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[!] This flyer is posted throughout Aevos, from busy streets to quiet corners, on lampposts, bulletin boards, and storefronts. It's hard to miss, ensuring everyone sees it and takes notice. .

When Luck Runs Out [PK] Ser Audo Weiss ‘The Raven’ 96 SA - 174 SA, 14th of The Deep Cold “War!” Forceful was the demand made by the raven-haired boy with ice-blue eyes: the young, lean and scrawny visage of the eldest Weiss child. He opted to toss a dragon figurine at his brother and raise a terrible metal-cored training sword bestowed to him by king Karl III from the local Von Draco smith. Focusing his aim through his glasses, he set his sights on the eldest of his younger brothers. The steps began with a light thunk, then heavier ones as he crossed the modified, open space of the Weiss mansion in Karosgrad: two houses forcibly merged by the Ambition of their father as they masqueraded in faux-noble wealth. “No.” Came a simple reply as the dragon toy scraped to a stop against the brother’s foot. Raising a finger to turn a page, the brother flicked it over without raising his gaze. However, he could feel the boy’s discontent as the thunks silenced only a step or two away. Only then did his eyes break from the written pages to his older brother, “Audo, you always beat me and you’re always the soldier. It bruises and hurts.” With a sharp intake of breath, Audo considered retorting but relinquished his fixation when understanding of the plight set in. “...Okay.” His sword lowered in defeat as silence fell between the two. Unsettled by it, Audo shifted. However, his younger brother seemed comfortable as his gaze, satisfied, returned to the page. The ooze of silence continued, until Audo asked: “Whatcha reading, Viktor? We haven’t been out - where’d you even get a new book?” His steps strode over as he leaned all-too-close to Viktor in an effort to see the book. The colourful illustrations almost seemed alive, with a little monkey and his strange, magic adventure seeming little more than something amusing to pass the time for children their age. “The Great Sage,” Viktor responded, though his shoulders rose and fell in an indecisive shrug, “Someone dropped it.” Peering at his brother incredulously, Audo began to frown. “You stole it.” A sharp motion finally came from Viktor as his head snapped up. “No, I didn’t.” “Yes, you did!” “No, I didn’t!” Swivelling on his feet, Audo then yelled: “Papej!” He called, and continued – louder - at the lack of notably reply: “PAPEJ, VIKTOR STOLE A BOOK!” Silence. Then, grizzled, Felix Weiss emerged from the closest stairwell with a heavy-headed boot upon the floor. Having returned the night before, late, bloodied and battle-worn, he’d closed himself away the rest of the evening and for the better part of the day. His gaze dragged to the bickering boys, then to the shredded, strained infernal banner that adorned their wall. His gaze lingered as the bickering grew, until the noise became like an incessant itch: “Enough!” His voice seemed to rattle the house to the children, and each fell deathly quiet. One thunk, then two, then three sounded as his boots crossed the floor in a steady, persistent rhythm - observing the two. “He stole it!” Audo then piped suddenly, the first to break silence as an accusatory finger cast towards Viktor. “A strange blue man in the street dropped it.” Viktor followed, “He let me have it!” Audo became more incensed by the added details, opening his mouth to continue to prater. “Ah,” Came Felix’s drawl, “Keep it.” Audo’s gaze turned to their father, wide. “Sounds like Wright.” He moved a hand over to pat Viktor, who simply gave a hint of a smile at the decision. “A strange one; he does do strange things.” Strange it was, perhaps a guiding hand or perhaps a warning for what lay ahead. A road of magic and the incomprehensible would follow the family. And, ultimately, become part of the fall of a hero. “Tonight, there will be no civilians.” A foreboding rumble rippled across the skies as Felix Weiss made some final adjustments to his son’s – and heir’s – helmet. A boy just the age of nine. An unintentional knock led to the young boy struggling to unclasp the helmet to right the fragile glasses that sat beneath. Audo Weiss had his reservations about the oncoming siege. Everyone could feel it coming and each day, each hour, each minute that passed crept ever-closer to battle. A primal fear rotted in his gut – one of getting hurt. He’d seen many times how his father had returned home ghostly and crimson. And yet, death was foreign. However, he had confidence in his father in only a way a child could. And then there was the thought, a foolish yet persistent one, that this was his chance: his chance to help papej be free of his turmoil. Gruelling and unforgiving, the battle on the Eastern front had been slow and chaotic. One could describe the entanglement as a battle of wills. When one side was pushing, a stubborn counter-attack would push right back. Amidst this, Audo had a place even if it was, at best, sketchy. In formation he could barely keep up a shield that matched him in height. Underequipped, he had no spear to effectively contribute to the backlines. It would be of no surprise that even though he fought alongside the likes of Sebastien de Savoie and Aleksandr var Ruthern, aiming for the legs as Dame Tarvisha Markov had taught him, the boy was woefully outclassed. Despite this, he aided in felling two inferi invaders and never broke rank. Given his small stature and the much greater threats around, he had been pushed and shoved – thrown, even – but no inferi had seen fit to swing their gargantuan warhammers and greatswords upon him. Perhaps he was battered and bruised, but he had come out of the thick of the battle rather well for wear, aside from being black and blue and having lost his glasses. As Karl III danced with the Prince of Carrion behind of the hill, Audo Weiss – only able to make out the blurred world beyond his shattered glasses – sobbed in the single remaining arm of his father as he was passed a flask of Carrion Black and, later, he would cry into the arms of his only friend, Veronica de Pelear. Death was now a neighbour. “I WANT TO BE A HERO!” The deep bellow fanned out from the roof of the Knight’s Keep where Ser Vladimir ‘Hothand’ and his newly accepted page stood. Raising his hands to fiddle with the goofy white goggles that sat about his neck, Audo stared at the man – an adult – with bewilderment. Though that soon gave way to a smile then an unfamiliar giggle as the puerile notion resonated in some walled-off depths of the child. How long had it been since he had laughed? In the presence of this fearsome warrior, this knight, he could for there were no inferi to infest his thoughts under his wing. “What?” He blurted out through his chuckles. “That’s not a reason to be a knight!” “Of course it is. Heroes protect people.” The knight replied nonchalantly, pulling his gaze away from the distant walls of the Red Gem to peer down at the boy of ten. A thoughtful silence settled before he then asked: “In chess, what is the most important piece?” “The king.” Came a prompt reply, draped in a naïve innocence but also an eager energy. A dip of Ser Vladimir’s head signalled a confirmation. “And who is the king we protect?” Audo’s brows furrowed in thought as the question presented an obstacle. “The… people?” He answered tentatively. Subtly curling, the lips of the Knight portrayed a hint of amusement. “Close.” All except the wind fell silent, for the boy was stumped. In his own experience and juvenile perspective, he had no concept of how precious children like himself were. Thus far, he had been a tool to defend an abstract concept of The Future; he was blind to how he could be it. However, this blindness did not limit him forever. Gradually, in the years to come, Ser Vladimir would chip away at the blockages in Audo’s view until the answer became apparent to him much later down the line. Children were the future and Audo would see to it that they were protected and, in turn, taught to protect others and themselves. “You will be Great. I see it in you.” Felix Weiss declared off-handedly, yet with such unshakeable certainty. His eldest son sat by him at their family dining table, listening and learning. Such words passed through Felix’s lips like water, yet they were boulders. Time and time again he would repeat such grand claims with practiced ease. Greatness. What was greatness to a boy of twelve? Was he great because he was warded under his Serene Highness, future king Georg I? Was he great because, as cupbearer, his life was a shield for that of king Karl III? Was he great because he was a veteran or perhaps because he had undertaken the path of Knight? Did greatness rest in politically representing his family? Or, perhaps, the investment he’d made in helping to raise his younger siblings with an overworked father and a long-gone mother deserved the description of ‘great’? Or, maybe, greatness would lay only in his future as patriarch. Whatever the answer, the weight of expectation would remain heavy. In war, every battle became his battle. In politics, every ladder rung became a necessity. In family, every failure was his own. “Vy will refer to ea as Ve Bandit King Overlord I ve High Bandit Order!” Audo grinned with a staggering amount of overconfidence as Princess Veronica de Pelear resigned herself to the role of Bandit Minion for the next full day. Over the years, the two had shown themselves to be an inseparable pair. Yet still fresh from the days of being a commoner, the baronial heir carried himself in an abrasive yet charmingly worldly way. His tendencies had a way of endearing adults and, yet, despite his dabbles in other friendships he failed to find many close long-time friends beyond that of the princess. Iskra, ever-distant, was wary of the lawful authority Audo wielded as a member of the brotherhood. Carice von Augusten Audo certainly considered a friend, though later misplaced trust would shake his confidence even under his own future roof. Eirika gave some glimmer of friendship if it was peered at through a murky lens. Regardless, time was always thin for Audo and not enough could be given to sustain a high-born girl of such energy. Sir Milonir of Whitehall – a disgusting boy of acne and stench and debt – did indeed, later, go from admiring Audo to being his best friend. However, what true friendship they had was marred by a feeling of bitter betrayal, forever relegating the once close friendship to one of utility. Ki’el certainly shared a connection at times. The men were good to each other – looked out for each other. And yet the diverging lives of each brother-in-arms led to tragedy and yet another betrayal. Ki’el’s capture and execution was personal. Another friend would not be found for decades to come: Demitrey Novikov. Once a simple brother-in-arms met on the battlefield, the two would kindle a friendship which Audo would find profoundly similar to that of Sir Milonir. Perhaps if they had met earlier, a closer bond would have been forged, and though Audo cared for the man a certain professionalism was pervasive in their relationship. But, then, as the Ambition of each family grew, Demitrey proved never to forget their bond – an act so profound that Audo carried his gifted cane from the moment it passed hands until the moment he was felled. So, Veronica was always special. She had seen his tears and his joys. She lived through his complications and problems. She helped him build a better life. She helped him be a better man. They spat and argued, and at times drifted as life weighed unforgiving on their minds, and their suffering festered. Although time and duty dragged Audo from the likes of giving gifts and letters, on occasion grand gestures were made apparent, not the least of all in his lengthy endeavor of acquiring Pablo, the panda Veronica came to love. She was there from the beginning but did not see his end. Her loss to the Veletz League was grating on many, and the proceeding failure of the De Pelears to notify him of their intent left a resounding sourness in him. And though he doubted he could, he released the paper lantern she desired at her funeral – albeit, having climbed high and after many had departed. As it drifted away on the winds, Audo reflected on her words to take care of himself. How terrible he was at that task, but with aid from Demitrey and even his usually spiteful son, Walter, he found a path forward. One day, they would dance again. “**** duty.” Audo’s mouth fell slightly agape at the words of the king as he languidly sprawled upon the bed in his chambers, listening to the young man drivel and struggle between ideals of love and responsibility. And then, it was Audo’s turn to listen as Georg I relayed the story of his love for his first queen, Esfir. A speech and talk quite unlike that which Audo would expect where in equal parts responsibility and duty came to be but obstacles between the two. Although Audo failed to grasp the emotional resonance of the king in the moment, his encouragement proved vital in lieu of a trusted guide to courtly romance. “Take a year to travel the world – it lets the hearts entwine.” The king eventually bid, “And listen to the whispers of your heart.” With his peace said, Georg waved his ward from his chambers with a waft of his hand. And so Audo listened, learned, and promptly undertook the challenge of courting Princess Veronica which eventually blossomed into marriage, with an underlying sense of unfulfilled adventure. Though in all their years together never did they find the right year to travel the world. “Take this to remind yourself of the man tu will not be.” Maria held an outstretched piece of shattered glass to the young man, now finding his own path in life, who sat pushed back into the wall, shaking and weak. Vomit splattered down his chest-plate in runny chunks, his feet crunched on glass shards, his eyes and lungs burnt from whiskey forced into them from what should have been a guiding hand. Drunk, the alcohol in his system rendered his thoughts a muddle, yet he felt starkly sober. His snap to reality was unavoidable after such an ordeal with his father. And to be sent away? To an abbey? In Balian? His murky mind ran rampant with half-sloshed ideas. Yet, his hand