen, and now my fiancé and family had backed me up by sending me some. I had prayed for my family to Saint Lucien, and suddenly a sign of support from my family came from my faraway home. It felt almost like a miracle from the Saint, and it made me realize that while you can’t rely on money, you can rely on your family and GOD. Having some funds on me ended up making a great difference to the events that followed. As I had been warned by not only the High Pontiff back in Arcas, but also the Warden about the treacherous waters around Fjordhem, I decided to hire one of the Fjordhemian former pirates that lived at the penal colony to serve as an aiding navigator. With this new addition to my crew, I bid my farewell to the Warden before setting off to the northeast, to the cold and windswept land of Fjordhem. We charted our course to sail towards the town of Austbo on the island with the same name, planning to dock there briefly before then sailing to the mainland of Fjordhem at the nearby destination of Wycke. At first, things were fine and we experienced smooth sailing. For those who have not seen navigation maps of Aeldin, there is a strong west to east current that flows along the northern shore of the continent, and for us this meant that we were making fast progress. Furthermore, the weather was amazing, it was cold and a bit windy, but the sun burned bright and warmed us, not to mention the wind was in our sails! It seemed like we were going to reach Austbo a day or two sooner than expected, and, all of us being in good spirits, we decided to keep going throughout the final night rather than anchoring, to see how fast exactly we could get there. Our navigator Bram, a tall, strong blonde Fjordhemian with bright blue eyes, said he’d never experienced sailing this smooth going to Fjordhem, and he joked we might set a record. As the island of Austbo became visible on the horizon, it was early in the evening, and as we were planning to sail throughout the night to get there quickly, we had a fast meal before intending to return to our positions. However, as we were briefly sitting down to eat some of our provisions, The Serpent calmly sailing forward in the sunset, the precariousness of the Fjordhemian weather first showed itself to us as the wind suddenly died down. After our meal, I instructed my men to get to their oars, having realized we’d need to cover the final stretch rowing. With our progress slow now, I kept a constant eye out for the next change of the weather to see if the wind would return. I did not have to wait long to spot the first signs of change, as a thick pack of clouds appeared from the northwest on the horizon. We were relieved at first, though it did not take long for us to realize that we were finding ourselves in the calm before the storm. The shore of Austbo during a nighttime storm Shortly after the fall of dark, it had gotten much colder. The strong wind had returned, but this time it came from the north and wasn’t helping us get to the island. As we continued rowing, the sky only turned darker as the moon and stars began to be hidden behind dark clouds. With the town of Austbo in sight on the shore in the distance, we heard the first signs of a thunderstorm in the north. The waves became rowdier by the minute and if it wasn’t for our Fjordhemian navigator, we would have crashed on various rock formations that pierced the water. Soon the rain started pouring down upon us and between it and the towering waves, we no longer had sight of neither the town nor the shore itself. As we were going through the ever increasing storm blind at this point, the Fjordhemian navigator and I myself agreed that it would be best to steer clear from the shore rocky for now and instead set course northward to avoid being blown off course too far south. For hours upon hours, my crew and I braved the relentless storm, gliding up and down waves that must have been higher than houses in our ship that seemed very tiny all of the sudden. We were tired and weary as it must’ve been in the middle of the night at this point but we constantly needed to put in all our energy to keep the ship under control. It seemed like there was no end to this storm. Our ship was getting damaged, not too badly at first, but as more and more damage started mounting atop of one another, the condition of the ship got seriously worrying. As this wild ride in the night dragged on, my crew became increasingly tired and less able to weather the storm. A big wave that crashed onto the ship nearly caused one of the rowers to fall into the water, only staying on board with the help of two others. As the night dragged on towards the morning and the storm yet showed no sign of ending, our ship and my crew were in a dire state. Having lost all hope, I kneeled at the helm, soaked by salty seawater, and began praying to Saint Malcolm. Why would he do this? The patron Saint of storms, pushing us to our limits on my pilgrimage to him, with a storm so fierce it would make even the hardiest of seamen afraid. I prayed to him to aid us, he had tested us, and we had resisted the storm so far, had we not? With faith in the Lord, I begged him to save us, before promptly needing to return to the helm to