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From within the Skies, a now long-passed Waldenian greeted Waclaw with a warm embrace. "I have missed you, son." Karl von Theonus stated with a wide smile as he sought to pull the recently passed Lechian into a bear hug. "You must tell us of all your adventures. We've an eternity to tell tales to one another, and all of us have been waiting. We could not be happier to see you once more." Elsewhere within the walls of Vissingren, Konstantin knelt in prayer within the small chapel maintained within the fortresses walls. Although he had not spoken to his uncle in many years, the lessons imparted upon him as a youth had most certainly been retained well into his adulthood. He remembered as well of how in the early days of his regency of the Petran Commonwealth that Waclaw had always been present to offer counsel, and act as a much needed ally in those troubling times. "May you find peace, Uncle Waclaw. This world was better for having you within it. Had it only been for longer, so so much longer."

Brutal but accurate.

From Lion Cub To She-Devil Leoni woke up to the smell of stale air and the debilitating feeling of malflame on her upper torso. Her blurred vision could only see faded figures in a circle around her. Her ears could only faintly hear their chatter amongst themselves, having only just woken up. She realized that her hands and feet were tied by rope, making her unable to do much other than squirm and turn her head about. Her eyes focused as she rose from her artificial stupor. The figures around her were the three that had ambushed her while on patrol. Apparently she’d been captured rather than killed after everything went to black. She hoped that her patrol-mate had either escaped or at least wasn’t dead. Her paladin armor was tattered and warped by several hits from a blunt weapon. Small amounts of blood were dripping from her torso, the wet lacerations underneath having been unattended during her trip. She turned towards the main figure among the group, a woman of pale skin and blonde-white hair. “Why- Why am I not dead?” She croaked inquisitively. The figures stood there silently, the response would be the rushing of malflame all over her body. The young mali warrior wailed in agony, the pain like nothing she’d ever felt before. Within moments, she began a horrific transformation. Her pale skin began to turn rough and changed to the color of dried blood. A set of pale, keratinous horns were born after painfully pushing their way out of her skull. A lizard-like tail would grow from her backside while her canines turned to long, pointed fangs. Her nails turned the color of oil as they stretched to arrowheads. Her brown hair inherited from her mother was now ashened by the fel-flames. Not soon after the transformation was complete, the pain faded as she once again fell into a man-made slumber. The figures transported her body to the front of the Sunbreak Keep. Her soul was now damaged goods to the Sunlit Lord, unable to be embered as her mentors were training her towards.

Theoderic von Theonus found his wife somewhere in the family's keep. He could tell from her expression that something was wrong, and embraced her in a hug. "What happened? What's wrong?" he queried, and took the note from her hands. Quickly skimming through to see what it was that upset her like this. "Waclaw, oh..oh no.." he muttered after he finished reading, then found himself lost in thought. "I hope you find the peace in the seven skies you were never able to have here. If anyone deserved it, it'd be you."

Artel was stood atop the new gatehouse of his home when word reached him, the aging man nods and thanks the messenger before turning his eyes towards Aaun, they linger there for a time as he thinks of his brother in arms, now at rest "ich would nicht stand here today if du had nicht come to our aid in der Frankish war so long ago" he says into the wind "enjoy ihr peace in der skies und say hallo to Isa for us", With a final dip of his head he turns to find his wife, knowing she will need him in these times.

Calla von Theonus dropped the glass she held as she read the letter, tears beginning to fall freely as she scanned it over and over again to make sure she read it right. As the reality of the letter slowly sunk in, she found herself slumped onto her couch, staring blankly into the fire as she attempted to compose herself to no avail. "He's with Isa now... he's truly gone." At the bottom of the letter, Calla added in a little note, as if she was going to send a response back to her dear friend. 'I'm sure we'll see each other soon enough. But until then, give Isa a hug for me please.' Calla rose from her seat to find her husband and get a much needed hug. @Tremerus

“The prophecy never came out to be true, Wallie. First it was Isa and now you.” Wine was being poured into a cup, a sigh followed after. “Tell her I say hello. I’m sure the rest will follow soon.” Rosalind of Norland stared into the distance, lost in thought. — Marisol didn’t cry or sob, sitting alone in her room with the letter. Her gaze flickered to the window, breaking into a slight laugh. “I would’ve been a great Lechian, I would’ve learned from the best.’’