stretched out shakily to take the shard from Maria. The gesture perhaps contained an element of care which sorely lacked in his once single father. Perhaps, though, it was the sheer authority the act exuded to which Audo responded: a familiar feeling. Or perhaps it was an overwhelming need in the moment to focus on anything but the responsibilities forced on his shoulders, but after years of rejecting her he finally asked: “…C-can I call you mother?” Maria peered at the shambling, beaten wreck that was Audo. “Of course, hijo.” “Vy must listen to him. His word is mea word.” Felix Weiss told a young Haus and a young Sierra. Audo stood off to the side, awkwardly shifting his feet as he averted his gaze from the conversation. His fears and worries on leading, his inability to wrangle his siblings as a leader was beginning to wear him down terribly. Perhaps he was not meant for this role – perhaps Haus would make a better heir or Sierra or Via. Despite his best attempts Sierra had grown into a public menace. He loved her dearly, truly, but the extent of her defiance was terrifying. And Haus – could he even put that into words? The little brother he tried to train, to love, to protect. The one who ran away with a word. The one that no matter their connection only seemed able to speak down to his older brother. All Audo had done had only made Haus fear his word. Was Audo so wrong in the choices he made? In wanting to protect the choice of his younger brother, he seemed to only force him further into the depths of Ambition. What was he to do with him running away to far-off lands, unwilling to listen? What could he possibly say to ease his mind on The War with The Owl where upon he acted like a madman, striking wildly at family in the square of Karosgrad? To merely look upon Haus wrenched to mind a catalogue of mistakes. Everything about him embodied heart-break and surely Sierra was headed down the same path. He had not managed to do anything to stop either of them. How was he ever supposed to lead? Despite his fears, his relationship with Sierra would mend with time. Haus, however, remained a distant creature. They maintained a strictly utilitarian connection, at least until their very later years. They almost - almost - came to be brothers again. Yet, one more betrayal sealed a hatred so strong that Haus would contort from a figure of heart-break to one of loathing. An ally of the enemy. An ally of The Owl. Haus had contributed to the twisted fate of Walter Weiss. “Vyr life is over now.” Came the words of Felix Weiss as Viscount Audo Weiss took his place upon the Ivory Throne, accompanied to his left by the Viscount-consort, Princess Veronica Weiss. Audo’s gaze turned to the hall lined with banners, busts and mounted heads. Looming, reality felt like it came crashing down and yet he took a breath and puffed himself up as his own father bowed before him: the man he loved, and hated; the man he duelled almost to death; the man who had set his path with no choice. And now in all his authoritarian humility took on a supportive role. All from then on became sacrifice; a lamb to the slaughter. Perhaps that is what Felix always understood or perhaps that was the understanding he gained during his tenure. Whatever the case, the Ambition so heavily pushed by the elder had done its work in the minds of his children, none more than Audo and Haus. As Haus tread the world, Audo remained by his blood. Under Viscount Audo Weiss, Novkursain expanded. The Five Maxims of Pride were penned. The title of Lord Marshal was one he did not accept nor strive for, yet he ensured another Weiss bore the sash of the Royal Captain. He became a crow knight: the only peer of his generation to balance his title and his duty. He excelled in a knightly capacity, becoming the first Weiss Knight Paramount after establishing a new library for the knights, establishing a hall of history and forging a positive reputation amongst the peoples. He served diligently under three kings, abiding by the First Maxim: Karl III, Georg I and Aleksandr II whom to each he bore a different relation. Though not sought, he was donned with the task of being a Crown Jovenaar and saw that duty through, too. The halls of Staalgrav became ever-more decorated with trophies of war and conflict from across the realm - undead dragons, Rozanian invasions, Mori’Quessir, Orkish incursions, Adrian and Veletzian foes, to simple banditry. The family expanded and grew stable, setting the foundation for The Age of Lions. They survived and re-settled on new lands, with a new Staalgrav. The history of the Weiss became a sentiment to revere, and the dead were honoured with a newly founded crypt. Between the weight of his hefty responsibilities and his reluctance to speak or word himself with his family for fear of hurting them, and the drain on his sanity it took he struggled his way through leadership, too. Familial ties were hurt and mended, especially those he relied on. Veronica and Audo share a bond of support, and one of ferocious arguments, whereby insecurities gnawed at their marriage and yet, they came to find unity each time – even if it took time. From Viktor he grew distant after his betrayal, but they came to an understanding and repaired. Stanislaw was busy spreading the word of GOD, but Audo always bore a special place in his heart for the man - his Golden Baby of Karosgrad. Martina rebelled against her father, but in her later years they came to grow closer when Audo’s support of her and the family never wavered. Karl became his student, yet his ever-curious mind led him elsewhere in the world. Y’vette grew to have a taste for adventure, eventually from one of which she would never return. Even his nieces in Raelle and Rosalind grew despite being hidden early in their lives: Raelle, a distant blood-kin – at first a traitor, before some semblance of reconcile and distant support was found; Rosalind, the second daughter Audo never had who grew into her own, similar show of Ambition. Walter, too, even couped his father, leaving a looming shadow in the family. And of all the pains he faced, the rift with his brother hurt most for it truly became an irreparable schism. For all his faults, he loved the family dearly and for all his woes, the spark of the future – the children – were bright. “Va ve Maan.” Audo stated – clear but quiet over the corpse of his father. A strike to the heart by the Mori’Quessir, deep in the failing Fen defense had sealed the fate of the elder Weiss. Having retreated with the carcass early and at the whim of his comrades, Audo could only reflect on how his father had been beside him. He had been right there. But there was nothing anyone could have done. Death was simply closer. A growing sense of doom had followed Felix since the apparent onset of his struggling heart, but even now battle took his life early. For all the pain and turmoil their relationship had, Audo loved his father deeply. Their newly rekindling relationship had seemed promising. Taking a deep breath as the battle faintly raged beyond the blackened retreat tunnel, Audo had to resolve to accept the loss of the battle, and the loss of his father. He took some solace in knowing Felix would have preferred to die in battle, even if it meant that the young boy who wanted to save his father from his turmoil was chasing an illusion. “Ea canniet watch vy suffer. Balyzm, trust us.” The Viscount whispered to his son, Walter Weiss, as they stood alone in the living room of their now-bare manor. For all the regrets Audo had, perhaps bestowing the blade upon his son was his worst. For he could bear to tend the suffering of his own heart – he could not bear to helplessly watch that of his son, just as he had watched that of his brother. “I can’t.” Walter replied, squeezing his father tighter. “… Not yet.” He continued, imbued with an other-worldly wisdom. Turning away, Audo hid his visage from Walter as he took a few brief moments to dry his single remaining eye and soon enough the stress of it reduced him to a man fighting on the floor, restrained by his son and his wife. Years of torment, years of battle and war eroded his soul. Eroded his mind. So desperately, Veronica had tried to keep him stable through one means or another. Even in himself, Audo had slipped from one coping mechanism to another. None fixed the curse afflicting his mind. His sister and brother – he failed them both. His wife – he failed her. His son – he was failing him, too. With time and restraint, the war-dog was brought to his senses. When all was said and done, a blade of glittering carbarum was forced into Audo’s shaking grasp. A bolstering of bubbling confidence rose in the knight’s chest. Shame was pushed aside and he rose proudly as any other Weiss. And when asked what he would do with the blade he replied: “I’m keeping it.” He rested the hefty blade across his lap, freeing his arms of its deceitful weight. “At least for a little while. Not forever. I just want you to rest your mind, Walt.” “Why are you keeping it?” Walter asked, outstretching his hand to rest upon Audo’s. Walter’s wisdom and need to understand was an ethereal parasite. Pulling his hand back, Audo retreated into his own confidence. “To keep you safe.” He gripped the blade. “I failed my brother. I failed my sister.” His gaze turned to his wife, “For years I’ve done wrong by you.” His gaze returned to Walter. “I cannot fail you too. Iblees can tear my soul apart – I will not have you suffer alone from this accursed thing!” Walter moved his hand out once more to grasp the hilt with Audo, tugging to take it away. “Trust me. This is your test.” Hesitantly - tense - Audo tightened his grip for a long moment as a silent stare passed between father and son. And then, he relinquished the blade back to its designated bearer. “And what do you say now, papej?” Walter asked as he peered across at his father. “My desire hasn’t changed; my words won’t change.” He offered his own palms out to receive but did not move to take the blade by force. “I trusted you. You need to trust me.” “Then so be it.” Walter returned the blade, gifting it back and forth in a display of what they sorely lacked. Regardless of their sour future, they had some semblance of trust to maintain. “… It is now yours to bear.” From the hand that had pulled the blade from the stone, the blade returned as a temporary measure. The weight of his son’s state remained heavy on Audo. Perhaps Walter’s differentness had been inflamed by the sword bestowed, and that thought could never be forgotten. “Ea shall niet return until ea find them.” The ex-paramount had made his decision. With the elf he had taken for one of his own missing, and Walter disappeared into the ether, he decided that he must find them or die trying. An incident with Veronica had left his wary of un-told travel, and the emptiness in his daily life after her death was salt in the wound. The blessed Stanislaw’s death remained raw each day: a twisted fate to have the younger die before the older. He most precious friend, Ram Battleborn, he entrusted to Rosalind Valkonen – although he still thought of her as a Weiss and as one after his own heart. To Viktor Weiss II, he entrusted the flask which had saved his mother’s life. To Viktoriya a bracelet, entrusting to her his bond and support no matter how far he went. To Marian he entrusted the past. To Ofeliya he entrusted the future, with some guiding words. There was little place for an elder head of Weiss to loom over the proceedings of the present. The lilacs he established were gone, he was too enthralled with other matters to cater to the horse breeds he had tended lovingly, and in his state away from the keep was little more than a lonely old man. The family that needed him most were lost, and it was to those who most needed him that he dedicated himself. On his person he took what he required or felt a connection to, and all else was left in the depths of Staalgrav. Few items of special note remained on his person beyond his combat gear: a poorly molded amulet proclaiming him the best father and knight, his wedding ring, a single letter written many years ago, a golden cane, an audio version of Song of the Black and a black cape he had permanently donned in the absence of his children. One child remained lost to the father forever. One had lost himself to a new man. Ser Audo Weiss ‘The Raven’ never returned alive. Ser Audo Weiss, 2nd Viscount of Novkursain and Knight Paramount of the kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska circa 500 ES With a splash and a gasp Audo rose backwards, splattered by dry droplets, finding himself planted firmly by a cloaked figure. Although he barely noticed, his body was no longer a tapestry of scars and burns – his lost eyes returned. He did notice, however, as his hands rose to grasp the arrow-shaft in his chest, that the revengeful mark which had pierced him was no longer there. A single strike. How fragile life was; how close death had drawn. No longer was he surrounded by the gloom of the Underdark, and the monsters which called it home. No longer was he surrounded by the kin that had accepted his lost state, and extended a hand of care. The figure stood hunched, gaunt, and shrouded in the darkest of blues. Embroidered with lions, her hood shadowed what face she might have. “Are you quite done?” Came her voice, something soft and motherly yet part of her tone seemed to scold him. “No- I-” He stumbled out, his feet moving forward as if there was a path to follow back before he could complete a sentence. Abruptly, a weight came crashing down on the back of his head. Despite the harsh thwack, it didn’t really hurt even if, instinctively, he raised his hand to rub at the site. Accusingly, his gaze snapped towards the woman, turning just barely in time to see her plant her cane upon the ground and fold both her hands upon it with a sense of finality. “Your work is done, boy. Rest.” Her voice dripped with authority despite its softness, and to reinforce her words, one crinkled hand unwrapped from the cane to extend an offer of guidance to Audo. Examining her crooked hand, his own moved to take it as his fierce Ambition finally relented. Despite her manner, and despite her apparent age the touch she offered was soft. After a few long moments of hesitation, he finally responded with a quiet: “...Okay.”

