A Game of Crowns [IC|Closed]

by **The Knights of Azorea** » Tue Jun 21, 2016 8:13 am

The Order of the Lions Rampant, Pridlan/Lea

Ninth Year of the Age of the Comet

The wood arrived as the caravan bearing Dinah passed through Lea, the peasantry and the knights were busy engaging in the construction of new farming facilities. The bustle of the peasant village of Lea, so recently freed of the stifling rule of a Nun was a pleasant counterpart to Kotte. The houses were built of great tarred-wood beams, the walls of some simple stonework, with masonry an abundant export of the great mountains of Pridlan. The men and women of the land worked hard, and the land was only just soft enough for them to make a difference. Rye and Barley poured into the imposing stone monastery that acted as the Chapter Master's headquarters, accompanied by barrels of food rent, fresh cider still smelling citrus, a great number of fruits and vegetables, the warm and hearty food of a mountain people.

The caravan pulled to stop outside of the main doorway into Lann's headquarters, and the young lady of Kotte was given the best meal the north could lavish on her, comprised of a hearty pork stew with lamb cutlets and a sauce made from crushed mints and herbs, accompanied by a great deal of root vegetables, slices of fresh hunted boar and as much light honeyed milk mead as was needed. The young knight Lann had not had much experience in dealing with nobility, and found himself good company with the artistic and hard working Dinah. The meal would drag on for hours, concluding with a great deal of honeyed deserts and a long recounting of the battle of the Pridhallan, including every detail the dramatic writer Lann could care to remember for his company.

Dinah was granted the best room in the simple, spartan monastery, a room bedecked with crimson and black wool, with the finest linens an order of knights could provide. The room also provided a good view out over the immaculate lea, onto the construction of new irrigation beds, and onto the imposing foothills of Pridlan. The news was given that Dinah could choose to stay in the company of Lann's chapter to create her painting, and the Grandmaster would come down from Pridlan to meet her, or that she could ascend the mountains and meet him in the mining town itself.

by **Olthenia** » Tue Jun 21, 2016 9:43 am

The King’s Road
Torgerith, Kingdom of Norden

Eleventh of First Seed, Ninth Year of the Comet’s Age

The day was cold and blustery as a party of war-gelds a dozen strong plodded across the muddy sward. Around them stretched the rolling plains and far green hills of Torgerith, stretched away into the dawn. At their head, Cenred Bhur reigned up his horse and shaded his bushy eyebrows with a thick, gloved hand. «Adwy?» he barked, and a freckle-faced squire with mismatched eyes trotted up beside him. Cenred was Adwy’s uncle; a fact the crusty old man often saw fit to remind him of when he desired something. ‘Fetch another jug for your uncle, boy!’ ‘Do as your uncle says and see this rabbit dressed and roasted, you lout’ ‘I still see rust on this byrnie, boy! You think your uncle is a fool?!’ «Train your eyes on that light there, and tell me true,» Cenred commanded. «Is that Itchcoat I see?» No, Cenred Bhur had not spoken in jest. He truly had said ‘Itchcoat’. Torgerith’s late overlords, the Itzcoatls, did not easily lend their name to the Falkvorder’s tongue. «Aye, uncle,» Adwy confirmed. His keen young eyes were as sharp as any fareyes. «It is a village there. It must be Itchcoat.» And so it was. With red madness carrying away their last lordship, the duty of administering this southern land had fallen on House Sulter. To that end, Falkvord’s Leper Lord had dispatched Ceorl Bhur and his merry men. To minister and rule the king’s law across this benighted land. All men, after all, must tithe to the Dor.

Oarheim, Lakelord’s Hall
Falkvord, Kingdom of Norden

Elsewhere, in the wide, wayn-ridden yard that faced the Lakelord’s hall, a familiar spectacle taking place. A gaggle of carts and wagons were being loaded by bent-backed bondsmen, while oxen snorted, dogs slunk and barked and the noonday sun baked the who land as dry as anything. This was the ninth year of the age of Skar’s comet, and it was a tax year. House Sulter had a tithe to pay to the Dor, and pay it would. In dividends. Yet taxes alone were not its sole purpose that day. The hindmost wayns held dozens of barrels packed to the gills with the rich, green apples so abundant to the orchards of Volfurrow-on-Falkvord. In the distant valleys beneath the Nightwall, juice-mills would no doubt mash this bounty into jugs of cider. Crisp and cool, keen and cloudy – Falkvord’s finest – and in return, golden, glorious gilder would find its way back to House Sulter’s coffers. Taxes and apples. Food and coin. For Falkvord.

Lord Au’Lorean
Your son shall be welcome at our hall. Well shall we treat him, and well shall we know him, until we are certain our beloved niece shall find him a worthy suitor. We shall look for his coming.

Signed and sealed at Oarheim,
Wymund Sulter, Lord of Falkvord and Torgerith

Finally, that year also saw a message sent to the fair fields that men and maps alike called the Golden Acres.

Lord Cantabry
We stand in sympathy to your search for a spouse; and it is with some regret we must confess that we have neither daughters nor sisters to offer as suitable matches! Falkvord, however, is not utterly without fair women and fine maidens. If it please you, I should be more than happy to confer with my aldermen and retainers on your lordship’s behalf. Amongst their number, and with the blessings of the Three, I am certain we shall find you a viable match.

Signed and sealed at Oarheim,
Wymund Sulter, Lord of Falkvord and Torgerith

The King’s Road
Pridland, Kingdom of Norden

Yet again, House Sulter’s somber colors had returned to the Pridlands; the haunt of Norden’s most militant faithful. At their head sat Colwyn Clove, bold and suntanned as always. Grandmaster Wulharra and his faithful had kept the Skraeling menace at bay, and House Sulter sought a way to profit from this. To trade wheat, fish and apples – two full tals of it – for bars of cold iron ore; the steel in builders nails and the swords in warriors hands.

by **Albertae** » Tue Jun 21, 2016 9:59 am

Olthenia wrote:
The King’s Road
Torgerith, Kingdom of Norden

Eleventh of First Seed, Ninth Year if the Comet’s Age

The day was cold and blustery as a party of war-gelds a dozen strong plodded across the muddy sward. Around them stretched the rolling plains and far green hills of Torgerith, stretched away into the dawn. At their head, Cenred Bhur reigned up his horse and shaded his bushy eyebrows with a thick, gloved hand. «Adwy?» he barked, and a freckle-faced squire with mismatched eyes trotted up beside him. Cenred was Adwy’s uncle; a fact the crusty old man often saw fit to remind him of when he desired something. ‘Fetch another jug for your uncle, boy!’ ‘Do as your uncle says and see this rabbit dressed and roasted, you lout’ ‘I still see rust on this byrnie, boy! You think your uncle is a fool?!’ «Train your eyes on that light there, and tell me true,» Cenred commanded. «Is that Itchcoat I see?» No, Cenred Bhur had not spoken in jest. He truly had said ‘Itchcoat’. Torgerith’s late overlords, the Itzcoatls, did not easily lend their name to the Falkvorder’s tongue. «Aye, uncle,» Adwy confirmed. His keen young eyes were as sharp as any fareyes. «It is a village there. It must be Itchcoat.» And so it was. With red madness carrying away their last lordship, the duty of administering this southern land had fallen on House Sulter. To that end, Falkvord’s Leper Lord had dispatched Ceorl Bhur and his merry men. To minister and rule the king’s law across this benighted land. All men, after all, must tithe to the Dor.

