kidnapping THE TUNDRA GRIEVES

[Lunan_EXE 223]

[!]

Written on the 2nd of The Deep Cold, 231 S.A., this missive is spread far and wide, reaching every corner of Aevos by letter or by mouth. Its contents has become public knowledge

 

“THE TUNDRA GRIEVES”

Many know me as an aunt-figure, many more do not know me at all, but today, we all grieve together. With us, the winter winds howl with a shivering fear and the clouds thunder with a deep anguish as I announce to the people of Solheim-

THE ATROCITIES OF NORLAND

On the 1st of The Deep Cold, year 231 of the Second Age, The Kingdom of Norland launched a raid against the temporary construction of The City-State of Vansk, during which they torched a tent and dared to try to light the rest ablaze, only for any further destruction to be washed away by the tundric weather. In the chaos, three orphaned children who had been brought to the safety of Vansk by the Foxtrot Family Orphanage were stolen from their crib and torn from the snowlands in which they were meant to be raised in. These children were:

Mimir

A dark-elf newborn girl.

Hodo

A highlandic six-month-old boy.

Kyren

A heartlandic one-year-old girl.

The Kingdom of Norland chose to attack during an event in which would have raised money to not only construct our city but also a grand orphanage named after my late mother Celenar Foxtrot. The loss of the men and women who fought to defend our walls we grieve deeply.

As of current, myself nor the Foxtrot family know the condition of these children, nor of their fate. We pray for their safe return, but this cannot be done without the cooperation of Norland.

MY PLEA

I wish for no violence nor chaos, I mere beg for the safe return of these children so that they may find peace at home once more. Tell your falcons and crows to send your letters to Estel, and pray that they find their way to me to tell me of my childrens’s survival and your intent to return them.

~ Estel Clausenharte Foxtrot

Heiress of Clan Foxtrot, Aunt of Many Greats, Bestel

OOC:

Spoiler

I have been told by my NL that the person who took these children were allowed to during the raid, so please avoid causing OOC problems for these players. A mod has also ruled that they were right to take them. It's lowkey awful to yoink babies from my tent and claim they were unattended (I was at school), but because RP was done to take them, I will entertain it by RP means. :P

 

[powercribv21444 45]

[*]

The Druid of the starlight would look over the note, a look of pure disgust would come over the druids face, 

As anger came over the druid, a small silent word came from the druids mouth

" God dam war " 

[Sparkpowder 129]

Julian stares down at the contents of the note. His plumes droop as he leans over his desk, placing a hand over the words, unable to bare them. "... Oh, dear..." A faux breath escapes his mask. "What has this come to?..." He says breathlessly. 

[rose6614 244]

Natalia struggles to contain her anger as she learns of the children of her clan being taken from their beds. "War is one thing. . .  but this?"  She crumpled the paper in her hand, not able to bear looking at it any longer.

[ShinyB 567]

Within the comfort of the Bard's College, Mylo Malto-Gylldene receives word of the kidnapping. His face falls, both grief and anger overcoming his normally calm demeanor. "To kidnap innocent children..." He mutters, his voice wavering. "I pray for their safe return."

[PestyWarlock 539]

Farian observes the missive from his lab of mechanisms, machines, and music. "...stealing infant children? Have they stooped as low as the levels of darkspawn?" He carefully rolls up the missive, letting out a sigh to his wall of machines. "...none of you have been made for war, I hope none of you need see war."

[Aimy_lol 429]

Amethyne would stop in her tracks in the middle of the deep, cold tundra forest. She would settle down a large sack, her fishing pole, and her carving knife as she unrolled the missive. Her deep sorrows and anger that had been growing since the devastating news of her aunt only began to grow larger. "CHILDREN! Who in their right sane mind would take children from their crib?!" She would mindlessly fold the paper and throw it into the ground, burrowing it deep within the snow with her foot. "Outrageous!"

Edited May 7, 2025 by Aimy_lol

[Sham404 518]

Uhtric Vildr reads the missive, carefully places it back upon the noticeboard, and spits upon the ground before it.

 

"This is not the Norland my ancestors fought for. Attacking fishermen and stealing their children... Unworthy."

 

He swiftly returns to the Vildr home, and begins work on his own announcements.

Edited May 7, 2025 by Sham404

[Calise11 841]

Spoiler

Written from the prespective of Sissel Freysson

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

"I would take no babe from its home,"
an elder called across the small camp of Vansk, a voice low and thunderous, commanding authority, aged like wind over old stone. "But neither would I leave one to freeze... or burn."
The camp fell into a silent hush after a clash of swords, metal ringing against metal. A stillness lingered, broken only by the crackle of fire that raged behind.

Sissel, weighed with anguish, still found herself seeking mercy, despite how cruel the men and women of Vansk had been, taunting, lording her mother’s dead body over her as if she had been the one to place the blade in her nape. And still… her heart had thawed.

'Yield blood of mine, and nothing shall come to you.'
Those words—so true—clung to her like a warding spell, etched into her thoughts, tolling back and forth like a distant ocean bell. A promise of peace… swiftly unmade by the choices of Vansk.

Snow clung to her boots, heavy and wet, crunching beneath each solemn step as she approached the lone tent. It stood—the only thing that now harboured life—within, three babbling babes.
...How had they been left here? Why did no one take them?

She had seen men and women gather outside this very tent. And yet... they remained. No bolts barred the flap, no lock sealed it shut. Only silence. And the soft, sorrowful whines of children begging to be saved. Their cries rose into the air like smoke, curling into the dark and carrying across the clearing.

"We cannot just leave them here to die,"
A murmur was exchanged with another.
How had four grown souls looked upon the future—and turned their backs?
Their kin. Their legacy. Forsaken.

The children were cradled. They were soothed. Two figures descended upon the camp, moving tent to tent in search of those who might still remain. Nothing was found but silhouettes, long since cast into shadow.

And so the children were taken.
Not by force, but by necessity.
Lifted from the cradle of fire and frost. Not stolen. But saved. Left, neglected, and abandoned by the blood that should have protected them.

A pity, then... that the elders of Vansk had forgotten what it meant to have /kin/.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

The missive was flicked outward with a deft wrist, a canter of the Freysson’s head.
"Perhaps if your leader would finally break his silence and cease his cowering… We could be convinced that the neglect of young babes was a simple... mistake."

And so, a pen met parchment. A quill was made. An offer—extended.
An olive branch, once again, held forth—perhaps only to be pruned and chopped as it had been before.

But still...
A bird would leave the rookery of Vjardengrad, flying in the direction of Vansk.
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
 

 

Edited May 7, 2025 by Calise11

[Iulius 206]

A lone figure, clad in white armor, sat in solemn prayer. There was no hearth to warm the young Thegn, no statue of the Paragon before him, no sound but the howling winds of the tundra. Still, he remained—unmoving, silent, his thoughts buried deep beneath the snow like the dead of winters past.

 

The stillness shattered with the beat of wings. A lone bird descended, perching on the Thegn’s shoulder to deliver a missive bound in frost-cracked leather. He read it in silence. A sigh escaped him.

 

"Was that truly necessary?" he wondered, though no words passed his lips.

 

The bird took flight once more, vanishing into the bleak sky. Silence reclaimed the tundra, and the warrior bowed his head again, his prayer resuming—endless, voiceless, enduring.

Edited May 7, 2025 by Iulius

[Wooden Bench Acolyte 1]

The goblin stood there, in shock. That was their home. They lived there ever since the construction began. And now someone tried to burn it all down. Taking a sip of their nettle tea, they considered their options.