[!] A missive would find itself in the mailboxes of all Lords, Ladies and Commoners in the realm. IN SUPPORT OF MALKOVYA AN ALLIANCE UPHELD Issued by The House of Weiss Naf zwy 16th hag i Joma ag Umund i 520 E.S. A depiction of pyres prepared to burn Darkspawn upon. Once upon a time, our ancestors Felix Weiss and Carolus Colborn spoke with one another. The union of Weiss and Colborn was to be had, the two Weiss sisters, Via and Sierra marrying to Brendell and Carolus Colborn alike. An alliance was made then, to aid each other in our times of need - and today an alliance shall be upheld. Grave injury has been threatened upon your household, by beings of a dark nature, of Spooks and Undead who would see those wiped out. It is with this, the house of Weiss pledges to take up and provide arms today to aid their Colborn allies in the defense of their livelihoods. GODspeed for the Lion’s Pride has been awoken. “Va Ve Maan.” Signed, The Honorable, Ofeliya Fabienne Weiss, Viscountess of Novkursain, Baroness of Zvaervauld The Honorable, Christopher Fabian Weiss, Viscount-Consort of Novkursain, Baron-Consort of Zvaervauld Lady Reza Talya Weiss, Captain of the Levkursain

Reverence of War To the masses who endorse and take respite in the artistry of words, herein lies the thoughts and passings of what is otherwise a lost soul. Although the time of war has since passed, it readily consumed the innocence of my childhood - or, perhaps, that was left to some wayside long ago. Regardless of such ideals and musings, here is published my two finished war-works - Covenant versus the scourge of Veletz and Stassion - to make of what you will. Now these times, my thoughts, inner self and emotions have moved to linger upon another topic that I shall see drawn to its conclusion by one course of action or another. Our Peace has No Sorrow What do you do with a lecherous rat, Lusting and grasping and pulling for more, All is comfy until it sees the cat, Down then comes the lair as all have before. Where there is one it is seldom alone, Swamped by avaricious, black-cladded souls, A dire core of corruption crumbles a throne: Retribution for the hurt to console. Lo, Death does act swift and Death can act just, Who imprints on our holy souls: embossed, Lo, Death is cruel and Death we distrust, Shall I shed false tears for all that is lost? No. Hand in hand, let us see tomorrow! To me hold tight; our peace has no sorrow. March of the Liqour’d A party of trouble o’er in Veletz, One man was tipsy on whiskey, He cried ‘Damn it - down with ‘em, Lads!’ And out they sallied for kingsey! Merry was Valdev, life founded anew, Carrion flowed as melody, Festive and lively all gleeful were they, And they danced for kingsey! Down in the desert, orcs weighted their clubs, One man cried plea, Red in the face; loud they laughed: ‘What you want, pinkie?’ Hooting his hollow, haughty howls: “What they lack is honesty: Treason and strong-arming, Nothing of ours, we truly guarantee!” TThe party of trouble was now of two, One man and one orc did cooee, ‘Come with us - down with ‘em, Lads!’ And out they marched for kingsey! Knock, knock! Was the sound of Orc, And of Man on elvish entry, ‘Open you knife-ears, we need of you now!’ The armies called their lackey. Out poked a head, pale and withdrawn, ‘Um, sorry are we, As you can see, We are clearly busy!’ Without an ally, the group waddled on, To battle their enemy, All donning their pig-iron a rattle ensues, So at Breakwater and Brasca they flee. Westmark was won with glitz and with glam, But a war ought not be showy, So Fortune was quick to turn on her heels, To those with austerity. Hippo’s Gorge was a slaughter, And stassion was erased, Drusco was taken with fervor, And Easworth was - empty! Around a table men did sit, Their homes free of debris, ‘This is our peace!’ so sang they, And safely grinned kingsey. Let old demons sleep where they lay in death, and let the future rise anew. With these publishings, I cast myself fully into my new purpose in justice. Krusae zwy kongzem; Va ve Maan

