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SPRING CLEANING PT II Two announcements from House Godunov. Published 3 of Joma ag Umund, 525 E.S. Following my elevation to Baroness of Verskaya, I find it necessary to cleanse my house of sin. This comes at a great cost to my own heart, but it must nevertheless be done, if House Godunov is to persist. Therefore, I see fit to declare my brother Anatoliy, his wife, and their entire lineage disowned, in keeping with the Edict of Cleansing. None of them, in life or in death, may ever again claim the Godunov name. I will only make an exception to this should his children choose to return to Haense, and renew their devotion to their homeland within the next two years [Apr. 29], as directed by the Haeseni Crown. If any or all of the Betrayer’s children elect to return home, they will be under my protection and guardianship, and I will raise them as if they were my own. Nevertheless, they will be the descendants of a betrayer and a heretic, and thus can not be trusted to inherit the Barony. The prodigal children will be secondary members of the family, with no claim on the title. Furthermore, I must also trim away the disease from other branches of my family tree. My uncle Valerian, his wife Eadwynn, and their descendants are all similarly disowned, due to their abandonment of their homeland. None of them may claim the Godunov name ever again. Thus the inheritance of Verskaya falls on my shoulders, and on those of my children. I will state my intentions clearly here: I have seen the flaws of primogeniture. I know them firsthand, as does Haense. The eldest child will not always be the fittest to lead. Therefore, I will state clearly that at the time of my death or abdication, I will personally select my heir from the whole of my children, based on worthiness, not birth order. Know that this news of disownment comes from a heart heavy with loss, but I find it nevertheless necessary to cleanse a wound before it infects the body whole. Krusae Zwy Kongzem.

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A certain very tall man with a fur hat, puts the missive down - his hand going to the silver necklace around his neck. "Auwn noble is leaving ve Commonwealth - perhaps a chance va restore ve House i Volkov honor like it was before vyr death, mamej?" he ponders for a moment, "Ludr another war is beginning va cast it's shadow..." Sir Pym Volkov clasps his hands & offers a prayer: "Brightna ve aela, darkna ve teny novd asere kursain, zlamanyed ag pobytyed!"

Laerdya peers over these lines as she read the missive brought to her and came into a bout of laughter "If one considers a civilization thriving and in prosperity after single handily spilt the 'Aheral race in half, and having the entire world turn against him outside the Uruks, then ti, Haelun'or certainly thrived and prospered under his tenure." She'd begin to make plans for Celia'nor to be ready for an influx of those seeking refuge from the 'great' minded Braxus Ni'leya as he'll likely drive Haelun'or into the ground once more as he did many years ago should he somehow manage to acquire even a mote of power. Though a shiver runs down his spine for all the larian of Haelun'or, as she recalls the degenerative behavior of those closest to Braxus. "I'm curious, will he be stupid enough to have Mali'ker children in caves again as slaves."

Princess Adalfriede pored over the fine work of Frederica and Juliya, a rare, soft smile on her lips. So many relics in their Princely House, with no doubt more to follow in the prosperous years ahead. "Rest with GOTT, Duchess. In your work, you are immortal."

"Another instance of Petra being rid of troublesome vassals, only it is Balian this time who take the dregs of Canondom." Brother Ninnias concludes

Solace, formerly known as Gredge in the life of his voidal-mage era, wandered the streets of Lurin as he finished preparing his new house to be a business. In the times of what he called his new life he rarely had flashbacks of what once was, but when they came, it was impossible to escape. He was never sure when or where they'd attack him, but his past always haunted him and 'pon seeing a poster, or hearing the name spoken, Sarrion wracked his mind. In the days of Axios when the Enchantry still flew high above and its access, limited only by a small portal-door, was novel, Solace was but a young aspiring mage. With only the dead art of telekinesis under his belt, Sarrion opened the doors to the novice and gave him one of many stepping stones to cementing his reality as it currently was. Even in the times now when Solace despised the void, he knew deep down that the material realm had once more lost one of the most genuine voidal-magi known to exist. "While in this life I may have made you my enemy, the past that still follows makes me feel as though I am sorry to see you go. I will see you in the afterlife- and perhaps we can once again chat about what it means to be a mage." After the brief and mind-numbing experience, Solace moved along, the memories fading from him once more. Dael'ran, Former Ascended and less-than-current Voidal mage, stood on the outreaches of a distant land. Perhaps months, or years, in the future from when Sarrion actually passed, he'd get word of the Descendants land in a small note. Somewhere amongst the news he'd hear of his passing, anguish flooding the ancient mans face. "One day- when the void eats us all- it won't have mattered, but I am sorry to say I never gave a farewell to you. A guide to us all, truly one of the few people I'd consider to have truly taken on the namesake of Sorcerer, Mage, and Scholar. Aos and Eos will not be the same without your guiding hand."

