>>4123802
“Be ready to act, upon my beck and call. We may have Berserkir on the loose.” Looking up at the spirit, bound here beneath your ancestral home, you speak with utter sincerity, even as you say the name of a legend.

Wolf looks amused, for a giant shadowy spirit, anyway. She snuffs, breathing in the air of the chamber. Can you not defeat him yourself? I remember a brave conqueror, slayer of ten and twenty score.

You grimace. “I am afraid, Wolf, that time has taken that from me. Were I to fight him, I would fail. My bones are old, and my blood has cooled. And I doubt I could do anything more than wound him, going by the legends.”

Hrm. Wolf seems quite put out by this. A pity when a leader such as yourself has to leave the hunt. A snuff, and a large, cold, wet nose brushes against your forehead. You always were my favorite Echzan, you know.

Raising an eyebrow, you smirk beneath your beard. “You had an odd way of showing it, then.”

Pulling back, Wolf looks at you, self-satisfied glint in her eyes. If I didn’t find you pleasant, then I’d have taken your hand. Or your foot. Or your eye. Like your granduncle. With a start, you realize what she’s referring to. The ruler of the Hohenwald before your father, a certain Oleg Ironfist, renowned for his prowess in battle, always wore a locked iron gauntlet, covering his missing hand. He always said that it was lost in battle against Pzyczian cossacks; there was no reason to question this, given his warlike disposition. Until now, that is.

“And pray tell, what did poor granduncle Oleg do to deserve that?” You met him, once, though his mind was addled by age, and you were but a child. He seemed friendly enough, though he had a fierce reputation in war.

Hrmmm. No, I don’t think I shall tell you. Before you can voice your displeasure, Wolf speaks again. It is a long story, and you have your responsibilities, brave Klaus.

Grumpily, you accept this. “Very well, Wolf, I’ll leave you to your silence. I hope you enjoy listening to water drip on rocks for another few years.”

Hrm. I think I shall. Goodbye, Klaus.

Stomping back up the uncut stone steps, muttering about “ill-mannered bitches in their damp cavern,” you leave the spirit’s cave, exiting back into the wine cellar. Pressing the stone button once more, you watch the wall close in on itself, the familiar stonework sliding back into place smoothly. Even after all these years of using it, you still do not understand what magic or artifice would allow for the door to do so; however, you never needed to know its’ inner workings. So you didn’t think about it too long or too hard.
(Cont.)

>>4123805
Grabbing a bottle of wine on your way back up, you force your creaking bones up the stairs to the wine cellar, grimacing with every click and clack of the knees. As you approach your guards, ironclad Volkjaeger saluting you, you see the twins fussing over a bowl, outside of the wine cellar. They hold it between the two of them, and they’re mixing some sort of… powder? Lena holds the pestle, grinding the dust, while Otto holds the bowl with both hands, listing off some gibberish about measurements. Upon noticing you, they rush to your side, ceasing all ministrations to the interior of the wooden basin.

Lena pinches some powder from the bowl, shoving it into your face. “Here father-”

Otto interjects. “We thought that we could help you, based on what we knew of the sympt-”

“Take it, father!”

Looking at your dark-haired progeny, you sigh. They stare at you expectantly, so, you inhale the dust, wincing at the sting. “Well.” You grunt as a tingling feeling overtakes your extremities. “At least your lessons with the physician weren’t wasted. What did you two give me?”

Otto grins, triumphant, and excited to explain his creation. “Well, we thought that since, well, you’re aged-” He stammers, trailing off as you raise an eyebrow, Lena elbowing him.

“We thought that your ånd might not have the proper circulation, and that this might have caused your collapse earlier, so we prepared-”

Somewhat annoyed that his explanation was interrupted, Otto interjects again. “A stimulant, to prevent more collapses in the future.” The twins glare at each other briefly, but they can’t stay angry, and eventually grin hopelessly, chuckling.

Smiling, you shake your head. “You’re hopeless, the both of you.” Walking forward, you motion for the twins to walk alongside, handing off your wine bottle to Lena, crossing your hands behind your back. You head towards the royal quarter of the castle silently, listening to the conversation that your two children hold around you contentedly. Something about the medicine that they just gave you. You don’t know the particulars, but they certainly are lively over it.