She missed her children and prayed their father had given them a better childhood than the world had given them all those years ago... She missed her husband, and prayed the world had been kinder in her absence... __ She would never know if those prayers had been answered, but when her eyes met those of the man she loved and cherished from childhood till death, she knew. "...Mein Liebling?" The words crawled up her throat, disbelief in her eyes, but it was him. Her hands graced his face, holding her world in the palm of her hands once more. "I've missed you..." The world had torn them apart before - but never again.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the rugged landscape, Dietrich Faust sat alone, the crackling of a bonfire the only companion to his solitude. The aging Waldenian resembled nothing close to the once youthful and confident man he had been. His weathered face bore the marks of time, etched with lines of regret and sorrow. For decades he had wandered, nothing more than a solitary figure seeking solace in the wilderness, having chosen to flee from the memories that haunted his every waking moment. The peace he had yearned for eluded him, slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. And now as news reached him of the passing of his friend, Waclaw Jazlowiecki, Dietrich found himself consumed by regret. He regarded Waclaw as a man far more than his noble titles and lineage; He was his best friend, his brother. The two shared laughter and tears, triumphs and failures, and yet in his selfish pursuit he had allowed the sands of time to slip away unchecked, believing that there would always be a tomorrow, that there would always be another day to return and catch up with his old friend. This was his biggest regret. Dietrich gazed into the flickering flames, a letter unfinished held tightly in the man's hands, and a quiet goodbye uttered. "You were always the better man, Red." He tossed the letter into the fire, his gaze drifting towards the starry sky, "Farewell, friend."