guide us along a tall and rough wave. By the time morning came not long after the prayer, the thunderstorm had stopped. And while it still rained heavily, the sunrise managed to show through the clouds, revealing the main island of Fjordhem looming in the distance. As the storm further calmed, we dared to venture closer to the shore of the island. It took a while before our Fjordhemian navigator recognized a part of the shore so he could tell us where we were, then telling me to throw the helm around as it turned out we’d been blown a fair bit off course and Wycke was the other way. Around mid-day however, we came near the capital of Wycke, and a large fishing vessel came out to guide us into the harbor. We had made it at last. The Serpent being guided into the harbor of Wycke. Later that day, we had docked the ship properly in the cove the capital city of Wycke was situated in, and we went into the town to orient ourselves and buy new supplies while some of our men stayed behind to repair the ship and rest. The High Pontiff had told me that Wycke was not a big city, and it seems like he was right. He’d told me it would have a population of about twenty thousand people however, which seemed less accurate. Instead much of the town was deserted, with many buildings either boarded up or crumbling. As I stood in the middle of a small square, trying to determine where the centre of the town would be where the shrine to St. Malcolm was to be found, I suddenly felt a tug on my coat. Upon turning around, I was greeted by a thin, raggedy man, begging for money. After I gave him two golden minas, I asked him for his name and where I could find St. Malcolm’s shrine. The man introduced himself as Ailbert and said that in gratitude for my charity, he would take me to see the shrine. On the way we passed some more boarded up houses, which I asked him about. Ailbert said that things weren’t going well for Wycke. He told me that a series of cold winters and a lack of much fish to be caught drove many people to emigrate to the mainland of Aeldin, or pursue piracy, which in turn caused more to leave as the limited fishing industry that remained came in increasing danger. At that point we came to the shrine and Ailbert bid me farewell as he went to buy food with the minas I’d given him. I blessed the poor man before turning to the shrine. Pontiff James II had written down that upon arrival, pilgrims would offer the shed skin of a viper to the shrine as was custom. Until now I had been unsure of how I would get the viper’s skin, but it seemed that an entrepreneurial local merchant had made use of this tradition, as I spotted a shop nearby that had snake skins hanging in the window. I bought one and offered it to the shrine of the holy man, something that was supposed to grant me immunity from the bite of a viper, though like the High Pontiff, I was not too sure if that is just folklore or a miracle the Saint will grant me. I made a brief prayer at the shrine to Saint Malcolm, thanking him for allowing us to weather the storm of the night before, after which I paid a visit to the local cathedral. There I prayed for the rest of the afternoon and spoke to a few priests before I made my way back through the half-empty town, past the shrine to Saint Malcolm. I went back down to the harbor, to check on my ship before joining my men in a local tavern to get a quick meal before hitting the hay early, exhausted from the sleepless night before. The next day we all slept in, having a minor breakfast late in the morning before I set out to make my way back to the cathedral, having agreed to meet up with a priest just before noon mass, to talk about planning a missionary trip to a local heathen tribe. The next day me, the priest and some of my men set out into the mountains of Fjordhem, travelling inland on foot for two days before entering the lands of the Damnonii tribe, a group of pagans who were slowly being converted to canonism. The tribesmen were an interesting folk and though they were pagan, they were surprisingly tolerant to our missionary visit, most likely because of the gifts we brought along. We gave them many furs which they clad themselves in extensively, along with some other gifts like preservable food, a bronze cross and one of the Holy Scrolls, which two young tribesmen who I was told were learning to read happily took from us. We stayed with the Damnonii for a few days, in which we preached the gospel to them and me and my men learned about some of their curious culture. The Damnonii covered themselves in blue and green bodypaint, which they offered to me and the other members of the mission as well, but I politely declined because I feared it had some pagan meaning. They also did a lot of wrestling while wearing nothing except a wool skirt. We helped them herd their sheep when needed, and at the end of our stay, four of the tribesmen, including the two young ones that were learning to read, agreed to convert to Canonism. I helped the priest with the baptismal ceremony which we conducted in a nearby creek. The countryside of Fjordhem where the Damnonii herd their sheep. Afterward the baptism, they wished to thank us, saying they had a gift for us in return. Their chieftain