Enjoying their company, you decide on where to go.

>Your cabinet. Hellman is waiting, and besides, you brought more wine for a reason.
>The North Tower. You wish to know where your youngest son, Wilhelm is. You haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since you collapsed.
>The Druid’s Copse, and the Godhall. You need to consult the priests in detail, learn the legends of the berserkir. Perhaps they’ll know how to detect one.
>The Royal Vault. You have a feeling that you might be needing your famed regalia soon.
>Write-in.

>>4123807
>The Royal Vault. You have a feeling that you might be needing your famed regalia soon.

>>4123814
Calling the vote! Writing the update now.

>>4123807
The Royal Vault. You have a feeling that you might be needing your famed regalia, the Wolfshead, soon. It has inspired entire armies to rout, and retreating allies to rally. The herald of your presence on the battlefield is enough to change the course of a skirmish, or hell, even a war. You did that, once. In the forests of Hohenwald, back when the rebellion was just getting its footing, your forces singlehandedly defeated three times the number of loyalist troops. And it was your helm that did it. Well, not JUST your helm. Fighting at the vanguard yourself did most of the work. But to hear the young bucks in the court say it, the Wolfshead came alive, and let out a mighty snarl, sending the loyalists into a rout.

Chuckling, you shake your head, lost in thought. Were it so fantastical. Your children look at you quizzically, and you realize with a start that your thoughts have gone a-wandering again. Waving them off, you say, “Come, let us head to the Vault. I have several objects to retrieve.”

The twins look at each other, sharing a long look, but eventually, Lena says, “Of course, Father.”

Why do they look so surprised? Don’t they know of the situation? Wait- of course they don’t. They’ve been busy working on that powder that they foisted upon you. “We have a situation, Otto, Lena.” They look at you curiously. “Someone tried to frame Albrecht for conspiracy. And they wore woad paint.” This fact is not lost on the twins, and you can practically see the wheels turn within their minds. “Until proven otherwise, we assume he is either a foreign Druid, or Berserkir.”

Almost immediately, the two practically explode with questions. “What? Albrecht? What happened?” “What did they do?” “How did you come across the description of the culprit?” “Is Albrecht alright?” They continue to babble on, as you head to the Royal Vault, and you answer their questions calmly and evenly, to the best of your ability. Stonewalling information never worked on the Twins, they would just pester you until you either caved, or sent them to their rooms.

By the time you reach the Vault, which is a locked steel door, flanked on either side by a squad of Volkjaeger, you have (mostly) sated their curiosity, and they have calmed down (marginally), quickly whispering back and forth, in the way that twins do, where a simple look can communicate a thousand words. Glad for the respite, you order the guards to open the vault, and you step inside, servants lighting several torches inside the room.

Upon a pedestal in the center of the chamber, chained to the stone, it sits. Like an old friend, the wolf’s maw snarls at you, and the polished steel glimmers in the torchlight. Slowly walking to your helm, you stand up straighter, remembering all the years afield you spent. Yes. This feels right. Rubbing your hands over the burnished steel, you take a deep breath.

“Unlock it.”

(Cont.)

>>4124023
A servant scrambles over, bowing and scraping before you, producing a key from within his robes. Unlocking the chain which held the helm bound to the pedestal, the servant removes the metal links from the Wolfshead, freeing it. Grasping it in both hands, you grin, though the helmet feels heavier than it used to. You think about wearing it, of course, but now is not the time. It is a helm for battle, not casual wear.

Holding the helm in both hands, you exit the vault, and though the servants, your guards, and even your children offer to carry it, you refuse them all. This helm… It’s something only you should bear. With how bloodstained the Wolfsheads’ fangs are, you cannot pass this burden to another.

You carry it all the way to your Cabinet, flanked by the twins, and you draw stares. From servants, Volkjaeger, the odd noble, everyone. Everyone sees the helm, and realizes its meaning. Even if you might not need to fight yourself, in the walls of Castle Hohenwald, you are declaring war upon this stranger, who seeks to subvert your hard-won peace.