Peace at Last (PK) ☩ When he awoke, the world was hazy. Waclaw Jazlowiecki descended from his bedroom in Nowa Warsovia, his limbs moving as if through syrup. He was dying, this much he knew. It had been a long time coming, he could only elude the embrace of eternity for so long. His mind began to wander, the events of his life playing out once more in his mind. Faces not seen so long they had almost been forgotten wormed their way into his memory once more. Scenes long since relegated to dreams and nightmares, re-enacted in a shadowy pantomime. He- -ran along a bustling city street, eager to catch up with his companions. “Eloise, Isa, wait up!” He called after them, lagging behind but running as fast as his five year old legs would carry him. “Hurry it up, Ginger!” The blonde girl called back. “We’re all meeting at the fountain!” His brothers, Aleksander and Witold, had teased him relentlessly for befriending girls, but he didn’t care, if Aleks tried anything Waclaw could just put him in the mud. Again. He rounded one more corner in Minitz, coming to a stop at the fountain and taking a deep breath. He- -held his sword tightly, looking up at his Father. Swords flashed against firelight in the night, steel clanging against steel in the all-too familiar cacophony of battle. This was… Adria. He would have recognized the surrounding city anywhere. It was the site of his first battle, after all. Men cut down in fruitless assaults on the castle, Adrians slaughtered in counterattacks, all culminating in the final, desperate sally that pushed the men of Haense and Aaun from the city. The twelve year-old boy had done his duty that day though, and most of the blood on his armor was not his. He- -cringed as the Mori’quessir cannon blasted another chunk of the wall away. He was running out of cover. He had come up to Norland against all common sense to help his friend Rosalind in, what he hoped, would stem the tide of the growing invasion of Almaris. It appeared increasingly hopeless as yet another chunk of wall disappeared in a clash of stone and iron. “PULL BACK FROM THE WALLS!” A voice rang out. A scared, desperate voice. They were all scared, he supposed, some were just better at hiding it. He didn’t want to be scared, he hated that he was scared, but these Legionnaires seemed damn near invincible. Then, almost as if on cue, a hulking figure crossed into his view, a Dreadknight- a creature of nothing but armor and foul magic. They all pulled back towards the gate of the city, making a final stand by a massive tree. He needed to survive this, to get back home. After all, his father- -Gestured to Waclaw from the Comital throne of Warsovia. “And so-” His father’s powerful voice rang out throughout the packed hall. “-I am, as of today, abdicating in favor of my eldest son, Waclaw Jakub Jazlowiecki.” Waclaw, only fourteen, was taken completely by surprise and made his way to the foot of the throne that was, inexplicably, his. “Friends, citizens, and all gathered today-” He began apprehensively. “-I was not expecting this honor. However, I accept it. I will lead our people into a new chapter. An era of peace and prosperity. I gratefully honor the trust you all have placed in me and will do my utmost to ensure that my reign is a Boon- -LOAD UP THAT PLATE!” His cousin called over the sound of battle below. They were in Karosgrad, holding the Harbor gate against the Mori assault. Yet another infantry formation was reduced to paste by the combined cannonfire provided by the Lechian Artillerymen. Things were going… refreshingly smooth. Nation after nation had fallen, and Haense was the last human nation worth defending that remained free. Four years passed since he first fought them in Norland and he had fought in damn near every battle since. Exactly one positive thing had come in the last few years- Isavella. She had gone missing while hunting and only recently stumbled back home. He… had been holding onto feelings for her. If he made it out of this, he’d act on them. But first he had to survive this fight. “Aleks!” He called. “Swing to the right! We need to hammer that damn siege bug!” The cannon fired once more, right into the mouth of the Devourer of Dobrov, causing the monstrous creature to flee underground with a shriek. They had bought themselves even longer to ensure the evacuation’s success. With a nod of satisfaction, he wiped the sweat and grime from his face. “Right. Now for the next problem.” He sighed. The Count of Warsovia- -stared out over the Failor countryside, the township slowly rising around them. After narrowly surviving the Fall of Almaris, he had begun working with the house Ivanovich to build a new home in safety, away from the hell that their continent had become. The Lecho-Raev Commonwealth had been an experiment for him, the first real test of his leadership, one he’d liked to believe he passed with flying colors. Nonetheless, he couldn’t shake the feeling- -Of nervousness growing in the pit of his stomach as he stood before Karl and Annette, Isavella’s parents. “I… would ask your blessing to marry Isavella.” He finally said. They had been courting, both officially and not, since just after the Battle of Karosgrad, and he decided it was finally time to make it official. He was nervous, however, until the older Waldenian man smiled and the woman embraced him. “Treat her right.” Karl requested, a command Waclaw had no intention of disobeying. He nodded- -“I do.” He said to the priest, holding his Isavella’s hand as the priest performed the rites of marriage. His eyes flicked out over the small crowd in the chapel, family and friends. Eloise, Calla, Theoderic, Artel… all people he was honored to have at his side. “Then-” the priest began. “-I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Waclaw smiled and leaned in, sealing the ceremony with a kiss. Isavella was his wife. Despite being a hardened veteran of a dozen battles already, he felt giddy. He- -smiled proudly, holding the squirming infant, his and Isavella’s first child. They had named her Roza, after Rosalind who they both had believed died a few years before. He would make sure this child of theirs would make sure never knew the chaos and war they did. She would live in a time of peace and happiness. After all, the role of a parent was to ensure their child lived a better life than they did. And, god- -As my witness, I will dutifully serve the Crown of Aaun to my utmost for as long as I live.” He repeated alongside the other two men knelt before their King. Their ruler smiled at the three. “Rise, knights of Aaun. May you hold your oaths.” Waclaw felt a sense of satisfaction as he accepted the title, knowing he had done his part. Two decades of fighting battles for King and Country. Things had been moving steadily uphill for both him and his country since they had first settled on Aevos, and now he was at the apex of his life. He knew not what the future held, but he would take it in stride. He had his duty to perform, and he would see it done even if it cost his life. The- -smell of the dead bodies littering the streets of Whitespire was nearly overwhelming. The scene inside the Council chambers had been predictably terrible. King Edmund, Waclaw’s cousin Heinrich, his friend and commander Leopold, all dead. Betrayal and blind fury grappled within his mind as he roamed the blood-soaked streets. Light glinted off something familiar. No… it couldn’t be. However, unwillingly, he moved to investigate the object. Much to his horror, it… it was. His wife’s necklace, a gift he had given her. A third emotion entered the brawl for control of his mind. Anguish. He cradled his wife’s body, holding her wordlessly as tears, long since thought dried up, began to flow. How would he explain this to their children? Roza was practically attached at the hip to her mother, a veritable clone but without Isavella’s ferocity. Krzysztof would likely take it better, but… there’s no way to take news of your mother’s death well. He sheathed his sword- -coming to a standstill next to his King, John of Aaun. Veletz, the successor of Adria, and likely ultimate mastermind of the attempted coup that had claimed the lives of so many, was finally surrendering after a long and brutal war. With this foe gone, maybe he could finally rest. War had been what he knew, what he had excelled at even, but now he just felt… empty. Like a bowl long since drained of any contents. Some vestiges of what once were remained, but he was, for lack of a better word, finished. He had instructed that his notice of abdication be published after the Veletzian capital was demolished, and he intended to make full use of his retirement. He- -reached the bottom of the stairs. He was old by now. Older than any member of his family that he had truly known. He sat himself down in a chair by the fire and reached for a quill and parchment. He began to write, excising in detail his final goodbyes to those he was leaving behind. His hand wasn’t cooperating nearly as much as he’d like. He felt tired, fog beginning to cloud his vision. He shook his head, clearing it slightly. If he fell asleep now, he wouldn’t wake up. He wrote as if he had no more time left which, in honesty, he didn’t. The last letter finally finished and sealed, he sighed and relaxed. The quill fluttered to the floor beside him. He took a breath and smiled. And he knew peace. Requiescat In Pace: Waclaw Jakub Jazlowiecki (1908-1973) The Following letters are addressed and delivered in private, do not metagame this information. To Krzysztof Jazlowiecki ( @Traveller): To Calla and Eloise von Theonus ( @carebear& @Rosey): To Marisol Solis ( @beetle): ----------------------

I mean I dont see why they require you to record all spells on BM ma when other dark magics dont make you record all the spells.