[!] A missive would find itself in the mailboxes of all Lords, Ladies and Commoners in the realm. THE BURNING OF THE LILACS; And Planting of the Marigolds Issued by THE WEISS HOUSEHOLD Naf zwy 14th hag i Tov ag Yermey i 516 E.S. [A depiction of the newly planted Marigolds within the Weiss Keep.] With the disappearance of the Viscount Walter Weiss, a challenge is set forth from his heir, the Lady Ofeliya Weiss. "I have told you some years ago that I will challenge you when I see that your blade has dulled. I have asked you, even, after what I’d overheard in the square before the Voidal attack if you needed assistance. And still, you have left. Come back to your family within two Saints days, father, or I will sit upon the ivory throne within Novkurskain." As I pen this missive, the lilacs that are so beloved to you, burn within our courtyard. Flames lick up their stems, being directed in a way that only these flowers alone, burn and burn well. I will have no more of ill luck for the House of Weiss, and marigolds shall take their place. Should you wish to find all in tact, as I systematically change our keep and for the better, come back and sit upon the Ivory throne. Until then, this is my Pride, Lord Walter Weiss. Signed, The Honorable, Ofeliya Fabienne Weiss, Viscountess of Novkursain, Baroness of Zvaervauld, Curator of the Crowns Jewels of the Esrova Court

THE LION’S CUB Issued by The Weiss Household ON THIS 2ND DAY OF GRONNA AG DROBA OF 516 E.S. The Lion’s Pride expands. It was upon the wee hours of the morning within the Staalgrav keep, that the hustling of a harried Valet, Grayson Marshall had soon woke those of the Viscounty. He had made way down to the servants quarters with a clipped pace, ringing a bell that awoke those there. The servantry of the Weiss household, a well-oiled machine, worked prim, punctual and without mistakes. Water soon began to boil, fresh towels were brought to the heiress tower and a sound unheard heard previously keened throughout the keep. Wailing. As the blazing, yellow sun rose overhead, one of the four symbols of the Weiss household shown true - showcasing the majesty of the moment and the righteousness of the heir of the heir born. A wee babe, no more than five pounds, swaddled within Weiss blue blankets. He held his mothers olive eyes, hosting a full head of hair and a pair of lungs that he certainly got from his father. Mother and father peered upon their heir, their child, and gave him a name amidst joyous and exhausted family and friends alike. “Karl Varon Christopher Weiss.” @CasChaos --- It is rumored that the Viscountess, and newly made grandmother, banished anything of perceived ill-luck from the room. Lilacs, primarily, amongst what was removed. One would think Marian to be a general of war, as she commanded the servantry and those of the household with such fluidity. Many of the Weiss, especially the new parents, were not seen for many days - held up within the keep as the roaring of the Lion’s Pride echoed through Staalgravs halls. The Viscount Walter leading the charge amongst them in the celebrations. The child was welcomed into this world amidst much fanfare, a baptism then held, officially welcoming the Lion’s Cub into the pride. Signed, Her Ladyship, Ofeliya Fabienne Weiss, Heiress to the Viscounty of Novkursain His Lordship, Christopher Fabian Weiss

THE LION’S UNION Issued by The Weiss Household ON THIS 16TH DAY OF Jula AG Piov OF 515 E.S. Ar A depiction of Ofeliya Fabienne Weiss and Christopher Fabian Galbraith. Trials and tribulations pocket throughout anyone’s life, proven so with those born into the ongoing war. Strife, it bled and bleeds still throughout the cobbled pathways and alleyways of the couple's respective nations - and yet, amongst it all, they found each other. A simple greeting in the tavern turned a stolen day at Lotusgrad, the duo having rowed across the finish line through crystal blue waters. Their laughter rung free, and they grew closer, finding comfort in each other's company. From laughter brewed camaraderie, and the trials of war became trials of courtship. It was hard, difficult, but when was anything anyone ever wanted in life easy? Challenge offered and challenge met. It is with this, that the Weiss household announces their heiress Lady Ofeliya Fabienne Weiss impending nuptials to the Lord Christopher Fabian Galbraith The wedding will take place within the Edvardian Basilica within the Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska, to be followed by drinks within the tavern. [Feb 3rd, directly after Haense court] Formal Invitations are Sent to: His Holiness, Sixtus VI His Royal Majesty, King Aleksandr II of Haense and his pedigree Her Grace, Roslin Baruch, Duchess of Valwyck and her pedigree His Grace, Viktor var Ruthern, Duke of Vidaus and his pedigree His Grace, Alfred Barclay, Duke of Reinmar and his pedigree The Most Honourable, Otto Ludovar, Margrave of Kvasz and his pedigree The Right Honourable, Cassian Colborn, Count of Malkovya and his pedigree The Honourable, Walter Weiss, Viscount of Novkursain and his pedigree His Lordship, Henrik Amador, Viscount of Zvezlund and his pedigree His Lordship, Anatoliy Godunov, Baron of Verskaya and his pedigree Her Ladyship, Katrin Stafyr, Baroness of Thurant and her pedigree Her Ladyship, Irena Kortrevich, Baroness of Koravia and her pedigree His Lordship and Her Ladyship, Mikhail and Rosalind Valkonen, Baron and Baroness of Szargrad and their pedigree His Lordship, Fyodor Kovachev, Baron of Kovgrad and his pedigree Her Royal Majesty, Queen Sibyl I of Balian and her pedigree The Right Honorable, Count of Aquiliae, Johan Vuiller and his pedigree The Right Honorable, Count of Salia, Gabriel d'Arkent and his pedigree The Right Honorable, Count of Marsana, Demetrius var Ruthern and his pedigree The Most Honorable, Viscount of Tuvia, Ephrem Kervallen and his pedigree The Honourable, Marq-Barón of Montcoure, Dante DeNurem and his pedigree The Honorable, Baron of Cascanova, John Galbraith and his pedigree The Honorable, Baron of Enderoca, Robert de Lyons and his pedigree The Honorable, Baron of Valio, Casimir Vilac and his pedigree Lord Emilio Varoche Lady Arianna Denodado Lady Viviana Vilac Sir Milonir of Whitehall Firr Maxwell Firress Arcadia Ramnesius Firr Nikandir Firress Deia Firr Grayson Marshall Signed, Her Ladyship, Ofeliya Fabienne Weiss, Heiress to the Viscounty of Novkursain His Lordship, Christopher Fabian Galbraith

Princess Verónica Weiss Circa 147 S.A. Verónica had been within the courtyard of the Valdev palace before they had gone to meet with their allies on the battlefield. She kept to herself on the side, a knot in her gut. She watched as everyone was chummy with each other. She didn’t offer much in terms of conversation with anyone, it wasn’t that she was being offensive, it was just that those there would rather interact with others. This was her normal, and she had accepted that. Granted, earlier in the day, she spoke with Mikhail and had a rather touching conversation with him. Other than that, she wordlessly went along with everyone as they headed out. During the Battle of the Westmark, Verónica had fought along her fellow soldiers with pride, helping slay the Veletzian foes where she could, and following orders within the ranks. She had been struck by a lance on a retreat called, which had knocked the wind out of her, reducing her stamina for the rest of the fight due to her age.. Yet she pressed on. During one of the times they had fallen back into the treeline, she found herself next to Mikhail Valkonen- offering him a reassuring nod that they were going to be all right in the end. That they were going to make it out alive.. Oh how wrong she had been on her end. Within the heat of the battle, an unknown Veletzen soldier ended up setting their eyes upon Koneas Amaya. Verónica had dutifully stayed as close as she could to her queen, on the field, this allowed her to see the attack attempt. She made her way over; quickly taking action. She raised her Princessa Fatal, a blade made for her by Demitrey Denodado, the sword being her go-to weapon. Her blade parried the long sword of the Veletzen’s, having swung it to her right. The two were mostly left alone as the war waged on around them. With her no longer being a spring chicken, she was easily slain, not having the ability to back up fast enough as the enemy soldier brought their blade up and slit her throat. The red liquid sprayed out like a fountain and covered them as the enemy set out to join their allies. Verónica hit the ground with a thud, time had slowed for her as her life flashed before her eyes. She lay in a pool of crimson that started to gather around her and sink into the earth below. After the battle had been lost, both sides were able to claim their dead. A young Konrad Stafyr had found the Princess’s body first. He screamed out “NO!” in a disdained and agonized voice that carried across the gore-filled field. His cry caught the attention of the now-dead woman's niece. Rosalind Valkonen who now knelt across from Konrad as he took her helmet off, praying that it wasn’t who he thought it was.. Once his fears had been concerned. He desperately attempted to find a pulse in a panicked state. None was found.. Rosalind gingerly did her best to clean Verónica’s paled face off before they could get her out of there and returned to her family Verónica awoke within the seven skies. Her joints didn’t ache and she felt young again.. Her hair was longer than it had in years, she enjoyed her long hair and her face and body were no longer scarred. Before she knew what was really happening, she was walking through a set of pearly gates with others around her who had also fallen during the battle. She ended up stopping at the group that was there for her. To greet her in the seven skies. Finally understanding where she was. Verónica started to weep “No!” She exclaimed in what was utter defeat, crying sheer agony on the spot. Her mother, Laurelie wrapped the newly deceased in a hug “It is alright bebé” she shared in an attempt to comfort her “Ea did niet even get to say goodbye-” she whimpered back in dismay “Ea.. did niet get to say goodbye..” she repeated. Joining everyone within the seven skies should have been a happy occasion but for Veronica. In that moment, it was nothing but a feeling of sheer defeat. Princess Verónica Frisketa Isabella Maria Lucia Elisabetta Weiss died in the Battle of Westmark on the 10th of the Grand Harvest, 159 of the Second Age. Verónica leaves behind, her husband. Four children, two daughters-in-law, and ten grandchildren. Please do not meta-game these letters. Each character listed would be given an envelope that was sealed with spring green wax stamped with the Weiss lion, instead of a sun behind it, there was a lightning bolt. Audo Walter Karl Viktor Martina Mikhail Rosalind Raelle Marian Sofia Y’vette Cesar Demitrey Amaya Roui Konrad Glorier Nova Amethyst