I love you like my estranged son-brother and I am very genuinely glad to hear you doing well all around, I entirely agree with your view and am on the same page. LOTC, love it or hate it, helped me grow in ways I never realized until I got older, ranging from being incredibly literate to social skills. I am really happy to see another person articulate the good that can come from this community, in a time when there is a lot of bad. It is all a matter of perspective and genuinely, wholeheartedly, good job dude. Hope to keep in contact with you for years to come!

Given names: Juliya Barclay Age: 9 Citizenship: Reinmar Relevant skills (if applicable): <3 Letter of Recommendation: Svetlana var Ruthern ((OOC: Discord)): annabanana1014

Current Pie Size: 10,368 berries and counting. Donations of berries are welcome at the Mega-Pie construction site in Babblebrook Village near Dunwen.

"MAMEJ." Maria Vilac shouted out as she barged into her mother's office, missive waving wildly in one hand. "There's MORE EVIL PEOPLE. SOMEHOW." The girl complained with all her pent up teenage dramatics, while beginning to gesture to a certain scarecrow and start rambling. "Ea bet it's all connected. It's a conspiracy at this point! Maybe it even goes back tae Mar!" @_yink_

I just wanna say this out of character...... this is so detailed. You did an amazing job on it!!!

The darkness overtakes this person, perhaps a serpent should take refuge in a den where no one will ever see them again. One could just see, one just saw colors of the world, and now there is only emptiness in their visage. But for how long? Freya had been in this state of darkness for some time over an elven week now. The only thing she could remember seeing was the argument she had with her mal’onn, August. Being of ancestral birth in the Athri’onn faith Freya whispered small prayers to her ancestors, those Matriarchs and Patriarchs that had come before her, “Ancestors, why have you taken my sight, why have you deemed me unfit now to lead this family and see to the growth of my kin. When you chose me over the rest of my kin to lead?” The Athri’onn continued through the days, only going out of her home when needed within court meetings of Celia’nor, simply when asked. “A public figure, So much I have yet accomplished, please. . .” She pleaded prayers and other uncertain phrases to herself every day and cried herself to sleep with these every night. The insanity this ‘curse’ has brought to her is something one might never be able to work past, would it be better for her to be like her mother and dive deeper into her arts to the point it drives her even more mad? This disease was given by the ancestors through a speaker of their stories, a family elder. How could she have upset them this much? “I only wish to fix the things I have broken, I only wish to please you. Please I beg of you for the sight back for this curse is too much to handle.” Her mind continued to wonder with these thoughts. . . ((VISION DEPENDING ON ACCEPTANCE OF FA)) Finally, Freya fell asleep after hours or even days, in this moment she felt in a place of peace to sleep. During her slumber she began to toss and turn, terrible vision would plague her- a serpent dead; pierced by a gem on an emerald crown. Soon after a static-like image was given to her before another image- a serpent wrapping around a grimoire, then a flash of energy, a voice. . . Something she felt she recognized, “Mother of Serpents. . . Look at us.” The flash of energy dimmed as all was in her head now, and she began to wake - looking around a room that seemed to be a dimly lit library with a floating book that held an olive-hued aura emitting from it. There were figures on the second floor of the library but she couldn’t see who they were. “Freya. . . We have heard your call. And have accepted you have learned from the lack of effort you have put into our kin.” The voice echoed through the halls of the library. As Freya looked back down at the book she realized a figure with blonde hair standing next to you, though one could not see the face of said being, it was simply darkness. The figure spoke, “Young lari. Daughter. It is time you claim what is truly yours.” This voice boomed through the halls louder than all who spoke previously, it then waved its hand and a gust of wind knocked Freya to her back. She had truly woke from her visions now, with whispers of, “The Cloth” - clear directions for the lari.