(That is not hard. I was so so far from cool when I first joined.) I think my most technically proficient skin - and one of my prettiest - is Galina's barbie pink look. I don't know what I did but I COOKED. (this one https://www.planetminecraft.com/skin/primadonna-6128214/) My two other favorites are this one of Alasdair's (https://www.planetminecraft.com/skin/personal-5870469/) and a Manon skin from her mid 30s. (https://www.planetminecraft.com/skin/personal-5776620/) The Alasdair one is one of my most technically proficient skins from that era - I still can't really recreate what I did on the sleeves, it was a total fluke. I really loved his very simple, almost austere style in his teens, it was so fun to skin for. The Manon skin is one of my favorites purely because of the memories I associate with it. Her early 30s in Celia'nor were some of my favorite times in her life, and this was her outfit during that era. I just have so many fond memories from that time, that I can't help but get attached to the skin she wore as well. (Also, it was one of my first really brightly-colored skins, which feels significant, considering my current style.)

cheese and mayo in a shoe, but you ate a newspaper?

Omg eso I remember when you first joined!! You’ve gotten cooler fr what’s YOUR favorite skin you’ve made (all time)

I think one of the most important things I've learned on LOTC has been how to keep myself separate from my character. It was something I had a really hard time with in my early days, and every IRP rejection or insult felt incredibly personal, and were highly anxiety inducing. Learning to keep those things at arm's length has really helped me play more interesting characters, and feel more comfortable telling stories that have genuine consequences. I think my biggest regret is not letting Manon's story end earlier. She's so dear to me as a character, and after about her 40s, most of her life just got... really drawn out, and kind of boring. It was really upsetting to me while I was rping her, because I'm so attached to her, and I wanted her to have a really nice, narratively sound ending. But I didn't let her die at times that I could (or should) have, so it ended up just sort of... going on forever and ever, after her story was done.

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!! Can't believe I've known you for almost two years. I remember our shenanigans in Oren like it was yesterday..... What's something you're glad you've learned from your time here, and what's one thing you regret?

fairly unrealistic, most lotcers are banned from their IRL D&D groups for arguing with the dungeon master

Oops... definitely didn't forget to do this two weeks ago. I joined LOTC my freshman year of High School, in the first full year of Covid, and now here I am, a month and a half away from graduating. Crazy how the time flies, right? Anyways, questions. I don't know how you're supposed to write one of these, so I hope this is sufficient.

Adalfriede would not be able to attend, but she resolved to send a gift to the happy couple. "Josefina," she said to the girl sitting at her side. "You have a knack for such things. Find a gift for Anselm and Viktoriya, won't you?" @alien_mc

The compatibility system because you should not be able to multiclass nonsensically. "Ah, yes. I'm a light domain cleric who's also going into shadow sorcery."

EL COMITÉ DE EMBELLECIMIENTO THE BEAUTIFICATION COMMITTEE Issued by the Sovereign Crown 14th of Owyn’s Wake, 99 D.R. Introducción The Office of the Interior pens this missive today to call upon those with green-thumbs and architectural minds to join the Beautification Committee within the Sovereign State of Hyspia. After greenery has spread amongst Hyspia, taking place after the planting of the community garden, it aided in giving it a more lively appearance. This was met with positive response from our citizenry, inspiring the beautification project, so as to further our home we live within. The goal of the committee is to improve upon and not destroy. This will mainly take place by the planting of gardens and crops in empty spaces, setting up proper roads to vassalage and the repair of what has been broken. For those interested in taking part in this project, they may contact Senora Mariposa Murietta, Canciller de la Patria. Signed, HER ROYAL HIGHNESS, Ramona de Pelear, Sovereign Princess of Hyspia, Duchess of Pacazu, Baroness of Arenisca and Del’mar, Lady of Ladorada, Lady of Niseep, Gereon's Hold, and Ciudad de Plata, Gran Maestress of El Orden de Francisco, Protector of the Hyspian People, Protector of the Farfolk, Matriarch of House de Pelear HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, Dimitri Otto of Korvia, Sovereign Prince-Consort of Hyspia, Duke-Consort of Pacazu, Baron-Consort of Arenisca and Del’mar, Lord of Ladorada, Lord of Niseep, Gereon's Hold, and Ciudad de Plata, Gran Maestre of El Orden de Francisco, Protector of the Hyspian People, Protector of the Farfolk HIS HIGHNESS, Rafael Arsenico, Infante of Hyspia, Ward to La Patria HER EXCELLENCY, Mariposa Murietta, Canciller de la Patria