Penned by HRH Isabel Theodora, Princess of Hanseti-Ruska, Duchess of Kvenoland ┌── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┐ HRH Isabel Theodora riding a White Comet horse across the Haeseni landscape, 499 E.S. └── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘ PRELUDE Ever since I could walk, I pledged myself to become the greatest equestrian known in the Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska. I was told by the courtiers and my mother, the Queen-dowager Sofia of Hyspia, about my first royal debut at Lifstala; famously where King Georg I, my father, dressed as a horse for my brother’s presentation. As the reputation of my baby-self’s reaction caught wind throughout the land, I held myself to higher expectations. Naturally, I fell smitten for the four-legged, hooved creatures. For years, I have confined myself to the stables and hills where I have enjoyed countless hours learning horses’ nature from one case to the next, breed from breed, until I felt the need to branch out further. In the following report, I will compile my journal entries on the Viscounty of Novkursain and their horse breeds. Originally this was not intended to be published, however one day I woke up with an overbearing sense of purpose - as if, someone in my dreamland compelled me to educate the people on this subject matter. Whilst some may call it unnecessary, we must remind ourselves that the business of horses is something we rely much on. An unspoken trade, they are the silent heroes and martyrs of war, and furthermore our travelling companions. Use this as a guide when purchasing your horses, whether it be for war-time use or leisure. It is why I have introduced the Kvenoland score: a one-five star rating based on my experiences riding, grooming and observing them over the course of a few years. ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ZVAERVAULD GREAT HORSE Kvenoland score: ★★☆☆☆ The original horse. I cannot say I have had experience with the Zvaervauld Great Horse, as they were lost to the continent of Almaris, so I will be giving them a ranking of two stars purely based on that premise. This does not reflect what the horse once was, rather that I could not test its potential. Based on documentation from Staalgrav’s archives, the Zvaervauld Great Horse was the namesake of the Barony of Zvaervauld - pre-Viscounty promotion under my father, Georg I. They were great steeds, with an emotionally sensitive nature. More notably, they came from the Hyspian horse line of Boldizar. I appreciate the ode to the Hyspian roots that have integrated themselves within House Weiss over the generations, with the symbolic and literal joining of the two cultures in marriage and with the horses. The Boldizar line gave them a black coat with no distinct markings. WHITE COMET Kvenoland score: ★★★★☆ Bred to replace the Zvaervauld Great Horse, the White Comet is one of Aevos’ most finest horse breeds. After the loss of the Zvaervauld Great Horse from Almaris, the Weiss family knew it was in their best interests to start up their horse business once more. The biome by Staalgrav, moderate and grassy just like their previous settlement, provided great terrain to refine their horse breeding technique without straying completely away from the original Great Horse. Their name is derived from Morrig, the Mother of Comets, to pay homage to very early cultural roots of Hanseti-Ruska. The White Comet is known for its distinctive poised and graceful nature. With greater obedience and relaxed nature with a lesser ability to be spooked, I applaud the Viscounty for their ability to reproduce the near-perfect horse. One could add credit to the mountainous nature of the land, with which the horse overtime would adapt through trials and tribulations. Notably, their white coats are striking in comparison to their predecessor. They almost seem ethereal, with their calm composure and striking appearance. It's hard not to be intimated by them, yet the moment they are saddled up they transform; ready to ride. During my research, the White Comet pedigree came to be one of my favourites for its balance of graceful stride and brisk trot. Their dual nature - energetic but gentle - allowed for lengthy and pleasant rides towards Vander Falls and beyond, Malkovya. The only qualm I encountered was the horse’s constant need of grooming. Whilst some may enjoy doting upon their hooved friend, one might consider the paygrade of their stablesman in making sure their White Comet remains in top-shape. Thus, I will give the White Comet a Kvenoland rating of four stars out of the five eligible. MITYAN STRIDER Kvenoland score: ★★★☆☆ Named after Mitya, the Mare of the East, the Mityan Strider is the secondary horse breed of Novkursain. Unlike the White Comet, they are bred with no intended stature or colour - varying between chocolate browns, light cream and more. Whilst I would not intend to keep a Mityan Strider for daily use, they are the perfect companion if one wished to use them purely for leisure or light-laboured tasks due to their gentle and less-intelligable nature. I have given the Mityan Strider a rating of three out of five stars, for its performative efforts when I needed to. I particularly liked that they all have feathered hooves, as it gives a uniqe flourish to its look. The score, middle of the road, is only attributed to its limited purpose. The Mityan Strider, whilst enjoyable in our rides, proved to grow tiresome after long spurts of energy and could not carry heavy loads (such as a horse-drawn carriage). What I commend it on is its affectionate bond with man, that they draw close bonds quickly which makes them the perfect starter horse to any young aspiring equestrian and horseman-alike. CONCLUSION I look forward to seeing the future in the horse-breeding industry for House Weiss, for the current selection one can buy remains one of the best I have encountered so far. The diversity of the sister breeds the White Comet and Mityan Strider caters towards different clientel, which sucessfully enough provides for both pleasure and work. Whilst I would of hoped to meet the Zvaervauld Great Horse, we shall never forget the path they paved for the Viscounty of Novkursain's origins to where they are now. The dedication towards the trade is apparent from their stables, to even the equestrian gear they provide to both themselves and sellers. The White Comet in particular became my favourite, for which I now own and bestowed the name Lazar to my great steed. ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── HER ROYAL HIGHNESS, Isabel Theodora Barbanov-Bihar, Princess of Hanseti-Ruska, Duchess of Kvenoland

Via Weiss was a rambunctious young woman. Most people would describe her as loud and military-minded. She was four. A tournament beneath the tavern was raging on, and she jumped at the opportunity to go in fighting. Partially blind and partially deaf, no one likely expected much of the young girl. She swung, fighting against a kid twice her age and lost. Her glasses lay broken against the ground, and she grinned. It was exhilarating. --- She strode through the streets of Haense, ponytail swinging wildly about herself. Via, all of five, met a blonde boy by the name of Michael. He annoyed her immensely, poked fun at her and challenged her. And so she’d meet him in every challenge. A game of Ludo. A game of athletics. Sparring. Racing. She wouldn’t admit it, but he was her first friend. --- Some time had passed. Kids were being attacked in the streets of Karosgrad. Friends had died and were continuing to die. Desperation began to fill the girl, all of six years old. She would plea for the adults to listen, to do something but it fell on deaf ears. So Via took it upon herself to keep her and her friends alive. Riots came through the docks, screaming and fighting. She dragged friends out, only to go back in to save others. Children were tortured by the Duke, so it was rumored. Another child died from the spook running rampant. A raid at Reinmar. She rode in, oh so young and with a broken arm to boot. She’d killed her first men that day and felt their blood stain her hands. --- Her legs were shattered. She crawled along the ground, blind without her glasses. Noone was there to hear her cries. By some small miracle, she had dragged herself into the confines of Fort-Fort and eventually, Brendell and Michael found her. She was broken, shuddering and unable to move. And so the boys carried her home and to her family keep. She was late to a dinner, the dinner guests, though, would change her life as she knew it. Shamans. He healed her with loud, foreign words that terrified the young girl of six. And he unknowingly healed more than simply physical injury. She could see. She could hear. --- Some years have passed. The maypole festival came forth. Via was all of thirteen, donned in her cadets uniform with the widest of grins. The music began and she grasped at the maypole ribbon, following after her dear friend Brendell and promptly tripped on her face in the first round. She watched then, as Brendell made it to the finals. He loped about the maypole like a gazelle. And afterwards? He cut the ribbon, after checking no one was watching, giving one to her. She wore it always since. --- Her love for Brendell was all consuming, and yet, he is dead. He’d left for his trials, and has been gone months longer than expected. She couldn’t bring herself to remove the ribbon. Via wouldn’t speak with anyone for ages. Afterall, she and Brendell have confessed to each other ages ago, dating in secret for years now. She would just never get married. That grief turned to anger, though, as he arrived home - months later. She yelled at him, shook him by his shirt and past her tears, kissed him. Their first kiss was had in anger and desperation. --- Their shields kept close to one another, marching along to the beat of a magical ear cuff only those close enough could hear. Weapons clashed, screams and blood were spilt, and the Mori were fought. And they would go home, to a secret house they owned and of which they only knew of themselves, to share in their trauma and their grief. They clung desperately, distraught and broken, and seeking solace. --- She cranked the jukebox up, hips sashaying as she grasped at Brendells hands and they danced. They danced and sang, swinging out about their little living room - “Ra ra Rasputin!” And so they swung about, in front of the poor kidnapped Turtle with a thousand yard stare. Laughter erupted from them both, enjoying the rare moment of privacy and their moment overall. --- They sat on the roof, legs swaying back and forth as they looked out over the city. It was when they turned to each other, that laughter came. Both held a belt, of twine and ivy alike. Without meaning to, they proposed at the same time. They were soon married. Soon after, their first child came and they had a long conversation. They only want one child. It will allow them to better focus on their work, and to still have their own lives. One, alas, became four. Though each were loved dearly. --- Trumpets and a choir heralded the doom of the day. This wasn’t their first fight, that was for certain. Snow and ice pelted over the city, the cries of the people coming all around them. All of their children, all but one, had made it into the palace as the people were evacuated. They’d gone back out to find Lauritz, and had gotten separated in the chaos. Via found her only son, and ushered him back to the palace, before having headed back out for her husband. She squinted past the flailing wind and snow, barely seeing a shock of red hair and so she quickened her pace further. Her hand extended out, only inches away as she grasped for her beloved husband, his hand so close to her own. “Der stachel..” Those were Via Colborns last words, mere inches away from the man she could not bear to be without.