"Allez! Allez Bastille!" terse, languid breaths parted trembling, sun-touched lips, devoid of aught but the faintest semblance of restraint, as the white-maned Palfrey heeded his mistress' call, it's hind legs wrest, in but an ephemeral moment, tightly wound in time; hooves firmly planted unto the veld of the far Solland plains, as the latent momentum bid the young maiden astride her white-maned steed over the fencing of the Sollish farmstead. Digits would unlace from the excess of it's reins, posture wrest firmly aback, and heels bid firmly unto her dearest steed's fore, as it's hefted footfalls wrest unto the downward bank, obverse to the fencing; "On l’a fait Bastille, on l’a fait!" The Palfrey's gate would slow to a foreshortened halt, as the young woman's digits wrest gently laced unto the Palfrey's mane, showering with the deepest praise & love as she looked out unto the ensuing sunset. "Lets make for home, deserves the grandest of treats."

On the beaches of Aveos - A VERY short, hook-handed man sunbathes in his undergarments & a round metal helmet with a smile and a red clown nose on. He digs through his assortment of random thing's he's brought with him - til he finds one of the cigars his frenemy gave him so long ago. "This' for vy, Tall man." he muses quietly, before snapping his fingers - lighting the cigar. Puffing more clouds to the 7 skies, for his old brother-in-arms to rest.

This guy gets it, chat

ON THE OFFICE OF LEGATE The office of the Amiratus 13th, of Peter’s Glory of 105 B.A Following the resignation of His Excellency John Gailbraith, the esteemed Baron of Castanova, the office of the Legate once again finds itself vacant, in need of a capable leader to guide our diplomatic endeavours. In light of this, under the Marsana Administration and by the gracious decree of the Crown, an opportunity arises for the esteemed citizens of Balian to apply for the esteemed position of Legate within the Royal Duana. To apply, send a letter to the Amiratus Kristoffer var Ruthern. You must meet the following requirements: -Must be eighteen Summers old. -Must be a Balian citizen. -Must have diplomatic prowess. IN NOMINE DEI, Her Royal Majesty, Sybille I, by the Grace of GOD, Queen of Balian, Princess of Providence, Duchess of Helena, Reutov, Sunholdt and Lorraine, Countess of Pompourelia and Kositz, Viscountess of Eflen and Anatis, Baroness of Renzfeld, Brucca, Valens, Malenos, Montcoure and Ciavola, Lady of Portoregne, Atrus and Monterosa, Warden of La Costa Rubinissima, Protector of the Heartlanders and the South, etcetera. Kristoff var Ruthern, Amiratus of Balian

The Irongrinders are in your walls. Readeh for the Runesesh laddeh?

Seeing one of the parchments drift by from the roads of the sands, Gummy would catch the scrap from the wind. It would take a moment to skim over its contents, but would proceed to recycle it to carry her bundle of Diddyfunkle more securely than before as she traveled on her route once more. "Thank Krug for gift, very uzeful for herbz." The small goblin would chitter to herself, content with the chanced opportunity to find such an unlikely moment on her own time. She would simply look up to the sky above with a smile as she suspected the gods to have blessed this day.

Milo takes a swig of the Euler Max "Ayo Holmes this stuff goes hard, perfect for the strong people of Adria"

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At night sometimes near the tavern, one may witness a brown haired man throwing his bottled brew to the skies with a smile, alas, the delivery must arrive.