Oarheim, Lakelord’s Hall
Falkvord, Kingdom of Norden

Elsewhere, in the wide, wayn-ridden yard that faced the Lakelord’s hall, a familiar spectacle taking place. A gaggle of carts and wagons were being loaded by bent-backed bondsmen, while oxen snorted, dogs slunk and barked and the noonday sun baked the who land as dry as anything. This was the ninth year of the age of Skar’s comet, and it was a tax year. House Sulter had a tithe to pay to the Dor, and pay it would. In dividends. Yet taxes alone were not its sole purpose that day. The hindmost wayns held dozens of barrels packed to the gills with the rich, green apples so abundant to the orchards of Volfurrow-on-Falkvord. In the distant valleys beneath the Nightwall, juice-mills would no doubt mash this bounty into jugs of cider. Crisp and cool, keen and cloudy – Falkvord’s finest – and in return, golden, glorious gilder would find its way back to House Sulter’s coffers. Taxes and apples. Food and coin. For Falkvord.

Lord Au’Lorean
Your son shall be welcome at our hall. Well shall we treat him, and well shall we know him, until we are certain our beloved niece shall find him a worthy suitor. We shall look for his coming.

Signed and sealed at Oarheim,
Wymund Sulter, Lord of Falkvord and Torgerith

Finally, that year also saw a message sent to the fair fields that men and maps alike called the Golden Acres.

Lord Cantabry
We stand in sympathy to your search for a spouse, Lord Cantabry; and it is with some regret we must confess that we have neither daughters nor sisters to offer as suitable matches! Falkvord, however, is not utterly without fair women and fine maidens. If it please you, I should be more than happy to confer with my aldermen and retainers on your lordship’s behalf. Amongst their number, and with the blessings of the Three, I am certain we shall find you a viable match.

Signed and sealed at Oarheim,
Wymund Sulter, Lord of Falkvord and Torgerith

The King’s Road
Pridland, Kingdom of Norden

Yet again, House Sulter’s somber colors had returned to the Pridlands; the haunt of Norden’s most militant faithful. At their head sat Colwyn Clove, bold and suntanned as always. Grandmaster Wulharra and his faithful had kept the Skraeling menace at bay, and House Sulter sought a way to profit from this. To trade wheat, fish and apples – two full tals of it – for bars of cold iron ore; the steel in builders nails and the swords in warriors hands.

Start: 0 Gold, 5 Food.
+2 Gold from Holdings. [2 Gold]
+4 Food from Holdings. [9 Food]
2 Gold and 3 Food in taxes to the Dor. [0 Gold, 6 Food]
2 Food to Wulfharra for 1 Gold and 1 Iron. [4 Food, 1 Gold, 1 Iron]
1 Gold to the Royal Cartographers. [4/5] [0 Gold]
2 Food to Stalvard for 2 Gold. [2 Gold]
End: 2 Food, 2 Gold, 1 Iron.

Dorneget received the letter back with some joy, but enough to send back a message saying,"That would be more then appreciated." He then sent it off with a raven and continued in about in his days work.

by **Olthenia** » Tue Jun 21, 2016 10:28 am

Volfurrow-on-Falkvord
Falkvord, Kingdom of Norden

Twentieth of Hearthfire, Ninth Year of the Comet's Age.

A moon's turn of polite inquiries proved a modest success.The Lakelord's annual Harvest Ball saw some of Falkvord's finest families arrive - the relatives of captains, some prominent merchants, others even the scions of prominent artisans. Over the course of the ball, three families discreetly seemed to test the waters for matching the Lord of the Golden Acres to their daughters. Matching them to the leperous wretch that was Wymund Sulter would be unthinkable to most, even with the recent events in Torgerith - but the Golden Acres' unmarried lord was a very, very different matter. The Lasfargers, the Amitas, and the Garatgeses all put their best foot forward.

Amilia Lasfarger was a young woman of eighteen winters, in the very blossom of her womanhood - no great beauty, perhaps: but sharp of mind, and young, and knowledgeable of the goldsmith's trade that her family plied. Jessamine Amita, by comparison, was a true maiden, twenty years and as fair as white milk with lips the color of oxblood. In her dark brown eyes flashed a look of passion fierce enough to affect even the knees of even the noblest lordling most curiously. Kendra Garatgeses, on the other hand, was rather plain, and twenty three years of age, but her father had a substantial dowry, a thousand pieces of gold, it was said, waiting for the man who would take her away from his home.

by **Albertae** » Tue Jun 21, 2016 11:09 am

Olthenia wrote:
Volfurrow-on-Falkvord
Falkvord, Kingdom of Norden

Twentieth of Hearthfire, Ninth Year of the Comet's Age.

A moon's turn of polite inquiries proved a modest success.The Lakelord's annual Harvest Ball saw some of Falkvord's finest families arrive - the relatives of captains, some prominent merchants, others even the scions of prominent artisans. Over the course of the ball, three families discreetly seemed to test the waters for matching the Lord of the Golden Acres to their daughters. Matching them to the leperous wretch that was Wymund Sulter would be unthinkable to most, even with the recent events in Torgerith - but the Golden Acres' unmarried lord was a very, very different matter. The Lasfargers, the Amitas, and the Garatgeses all put their best foot forward.

Amilia Lasfarger was a young woman of eighteen winters, in the very blossom of her womanhood - no great beauty, perhaps: but sharp of mind, and young, and knowledgeable of the goldsmith's trade that her family plied. Jessamine Amita, by comparison, was a true maiden, twenty years and as fair as white milk with lips the color of oxblood. In her dark brown eyes flashed a look of passion fierce enough to affect even the knees of even the noblest lordling most curiously. Kendra Garatgeses, on the other hand, was rather plain, and twenty three years of age, but her father had a substantial dowry, a thousand pieces of gold, it was said, waiting for the man who would take her away from his home.

Eighteenth of Hearthfire, Ninth Year of the Age of the Comet

Dorneget had travelled to the lands of House Sulter for the ball that would present him three women. He arrived outside the gates on the morning of the Eighteenth of Hearthfire. He called out for Lord Wymund Sulter to welcome him in. "It is I, Lord Dorneget of House Cantabry. I've come to the ball that the gracious Lord Sulter invited me to." He waited patiently on his horse, nothing to gloat about. Just a sturdy horse that Dorneget could afford in the recent years.

by **Olthenia** » Tue Jun 21, 2016 12:42 pm

Oarheim, Lakelord's Hall

Well then.

Within Oarheim's tarblack walls, Sultered retainers greeted the Acre-lord with due decorum. Groomes took his horse while a smiling seneschal with the hobbled gait of one afflicted with clubfoot led his lordship past rows of drying nets and tall wooden collonades carved with scenes from the fabled dream-song Fae's Saga. Was the lord of the Golden Acres wary from his travels? Hungry? Thick fish broth served in a trencher of fresh blackbread was well available, with clouded apple cider to wash it all down - enough to float a small boat. Lord Sulter himself, however, glimmered with his absence. "Lord Sulter is wary from the day's work," explained the clubfooted seneschal. "But he begs thy patience, Lord Cantabry - he will send for thee shortly."

And send he did.

The Lakelord's quarters lay at the back of Oarheim's vaulted hall, and it was a far cry from the bright, airy rooms where food had been served. The faint, burnt scent of something hung in the air - thyme, antlerwood, elfbane - and there, atop a cushioned chair as broad as a rower's bench sat Falkvord's Leper Lord. Wymund Sulter had once been a spare, intense man with a wide forehead and piercing brown eyes. Leprosy has crippled his legs, blighted his arms and made a ruin of his poor, gods-cursed face. He was a lean, wiry, rachitic man now. The smile he greeted Lord Dorneget with was probably meant to be friendly, yet the result was decidedly less so. Pale brown eyes collared in cups of grime were deeply sunk. Like an animal inside a skull looking out the eyeholes.

"Lord Dorneget," he rasped. "Be welcome. I trust you've come ready for the Harvest Ball?"

by **Albertae** » Tue Jun 21, 2016 12:56 pm

Olthenia wrote:
Oarheim, Lakelord's Hall

Well then.