told us that in a recent war with another tribe, they had confiscated what they thought was something us canonists would like. To everyone’s surprise, he suddenly gave us what the priest said was the lost half of an important relic of Saint Malcolm. He handed us a brass serpent curled underneath a cross of the same material, part of the Brazen Staff of the Saint, is what I would be told later. I must say I grew quite fond of these odd people in the few days we stayed with them, even if they were weird pagans. The fact that they allowed men of GOD into their midst, showing us kindness and to an extent even accepting and joining us, showed me that even if some of GOD’s children are misled, they are often still good and pure of heart. When we headed back, St. Malcolm must’ve been proud of us, for the whole two days of travelling back to the coast, a warm sun shone upon us rather than the rain and wind that were commonplace here. After our trip to the Damnonii, we did not stay in Fjordhem for much longer, for winter was approaching. The last day I spent praying in the cathedral, until the priest that had gone with us came up to me and offered me the repaired staff of Saint Malcolm to take back to Arcas with us. He said the Bishopric was very pleased with our conversions, and that the Bishop was honored to have a pilgrim sent by His Holiness in Wycke. Thus they wished to thank me by giving me the relic cross which they had put back on the pine staff that it once sat on before being lost when a group of missionaries died in a blizzard. I thanked the priest and his bishop to no end, before leaving the cathedral at the end of the afternoon. Walking back down towards the harbor, I offered a bronze coin to the shrine of Saint Malcolm as according to custom, something he supposedly used to ward off pirates, before leaving again for the harbor, continuing on my pilgrimage back to the mainland, to Gaekrin. Chapter 3: Ervemark To our luck and delight, we experienced no stormy weather nor extraordinarily choppy waves as we sailed back to the Aeldinian mainland. The Serpent tore through the waves with the wind in our sails. As we realized we’d get to the port city of Ervemark sooner than expected, we came to the conclusion Saint Malcolm had to be with us now, shepherding us from potential storms just as we had shepherded the sheep of the Damnonii a few days ago. After leaving Wycke in the morning, we docked at the castle town of Sverngard in the evening, then six days later we caught sight of Ervemark. The so-called ‘City of Flames’ lived up to its name at the first sight of it. Upon docking in the harbor we had trouble keeping our eyes off the view of this beautiful city in the distance. Its architecture was quite refined indeed, but what made the look of it all the more special was the material from which the finest of buildings was constructed: a reddish stone much like marble, that shone warmly, invitingly and purely beautiful in the late afternoon sun. The harbor of Ervemark was full of life, bustling with incoming and outgoing merchant-folk as well as some upper class looking ladies and gentlemen, sipping wine, playing music and singing to their heart's content as they floated about the harbor in small yet beautiful and luxurious sloops. We ended up docking in a somewhat remote corner of the port before walking the boulevard, a broad street along the docks that was overshadowed by cliffs with ruins on top of them and buildings inside them. We searched for a place to stay the night and have dinner which we did with little effort.. A view of the port of Ervemark. . . .

The Order of the Leviathan Founded on the 16th of Malin’s Welcome, 1591 The successors to the Kraken’s Guard, the Order of the Leviathan is the official military force of the House of Vanir, and the only recognized military presence in the March of Vasiland. Formed by Marquis Brynden Vanir and authorized by Philip I, Holy Orenian Emperor, the Order takes after its predecessors as a steadfast defense against the enemies of the Imperium Quintus. Given its proximity to the Grand Kingdom of Urguan, the Order specializes in heavy melee infantry, with extensive training in frontline combat. Alongside training for land-based combat, the Order also acts as one of the largest naval forces of the Empire, and additionally concentrates on naval combat. The Order also operates as a border patrol force, tasked with monitoring travel into and out of the Kingdom of Haense. _____________________________________________________________________________ Order Hierarchy Members of the Kraken’s Guard fend off a raid on the fortress of Kraken’s Watch, 1562 Marshal The Marshal is the commander of the Order, and the keeper of the peace within in the March of Vasiland. The Marshal is also the Lord of Vanir, and serves as the Marquis of Vasiland in the service of the Imperium Quintus. Lieutenant In the absence of the Marshal, the Lieutenant is tasked with running the Order, speaking on behalf of the Marshal. This position is typically held by a male relative of the Marquis, though deserving individuals can earn the position. Captains The junior officers of the Order, the Captains are aides to both the Lieutenant and the Marshal, and