Leaving your children and guards outside, you set the Wolfshead on your desk, grabbing your wine from Lena before they head off into the castle, likely to discuss what they heard with their brothers, or with one of their many sisters. Hellman is already seated, leaning forward in his chair, drumming his fingers on the arm rests, with a severe look upon his face.

Setting your wine bottle down, next to the Wolfshead, you take a seat across from Hell, leaning back in your chair, completely calm.

“Is something on your mind, friend?” Your voice breaks the silence, prompting Hell to lean back himself.

“Many things are on my mind, Klaus, but one thought in particular overtakes my thoughts, as of late.” He motions to the helm. “So it’s war, then?”

You consider how to answer him, as the late afternoon sun shines brightly through your window, almost the orange of evening.

>”Against spies and traitors? Always, Hellman, always.”
>”It pains me to consider this possibility as well, Hell. We fought for this peace.”
>”Not if we can catch the culprit. Politics in the court of the Realm is war enough without treason.”
>”Berserkir are heralds of great strife, Hel, we can’t avoid it forever.”
>Write-in.

>>4124026
>”Not if we can catch the culprit. Politics in the court of the Realm is war enough without treason.”

>>4124026
>”Not if we can catch the culprit. Politics in the court of the Realm is war enough without treason.”

>>4124026
>”Against spies and traitors? Always, Hellman, always.”
Always kill a traitor before an enemy, Jimbo

>>4124026
>”Berserkir are heralds of great strife, Hel, we can’t avoid it forever.”

>>4124038
>>4124045
Calling the vote for
>”Not if we can catch the culprit. Politics in the court of the Realm is war enough without treason.”

Writing! (I'm exhausted, so I'm going to take a nap. When I get back, I'll continue. Probably some time later tonight (EST), unless I oversleep.)

>>4124026
You sigh, uncorking your wine bottle, pouring your glass, and offering one to Hellman, which he accepts. “Not if we can catch the culprit. Politics in the court of the Realm is war enough without treason.” All that politicking and maneuvering on everyone else's part to get close to your family, and suck up to you, it’s exhausting. The battle lines of high society are constantly drawn and redrawn, as charges are ever-lead by promising young men and women into social grandeur or suicide.

Hellman seems to understand, though, that war, even when you do your best to avoid it, is not always avoidable. Hell would understand this more than most, he’s been with you since the very beginning, when the assassins from your older brother made their play. You were on the same fateful hunting trip, after all.

Running a hand through his hair, he sighs, slumping back in his chair, sipping modestly from the glass. “I’ll have to ready my spies.” He looks off into space, looking older than you’ve ever seen him. “I assume that Johann is already investigating with Albrecht?”

You nod. “We need but wait for them to uncover the plot, I’m sure of it.” Grimacing, Hellman accedes to your assertion, but you still see doubt in his eyes. “Worry not. The Volkjaeger are alerted, my best are working on finding the culprit, and we are in the castle that never fell but once, to me.” You see that he’s still worried, but you don’t blame him for that. Instead, you turn the conversation to better, brighter topics, hoping to ease his mind. It works, somewhat, and he leaves your cabinet later that evening with a wry smile and ruddy face, warmed by the wine.

You sit in your study for a bit longer, watching the twilight sky turn black, and when you eventually do head back to your quarters, you do so under torchlit corridors, shadows long and flickering around you. When you reach your rooms, you see your eldest son waiting outside the door, flanked by guards. Raising an eyebrow, you walk forward, approaching him.

“Son? Are you not with your wife and child this eve?” He shakes his head, opening the door to your rooms, waiting for you to enter. Motioning for the guards to wait outside, you go inside the bedchamber with your eldest, looking at him expectantly.

In a low, serious voice, he says, “I wish your council, Father.” He’s normally a stoic, serious man, of course, but you know him, and you can feel the weight upon his shoulders. Sitting on the edge of your bed, you wait patiently for him to continue. He takes a deep breath, frowning. Whatever it is, it weighs upon him deeply.
(Cont.)