Within Oarheim's tarblack walls, Sultered retainers greeted the Acre-lord with due decorum. Groomes took his horse while a smiling seneschal with the hobbled gait of one afflicted with clubfoot led his lordship past rows of drying nets and tall wooden collonades carved with scenes from the fabled dream-song Fae's Saga. Was the lord of the Golden Acres wary from his travels? Hungry? Thick fish broth served in a trencher of fresh blackbread was well available, with clouded apple cider to wash it all down - enough to float a small boat. Lord Sulter himself, however, glimmered with his absence. "Lord Sulter is wary from the day's work," explained the clubfooted seneschal. "But he begs thy patience, Lord Cantabry - he will send for thee shortly."

And send he did.

The Lakelord's quarters lay at the back of Oarheim's vaulted hall, and it was a far cry from the bright, airy rooms where the had been offered. The faint, burnt scent of something hung in the air - thyme, antlerwood, elfbane - and there, atop a cushioned chair as broad as a rower's bench sat Falkvord's Leper Lord. Wymund Sulter had once been a spare, intense man with a wide forehead and piercing brown eyes. Leprosy has crippled his legs, blighted his arms and made a ruin of his poor, gods-cursed face. He was a lean, wiry, rachitic man now. The smile he greeted Lord Dorneget with was probably meant to be friendly, yet the result was decidedly less so. Pale brown eyes collared in cups of grime were deeply sunk. Like an animal inside a skull looking out the eyeholes.

"Lord Dorneget," he rasped. "Be welcome. I trust you've come ready for the Harvest Ball?"

Dorneget smiled,"I have. So you are the fabled Lord Sulter. I thank you for setting this ball up for me. The minor lords in my land are not to be trusted in my eyes. They lie, cheat and steal to gain more land for their farms and plantations. The greedy knobknockers. I come from a more humbled family, yes we did only the biggest Manor in Golden Acres, however we shared it with two other families. At least I did. I care for my vassals like they are my children, in fact they act like children sometimes to which I say, leave- leave and never beknownst to my lands again. I do not tolerate my vassals acting like children. They are lords, men that have to uphold a great deal of respect and leadership. They are idols to the people, something to strive for. A goal." He said this with a serious expression and then lightened up so that they may talk into the night.

Olthenia wrote:
Volfurrow-on-Falkvord
Falkvord, Kingdom of Norden

Twentieth of Hearthfire, Ninth Year of the Comet's Age.

A moon's turn of polite inquiries proved a modest success.The Lakelord's annual Harvest Ball saw some of Falkvord's finest families arrive - the relatives of captains, some prominent merchants, others even the scions of prominent artisans. Over the course of the ball, three families discreetly seemed to test the waters for matching the Lord of the Golden Acres to their daughters. Matching them to the leperous wretch that was Wymund Sulter would be unthinkable to most, even with the recent events in Torgerith - but the Golden Acres' unmarried lord was a very, very different matter. The Lasfargers, the Amitas, and the Garatgeses all put their best foot forward.

Amilia Lasfarger was a young woman of eighteen winters, in the very blossom of her womanhood - no great beauty, perhaps: but sharp of mind, and young, and knowledgeable of the goldsmith's trade that her family plied. Jessamine Amita, by comparison, was a true maiden, twenty years and as fair as white milk with lips the color of oxblood. In her dark brown eyes flashed a look of passion fierce enough to affect even the knees of even the noblest lordling most curiously. Kendra Garatgeses, on the other hand, was rather plain, and twenty three years of age, but her father had a substantial dowry, a thousand pieces of gold, it was said, waiting for the man who would take her away from his home.

Twentieth of Hearthfire, Ninth Year of the Age of the Comet

Dorneget stood next to Lord Sulter drinking a fine wine Lord Sultrr had imported enjoying the ball. He asked,"So, who are these woman you speak of? Amilia Lasfarger, Jessamine Amita and Kendra Garatgeses." He listened to Lord Sulter explain them and said without another seconds thought,"Jessamine. She seems ambitious, fierce, wild. It is what I strive to be. This is a woman I would love."

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Tue Jun 21, 2016 5:04 pm

Stonesfall, Plains of Vedec
Veden, Kingdom of Norden

Across the wide rolling hills of Vedec the line of armored men snaked like a river of silver in the green grasslands, a ribbon girdled about a swathe of emerald that marked deep forests and marches brimming with wildlife. Some of the men, more dun colored than most, were militiamen from Stalvard come to make their homes here in the eastern broken ends of the Mountains of Winter. In this summer the countryside was welcoming enough, but with the coming of snow life would grow harder and a stern watch would need to be kept upon the northern passes. But men who had grown up in the vales of the Nightwall were no stranger to barbarian raids, or ice and cold; in Norden's north men grew strong in their youths, or they did not grow up at all.

That was not the concern of the glittering host farther afield though; they marched in strict order, long pikes high enough to fight five men deep braced up against the sun, swords forged and folded seventeen times upon their hips beneath liveries of black and white, the hammer and anvil of Dor and the King under the Mountain. They answered a call from far Pridlan, to guard against brigands and miscreants ere any such danger began to menace the lands of the vassals that answered to distant Dor.

Addressed to Grandmaster Wulfharra of the Order of the Lions Rampant,
Indeed, your need comes to our ears in a time most fortuitous. With the formal training of our Heartguard in to a legion of unparalleled strength, we may spare strength from the defense of the western passes to secure the lands of the east as well. We shall send to you our Silver Shields, trained in formation fighting with both pike and sword, to act as a ward against the perfidy of the Lea or any horse-lords which might take the eastern marches of Norden as easy prey. As for your offer of a position amidst the men of the Order for one of our kith, our sister-son Tormund Earkenbrand is a man hale and hearty, trained with lance and bow in the marches of Stalheim these past ten years of our reign. He shall accompany our warriors to your hold of Pridlan, with the turning of the year as may be, and we hope he shall acquit himself as befits his bloodline.
Jarnassus Dorbeorn, King of Norden

To Mother Angelica of House Susej,
There are few words that can be spoken between those who have broken oaths; though we appreciate your desire for peace and not war, the Six frown upon those who deal with the faithless, and even more so with those who would use tragedy for personal gain. Deal fairly with those whom wretched luck has assigned to your care, and perhaps with time we shall look upon you with less than black hatred in our hearts, but it would be wise of the one styling herself 'Queen of the Vaelgrans' to remain far from the reach of our arm for years to come- and our reach has grown long indeed.
Jarnassus Dorbeorn, King of Norden

by **Olthenia** » Wed Jun 22, 2016 2:22 am

Oarheim, Lakelord's Hall
Falkvord, Kingdom of Norden.

Twentieth of Hearthfire, Ninth Year of the Comet's Age.

Lord Sulter stifled a cough, his corpse-eyes smiling. "Fine choice, Dorneget. Most discerning." The scent of wine was heavy on Wymund's breath. Cloves and nutmeg, silver and summer. A murmured word to a retainer, and the Lady Jessamina was quickly brought over. Her smile was dazzling, and her pale dress slashed with vair. It was excellently complimented by the string of honey colored river pearls around her pale, slender neck. "My lords," she courtesied - and her gaze was reserved solely for Lord Dorneget. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Lord Sulter excused himself, blaming his poor constitution as a retainer helped him hobble to a nearby chair. That left Lord Dorneget and Lady Jessamina on their lonesome.

The rest, as they say, were stories and starshine.

Twenty-seventh of Mid Year, Tenth Year of the Comet's Age.

The year that followed was a quaint and uneventful one, at least in Falkvord. The harvest that year was as bountiful as the last, and by Mid Year fields of golden wheat made farmers hearts smile. In the Hollow Helmsman, a modest alehall by the Vord's dark banks, the patrons diced and drank, chuckled and jawed as they had in years past. Rumors amongst the patrons there insisted that a great, terrible kraken had been spotted off the coast of distant Kotte - and that the lord of that land had soothed it with a song that no human mouth could make. What could the meaning behind such news be? Oh, it was hard to tell, but at least the cider flowed. Tavern-talk of the lowest sort, to be sure; yet entertaining all the same.

