A KRONFURST'S TAPESTRY
NORBUREN 1542
As an ooc note, this is simply a creative writing post depicting a few events, enjoy the read!
NORBUREN 1542
The midnight hour draped the young Kronfurt's room in a soft obsidian hue, casting elongated shadows on the walls. From his window, he gazed out onto the sleeping village of Norburen, where scattered lanterns painted the cobblestone streets with a gentle glow. The air outside was crisp and laden with the calm of midnight, the distant murmur of a sleeping town providing a tranquil backdrop as a familiar gaze landed upon it. The Tzyrnowski furs lay gracefully across his bed, beckoning him with a warming allure. Bartosz sat alone in the quiet chambers of Norburen Keep, the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows on the walls adorned with the history of the Tzyrnowski family. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and the distant sounds of the village below.
Gazing out from the balcony, he watched as the people of Norburen went about their daily lives. The bustle and laughter from the village seemed distant, and a gentle breeze carried the whispers of leaves rustling in the courtyard. He slipped into the furs, their touch an embrace from generations past, and as he stood in the quiet solitude of his room, he took one last lingering look at the village below. The lanterns in Norburen flickered like distant stars, illuminating the tapestry of the night.
Excusing himself from his room with the weight of the furs draped over his shoulders, Bartosz ventured into the dimly lit corridors of Norburen Keep. The midnight hour cloaked his solitary journey with an allure. The flickering hearths, the tapestries telling tales of yore, and the rich scent of the furs became his companions on this ethereal pilgrimage through time. The grand hall, adorned with the elaborate Tzyrnowski Livery, unfolded before him like a portal to the past, and he spoke softly to the tapestries, the hearths, and the stones, forging a connection between his present and the storied legacy of the family.
Each step he took became a whisper in the silence of midnight, a conversation with the spirits of those who had once walked these hallowed halls. Each step taken resonated like a rhythmic heartbeat, echoing through the stately passages as the Kronfurst's curtained hair offered him a restricted view. The tapestries on the walls seemed to stir in the hushed atmosphere, their vibrant hues dancing in the muted candlelight. The flickering flames and the rich scent of the furs heightened the otherworldly ambiance, turning the nocturnal sojourn into a sacred pilgrimage through the time taken on his walk.
He mused suddenly, his whispered words escaping into the quiet air, carried away by the subtle crackling of the hearths. The flickering flames seemed to respond, dancing in agreement. Bartosz paused at a particularly ornate tapestry, its threads depicting a heroic ancestor in a timeless battle with an etching spotted just below the banner. 'Your courage lives in the very fabric of our family's tale,' he murmured, his voice a soft cadence that blended seamlessly with the ethereal ambiance. The hearths responded with a gentle crackle once more, as if acknowledging his acknowledgment.
As he approached further into the grand hall adorned with the Tzrynowski Livery, Bartosz looked softly yet with a steely expression, almost as if seeking counsel from the portraits lining the walls, yet whilst he was distracted by the portraits and statues, he was unaware of the Maester that had followed, silently in the shadows of the Tzyrnowski as he caught the young Lord lost in thought and mediation, going to address him thereafter.
The hearth in the hall cast a warm glow on his face, and Bartosz, standing before it, muttered, "The flame that warms me now is the same flame that warmed you in times of uncertainty." The ancestral knights, frozen in their portraits, seemed to nod in acknowledgment.
"What stories do you learn, from you forebears? What trials did you face, and what wisdom did you gain?" The silence absorbed his words and so did the almost confused and surprised Bartosz, whilst the tapestries bore witness to his quiet inquiries. The Maester's gaze, weathered and wise, lingered upon Bartosz, his eyes studying the young Lord's resolute expression. "Confidence is a lantern that guides, but it is wisdom that illuminates the path," he spoke, his words carrying the weight of age-old counsel. "Your journey, Lord Tzyrnowski, is a tapestry not woven in haste but in deliberate strokes. Each thread, each decision, is a brushstroke upon the canvas of your family's legacy. Many have come before you, and it is of hope that many will come after you as well."
Bartosz, still bathed in the warm glow of the hearth, met the Maester's gaze with a nod. "I tread upon a road, paved by those who came before me. Their stories, etched in stone and canvas, echo in the corridors of this hall. But," he paused, a moment of contemplation and thought hanging in the air, "I am bound by the mistakes of the past; I am forged by the lessons they provide."
"Yet mistakes of the past have only moulded this House of yours." The Maester spoke, yet acknowledged the sentiment with a knowing smile, his steps matching the measured pace of Bartosz. "Indeed, my Lord. It is in embracing the tales of triumph and acknowledging the shadows of history that a leader finds true wisdom. Your competence, as you rightly claim, must be a blend of humility and audacity, for the responsibilities you bear are not mere threads but the very fabric that defines the Tzyrnowski name, you are no longer a child, my Lord, but a man. No longer are you able to seek refuge in the warmth of these walls. It is time that you made your debut into the Empire proper. It is time that you announce yourself publically and properly."
As they approached the end of the grand hall, the Maester turned to the Kronfurst. "The road ahead may be fraught with challenges, and the echoes of the past may whisper doubts, but it is in of these halls that you shall find strength." His eyes, reflective yet unwavering, met Bartosz's gaze. "The Tzyrnowski house awaits its next chapter, and you, young Lord, hold the thread to it's tapestry."
With that, Bartosz offered a sincere nod, a silent acknowledgment of the wisdom imparted. As the Maester retreated into the shadows, Bartosz stood at the threshold of the grand hall, his eyes fixed on the journey ahead. The hearth's warm glow framed him, casting a determined silhouette against the ancestral tapestries, looking up towards one in particular before he whispered his words.
"This shall be the beginning of my Tapestry. A Kronfurst's Tapestry."