>>4124877

“I am considering sending my family to Flächland, with Duke Liebrecht.” Surprised, you nod, but don’t say anything, letting him continue. “If the rumors are true, and we do have a Berserkir about…” He grimaces. “I would rather they be far away from here. And even if they are but mortal spies, I do not wish for Adelaide nor little Gebhard to come to harm in any way.” He falls silent, looking at you expectantly.

>Send them away. They’ll be safer in Flächland.
>Keep them here. Castle Hohenwald is impregnable
>Send them to the Raven Keep, in Southern Hohenwald. It’s isolated, but still closer than Flächland.

Fuck the character limit, btw.

>>4124885
>Send them to the Raven Keep, in Southern Hohenwald. It’s isolated, but still closer than Flächland.

>>4124885
Fuck the character limit straight to hell.

>Send them away. They’ll be safer in Flächland.

Unless their travel is highly likely to be comprised, with or without guard. In which case, send them to Raven Keep.

>>4124885
>Your family; your problem.
but for real
>Send them to the Raven Keep, in Southern Hohenwald. It’s isolated, but still closer than Flächland.

>>4124899
>Supportened

>>4124885
>Send them away. They’ll be safer in Flächland.

>>4124899
>>4124903
>>4124922
>Send them away. They’ll be safer in Flächland.
>Unless the road seems too dangerous. Send them to Raven Keep in that eventuality.

Writing!

>>4124943
I've been entertaining family all day, there'll be a post this evening!

>>4125989
Hmmm it's definitely past evening...

>>4130756
Yeah, sorry about that. Got caught up in shit over the weekend. There *should* be a post tonight, though you know by now that my scheduling promises come with a no cash back policy.

>>4124885
“This is all up to you, my son, but…” You consider your options. Castle Hohenwald is the greatest fortress of the time, but currently you have a bit of a rat problem. Flachland is far enough away to guarantee their safety, but the roads could be dangerous, what with the current circumstances. There is another option, however.

Raven Keep, the fortress at the southern border of Hohenwald. It has stood over the lonely valleys of the south for generations, almost as old as Castle Hohenwald itself, and has been the mustering point for several southerly expeditions, during the rebellion of your youth. Not many people currently reside within, of course, but it has guards, and it is isolated.

“I believe that sending them off to Flachland with the Duke is the best option, for the time being. They’ll still be surrounded by family there, after all.” You raise a finger. “However. Should you believe the roads to be too unsafe for them, send them down the hidden paths, to the Raven Keep.”

Klaus, your son, absorbs this, thinking intently. After a long pause of him staring at the ground, weighing his options, he looks back up at you, resolved. “I see.” He clenches his fist, obviously distressed at the thought of sending his family away. “I shall see them off with the Duke Liebrecht, then. With orders to head to the Raven Keep if there are any troubles on the road.” He bows. “Thank you, Father. I’ll make the arrangements immediately.” Klaus exits the room, pausing before he leaves. “Have a good night.”

Sighing, you rub your face, suddenly tired. Why must everything risk falling apart now? Why could it not have come years ago, when you were young, and on the warpath? And when you only had two children to worry about, instead of a score? The gods felt the need to test you one last time, it seems. One final grand trial, before your journey into the land beyond life.

You undress down to your tunic and trousers, and prepare for sleep, placing your iron crown in a case within your wardrobe. Lying back upon your bed, you stare up at the ceiling, listening to the sound of your own breathing. Soon enough, sleep takes you, engulfing your weary body.

That night, you dream of fire.
(Cont.)

>>4136180

You are but a spark on the wind, until you touch upon a head of grain, catching the field alight in but a moment. You grow big, bigger, biggest, until you engulf the entire farm in yourself. From there, you roar through the fields to the nearby village, tearing down their thatch-roofed huts with impunity, devouring those within. As their fat sizzles, you turn your gaze up the mountain, to see the stone castle atop it. You burn blue with rage as you assault the firm stonework from every direction, and they rebuff you. Eventually, though, you find a crack. A single tree, left in the courtyard. You leap over the wall, sparks flying through the air, and you burn the tree to the ground, catching the nearby defenders alight. With that, the castle crumbles, tumbling down the mountain.