Beyond that den of lakeside iniquity, a lumbering caravan of wayns and wagons once again made common purpose towards Stalvard - that distant arm of the Dorbeorn's realm. Their load, as always, was food. Grain and apples form Falkvord's fields and dried fish aplenty from that cold, dark lake. At their head, clad in boiler leather and iron, a gaggle of guardsmen accompanied a messenger whose saddlebags clinked with gold and silver. Their purpose? The hall of the Royal Cartographers' Society; and the year's tribute to their noble pursuit.

Volfurrow-on-Falkvord
Falkvord, Kingdom of Norden

Third of Sun's Heigth, Tenth Year of the Comet's Age.

The fallow fields resounded with the crash of booted feet, the clatter of spears and the yell of commands. Falkvord's finest, blessed by the Three, were once again forming a fyrd - the likes of which had scarce been seen since the Settling. Yet now, perhaps, Falkvord's lord had other plans for his benighted arsmen? Time, as always, would tell.

Lord Simon Au'Lorean

The time has come to settle our debt to your noble house. Gods willing, the men that accompany this message should have House Sulter's debts to your coin well in hand - two thousand pieces of gold to the weight of two gilders. And an offer, should you care for it. My House once again stands in need of your lumber, cut and shorn in the manner that marks the wood handled by Au'Lorean craftsmen. Two full tals of it, all told. If you can provide it, we can promise to pay another two gilder for it.

Signed and sealed at Oarheim,
Wymund Sulter, First of His Name.

by **Albertae** » Wed Jun 22, 2016 8:24 am

Olthenia wrote:
Oarheim, Lakelord's Hall
Falkvord, Kingdom of Norden.

Twentieth of Hearthfire, Ninth Year of the Comet's Age.

Lord Sulter stifled a cough, his corpse-eyes smiling. "Fine choice, Dorneget. Most discerning." The scent of wine was heavy on Wymund's breath. Cloves and nutmeg, silver and summer. A murmured word to a retainer, and the Lady Jessamina was quickly brought over. Her smile was dazzling, and her pale dress slashed with vair. It was excellently complimented by the string of honey colored river pearls around her pale, slender neck. "My lords," she courtesied - and her gaze was reserved solely for Lord Dorneget. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Lord Sulter excused himself, blaming his poor constitution as a retainer helped him hobble to a nearby chair. That left Lord Dorneget and Lady Jessamina on their lonesome.

The rest, as they say, were stories and starshine.

Twenty-seventh of Mid Year, Tenth Year of the Comet's Age.

The year that followed was a quaint and uneventful one, at least in Falkvord. The harvest that year was as bountiful as the last, and by Mid Year fields of golden wheat made farmers hearts smile. In the Hollow Helmsman, a modest alehall by the Vord's dark banks, the patrons diced and drank, chuckled and jawed as they had in years past. Rumors amongst the patrons there insisted that the Vaelgran's Queen, that mad mystic Mother Angelica, had disgraced herself by resorting to banditry in that far realm; reaving and raiding innocent travelers to fill her greedy coffers with the blood of innocents and the hearts of children. Tavern-talk of the lowest sort, to be sure; yet entertaining all the same.

Beyond that den of lakeside iniquity, a lumbering caravan of wayns and wagons once again made common purpose towards Stalvard - that distant arm of the Dorbeorn's realm. Their load, as always, was food. Grain and apples form Falkvord's fields and dried fish aplenty from that cold, dark lake. At their head, clad in boiler leather and iron, a gaggle of guardsmen accompanied a messenger whose saddlebags clinked with gold and silver. Their purpose? The hall of the Royal Cartographers' Society; and the year's tribute to their noble pursuit.

Volfurrow-on-Falkvord
Third of Sun's Heigth

The fallow fields resounded with the crash of booted feet, the clatter of spears and the yell of commands. Falkvord's finest, blessed by the Three, were once again forming a fyrd - the likes of which had scarce been seen since the Settling. Yet now, perhaps, Falkvord's lord had other plans for his benighted arsmen? Time, as always, would tell.

Lord Simon Au'Lorean

The time has come to settle our debt to your noble house. Gods willing, the men that accompany this message should have House Sulter's debts to your coin well in hand - two thousand pieces of gold to the weight of two gilders. And an offer, should you care for it. My House once again stands in need of your lumber, cut and shorn in the manner that marks the wood handled by Au'Lorean craftsmen. Two full tals of it, all told. If you can provide it, we can promise to pay another two gilder for it.

Signed and sealed at Oarheim,
Wymund Sulter, First of His Name.

Start: 2 Gold, 2 Food, 1 Iron
+2 Gold from Holdings [4 Gold]
+4 Food from Holdings [6 Food]
1 Gold sent to the Royal Cartographers. 5/5 [3 Gold]
2 Food traded to Stalvard for 2 Gold. [5 Gold, 2 Food]
2 Gold sent to House Au'Lorean of Ignston. [3 Gold]
2 Gold spent to train Militia in Falkvord. [1 Gold]
End: 1 Gold, 2 Food, 1 Iron.

Dorneget smiled,"Let's cut the Royal Etiquetticies. I already know the kinda lady you are and you are a feisty compassionate lady. Let's go outside for a drink. That way you can get to know me, my lady." Dorneget lead her out to the Balcony to talk.

"I guess you already know who I am. Otherwise you wouldn't be here. Do you really think you'd be happy at my household? If not then turn and leave. I have many goals in life still left to achieve. I know your soul wants to achieve the same things, you just need a companion, a spouse someone to love and cherish along the way. Someone who is also an Intelligient, compassionate person. You are my greatest goal in life."

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Wed Jun 22, 2016 9:43 am

Year Ten Event

The Doom Tide

From the north they came ravening, riding horses as black as midnight and with crimson banners flapping in an otherworldly breeze above their hosts. Their faces were dark, blotted like boiled leather, and their war cries high and haunting as they fell upon the common folk. Their arrows blotted out the sun, leaving their victims to die in the shade or trampled by ironshod hooves down in to the dust. Across fair Touissant, the land of wine that had been spoken of in song and sonnet for centuries, they swept life the inrushing of a broken dam or a sudden plague of locusts. Burning and pillaging they came, and even the most stouthearted felt their courage fail faced against the barbaric hordes...

A Cavalry and an Archer attack Touissant from north as part of the Muglal Horde

by **The Knights of Azorea** » Wed Jun 22, 2016 11:14 am

The Order of the Lions Rampant, Lea

Tenth Year of the Age of the Comet

Wheat streamed into the monastery at Lea, bushel after bushel of fresh cut grain, piled sacks of flour, barrels of ale made rich by fresh cut barley, mead and cider from smaller hamlets, along with crates of apples and fruits, lambs and pigs to be smoked and cured, with slabs of beef on hooks, freshly skinned rabbits, the fresh fish taken from the Pridhallan, some fresh and delightfully tart grapes and most popularly, great urns filled with fresh honey. Soon, the mills on the river were to be set running, cranked along by the flowing river, great sacks of fresh flour streaming out to the bakeries, to the markets of the burgeoning town. Soon after the flour was milled, the first batch of fresh cider was rolled out to market for sale, and the first batch of ale was left to ferment, for drinking in the winter. The grapes of the region, though bitter, made a delightfully northern wine with a unique tang.

Then, with the bread being baked and the meat being smoked, the men and women of the city returned to their professions, roasting chestnuts for the coming festivities, chopping up the rich pine firewood of the region and constructing what crafts they could from all of the excess animal meat and bone. Soapmakers made common cause with tanners as they fought over the remnants of the animals with the dogs. The smell of tanning leather was barely kept at bay by the pungency of the goods flowing into market, and the sound of grinding mills by the sounds of whooping and laughing as the townsfolk took their time off with their families. The harvest festival, the happiest day of many a peasant's year had dawned, and with it came celebration.