What am I doing here? Something to do with the Lightbringer, she reckoned. Or maybe the Living Waters. Or perhaps the Glowing Lorraine. She was certainly a long way from the Ruthern fort, so that couldn’t be it, and she was miles and miles away from the Living Waters, so that wasn’t it either. Lightbringer, then. And she recalled a painful memory, spoken with many voices. Innocents? My dear… If they were innocent, that death would be freeing… The Pontiff teaches you sin is SIN, because if you lived by your nature, you would turn on the False Kings, and rule the land as it should be. I do not doubt, I have ne- She banished it as soon as it came. It was a very difficult memory, a difficult thought, with difficult implications, implications that she had no trust in - they were too fantastical. But her mind was full of difficult thoughts. The Pontiff had sinned, she thought; he’d rejected the word of the GOD that she had ascertained from the Living Waters and dismissed divine revelation as ‘fancy words’ and ‘glitter’. She could never forgive him, and she knew she never would, but how… How could it be that the Vicar of the GOD did not know His word when it came? The Pontiff teaches you sin is SIN, because if you lived by your nature, you would turn on the False Kings.. It was a metaphor of some sort, but Serwa didn’t have the energy to unpick it - she wanted shelter, and a nearby cave in the side of the snowy mountains soon presented itself. She started a fire, rolled out her travel-mattress, and lay down, staring at the fire. It did not speak to her, so she went to bed. ———«»————————————«»————————————«»——— She dreamt of places deep under the earth - of vast networks of underground tunnels, leading down, down, down to the Living Waters.. And there, once more, her throat was slit as offering, by the place where the Absolute Truth was revealed, and she held no reflection in the Holy water. ———«»————————————«»————————————«»——— She woke, but did not move - she only inhaled, exhaled, and watched the foggy breath rise, and become one with the black smoke that rose from the campfire. It was late at night, and the sky outside the cave was winking at her, distant stars scattered across the inky black. She looked back across to the fire, and she frowned. Why am I awake? A series of low, keening wails across the tundra answered her. It sounded human, so Serwa got up, got packed, and made to find the source. She soon came upon a troupe of nomads, in single file, llamas in tow. They had been trudging through the snow, but they had stopped, wailing and clawing at their eyes, crying out for lack of vision; they clung onto each other, onto what few trees were around them. Some even wept, and she knew; the whole troupe has gone blind. She knew this was not possible - she had heard of no magick capable of such a thing, and at any rate, there had been no sign of a fight, and a quick glance about revealed no hidden magiciana, but all the same, it had undeniably happened. She looked closer - the llamas, too, were blind; it was difficult to see with the distance, but they were ambling about, quite unworried, but bumping into each other and their distressed human counterparts. They too had been struck with blindness. Two thumps resounded in the valley. Serwa spun about, and saw birds tumbling down a mountain - they’d evidently crashed into it - and she realised that it was not only the troupe of nomads that had gone blind, it was every living creature in the north. ———«»————————————«»————————————«»——— So why haven’t I? Maybe GOD was protecting her from some curse. If the entirety of the north had been stricken blind, but she had not, then it surely meant that she was watched, that she was special somehow - indeed, that fit with that missing reflection, that her path was chosen for her; the Pontiff was wrong, and she was right. That was the easy answer - but the other interpretation labelled her guilty. If the Pontiff was right, she could see because some Darkspawn was manipulating her - if the Pontiff was wrong, she could see because GOD was showing her the way, was showing her the path. But this, she reflected, by now back in the cave with the warm campfire, was rather similar to the Living Waters, where some divine event affected all save her - and since the Living Waters were sent by GOD, so too, therefore, must this be, and therefore, so too must this be from GOD. So she was right, and the Pontiff was wrong. She collapsed once more onto the mattress - it was still late at night - and was soon fast asleep. ———«»————————————«»————————————«»——— She dreamt of empty walls, and a floor littered with sand and dust. She dreamt of the warriors of Canondom stepping over that floor, broken stained glass crunching beneath their feet, and she dreamt of the desecration of something indescribable. She dreamt of flowing blood. She dreamt of escape, of fleeing into the recesses of the altar. ———«»————————————«»————————————«»——— She woke, bleary-eyed, and packed her things. It did not do to remain in the north for too long, what with the forces of Ailmere about. She would return to Aaun, where she would speak to Celach, and decide upon her next course of action. . . .I am so tired. But she knew that there was not much left to do, and so she pressed on.

A Paralyzed Nephilim simply heard the story, not doing anything after someone casted a bear and caused a friendly-fire.