Waking up with a start, you find yourself sweating, though the cool breeze that blows in through the window is almost chilling. Wiping a hand across your brow, you sit up in bed, pondering your dream. It could be a vision, yes, but immediately thinking such is for Druids and superstitious peasants. You swing your legs over the side of your bed, getting dressed. It’s most likely just the recent concerns getting to you. Unless… no. The gods have better things to do than send a single king a vision, after they already imparted their wisdom upon him.

Dressed and ready for the day, you exit your room, greeting the two guards nearby. You have several options for the day, before you hold court for petitioners at noon.

(Pick two.)
>Check in on Albrecht and Johann’s investigation. They wouldn’t have found anything yet, of course, but you want to keep informed as to their possible leads.
>Do some sleuthing yourself. You want to see if you can find any clues yourself, without interfering with their work.
>Break fast, and see Hellman and your grandchildren off.
>Perform exercises, to try and regain some of that old energy you used to have. You have a feeling that you might need to, soon.
>Write-in.

Sorry for the delay! I'm a slow piece of shit, I know.

>>4136183
>Do some sleuthing yourself. You want to see if you can find any clues yourself, without interfering with their work.
>Break fast, and see Hellman and your grandchildren off

>>4136183
>Write-in.
Meet another of our children, maybe one of our daughters.

>>4136192
Support

>>4136183
>Break fast, and see Hellman and your grandchildren off
And
>>4136192

>>4136191
>>4136192
>>4136202
>>4136209

>Break fast, and see Hellman and your grandchildren off
>Meet another of our children, maybe one of our daughters.

Writing!

>>4136183
You shall eat, and then, you shall see your family. Your daughter in law and grandchild first, and perhaps later, one of your daughters. Maybe Katarina, you haven’t seen her in a while.You do wonder how your youngest (and hopefully last, you don’t know if you can make another,) child is doing. Perhaps she’s getting into trouble again for climbing the inner wall, or the Druids’ Copse. For such a quiet child, she likes to act like such a squirrel sometimes. perhaps later, another one of your daughters. Maybe Katarina, you haven’t seen her in a while.

Moving to a small, private dining hall, you seat yourself at the old, but still regal table, and are presented with venison, bread, and beer. After all these years, the cooks have finally learned what you like in the morning. There was a time when you used to get nothing but cheese and veal, until they actually asked you what you would like. It was after… ah, yes, after you had accepted Mila as your last Royal Consort, all those years ago. The head cook had asked what you wanted for breakfast the morning after, and you had surprised him with your wishes. Probably because he was some poncy kipfel muncher who expected all nobles to eat like Isarians. Their Black-and-Gold Palace wasn’t anything special, anyways, it was just a useless show of wealth, when they could have spent it on their armies.

You have your meal alone, except for your guards who flank you at all times. They change out during the day, they have bodily needs as well, after all, and there are about six of them in total, but you are never truly alone. It’s surprisngly nice, the feeling of security you have. The knowledge that if you were unable to handle anything yourself, you have two iron-clad champions to handle it for you. Finishing your meal, you thank the nearby servants for the meal, and head out to your eldest son’s quarters in the Moon Hall, where the family of the King, from heirs to Consorts, resides.

You find the hall to be abuzz with footmen and handmaidens, carrying several trunks and bags out of Klaus’s shared suites with his family. Adelaide is directing the handmaidens in carrying their garments and lighter possessions, while Klaus leads the footmen in carrying the heavy trunks. Gebhard is there too, play-fighting with a wooden toy sword against some invisible foe, bandits, perhaps. He’s of that age, after all. He’s the first to see you, and he tosses his sword to the ground with a clatter and a cry of delight. “Grandfather!” He rushes to you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

Chuckling, you pat his head, and look down at the lad. You haven’t had as much time with him recently, but he’s always glad to see you regardless. Adelaide approaches as well, kissing you on the cheek, smiling. “Hello, father. As you can see-” She motions to the work. “We’re about done here.”
(Cont.)

>>4145224

You raise an eyebrow. “You don’t find it a bother, to go all the way to Flächland on such a short notice?”

Adelaide laughs, clapping. “No, no, not at all! It’ll be wonderful, to see my old home again! And to spend time with the family, it’d be like a holiday!” She seems to be taking this surprisingly well, and it makes you smile. You really did well by choosing her for Klaus. Even if it were a political move, they seem to truly be in love. Or at least, good friends.

