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TO NEW BEGINNINGS

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ErosTea

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Alexandra of Aldersberg is in awe of the news as she prepares for the festivies.

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George Charles of Aldersberg holds the invitation delicately, his azure eyes sweeping over the illuminated script until he spots his families name. A satisfied grin unfurls as he inhales deeply, already lost in visions of the feast’s splendor. "What shall I wear?" he murmured, the question lingering as he strode toward his wardrobe, footsteps almost a dance upon the hardwood floors of his apartment.

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The Wick lordling receives the invitation, doing things only a Wick would do to prepare himself for the event.

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The Countess of Enswerp rubbed her forehead, pushing aside the blueprints for the new Hamlet of Enswerp as a servant delivered a missive. "It will be lovely to see my cousin Cecily again... It has been so many years. But this 'Prince' Edward..." She glanced at her husband, Roan. "What are your thoughts? Is it worth our while to attend?" With a deep sigh, she placed the letter on her cluttered desk, her mind drifting to her grandfather, King John, and all he had sacrificed for Aaun. 

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Charles's head laid upon a goose-down pillow within his bed chamber beside a familiar face.

"He's courting the Alban tart?" He jested, tracing the peaks and valleys along his paramour's face.

"Do not be so cruel and judge so hastily, Charles. My dearest friends in the Aaunic courts tell me she is a delight. Perhaps you will like her, my love."

"Perhaps.." He paused, pulling on the bedpost to stand, staring out of the window beside them. He glanced behind him, taking in the vision before him. Once dressed, donning his traveling coat, they exchanged one last embrace, before Charles set off for Aevos.

 

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The eldest of the Alstion daughters, Cecily Amelia, had been consorting with the entourage of her distant kinsman, Edward Caius. They were inspired and passionate about breathing life into the Kingdom that they hailed from. Despite her wardship beneath the late August Valentin, Margrave of Beleth, the Lady of Alba felt -- staunchly, and without compromise -- called in service to her people; a desire for safety had torn her away, but it was her family that again brought her into the fray. It was her intention to celebrate the Aaunic realm, and its fruitful prospects, before friends, family, and the faith. 

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Kasandra laughed mordantly, a print of the missive in-hand, the other hand lazily cupping a glass of the Black. She sipped, and spoke with a mudslinging grin, "A commoner born of nobody knows whom deigns to call himself a Royal Prince? Surely, the Princess Cecily would not allow the boy to usurp the power held by her direct lineage. . . How I hate lickspittles."

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Charlie read the missive some time after the fact, expression stormy. "So," They murmured to themself, calloused fingers tracing over the signed names. "This is how it will be." The Alstion rolled the paper up, and tucked it away. "Very well. That is how it will be.

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Robert Tiberius Alstion, the destined inheritor of the divine mantle of the Apostolic Kingdom due to his profound being, peers upon the letter with great intrigue; never having heard of an Edward. He places great scrutiny on the intentions of this celebration. No doubt another ambitious play for power, and one that seems very eager to return to a pompous state of affairs that initially brought the realm to its downfall. He monitors, but elects not to attend. If not out of protest, then out of concern for his safety as another vying claimant.

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Calaron Wick sits by a cauldron filled with bubbling wax, receiving the summons atop the counter of the Chandeleriè de VVick by means of courier rat. Spitting out the letter, the vermin awaited a bag of grain which the Numenedain sprinkled before the rodent.

 

 “The rats are summoned, I should

make way to find my brati in the celebration.”

 

Returning to his candle craft, he left the letter to melt beneath a candle’s wax.

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Father Nerium read the albeit beautifully made missive with an expression of scrutiny and agitation. "There is certainly, under no circumstances, anyway His Holiness approved of this. -- I fear a second Raguel-ing is imminent." He thought, rolling the letter up to put into his desk of scrolls and papers, closing the cabinet door with a thunk.

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Mary Henrietta giggled to herself about the sudden appearances of naysayers who - before this point - had never interacted or had been involved with Aaunic society. She wondered if they knew the works of the poet and playwright A.P. Varoche, or about the Adrian Rebellion, or the highly revered Rosius parties in the early days of the Heartland Confederation. While she herself was not there, she had done her due diligence in reading up on her history. Perhaps, she thought, We will see another period of Aaunic greatness under Prince Edward. Her brows furrowed, creasing her forehead and harshening her soft, cornflower-colored eyes. Mary rolled off her bed and prayed to God for forgiveness for her rather crass thoughts. Whilst praying, she felt a minute, insignificant flutter of excitement for the celebration.

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Spoiler

Hey! The event is being moved to 3:00 PM EST - 7:00 pm GMT - 12:00 pm PST

Same Location.

 

Edited by ErosTea
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