assist them wherever needed. They are also responsible for maintaining morale and discipline within the ranks. Vasili’s Chosen Tried and true veterans of the Order, these men have proven their prowess both administratively and in battle. These men are typically given much greater responsibilities as a result of their exceptional performance. Men-At-Arms These weathered veterans are expected to hold the line without fail, their ferocity and determination making them formidable opponents. Nothing less than complete obedience is expected of the man-at-arms. Footmen Footmen are the backbone of the order. They are fully fledged soldiers that have had some experience in the military, and their presence is both a relief to their allies and a curse to their foes. Recruit These men are the newest additions to the Order. Typically comprised of younger men and elves, they will undergo trials and training until they can become Footmen. _____________________________________________________________________________ Tenets of the Order Members of the Order are expected to maintain diligence at all times. The tenets of the Order of the Leviathan are as follows: † You shall hold no other allegiance, and be pure to your oath. Be not corruptible. † Be calm, strong, polite and resolute. Show valour in the field, and chivalry at home. † Never surrender yourself nor your brothers; bring your honor, or death. † Triumph through discipline. Submit to this law - First my orders, then myself. † Grasp the purpose of each duty, so you may one day take up the torch of leadership. † Against an honorable foe, fight with chivalry, but to the dishonorable, extend no quarter. † Keep true to your people. Offer your life in place of the theirs. † Be strong, true, and loyal to the Emperor and the Imperium Quintus. You shall be the warrior incarnate of the Empire and her allies. _____________________________________________________________________________ Criteria The Order is open to providing an opportunity for many to serve the Empire. However, some basic criteria must be met: ‡ Applicants must be male (females shall be considered on a case by case basis). ‡ Applicants must be good Canonists (or willing to learn and convert to Canonism). ‡ Applicants must be residents of the Empire (humans and elves). _____________________________________________________________________________ Application Name (include MC username): Race: Gender: Skills: Skype username (can PM if needed):

Ravens would be sent across the Realm of Man, from the Courlandic Ducal Palace to the known landed Nobles of the realm, each one carrying a copy of the same missive. The missive would be sealed with the wax sigil of House Staunton of Courland. 9th Snow’s Maiden, 1563. To the Lords of the Realm, It has come to my attention on this very morn, that a host of Courlanders sent to the Carnatian Stronghold of Gryphon’s Hold as a final step toward ending a war that has been ravaging the north for the past three years, have only been met with cold steel. Not only were the victims of the Carnatian aggression loyal Courlanders and loyal men of the Empire, but one was a noble of our Realm, Jacques Fournier who was brutally butchered and his mutilated body found in the snow. GOD allowed us to reunite Lord Fournier with his young son’s body, allowing him to hold a proper burial. The barbaric acts of the Vanirs and Carnatians cannot, and will not be dismissed as so much has been before, the men of Courland will no longer stand for this sort of disobedience and violation of His Imperial Majesty’s laws, and we will take it upon ourselves to rid Courland of her Carnatian invaders, and of the Empire if his Imperial Majesty wishes. This feudal war was once over a crumbling Vanir keep, but the blatant murder of young nobles of the Empire has changed our perception. We will march onwards to Kraken’s Watch within the fortnight, still within the boundaries of the Pacta that had been agreed upon to regulate this conflict. The war has not been resolved and we find these acts of brutality to be a demonstration of the Carnatian's and Vanir's inability to maintain any sort of peace. We plead for the foreign forces to lay down their arms, and return to their war-torn, deprived land for if they remain on Courland soil, only blood and steel will be used to remove them for good. Signed, Richard Staunton, Duke of Courland. WARCLAIM DETAILS Type of battle: Skirmish Time: Saturday, June 11th at 4pm EST Attackers: The Duchy of Courland Defenders: The Northern Coalition Location: https://gyazo.com/6ce519b63d87a4750116a39d81e8f6fe TERMS OF VICTORY Offensive Victory: All Coalition forces killed or routed from the battle area. Defensive Victory: All Courlandic forces killed or routed from the battle area. REWARDS Offensive rewards: They may continue the war with a conquest WC on Kraken’s Watch. Defensive rewards: They may continue the war with a pillage WC on the city of Riga. RULES -No status switching -If the Coalition forces do not show to the battle, it is forfeit to the attackers. (Vice versa) -All LoTC Rules apply