Report: Survey of the Capitals Penned by Ser Audo Weiss, 9th Knight of the Table Naf zwy hag i 4th i Tov ag Yermey i 486 E.S. Upon the soldier and the knight lay not only the responsibilities of fighting for one’s kingdom, but also the procurement and maintenance of intelligence. Unto this purpose and under the instruction of the Knight Paramount a four-year journey, from 481 E.S. to 485 E.S., to complete a cartographic survey of each nation’s capital has been completed. With a diligent hand and auspicious conditions, even each town-house has been carefully recorded. Where possible, inward and surrounding areas have also been mapped to better grasp the surrounding geography and accessibility of each city. Much recording has been done on-site with minor alterations within my own study. More troublesome locations have been visited on multiple occasions with mappings completed in some areas numerous times allowing for the most accurate pick. Each completed piece has been displayed within the halls of the Brotherhood of Saint Karl and it is encouraged that each soldier takes the time to understand the settlements of our kin and non-kin alike. The following details the nations and their capitals that have been mapped, and in what year their reconnaissance was completed: 481 E.S. Valdev, The Dual Monarchy of Hanseti-Ruska Velec, the Duchy of Adria Talon’s Roost, The Unified Domain of Vortice Vjardengrad, The Kingdom of Norland Kal’Kadrelaz, The Grand Kingdom of Urguan Vallagne, Commonwealth of the Petra Portoregne, The Kingdom of Balian 482 E.S. The Most Serene State of Lurin The Principality of Talar’nor San'Briu, Confederation of Clan of the Iron Horde The Ashen Realm of Nor’asath Whitespire, The United Kingdom of Aaun Númenost the Fair, The Kingdom of Númendil 483 E.S. Bywater, The Halfling Realm of Dúnfarthing Aianëar, The Princedom of Amathine The Cove of Nevaehlen 485 E.S. Elcihi’thilln, The Silver State of Haelun’or While these past few years have merited this knowledge there will come a time in the ebb and flow of changing tides when this study will become outdated. A strong recommendation is therefore called upon that those who cradle the mind for such study keep a watchful eye on the progression of each settlement and motivate themselves to ensure the up-keep of our intelligence. Krusae zwy kongzem; Va ve Maan His Honourable, Ser Audo Weiss, Viscount of Novkursain, Baron of Zvaervauld, Sergeant of the Brotherhood of Saint Karl and 9th Knight of the Table

[!] A missive is distributed announcing the birth of a newborn Colborn. [!] A beautiful illustration of a young baby boy in the arms of an exhausted mother [!] Issued by the County of Malkovya On this day 16th of Sun’s Smile of 134 SA Va Birodeo Herzenav ag Edlervik, After a beautiful reunion of Lord Carolus Ivan Colborn and Lady Sierra Colborn, the marriage bears the brightest of fruits. Despite an arduous labor, House Colborn is joyous to present to our kingdom and its citizenry whom was born in the early hours of the 23rd of The Grand Harvest: First-born son of the wedded couple, EDVIN FELIX COLBORN Lady Sierra Colborn currently rests under the dutiful eye of our utmost skilled Surgeon General, Euleriphis Roui. Upon the recovery of Lady Sierra Colborn, she has invited those of the families of Colborn and of Weiss to make their first introductions to the young boy. Iv Joveo Mann, His Lordship, Carolus Ivan Colborn Her Ladyship, Sierra Colborn

[!] A missive is distributed announcing the fifth birthday of Weiss twins. THE WEISS TWINS SIEG BIRTHDAY Issued by the Viscounty of Novkursain Naf zwy hag 14th i Msitza ag Dargund i 472 ES [!] A depiction of the Walter, Stanislaw, and Karl at five and three. Vikomit Audo Weiss and Princess Verónica Weiss are delighted to invite you to a party celebrating their twins: firstborn son and heir, Walter León Weiss, and their second-born son, Stanislaw Julian Weiss. The gathering of spirits and merriment is intended not only to give the boys a jovial day but to introduce them to the wider community which they will be serving diligently for the foreseeable future in the name of King and GOD. Let us come together to wish these young boys wellness and happiness, and solidify their communal bonds to set them on the right path as they begin their walks in life. Food and drinks will be provided that celebrate the heritage of the twins. Itinerary: Music Games (Pin the tail on the lion, musical chairs, and a pinata) Gifting (should you be so inclined: With the boys having an apparent sweet-tooth, the gifting of sweets is recommended, Military ware will also be received with high regard, Tools and knowledge with which they can develop will be recieved with appreciation.) [!] A depiction of two white lion cubs Krusae zwy kongzem; Va Ve Maan Invites His Royal Majesty, King Georg, his esteemed Pedigree and his citizenry of the Dual Monarchy of Hanseti-Ruska His Holiness, High Pontiff Pontian IV Her Grace, Roslin Baruch and her esteemed Pedigree His Grace, Aleksandr var Ruthern and his esteemed Pedigree His Grace, Wilheim Barclay and his esteemed Pedigree The Right Honourable, Henrik Ludovar and his esteemed Pedigree The Right Honourable, Ileana Kortrevich and her esteemed Pedigree The Honourable, Carolus Colborn and his esteemed Pedigree His Highness, Francisco de Pelear and his esteemed Pedigree Her Ladyship, Alyona Godunov her esteemed Pedigree Firr Mira’Roui and his esteemed Pedigree Imizael Allisa Tennallar Go to Karosgrad, run to the Astfield carts and take the one titled ‘Sheffield’ from there you will ride the cart and follow the path marked by white carpet. Iv Joveo Mann, His Honourable Lordship, Audo Weiss, Viscount of Novkursain, Baron of Zvaervauld, Custodian of Staalgrav, Squire of The Order of the Crow, Sergeant and Military Tribune of the Brotherhood of Saint Karl Her Highness, Verónica Isabella Weiss, Princess of the Viceroyalty of Hyspia, Viscountess-Consort of Novkursain, Baroness-Consort of Zvaervauld, and Member of the Weiss Council

[!] A missive is distributed announcing the births of Weiss twins. THE LION’S PRIDE GROWS Issued by the Viscounty of Novkursain Naf zwy hag 12th i Wzuvar ag Byvca i 468 ES [!] A depiction of the twin boys as they lay in their cot. Vikomit Audo Weiss and Princess Verónica Weiss are immensely proud to announce the newest-born members of House Weiss on the 11th i Wzuvar ag Byvca i 468 ES. Their firstborn son and heir Walter León Weiss AND Their second-born son Stanislaw Julian Weiss We know that our children will face the future that awaits them with due diligence. May the heir, Lord Walter León Weiss, be a true leader unto the Weiss. AND May our blessed second-born, Lord Stanislaw Julian Weiss, be guided in all things by GOD. With the birth of a new generation, the family name is assured for yet more years. May it be under the light of GOD that the Weiss’ unshakeable devotion to our nation continue forevermore! Under the care and tutelage of the Weiss family, the two infants will learn to carry their family name with the utmost dignity and pride. As they grow, let it be that they: Take unto themselves the Five Maxims of Pride; Be exemplary in pride for their Hanseti-ruskan and Hyspian heritage; Work untiringly to see our great nation prosper. [!] A depiction of a lion, a lioness, and two cubs. A symbol of the new parents and their twins Krusae zwy kongzem; Va Ve Maan A special double batch of Zvaervauld Lilac Honey™ will be made to mark this most special occasion. Iv Joveo Mann, His Honourable Lordship, Audo Weiss, Viscount of Novkursain, Baron of Zvaervauld, Custodian of Staalgrav, Sergeant and Military Tribune of the Brotherhood of Saint Karl Her Highness, Verónica Isabella Weiss, Princess of the Viceroyalty of Hyspia, Viscountess-Consort of Novkursain, Baroness-Consort of Zvaervauld, and Member of the Weiss Council