As the day began to close, a beautiful orange sunset fell on the newly built town, the light pouring along the river with a lazy ease, bringing with it the smells of the woods and the winery. The people assembled together in the town square, surrounded by the warmth of friends and family, and the scent of the fresh food on the market. A great bonfire was lit, and the elders set about baffling their younger compatriots with stories of the old days, before the arrival of the Nuns. Wine, ale and cider flowed quickly, with lighter mead for the youngsters, and all was good. Even the knights joined in, regaling all of the town with tales of their valour and the battles of the Lion Knight.

With the night over, many dreamed of even bigger and better things to come, greater constructions, perhaps even great towns of people. The only issue was space, space and resources. With more land, the order could have it's castle, with more land then perhaps a brickworks could be established, and the men and women subject to the knights would live in safe, solid homes. To that end, a letter was sent, to the king, penned by Lann's own hand, once he had recovered from the harvest festivals.

To his majesty, King Jarnassus Dorbeorn 'the Wise',

Your majesty, I wish first to thank you for your boons. Both you and the Lion have been kind to the order, and the order seeks only to repay you properly. In order to do so, we require something we lack. Namely, more land. This kingdom needs a supply of stone, for one thing, and more land would allow for a brickworks. Not only that, but the monstrous barbarians of the far east seem to grow more bold, it would be my great honour to properly repulse them, with an army worthy of Norden and of the Lion himself. Such an army would need it's own training ground, and no amount of men can truly garrison the east while the west is so occupied. His majesty's castle guards the west, it is my aim that there be another castle, of certainly no match to the glory of his majesty's own, in the east.

I do not come to you to beg, I wish nothing of the sort, instead, I wish to explore. You have said that the royal cartographers are on hire to lords in search of such things, and the wealth of the order grows with every passing day. In the three years required to learn of new lands, I will be able to finance the expedition, entirely on my own. In my holds at this moment sit eight thousand gilders and another two thousand tals of iron, with more to flow in each year. I ask only of his majesty that I be given the chance to finance such an expedition, only that I should be able to hire the royal cartographers. With this missive comes my tax for the year, four thousand bushels of food, or thereabouts in equivalency. I also send the first bottle of wine to be produced in Lea this harvest, for your majesty's pleasure.

Your Ever faithful Sword and your Ever solid Shield,
Grandmaster Wulfharra, Scourge of the North, Taker of Lea, Victor of the Pridhallan and Sworn Shield of Norden

The King's kin was inducted into the order quickly, and the young man was acquainted with the ways of the monk-soldiers, perhaps to find glory with the Lion at his back.

Resources: 8 Gold, 1 Food, 2 Iron, 1 Unit of Armoured Militia in Pridlan, lead by the Grandmaster. (4 Food sent as tax)

by **Olthenia** » Wed Jun 22, 2016 4:29 pm

Oarheim, Lakelord’s Hall
Falkvord, Kingdom of Norden

Lady Jessamine listened demurely to Lord Cantabry's words. In the evening's pale moonlight her skin truly was as pale as milk.

"Why, my lord," she smiled - bold as anything. "It seems ambition is the name of your game." The rumors were true, then. They had to be; for Lord Cantabry was known as a man of ambition and means. A hound for progress, prestige and status. "I'll have compassion with those that deserve it," Jessamine Amina drawled. "And I will have poetry in my life. And love. Love above all. No-" she glanced away for a moment, searching for words. "Not the artful postures of love; not playful and poetical games of love for the amusement of an evening, but love that… overthrows life. Unbiddable, ungovernable, like a riot in the heart, and nothing to be done, come ruin or capture." Her smile turned wry, and her eyes sought his.

"Is that the love we will have, my lord?"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sri Arjuna Mausum of Kotte,

We write to you with a most unusual request. The skill of your artisans are famous across all Norden, and rightly so. To that end, we seek to engage some of your finest metalworkers that they might fashion for us a mask with a stern and unblinking mien. Though age and disease has diminished our features, we are still required to appear as a lord to our subjects. Aid us in this. Give us a face, gilded and grim, according to the measurements enclosed with this message, and we shall pay a price you deem fair.

Signed and sealed at Oarheim,
Lord Wymund of House Sulter

by **Albertae** » Wed Jun 22, 2016 7:17 pm

Olthenia wrote:
Oarheim, Lakelord’s Hall
Falkvord, Kingdom of Norden

Lady Jessamine listened demurely to Lord Cantabry's words. In the evening's pale moonlight her skin truly was as pale as milk.

"Why, my lord," she smiled - bold as anything. "It seems ambition is the name of your game." The rumors were true, then. They had to be; for Lord Cantabry was known as a man of ambition and means. A hound for progress, prestige and status. "I'll have compassion with those that deserve it," Jessamine Amina drawled. "And I will have poetry in my life. And love. Love above all. No-" she glanced away for a moment, searching for words. "Not the artful postures of love; not playful and poetical games of love for the amusement of an evening, but love that… overthrows life. Unbiddable, ungovernable, like a riot in the heart, and nothing to be done, come ruin or capture." Her smile turned wry, and her eyes sought his.

"Is that the love we will have, my lord?"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sri Arjuna Mausum of Kotte,

We write to you with a most unusual request. The skill of your artisans are famous across all Norden, and rightly so. To that end, we seek to engage some of your finest metalworkers that they might fashion for us a mask with a stern and unblinking mien. Though age and disease has diminished our features, we are still required to appear as a lord to our subjects. Aid us in this. Give us a face, gilded and grim, according to the measurements enclosed with this message, and we shall pay a price you deem fair.

Signed and sealed at Oarheim,
Lord Wymund of House Sulter

Dorneget looked at her with fierce piercing eyes and said,"That is what our love shall be." He grabbed her hand and gently squeeze it within his kissing her compassionately.

The next morning they rode back to Decre where they would be we'd.

Tenth Year of the Age of the Comet

The year had been highly successful with the pregnancy of Lady Jessamine and the city's taxes.

Conversion to be added.

by **Ironsbad** » Wed Jun 22, 2016 10:01 pm

Ignston, Year 10

Simon was finally looking at the letters that were constantly piling up after two years from various lords he didn't get to talk to. With the two years that he has been able to increase his production. He sent letters out and the shipment that was late was sent. Chumnik finally gathered enough strength to go to the lands of House Sulter and the House Ar'Loran was starting to work on militia of his own to be sent down in the new explored lands while sending a letter of to the Crown.

To: Lord Faulkner

I'm sorry that I didn't get your message until now. As you see, I've had business to attend to at home and politics are a constant reminder to ever be busy in these lands. I bring this supply on good terms that despite your realm's political struggle, commerce noes no bounds. I bring you one shipment as requested and hope that it can still be of some good use. Please forgive my lateness and laziness to read your letter.

To: Lord Sulter

Praise be to your family and the gods. I send this letter with my boy Chumnik on the firm sadness that I cannot supply you with two hundred tals of lumber as of this year for we are short by one and I will have to stockpile the lumber for next winter. I promise on my family name that you will get the lumber as soon as it is ready.

To: Your Majesty

I'm glad that the House can help you with exploration of new lands and this is where I would like to express interest in buying the rights from one of the lands. You see, I have been wanting to build a city for myself but without any clear of fertile lands, I risk the unnecessary cutting of the Kingdom's largest lumber supply for my own ambitions. I implore you to allow me to invest in the lands south of my and your lands. Let build a third city that will be worth the name of the House and to honor the kingdom as a whole.

Chumnik,
Lakelord's Hall, Falkvold

Today was the important day for the adopted farmhand turned noble heir. He had to finally take up the task to finalize the marriage between the two Houses. He only needed to make a good impression and make sure that the Aur'Loran. He walked up to the guards and spoke in his lowborn farmer tongue that him, Doesa, and Simon have still," hello guards, my name Chumnik Aur'Loran. Ma' Pa is the Lord Simon Aur'Loran, the "Lumber Lord" of Norden. Here to see the Lord Sulter. I hope that I'ma' not to late."