Jace Evans Basic Information Age: 40 (as of the 9th of Malin’s Welcome, 1509) (( May 28, 2015 )) Gender: Male Race: Human Status: Alive and well Description Height: 5’10” Weight: 170 lbs Body Type: Average; Jace was rather skinny during his youth, and during his long service in the Akovian and later the Orenian military, he was a bit more muscular. Nowadays, though, he’s only marginally fit – mostly from minor carpentry work. Eyes: Brown Hair: Charcoal Skin: Fair-skinned Markings/Tattoos: None Health: Healthy Personality: Jace Evans is a genuinely friendly person. He goes out of his way to help others, and loves to give advice. He’s naturally a pacifist, but when given no other option, he will not hesitate to end an evil-doer’s life. He’s fully devoted to empowering Oren, as he believes he is fulfilling the late-king Vydra’s will by doing so. Jace tends to not curse, except when Orenian military failure is at hand. Inventory: Jace always carries a small journal, where he jots down his ‘to do’ lists. During times of stress or uncertainty, Jace will carry around an emerald in his pocket – a gift from a friend – that he deems ‘lucky.’ He is seldom armed with a longsword anymore, given that he’s retired from the military, but he does carry a dirk whenever he travels. Life Style Alignment: Lawful Neutral (Originally Neutral Good, until he joined the military; now, Oren is his greatest concern, not personal morals.) Deity: The Creator Religion: Canonist Alliance/Nation/Home: Vanhall, of the Duchy of Vanaheim (formerly known as the Duchy of Akovia) Job/Class: Currently, he oversees the construction, planning, functions, and goals of Vanhall. Title(s): Esquire; formerly Commissar (HOSS) and Sergeant (2nd Regiment) Profession(s): Former farmer; former petty blacksmith for the Regiment; currently he dabbles with fishing, to calm his nerves. Special Skill(s): Jace is an avid planner and writer. He’s written numerous documents on military conduct, and has written precise orientation manuals for recruits. Along with his planning, Jace is also a tactician, preferring intelligence to raw combat prowess. Flaw(s): Jace is ignorant on various customs from cultures around the world – and especially on formality with Orenian nobles. He also struggles with offensive strategies, as he focuses primarily on defense and the security of the Orenian people. On top of all of this, Jace really isn't the best fighter. He can hold his own, but he's nothing exceptional. Weaponry Fighting Style: Military; formations and placement, rather than specific stances. Trained Weapon: Longswords, maces, and dirks Favored Weapon: Now, dirks. Whenever he was active duty military, it would be longsword during wars and maces during internal disputes. Archery: Crossbow; minimal training Biography Parents: Wilhelm Evans and Hollis Evans (both deceased) Siblings: William Evans, Jace’s older brother Children: None, yet History (( Backstory )) Jace Evans was born in a small, unnamed hamlet within the Eruthos Canyons. The hamlet specialized in ranching and mining, and is where Jace began his humble life in peasantry. Not strong or effective enough to herd cattle, Jace was put to work cleaning out the barns and running food and water to the animals whilst his brother, William, was the hamlet’s designated cook. The main source of income for the hamlet was the small mining industry, which eventually struck it rich with finding a large deposit of iron ore. As the miners dug more and more furiously, their success became their downfall. Without warning, the mine collapsed, destabilizing the nearby rocky hill; this caused a rockslide, which swallowed the small village whole. Jace was fortunate enough to be shirking away from his duties and instead studying the local flora – as he intended to become a famous alchemist someday. Jace returned later that evening to find his home crushed beneath a slew of rocks. He stayed near the wreckage for days, hoping help or survivors would come, but nobody did. Devastated, Jace trekked southward, completely unaware of the hostilities festering in Athera. (( Actual events )) Jace made his way to the Cloud Temple, and from there he headed east until he reached the Kingdom of Akovia. Jace was quickly ushered to the allegedly new king, Andrik Vydra. Immediately he warned Jace of the Schism War that was taking place, and that Jace’s arrival was at a bad time – but he could be useful. Fearing death, as Jace had never held a weapon before, he instead opted for farm work to bolster the Akovian economy. Jace was given a humble underground hole to live in for the time being, as well as a spot in what Jace thought was a thriving community. Some weeks passed without any conflict, and a dwarven woman named Sofie Varley ended up becoming his neighbor in the underground houses. Delighted at what Jace thought meant was signs that the Schism War was dying down, he eventually befriended her. The two fostered a close friendship as they both rose out of their underground homes and into proper hovels. Jace’s loyalty to Akovia grew and grew as he spoke to other residents and his loyalty was soon put to the test. One day, Jace was on the Stone Road buying supplies whenever he heard the ominous treading of boots behind him. Turning, he witnessed the combined armies of humans he did not recognize, dwarves, and orcs. It was the enemy! Terrified, Jace fled