The Five Maxims of Pride Issued by Vikomit Audo Weiss Naf zwy hag 6th i Tov ag Yermey i 466 ES INTRODUCTION It is with great pride that I have had the honour to watch my family rise within my own lifetime. The founding generations of Weiss have displayed a sense of camaraderie that ought to last for many generations to come. However, such a wish will not manifest without decisive action. With time comes the loss of knowledge and connections to our heritage. In an effort to tackle this impending danger, I do hereby declare for the present and future of the family that we are all to abide by the Five Maxims of Pride. THE FIVE MAXIMS OF PRIDE I. Unshakeable loyalty to the king, the family, and GOD shall be the foremost guides to all. II. A council to guide the family will be formed from the patriarch or matriarch, and otherwise composed of members of their choosing. III. All must be Oathed into the Brotherhood of Saint Karl by the age of eighteen. IV. A challenge issued will be a challenge met. a. Any contest must have the presence of an additional member who will ensure: 1. The legitimacy and fulfilment of any agreed terms 2. The safety of the contestants within agreed boundaries V. The future rests in the hands of the young, and as such they ought to be protected. a. No child below the age of ten will enlist in any armed force b. All children will be taught to defend themselves to the fullest of their capability. Let those who fail to heed these maxims be wary of their own undoing in loyalty, dignity and morality. It is so that the current and future generations of Weiss will require these guiding ideas to retain our founding principles and those which have developed for the sake of civility. With the codification of these maxims, let it be that the Weiss will have a sense of Ancestry and Identity that will last for centuries to come. Krusae zwy kongzem; Vaa ve Maan Iv Joveo Mann, His Lordship, Audo Weiss, Viscount of Novkursain, Baron of Zvaervauld, Custodian of Staalgrav, Head of the Weiss Council, Captain of the Lion Guard and Military Tribune of the Brotherhood of Saint Karl

The Man You Will Not Be Life is cruel and unfair. Any semblance of happiness may be retained or harshly stripped on fickle whims. And while the tides of fate are beyond the control of any single man, one can control how they navigate the storm. Within the depths of Staalgrav, the room of the Young Master Audo Weiss went untouched by his presence in the days following the wedding. Only one person was privy to his absence - his newly wed, Veronica Weiss. Though it should be noted that her knowledge came not of her careful observance but of her last sighting of her husband in a brief moment of melancholy they shared as they sat beside the rain-swept docks of Sheffield port. “I hate this family,” Audo lashed, though his teary gaze remained glued to the distant waves that grew ever-closer, “It brings nothing but pain.” Showing tears to women was weak, or so he had learned. Perhaps his words were, too. Though the spilling of his heart with such wrath did nothing but scar it. In his stubbornness, despite knowing that the lady he loved was surely pained too, he had chosen to remain alone, merely promising not to do anything rash. A wilting candle-flame licked weakly at the encroaching shadows with which Audo has surrounded himself. His lone form slumped over the desk allotted by the budget the military held to decorate each room of the barracks. Ever-present, the tug of sleep pulled at his weary form and yet it eluded him for with it came visions of that which haunted the recesses of his mind. All that were by his side were two celebratory jars of Zvaervauld Lilac Honey, lovingly crafted and adorned with imagery fit for the Houses of Weiss and de Pelear, and a bottle of Carrion Black. The singular owner of the jars, however, was dead for all Audo knew. Death, which haunted him. Even in his happiest of days, there it lingered as it threatened the tethers of his friend to this world, as it threatened himself, his brother, his father, his sister: Death. “Form a ‘V’, wait for it to charge!” Came a call he understood. In the tense waiting of the moments before the clash of the Haense forces and the invading Inferi, all was quiet except the screams of the commanders. The boy was too young to know who all the people were, merely that he had picked the front with the one family did know, the de Pelears. The Grand Prince had attended the Eastern front, too, and yet the boy’s father had not. “Now!” The cry broke, and in a wave of unison the soldiers sliced at the sides of the flaming boar that rushed through - before shrieks followed and the imps upon its once-armoured back fled as cannonballs smashed down into the crowd from their own side. Disoriented from the crash, some distant awareness that the boar was wreaking havoc on the backlines lingering, the boy took up arms when a new order followed, to charge the Inferi with the other loyal citizenry of Haense. Perhaps GOD smiled upon the loyalty shown that day, or perhaps He pitied the whimsy of a child who wished to save his father’s mind. Either way, through some miracle the boy, though blinded from his shattered glasses, lived the battle in place of his unfortunate allies. He was a blessed one, to escape Death - to sob into the arms of Felix Weiss. He was a blessed one, to ward off Sorrow with the Carrion Black his father gave him. Audo Weiss shifted his gaze from the jars of honey to a bottle of Carrion Black that sat upon the desk. Unopened, it lingered on the rim of the candle’s light. Tauntingly, it dared to glimmer just like the jars of honey under the scrutiny of the man’s gaze. He reached for the bottle, grasping it firmly as his torso rose from the desk with a groan. With a practiced hand, he unscrewed the lid. The stench burned. The boy wrinkled his nose and coughed after he sipped from the king’s goblet. Carrion Black was all the king ever drank, a vile-tasting tar as far as his tongue was concerned! Though his eyes watered, and the lad’s body thoroughly rejected the intake of the alcohol, he slid the drink in front of Karl III: a bad taste it may be, but it was not one of Death - yet. Unlike the young one, when the king raised the goblet to his own lips he could drink as if it were water. He afforded the boy a passing glance, before returning it to the room and those that squabbled across the table before him. Even after Karl III passed, he had words of wisdom for his cupbearer, his shield against would-be assassins. Upon receiving the goblet of the late king, inside a stained black void, Audo was bestowed with a wish that made his heart sink: ‘I hope that you will not become an alcoholic by the age of fifteen’. Perhaps those words might have done some good if spoken while the king had lived. A bottle of Whiskey in his hand, a teenager, Audo sat in the crypt of the kings of yore. Though Karl III had yet to find his resting place, for some years he had made a habit of visiting the likes of Sigismund III ‘The Golden’. His visits started as a naive apology, but had grown into the likes of a one-sided discussion. Some part of him believed the king must’ve been well-loved, and surely such a king would care unconditionally. As he talked, and talked, of the grand Felix Weiss and of the inquisitive Haus Weiss, and of all that tore at his family and his mind, but only the dead were present to hear. He talked, he drank, and he stumbled home. Yet, home was not to be where he would find himself. Drunk as he was, he cursed his younger sister, Sierra Weiss, for failing to heed his warning of safety for the youngest, Via Weiss. “You’re a disgrace to your father!” A call came, as Audo staggered out of the tavern. Speak of the man, and he shall appear. Unfortunately, as Audo stumbled out he fell into the graces of his mentor, Georg I. As he spoke, Felix stood aside. Unrelenting, the glare of the patriarch bore into him and the bottle of whiskey each time Audo swung it as he spoke. Being pleased that the king chose Audo for a task was far from Felix’s mind. Hunching, Audo huffed out a cough, “Papej!” He cried after a hit was laid into his gut. In a feeble attempt to defend himself, he lashed out for Felix’s towering form, only to end up on the ground. With a harsh grasp, Audo’s head was yanked back and in the following moments, he was drowning in whiskey. It burnt his eyes, his nose, his lungs; he spluttered though continued to fight. Empty, the bottle was shattered against the far wall on the alley. In his stupor, Audo could not land a single attack and once pulled to his feet, another hook laid into his gut. His back connected with the alley wall as the contents of his stomach splattered the cobbles below. Felix Weiss, an umbra, loomed before he stooped down to eye-level with his blubbering, pathetic boy. “Son, you’ve hit rock bottom.” But by that time, they were not the only ones in the alley. Felix’s wife, Maria Weiss, looked upon the scene from afar, approaching when she saw fit. A mother, this woman was not - not to Audo. Their time spent together had been minimal, and accepting another figure into his life at such a late age was something he had thus far failed to do. And yet here she stood, to mother him at supposed rock bottom. Her words were not easy, and not all comforting. She was as harsh and as stubborn as Felix and his heir. But even so, she cared. Perhaps a meaningless nothing in any other situation, Maria retrieved a shattered piece of glass from the floor. Outstretched towards him, what little light did shine into the alley glimmered from the rough edges of the remnant. “Take this as a reminder of the son you will not be.” Clasping the Carrion Black in his hand, Audo Weiss raised it to his lips. The bottle tilted ever so slightly, but none of the liquid inside kissed him. Slowly, he drew the bottle away, staring down to the contained blackness. As the candle-light flickered, the reflection wavered in the glass. His grasp tightened; the bottle shattered against the wall, spilling its guts against the wall and floor. Creaking, the chair tilted as Audo raised himself to sit back. A solemn glower fell over his features as he observed the pool of Carrion Black growing at the base of the wall. If Death and Sorrow wanted him, they would have to fight for him.