You speak with them for a time through the early morning, following them to the Inner Courtyard of the castle, chatting about everything, yet nothing much at all. From the weather, to the items that they’re taking with them to Flächland, you fill the morning with pleasant, happy noise. You almost wholly forget what they’re leaving Castle Hohenwald for, until you see one of Johann’s Ravens consulting with a Volkjaeger captain nearby. But by then, you have reached the carriages that make up the wagon train headed to Flächland, and surrounded by what will soon be their armed escort.

Waving to Hellman, who sits in the lead wagon, you send Adelaide and little Gebhard off, Klaus by your side, staring at his departing wife and child stoically, simply giving them a simple wave. It is not until they leave that Klaus lets any of his true feelings on the matter escape the facade, with a long, heavy sigh. You place a heavy hand on his shoulder, nodding in solidarity. “It’s hard to see them go, no?”

Your son accepts the contact, but eventually, you pull away, and begin to walk to your next destination, back into the Moon Hall. When you’re but two steps away, he says, “It is. I think I understand how you felt, when you sent me away, during the rebellion, now.” You have no response to that beyond a simple nod, and it seems that he doesn’t expect one, walking off to take care of some courtly duties.

Now. Off to visiting Katarina. To bring some light into your life, you need it. Heading towards her rooms, you find yourself confounded. Though unlocked, the suite is empty, and several books of etiquette are left on the floor, tossed about, open to certain pages that, upon inspection, all share a common subject. It would seem that your youngest child is neglecting her lessons. You sigh. The finest tutors from Isaria, and this is what you get as thanks? You chuckle. You weren’t much better, though you had to settle with the local sages and Druids, for your education.

Well this is certainly a quandary. You know several places that your youngest child likes to go when she is slacking from her lessons, but you can’t waste your entire morning looking for her; you’d only be able to look in one of those places.
(Voting in next post.)

>>4145225

Where do you look?
>The Inner Wall, where it connects to the back of the Moon Hall. She couldn’t have gotten far.
>The Druids Copse. She likes climbing the trees there, much to the chagrin of your holy men.
>You don’t, actually, you don’t have time to look for her. Have her servants look for her.
>Order a manhunt. Leave no stone unturned. Something happened.

>>4145228
>>The Druids Copse. She likes climbing the trees there, much to the chagrin of your holy men.

>>4145228
>The Druids Copse. She likes climbing the trees there, much to the chagrin of your holy men.

>>4145228
Order a manhunt

>>4145228
>The Druids Copse. She likes climbing the trees there, much to the chagrin of your holy men.

>>4145267
>>4145292
>>4145447
>The Druids Copse. She likes climbing the trees there, much to the chagrin of your holy men.
Writing!

>>4145225
Scratching your chin, you snap your fingers. The Druids Copse. She likes climbing the trees there, much to the chagrin of your holy men. The head Druid, one… huh. You forgot his name. He’s young and wiry, with longer, ink-black hair… Hrm. This is an issue. Fortunately, you do not need to remember his name to order him around, but this is incredibly embarrassing. Time, the harlot, has stolen away your youth.

Heading there, you find yet more and more signs of Albrecht and Johann’s investigation, with Ravens (oddly not attempting concealment, though, if they were hidden among the servants, you wouldn’t know,) and several bright-eyed nobles, as they laze about speaking of trifling matters in the gardens of the court, keep a sharp eye out, even staring at your royal presence curiously.

Disregarding the passive attention, you enter the ring of trees near the Godshall that forms the Copse, and a short, fat little Druid runs up to you, bowing and scraping. “Greetings, my lord, how might I assist you?”

You nod to him politely. You always respected the position that holy men held, even if you dislike the Druids’ tendency to hide behind their title. “I am looking for my youngest child.” The Druid fidgets. “Katarina.”