To: House Mausum

The shipment has been sent to the village and I hope that you are able to grow and prosper like the rest of the kingdom.

by **Harkback Union** » Thu Jun 23, 2016 1:34 am

ApplePieistan wrote:
Harkback Union wrote:
After spending days roaming the fields in search of traders, Mother Angelica's scouts have successfully located a caravan heading south east towards a mountain pass. The travelling merchants have hired some militia as escort, but they shouldn't pose a big threat to the well-armed swordsman. Their carts are stacked with food which they bought from norden's peasants in exchange for wooden and iron tools and items.

It felt wrong, but at this time, robbing them was the only conceivable option. The the people were hungry and starving to death was not an option. Ruthlessly, House Susej's swordsmen charged at the merchants, hoping to grab as much food and supplies off their bodies as possible. Mother Angelica distanced herself from the battle, not being able to stand seeing such bloodshed. It would have made her queasy. Instead, she simply began drafting a letter, hoping it would help her clear her mind.

Dear King Jarn of Norden,

As you have heard, House Susej led by me, Mother Angelica, has migrated out of Norden in hopes of achieving great things and finding a better life for our people, notably by making myself the Queen of Vaelgra. We also understand that you have seized our estate, the Immaculate Lea, which we believe is a reasonable and understandable course of action. We're sorry to have migrated away and breaking our deal, but we ask you to not hold a grudge so that our kingdoms can achieve future peace and cooperation, and can bond together against all who seek to destroy us.

From,
Mother Angelica of House Susej

The merchant caravan was successfully ambushed, their escorts slain. The Merchants themselves fled in terror into the woods, leaving behind most of their carts and their cargo.

The escaping traders were the only witnesses to soldier's crimes and their clothes alone were worth a fortune. Hunting them down and killing them could help keep this atrocity a secret and earn a few coins for the royal coffers. However, it will probably take some time.

by **The Grim Reaper** » Thu Jun 23, 2016 7:17 am

The Peasant Village of Kotte
The Sri Arjuna Mausum, of House Mausum

The Response to House Sulter

The Sri Arjuna let the salty waters lap around his knees, as he meditated. He felt the Earth breathe against his skin, as it awoke from chill-induced slumber. It started to breathe, and the cold ocean air started to intermix with a warmer, sunkissed infant breeze. The level of the tide against his body measured the passage of time, and he would meditate until the top of the water reached the top of his feet. Behind him, his steward knelt, waiting for him to finish, and behind them, a small complement of courtiers meditated.

Eventually, he stood, letting the water drip off him. He issued a long, held note, to the sea. It roused his courtiers from their meditations, and two moved to his side, with bowls of dry sand and a towel. They used the sand to take up the water from his legs, wiping it away with the towel. After a number of minutes, he turned and motioned to his steward. "My Lord, a missive arrived during your meditations, from House Sulter of Falkvord. They have requested metalworkers, to fashion a mask of stern and unblinking mien for Lord Wymund, such that he may conceal his natural features. He has dispatched, to that end, a list of measurements."

The Sri Arjuna took a note from the steward, reading it with a level of distaste. "It is certainly a reasonable task, but these measurements...they are not sufficient. We require flesh and blood, such that we can gauge the flexibility of the skin and contours of the face. These measurements shall give us a mask, but it would not be Wymund's mask. He thinks too highly of us, that we can work magic with the knowledge of any other artisan." He shook his head, muttering to himself. "Our skill is because we can read more from a subject that any other - we are imbued with the same hands and same eyes as any other. We merely have a more receptive spirit."

He sighed. "I shall use these measurements to prepare a draftsman's copy. Send for a sculptor and a metalworker - we shall dispatch them to House Sulter with my plans, such that they can prepare a mould of his face and cast it into metal before they return. I imagine Lord Wymund would be discomforted by any delay. For that matter, I assume he wishes discretion on the matter.

The metalworker is of no particular issue - it is the sculptor who will be responsible both for form and function, in this matter. The metalworker merely need be good at understanding their trade, and need not even meet Lord Wymund. But given the circumstances, it would be best to send a sculptor who is reasonably familiar with the needs of the nobility. I should consider going myself, were I not predisposed with undertaking the plans of our fishing village, and would consider sending my wife, were she not a woman. I do not have any interest in compelling Lord Wymund, at this juncture in his life, to turn against Norden's biases on the matter of the fairer sex. One of my two sons, perhaps.

I see it fit, I think, to send the younger of the two. Hassan the Watchful shall attend to the forging of the Wymund Mask. Have him accompanied by Yusef the Meek, the tableware maker. He has an eye for detail and repetition - with a mould, I should think he would be able to forge Wymund's skull from metal that even the Gods would err in telling the two apart, were it not for the overlay from my plans."

So it was done.

Hassan the Watchful, the sculptor son of the Sri Arjuna, and the tableware maker Yusef the Meek, would travel to House Sulter, and forge a mask for Lord Wymund. They did not take a letter with them - when they were approached to ask for compensation, they would merely reply that House Mausum would prefer not to accept a price for the priceless. They would request only the favour of Falkvord.

by **G-Tech Corporation** » Thu Jun 23, 2016 11:24 am

Hallowhart, Essen
Avastray, The Kingdom of Norden

Nineteenth of Summersend, Tenth Year of the Comet

Upon the deep vale of Hallowhart, where the stone quarry beckoned, Prince Petyor and his black-haired bride looked down from their morning ride. The King, his father, had expressed a desire to see his son take up the reigns of rulership in Esperos in truth, despite Garasov being the elder brother; a city the Crown wished to raise here, to replace the township that mined fine block for the kingdom. In time it would come.

To Grandmaster Wulfharra, of the Order of the Lion Rampant
Your request is well seen by the men of the Hall, and our mind is moved by your argumentation- however, we find ourselves presented with a difficulty. Our most recent expedition has already ere been dispatched to map those lands to the south and west of the holdings of the Lord of Falkvord. However, some fellows of the Cartographer's Society are indeed available. They are not as speedy in their works as trained explorers, being men of academia and not the wild, but they are far more reasonable in employment for they are funded by the Crown itself. They could be tendered to the Order's need in exploring the wilds between our realm and that of Vaelgra; dispatch a retainer to Dor and we shall ensure they are sent to your lands to serve thy need with all due haste.
Jarnassus Dorbeorn, King of Norden

To Lord Simon Au'loren, of Ignston and Dalsten's Stead
It is with sorrow that we must deny your request to be allowed to settle the wild country your explorers have so recently discovered; with Ignston well provisioned and wealthy, possessing already two provinces to your name, we perceive the needs of the Kingdom to be those of the less fortunate, the Lords of Golden Acre and Kotte who have need of more lands to share in the prosperity that all of Norden now enjoys. In recompense, however, we offer you this knowledge- it is known in court that the men of Ignston are hardy in battle and the fray, and have martial desires towards the so-called Lord of Slanshire, a tiny principality laying as it does between our own lands and those of the pretender Queen of Vaelgra. With the passage of the twelfth year of the Comet our doughty warriors, the Silver Shields, shall be marching south to bring that wild country to heel; it is our will that, if our vassal is amenable, that land be turned over to the overlordship of House Au'loren. Thus we speak to you of our plans on the matter, and bid you take what measures as may be necessary to expedite such a conquest.
Jarnassus Dorbeorn, King of Norden