THE UNION OF WHITE LION AND WAR HORSE [!] A Silhouette of depiction of Princess Verónica Frisketa Isabella Maria Lucia Elisabetta de Pelear and Lord Audo Weiss No one saw this coupling as a surprise, except for the betrothed until a few years back. It is with the purest delight that House Weiss and House de Pelear announce the union of their two prestigious families with the marriage of Audo Weiss and Verónica de Pelear: an alliance that will last till the end of bloodlines. Dress Code: No White or blue unless given explicit permission The Wedding and Reception The wedding itself will take place within the Church of Blessed Francisco and will see the two joined together in holy matrimony under the light of GOD. A Secret Event There will be an event held within the bull ring. Though that will be withheld till the day of! Should you wish to know what it is, you must attend A Ball Once the secret event comes to its conclusion, the guests remaining will head to the Hyspia Palace so they may enjoy various drinks, and food being offered, including, but not limited to spicy food competition. followed by gifts for the married couple, and general dancing and merriment Time, Date, and Location The Wedding is open to all that wish to attend Formal Invitations Are Sent To; In No Particular Order: His Majesty, Georg I of Haense and his Citizenry of Haense Duke Aleksandr var Ruthern and his esteemed Pedigree Duke Wilheim Barclay and his esteemed Pedigree Countess Johanne Vuiller and her esteemed Pedigree Countess Carice von Augusten and her esteemed Pedigree Viscount Baldrum Colborn and his esteemed Pedigree Viscountess Theodeta Darkwood and her esteemed Pedigree Baron Gaius Rosius var Ruthern and his esteemed Pedigree Ser Vladimir var Ruthern and his esteemed Pedigree Dame Giovanna Barclay and her esteemed Pedigree Lord Alphonse August Barclay Lady Alexandra Emília Barclay Ser Wyn Larian and his esteemed Pedigree Ser Milonir of Whitehall Bishop Iosif and his esteemed Pedigree Firr Mira’Roui and his esteemed Pedigree His Lordship, Alejandro de Arena and his esteemed Pedigree Firress Iskra Firress Liadain The Novar Household The Santos Househod

Zvaervauld Honeydrops Issued naf zwy 14th hag i Joma ag Umund i 462 ES. Va Birodeo Herzenav ag Edlervik, With the production of Zvaervauld lilac honey now consistently underway, House Weiss has sought to expand beyond the raw product into more refined goods. Given the sweet and delectable taste of honey we saw no venture more fit for the first expansion than an irresistible candy: honeydrops. Honeydrops are a hard candy, crafted with care by our dedicated artisans. By mixing sugar, water and lemon juice then heating the mixture we get a solid base for the creation of our hard candies. Our signature lilac honey is then added to the mix, stirred and all is caramelised until the hard-crack stage. At this point, we pour the mixture into moulds and allow the candies to set. Then off they go - straight to your tummy! For an endearing flare, we take the extra time to craft moulds of all bee-related varieties. When you buy a pack of mouth-watering honeydrops you’ll find yourself with bees, hives, honeycombs, and flowers (especially lilac, of course!). Get your first un-bee-lievable pack today! Sold on Market Stall III. Tested and accredited by the youngest of Weiss! Iv Joveo Mann, His Lordship, Armsman Audo Weiss Her Excellency, Dame Via Weiss, Knight Paramount of Hoonseti-Ruska Lady Sierra Weiss

Zvaervauld Lilac Honey Issued naf zwy 13th hag i Msitza ag Dargund i 461 ES. Va Birodeo Herzenav ag Edlervik, House Weiss introduces its first batch of lilac honey this Saint’s day. With a selection of rolling fields belonging to our great king being left under our protection comes an opportunity to expand the commerce of the realm internally and externally. We have chosen the first export we will invest time into: honey. For some it is a delectable snack, for others a medicinal wonder. Tender practices and attentive care has allowed the lands surrounding Staalgrav to flourish in the vibrant pinks and purples of blooming lilac. Within such oceans of petals we have established strong colonies of persistent honey bees, all who work diligently to create the lilac honey of the future. For these bees we have provided only the most quality of man-made hives with roomy confines and easily removable racks that have been hand-carved with the utmost vigilance to mimic the internal starting structure of a colony: a love letter to the wonder of Godan’s Creation. Though we have tried our best, we have found that some bees inevitably prefer nature. To encourage the utmost comfort for our hard workers (and to gain the tastiest of honey) we also allow the construction of natural hives. With great effort, we ensure that we disturb these small worlds as little as possible. Whichever the source, we can assure the quality of our Zvaervauld lilac honey. Sold on Market Stall III or speak to Audo Weiss. Iv Joveo Mann, His Lordship, Audo Weiss

Christoph Weiss "Introductions are in order yes?" Race: Human, Heartlander Gender: Male Age: 29 years old Physical Description: Christoph is an average looking 5'11 tall, young man with brown hair at a fair length over his right shoulder, braided with two silver beads, and eyes the color of a spring Oak. His sharp complexion matches his lean, yet athletic body type and blends with the overall normalness of his frame. You'd have better luck pointing out a a small rock amidst a meadow than to notice him in a crowd. His average physicality is however counter balanced by his elegant yet remarkably practical attire. He had a custom outfit made for the cold weathers in the Kingdom of Haense, adorned in the colors of house Vyronov, steel grey and black. He looks almost the part of a royal guard, though its craftsmanship is of slightly less quality than one would wear. A plated chest-piece with a black tunic underneath, Rabbits fur hemmed together and tied onto the shoulders of the attire, adding comfort and slight warmth. Attached to the armor's lower half are twin squares of fabric, not unlike a thick tailcoat with a silver trimming along the edges of the fabric. in His outwardly demeanor compliments his looks and attire, as those who make eye contact with him on the street would get a pleasant smile and nod while passing; and his posture is overall quite maintained. He gives off an aura of solemn yet welcoming awareness to those he greets, while upholding a noble disposition. "So, lets get to know each other a little." Personality: Christoph is quite well spoken and knows generally how to articulate himself to others although he is easily confused and curious when it comes to things he is not well versed in. He attempts to be kind to acquaintances and converses as though he were speaking to old friends, though he prefers to keep relationships formal, insisting to address friends by their surname unless told to do otherwise. However, his mannerisms are only sometimes used as a cover up for uncertainty and self-consciousness in the face those he respects or when speaking on personal subjects. Often signified by a slight timidness and tendency to float around subjects and questions with his words. Christoph also keeps a fairly strict work ethic. When something is asked of him he will not hesitate to carry out the task, failure results in frustration and anxiousness from him, although he dose his best to not break composure. He has the bad habit of often times taking on more than he can physically handle though, leading him to much confusion and trouble with prioritization. Christoph scoffs to the impolite and unimaginative, although he can make acceptations for some. He values creative souls and aspirators among his close compatriots and finds barbaric tendencies to be unappealing if not horribly unsettling. Though he finds respect and inspiration in warriors who keep loyalty and honor close to their hearts. Hobbies and skills: Christoph is an artist by trade going on 15 years now, and once painted the portraits lords and ladies in his homeland, or that of his beloved. But upon leaving home and arriving at Johonnesburg, he has set his brush and paints aside temporarily. Drawing only in an old leather bound sketch book in his down time or when observing the atmosphere. He'll gladly produce portrait for anyone who asks, provided they have the coin and he has the time. He also enjoys the sport of archery, although only for the fun of it as he is averse to competition. He is by no means the best shot but can hit his target more often than not. He knows his way around basic weaponry as well, knowing he could never simply be defenseless in a pinch. His physical form allows him to wield short swords or weapons light enough for comfortable maneuverability, but anything heavy or requiring a knights strength leaves him with much to be desired. Fishing is another favorite pastime if ever he feels the need to let off some steam or to just relax for an afternoon. He has also since developed the knack for stewardship since being hired as steward for the house Vyronov and the city of St. Karlsburg. He takes pride in his positions and always considers himself on duty, though he may stop to have a chat once in a while. Background: Christoph won't ever speak long on his history, mostly to the point while skimming over the details. Not that he is troubled by his past mind you; but he simply prefers to keep certain personal affairs private. Some 5 years before arriving, he was wed to a woman named Claudia Anne Weiss. She was the subject to many of his paintings and they both found joy in the arts. Claudia however is a frail woman, and is constantly stricken by ailments and sickness that so far have shown to be incurable. Christoph never lost hope for his beloved though, and while he still continues to wear his wedding band he is in search of some foreign cure. And if he comes up fruitless in his endeavors, vows instead to return one day rich enough to pay for her constant treatments. Today he is still searching, still pushing so he may one day come back home. Recent History: Since His arrival, Christoph has found himself becoming ever more infatuated with expanding his aspirations. His inability to find a cure for his beloved leads him to carry out his "Plan B". And now he ever increasingly seeks to befriend people higher up than himself and gain their favor. As months pass though, he realizes it is a slow endeavor to solidify such friendships, and make the proper contacts, though he attempts at every opportunity he can to push himself higher. Christophs hope remains unwavering, and though it may be for personal gain he dose value the friendships he has cultivated thus far. "Come now, leaving so soon?" Equipment: A steel war axe. Recurve bow. Wedding band. Visual reference: (won't let me upload because allowed file sizes are smaller than my-) Voice reference: "Theme" Song: "Should luck have it in store for us, We'll meet again someday. So long." ~PRECURS0R If anyone spots any inconsistencies or recommend I change something feel free to let me know. I hope to keep editing this as he grows and come back to add some more lore relevant information soon. A visual reference picture should be up in a day or two as well.