He begins to scowl, but quickly remembers whose presence he is in. “Ah yes… her.” He forcibly twists his jowled face into something resembling a neutral expression. “I am afraid that she is sitting in our shrine to Korill.” He points to a tall oak, decorated with animal (and a few human) bones, suspended from each branch by sinew and rope. Its bark, closer to the ground, is painted red, with an icon of the God of Glorious War carved into the trunk. It takes you a few moments, but you can pick out your youngest child in the upper branches, eating something, while pelting your priests with beechnuts, presumably gathered from the next tree over, the shrine to Korill.

You march on over to the shrine-tree, and look up into the upper branches, the fat Druid following you closely, while trying not to seem too excited by the prospect of you removing your child from his tree. Katarina doesn’t seem to notice you at first, and a beechnut plops onto your broad shoulder, spiky exterior catching onto the cloth of your doublet easily. Amused, you pluck it out, and throw it back at her, calling out her name. “Katarina. Don’t you have anything better to do than bother my priests?”
(Cont.)

>>4157145

She starts from her reverie, almost falling off her branch. “Father!” Immediately, she jumps down from branch to branch, clambering down like a squirrel avoiding a hawk. Hanging from the lowest branch, she drops onto the ground before you, hugging you. Ruffling her hair, you smile fondly. Ah, there was one benefit to having so many Royal Consorts, and it wasn’t the process of making all the heirs. The innocence of youth within your child, this late in your life was… heartening. Makes your old bones less creaky.

“I wished to see you before I held court, but your room was empty, and your lessons sadly neglected.” You give her a stern (but not too stern) look, and she practically wilts under the attention. Bopping her on the head, you say, “When I hold court, I want you to finish your studying. No reason to put it off.” Katarina, for her part, seems suitably chagrined, and you smile. “Now, I didn’t come here just to lecture you, Katarina. I did just want to see you again, to check up on my little girl.”

It is with a lighter mood that you spend the morning with her, whiling away the hours until you hold court, telling her stories while you walk about the Royal Gardens. It’s pleasant, and makes you forget about your duties. That is, of course, until a servant comes up to you, informing you about the time. Sighing, you part ways with your daughter, instructing her to finish her studies.

Heading into the throne room, you climb the stairs to your royal seat, and, settling in for the day, you sigh, saying, “Let us begin. Send in the petitioners.” Slamming the butt of their long-handled axes on the ground, the Volkjaeger at the door to the throne room open the large oak portal open with a creak. The herald speaks, and you begin.

Most of the petitioners are just local nobility or non noble land-holders asking for arbitration; though there is one case where a serf came before you for restitution, after a grievance with his lord. Quite brave, that man, leaving his lands quite possibly against his lord’s law. Though you didn’t judge in his favor, (the lord being well within his rights,) you also prevented the lord from seeking retribution upon him or his family by elevating him to yeoman, now technically a freeholder in your service, but within the lord’s lands. You didn’t want to punish him for seeking out his own justice. You did the same in the rebellion, after all.

(Cont.)

>>4157151
It is almost Fifth Notch, by the sundial, with just an hour left until Midday, and you are almost finished with the petitioners, when an odd one approaches your throne. An old man, older than even you, by the looks of it, hobbles towards your throne, clutching a gnarled staff with even more gnarled hands. Wrapped in a green cloak, with a hood that covers his head, he bows to the best of his ability before you, removing his hood in respect. It appears he is blind, milky white eyes staring up at you. Intrigued, you scratch your beard, saying, “And who might you be, honored elder?”

“Greetings, good king. I come bearing a message.” He walks towards the base of the stairs to your throne, and stops when a Volkjaeger interposes himself. In lieu of getting closer, he points his staff at you, arm shaking from the effort. “The winds of strife are descending upon you, and-” Something is wrong. You don’t know what,[/i\] precisely, but something about this man is not right. “I am their herald.” The air in the room is suddenly still, and the tension is practically palpable, at least to you.

>Roll 3d20, I’ll take the best set out of 3.

FUCK THE CHARACTER LIMIT ASKGHGFGHSFH

Rolled 6, 12, 8 = 26 (3d20)

>>4157154
Here comes the 20s

Rolled 18, 10, 9 = 37 (3d20)

>>4157154

Here we go

Rolled 14, 3, 14 = 31 (3d20)

>>4157154

>>4157165
>>4157172
>>4157174
>18, 12, 14

Writing!