To Lord Wymund Sulter, of Falkvord and Volfurrow
With the passage of summer to autumn, it is a matter of the heart that we write to you upon this day- a matter of your progeny, Osric of our Heartgard. Your son has acquitted himself admirably in our service, both in the battle upon the Nightwall and in his service since. With his fifth year of fighting in our shield wall being at an end, it is customary for us to elevate him to the position of Skal in our fyrd, but also to release him back to his family. This I will do, but a difficulty has presented itself in that matter, or an opportunity- his affections, and indeed his attention, have been to no small extent won of late by our daughter, the Lady Sythia, our eldest. With his affections returned by her, and her being in her nineteenth winter and him in his twentieth, we perceive such a match as being amenable to both parties, if your Lordship is willing. Osric has spoken to us personally of his intentions to take her as wife, and thus bid us write you this missive proposing that our houses be joined by their wedding- do you say aye?
Jarnassus Dorbeorn, King of Norden

To the Sri Arjuna Mausum of Kotte, and Lord Dorneget of the Golden Acres,
Our expeditions have recently returned from the lands to your immediate east, and we are pleased to note that more fertile plains and coast beckon in that direction. With our overlordship exerted over these lands, it is custom for the Crown to assign such lands to be vassalages of our sworn swords, those who bear our standard and our trust. Knowing that each of your families possess both wealth and ambition, it is our pleasure to extend such a privilege to each of your Houses, though the precise disposition of such lands must be determined by lot, or by the offer of coin. Take council amongst yourselves, or propose to our Steward an offer for a parcel of the land even now discovered, and we shall be happy to receive what tribute shall be offered in exchange for these privileges.
Jarnassus Dorbeorn, King of Norden

by **Albertae** » Thu Jun 23, 2016 12:07 pm

G-Tech Corporation wrote:
Hallowhart, Essen
Avastray, The Kingdom of Norden

Nineteenth of Summersend, Tenth Year of the Comet

Upon the deep vale of Hallowhart, where the stone quarry beckoned, Prince Petyor and his black-haired bride looked down from their morning ride. The King, his father, had expressed a desire to see his son take up the reigns of rulership in Esperos in truth, despite Garasov being the elder brother; a city the Crown wished to raise here, to replace the township that mined fine block for the kingdom. In time it would come.

To Grandmaster Wulfharra, of the Order of the Lion Rampant
Your request is well seen by the men of the Hall, and our mind is moved by your argumentation- however, we find ourselves presented with a difficulty. Our most recent expedition has already ere been dispatched to map those lands to the south and west of the holdings of the Lord of Falkvord. However, some fellows of the Cartographer's Society are indeed available. They are not as speedy in their works as trained explorers, being men of academia and not the wild, but they are far more reasonable in employment for they are funded by the Crown itself. They could be tendered to the Order's need in exploring the wilds between our realm and that of Vaelgra; dispatch a retainer to Dor and we shall ensure they are sent to your lands to serve thy need with all due haste.
Jarnassus Dorbeorn, King of Norden

To Lord Simon Au'loren, of Ignston and Dalsten's Stead
It is with sorrow that we must deny your request to be allowed to settle the wild country your explorers have so recently discovered; with Ignston well provisioned and wealthy, possessing already two provinces to your name, we perceive the needs of the Kingdom to be those of the less fortunate, the Lords of Golden Acre and Kotte who have need of more lands to share in the prosperity that all of Norden now enjoys. In recompense, however, we offer you this knowledge- it is known in court that the men of Ignston are hardy in battle and the fray, and have martial desires towards the so-called Lord of Slanshire, a tiny principality laying as it does between our own lands and those of the pretender Queen of Vaelgra. With the passage of the twelfth year of the Comet our doughty warriors, the Silver Shields, shall be marching south to bring that wild country to heel; it is our will that, if our vassal is amenable, that land be turned over to the overlordship of House Au'loren. Thus we speak to you of our plans on the matter, and bid you take what measures as may be necessary to expedite such a conquest.
Jarnassus Dorbeorn, King of Norden

To Lord Wymund Sulter, of Falkvord and Volfurrow
With the passage of summer to autumn, it is a matter of the heart that we write to you upon this day- a matter of your progeny, Osric of our Heartgard. Your son has acquitted himself admirably in our service, both in the battle upon the Nightwall and in his service since. With his fifth year of fighting in our shield wall being at an end, it is customary for us to elevate him to the position of Skal in our fyrd, but also to release him back to his family. This I will do, but a difficulty has presented itself in that matter, or an opportunity- his affections, and indeed his attention, have been to no small extent won of late by our daughter, the Lady Sythia, our eldest. With his affections returned by her, and her being in her nineteenth winter and him in his twentieth, we perceive such a match as being amenable to both parties, if your Lordship is willing. Osric has spoken to us personally of his intentions to take her as wife, and thus bid us write you this missive proposing that our houses be joined by their wedding- do you say aye?
Jarnassus Dorbeorn, King of Norden

To the Sri Arjuna Mausum of Kotte, and Lord Dorneget of the Golden Acres,
Our expeditions have recently returned from the lands to your immediate east, and we are pleased to note that more fertile plains and coast beckon in that direction. With our overlordship exerted over these lands, it is custom for the Crown to assign such lands to be vassalages of our sworn swords, those who bear our standard and our trust. Knowing that each of your families possess both wealth and ambition, it is our pleasure to extend such a privilege to each of your Houses, though the precise disposition of such lands must be determined by lot, or by the offer of coin. Take council amongst yourselves, or propose to our Steward an offer for a parcel of the land even now discovered, and we shall be happy to receive what tribute shall be offered in exchange for these privileges.
Jarnassus Dorbeorn, King of Norden

Dorneget received his letter and was a bit worried of what had been read. He'd have to compete with a complete stranger! Some man recently induced into the kingdom. Jessamine had been giving him advice and he was going to use it, he just wondered how much he would need to give up since his baby was to be born this year. He wrote back,

From Lord Dorneget of House Cantabry,
To King Jarn of the Kingdom of Norden,

I've read your letter, aye and all I can offer is two thousand gold this year. If you must charge an auction for these lands and are not able to just trust me with the lands then I will only bid two thousand. These are growing times for everyone and it is sick that make us fight among one another when we could use it on something more productive. Two thousand gold is my bid.

Best Regards, Lord Dorneget of House Cantabry

by **ApplePieistan** » Thu Jun 23, 2016 1:11 pm

House Susej, Year 7

Deciding whether to hunt down the merchants or not was no easy decision. On one hand, it could cover up the robbery of the caravan and give a bit of gold too. On the other hand, if anyone there survives, it would make House Susej look much, much worse. The army of swordsmen were ready to hunt down the merchants, but Mother Angelica defiantly stood in front of them and said "No." So, the group of men continued to march toward Vaelgra, rather than spend the time hunting merchants. The plundered food would be more than enough to make it to Vaelgra, allowing for some time to be spent developing some land once there.

Year 8

The time had finally arrived. Arriving in Mesembria, the army of House Susej had finally landed in Vaelgra. The owner of this land had not paid their taxes, and seizing it was therefore justifiable. It was also very necessary, as it allowed her to sustain her swordsmen for a long time. Now that she had a holding in Vaelgra, her people could contribute to the kingdom's faith. This would be the start of a more pious and holy nation. However, much of the lands were plagued by Mongol rule, and it would have to be stopped. To do this, she would need to call in more help from the lords of the land. The obvious first step in removing their presence would be to call upon the aid of the kingdom's lords.

Proclamation of Her Majesty, Queen of Vaelgra and her Peoples, Defender of the Realm, and so forth, Mother Angelica, First of Her Name, given this Day the First of Iceveil of the Eighth Year of the Age of the Comet.
To all Lords and Ladies of the Realm of Vaelgra, for the Proclamation of their Duties and Responsibilities, and their Privileges before Her Crown.

This year, with the arrival of Queen Angelica into the kingdom, we urge all lords in the kingdom to raise an army of some kind for a basic defense against enemies of the state. Even something as simple as a militia would be much appreciated. If your lands cannot support any soldiers, it is not required. For those that can raise an army however, it is highly recommended you do so immediately.