to Akovia where defenses were already preparing. Jace was handed a chainmail suit, sword, and a crossbow. Without warning, Jace had been plunged directly into the conflict. A large battle erupted and Jace had his first taste of war. Delighted he had not faced an untimely death, Jace took a new-found interest in the war and joined as a conscripted soldier in the Akovian levy. More time would pass and more battles fought as Jace honed his skills in battle. Still shying away from leadership and active duty patrols, Jace would instead debate Waldenians in the Cloud Temple in an attempt to learn his enemy. However, shortly thereafter the Schism War was over and Petrus was in Akovian hands. Feeling a strong sense of nationalism for the recent success as well as gaining new contacts in his time with the military, Jace joined the 2nd Akovian Regiment of the 1st Orenai Legion on the 11th of the Grand Harvest, 1491. He shortly thereafter met Publius Bracchus, whom became one of his closest friends during their time in the Regiment. As Publius madly recruited for the Regiment, Jace took a different approach to leadership: education. Jace would give lectures on the lessons he had written, as well as participate in congratulatory speeches whenever the Regiment soldiers had done an extraordinary job. Before long, Jace was promoted to Sergeant – one of the few officer positions available. He continued to serve the regiment as a leader with his new-found authority, leading up to the sinister assassination of King Andrik Vydra. Upon hearing the news, the once-merciful Jace Evans turned a blind eye as his soldiers pillaged and killed elves along the highways for days to come. More time passed as Jace’s desire for revenge hardened into a desire for Oren to further emulate what Vydra would have wanted. In fanaticism, Jace studied all he could, hoping for an answer. With luck, the answer came in the form of Andrik Vydra’s old journal. Seizing it, Jace studied its contents carefully before handing it over to his superiors. Vasili Vanir decided, upon reading Vydra’s journal, that a new order must be formed if Oren is to become what Vydra wanted. With that, the Second Regiment was disbanded and Humanity’s Office of Selective Service – HOSS, for short – was formed. Informally known as the Sons of Vydra, the new order took only the most serious of previous regimental forces and turned them into zealots for Vydra’s ideology. The mission was clear: ensure human supremacy and unity at all costs. Before long, the Urguan-Oren War was over and peace had been restored. Ultimately relieved, Jace now looked for a way out of the military so that he could pursue more peaceful endeavors. As the Sons of Vydra grew less and less needed, Jace took to regularly visiting Karl Barbanov and offering advice, hoping to make himself useful in ways other than violence or warfare. Eventually, Jace found his calling as the Vanir family bestowed upon him the title of Esquire, giving him a chunk of land to build a town with. Even more exciting, Jace was officially relieved of his military duties on the 11th of The Amber Cold, 1507 – making Jace a 16 year veteran. At once, Jace took to his new duties with joy, and he can only hope for the best as he continues down his journey in life. (( Significant events that I wasn’t able to include in his main story )) The swamp adventure with Vydra and a few of his loyalists: Jace was a terrified peasant, forced to help find one of Andrik’s knights. Confronted by cultists, Jace wondered how he came out alive! Sofie being shot by the Carrot Knight: Jace was enjoying a visit with Sofie, before she was shot in the back by an arrow! Jace frantically tried to imitate what he had seen the lich do in the swamp, which would have ultimately caused more damage than necessary. Jace killing the Carrot Knight: In an entirely different scenario, Jace ended up killing the Carrot Knight, rightfully avenging Sofie’s attack. Reunification with William: Assuming William Evans had died in the rockslide, Jace had figured he was the only one left in his family. This was not the case, however, as William had figured Jace perished. William later on went to become an innkeeper within Petrus, before finding work elsewhere. Regimental forces in Leuvaarden: Fearing civil conflict, the Regiment was sent to Leuvaarden to maintain the peace. As the 2nd Regiment was spat on, pushed, shoved, and yelled at, not a single soldier broke out of formation. This landed them a speech from Publius and Jace! Jace’s receiving of his ‘lucky emerald’ from Sofie: Sofie began a new career in becoming a brewery owner, at which point she decided to give Jace a very special gift! Jace and Publius attempting to save the wood elves: Blinded by rage, Jace was to let the high elves suffer for the assassination, but he would not allow the innocent slaying of wood elves. Together, Publius and Jace dissuaded Orenian soldiers from attacking Cerulin. (( PLEASE NOTE: I SCREENSHOT EVERY RP ENCOUNTER JACE HAS, SO IF YOU THINK I'M MISSING AN IMPORTANT MOMENT IN HIS LIFE, LET ME KNOW! THANKS! )) Artwork Jace Evans, 37, Commissar in Humanity's Office of Selective Service (( Just a little something I drew up one day; I'm no good with art! ))