Signed,
Queen Angelica of House Susej

by **The Knights of Azorea** » Thu Jun 23, 2016 2:50 pm

The Order of the Lions Rampant, Dor

Tenth Year of the Age of the Comet

Lann himself had personally taken the offer to travel to the Dor to requisition the royal explorers, the young man in dire need of diplomatic experience in person, and to introduce himself to the king. It was likely that he would be Grandmaster soon, and it was a valuable thing to be favoured by the King. Along with a want for favour, a good deal of the treasury was with him, though few would know it from the austere black and crimson clothing he wore, adorned only by a cloak of fur and a ceremonial blade. Alas, however, The young man cut quite a figure despite his clothing, his hair worn long and blonde in the mane-like style of his brothers in the order, and his eyes a piercing green.

He arrived at Dor with only a few of his brothers, having traveled in a wagon , mostly riding alongside on his horse, Castol. He went into the city with little fanfare, enjoying the pleasantries of the city before processing to find audience with his majesty, as a representative of his sworn sword Wulfharra, in search of the discussed explorers, and to negotiate their use.

by **Indo-pasif archipelago** » Thu Jun 23, 2016 3:14 pm

Our Lady must had blessed the Crimsonhold a lot, for prosperity and wealth had come to their front door from each purges they did. The Tamarys had been freed, without any resistance, from the corrupt local Lord. Now each year they fed Ironmoors with a thousand barells of grain. But Faulkner had a plan for them though. The mud of from the Alfheim Lake was good enough to be made into high quality bricks, that will made into the Hallowed Monastery Faulkner had been dreaming about.

Now, he stood with Petre in a camp near Antiva, where another complaints from the people had pushed Faulkner to freed them again. Their group of militia had grown along with each battles, and soon after this they would be sent to help Queen Angelica fight the barbarian, and The Bronze Throne would be theirs once more. "From where should we attack, father? The local Lord has denied our claim and resist the Purge."
Faulkner frowned, he carefully studied the map, which showed that most entry route had been blocked. "The rivers, are they open? We always use the river back at Ironmoors, why can't we use them here?" "Father! Where should we find a raft, let alone the one that can carry all of us?"
Faulkner smiled towards his son, " We can create one, as we always do. Now, show me your spirits of the Moor and start create one!" Thus the first stealth ambush from the river happened at Vaelgra.

by **Harkback Union** » Thu Jun 23, 2016 8:04 pm

YEAR 10

Kingdom of Norden

Brutal Murder!

A citizen of Dor was murdered in a dark alleyway at dawn, there are no witnesses. His body was carved up into several pieces and laid out in an odd fashion. Despite this, he was quickly identified as a notorious drunkard from his tattoos.

Diplomats from Vlorense

A group of Diplomats from the remote city-state of Vlorense have arrived on horseback in Norden, they seek an audience with the King.

Principality of Vaelgra

Abuntant harvest

Good weather combined with the hard work of peasants has resulted in an exceptionally good harvest. Food Production is doubled for this turn across the region.

by **Olthenia** » Fri Jun 24, 2016 1:55 am

Oarheim, Lakelord’s Hall
Falkvord, Kingdom of Norden

Fourteenth of Hearthfire, Tenth Year of the Comet’s Age.

To Jarnassus Dorbeorn, King of Norden
I do indeed say aye, your grace. If the match of your eldest daughter to my son Osric seems amenable to you, far be it from me to stand in its way. Let them be wed in the sight of the Three, and much happiness become them.

Signed and sealed at Oarheim,
Lord Wymund Sulter, First of His Name.

The Young Suitor

Chumnik did not need tarry long outside the Lakelord’s hall. In due course the youth was ushered past its threshold. The yard beyond was a mess of sights and scents as befit the heart of House Sulter’s domains. Tar and wheat, sweat and offal, stables and fisheries – and beyond it all, the Lakelord’s high hall, braziers lit and banners flapping.

Therein, the first to greet Chumnik was a clubfooted seneschal whose smile belied the bizzare tangerine cravat at his throat. None the less, the seneschal bade him follow – and in quick succession led the former stablehand to Lord Sulter’s solar. And Lord Sulter was, indeed, a sight to behold. The air of his solar was thick with scents of burnt spices. Thyme and ambergris, elfbane and myrtle.
Sufferers of Volund’s curse, which scholar’s called leprosy, developed weeping rashes and trembling sores - scabs and boils, crusts and scars. Wymund of House Sulter, the uncle of Chumnik’s wife-to-be, was no exception. That was likely why he was so bandaged. The lord was seated upon a low, tar-black rower’s bench bedecked with tassled cushions. This was a sick man’s room and a sick man’s seat. And yet...

“Sit-” bade the bandaged wretch, “and tell me ...” Lively brown eyes watched him steadily from betwixt his bandaged folds. “Are you truly the youth so favored by Lord Au’Lorean?”

The Face-Makers

Later, perhaps much later, yet more visitors arrived at Oarheim’s gates. Hassan and Yussuf, of distant Kotte. They were greeted with due decorum, and Sultered retainers were swift to offer the two both scented baths and refreshments to wash away the dust of the road. Their escort to Lord Sulter’s quarters was otherwise unremarkable. What happened therein was best left to the discretion of a more detailed chronicler, but Hassan and Yssuf? They were given leeway to work and measure, paint and portray as best they saw fit – and Lord Sulter gave firm instructions that their every need be met.

The Sri Arjuna requested the Leper Lord’s favor? Very well. He should have it.

by **The Grim Reaper** » Fri Jun 24, 2016 4:34 am

The Peasant Village of Kotte
The Sri Arjuna Mausum, of House Mausum

The Response to King Jarnassus & Lord Dorneget

This was a letter that was to be delivered to the Sri Arjuna by the last of his children to be at his side, this year - Akbar, his eldest. Of them all, Akbar was the most capable at the art of managing people, an accomplished conductor and composer. He stood alone; of his siblings, both of whom specialized in the visual arts, and from his poetic father, a master of oration and literature; by failing to stand alone. He'd been asked to intercede on behalf of King Jarnassus, as was seen fitting for the sovereign, rather than having the letter delivered by the hand of a steward.

His father sat at a writing desk, as a raven held on to the window ledge for dear life, being buffeted by the winds that had drawn it from its inland haunt. This early in the morning, it was a wonder the Sri Arjuna could tell the difference between the two.

Akbar stepped lightly to his side, and knelt.

"Father, I intercede for the King."

Akbar recited, ad verbatim, the letter from the King.

"It would be to the benefit of the Kingdom, should we choose to intervene for control of both lands. The cost would be excessive, but I feel confident that we could outbid House Cantabry, who will most likely seek to take possession of the fertile plains that are most familiar to the people of Norden."

The Sri Arjuna considered his son's assertions for a moment.

"That is gold better spent on our people. I have no objections to enriching the King, but to do so would be at the cost of the Kingdom. We would not be able to intervene in the purchase of both lands and remain able to utilize the pair. If House Cantabry can be sated with what is familiar to them, then I shall not seek to place myself above them. House Mausum shall seek only the fiefdom of the coastline."

To King Jarnassus of Norden, and Lord Dorneget of the Golden Acres,
From the Sri Arjuna Mausum of Kotte, Born of the Sea,

I am humbled at His Majesty's faith in the vassalage of House Mausum, that he would offer to permit us bid on the new borderlands. However, whilst House Mausum has been of a miserly disposition, we fear that we cannot both bid on the lands and develop them in reasonable time. We would, therefore, like to propose that House Mausum draw the coastline, and House Cantabry take the plains towards which we assume they are bent. In return, all we ask is the favour of House Cantabry, that we can come to reasonable agreement on the division of the King's lands. Should the King call for any additional tribute in exchange for his Grace, then that too we shall be willing to pay evenly with House Cantabry.

I remain,
The Sri Arjuna Mausum

A Game of Crowns [IC|Closed]

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