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BIRTH OF THE IMPERIAL HEIR

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kuerbis

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"Oh, this is my son!" Exclaimed the Crown Prince

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For the first time in a long time, Joan prays 
One might wonder what she's praying for - the obvious answer, Valentina's health and the baby's, of course.
The less obvious one. . .  that the baby would grow up to look more like Valentina than Marcus, god bless his poor soul .

 

 

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Caius Tiberias, of the blessed namesake of a great many men, smiled ☺ wholesomely at his being-ness. Could he pray, he'd bid gentle words to Saints Caius of the Westerlands and Caius Primus.

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Francesca, leal lady-in-waiting of Her Imperial Highness, offered her overwhelming support as she herself returned from maternity leave!

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Ipera smiled softly at the news. “I pray Princess Valentina recovers in comfort and strength after her travail. We must send a gift—not only for her, but for the young prince as well—something that may serve them both in different ways.

 

Yet what does one offer those who possess all, and yet so often lack what cannot be bestowed by rank or gold? What might Valentina long for in these quiet hours? What might the young prince one day seek?

 

Perhaps the truest offering is not a thing at all, but the promise of friendship—and for Valentina, a listening ear, should she ever have need of one.”

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The Imperial handmaid Ysawynn knelt beneath the Lorraine cross within the servant's quarters, her hands clasped in a grip so vigorous her knuckles whitened. She prayed, and prayed for Empire's heir and the sound return to health of the gracious Princess Valentiná!

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Upon reading the missive, Giorgia signed the Lorraine across her person. Filled with worry for the Crown Princess. She made note to herself to pray for her during her nightly prayers to GOD. For healing for her Imperial Highness, and that the future heir remained strong and in good health.

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Vivienne had gotten word of the news of such a joyous announcement by reading the papers. A thing she does often these days to keep updated with the goings on within the empire, gossip, actual news, and some important events, she reads nearly all of them. Though this one had struck a chord with her as she read the last paragraph of the missive. She was in the middle of eating her breakfast at Trier and stopped, setting her fork down, squinting as she re-read over the piece of paper a few times... She quietly excused herself from the table, sparing a glance at her Mother and Father before departing and heading upstairs to her room. She went to her desk and sat herself down as she opened a drawer, taking out a quill with one of her nicer pieces of paper, and she began to write a letter. A lot was on her mind, but she thought to at least reach out and say something.

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As news o' missive spread throughout the land, the people clamor for learned men to recite once more the happy news to farmers, smiths, bakers and tradesmen.

 

It is in these time that a certain minstrel brings news to the raucous crowd at the Pour House, the tavern of Rittersburg known for cheap ale and cheaper ramblings. 

 

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Hark, fine friends! A child o' Imperial lineage has been born to our Crown Prince and Princess! In fairest palace, the knights of our Empire guards not three, but now four generations of heirs! By the grace of God and Empire's prayers, hear now a spoken rendition of this missive proper. 

 

In this missive, the baby is born healthy, with "strong breath, clear voice, and well-shaped form"!  Does our physicians and alchemists know no equal to deliver the baby in sound body and mind? 

 

Does our Crown Princess hold more strength than the sturdy dwarves of Urguan, to deliver a child most healthy in these trying times? Indeed, for she has endured the most grueling trial of all, to nurture newest life through storm and squall!

 

Ti's not a coincidence that a chapel consecrated just days before. Now all citizens can pray in our fair city for the health of our Crown Princess and to wish Caius Tiberias a long and fruitful life. 

 

Another round o' ale on me, friends! 

 

Edited by cometking123
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"... it is not enjoyable, my son, to birth a child who will inherit all that you create for them," The Emperor bid towards his son, Marcus, as they sat within his office. Hadrian's quill flicked through the parchment, having yet seen his grandson in person. 


"You will feel it rip through your soul; guilt -- to pass on your burdens onto your son. As though you run away from responsibility."

 

"Let us hope your reign, and his reign thereafter is one that brings much fortune and joy to our Empire, and the continent itself. However, for now, it shall bathe in blood. All of this is for you, my son."

 

@pkdon

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Maddock Tam read the missive and couldn’t help but smile. “Congratulations.” He grew serious upon remembering Livia, however. He knew that child should not be compromised, no child should be compromised. He sighs as he tries to reason to himself why he shouldn’t reach out, but his basic instinct to protect children from harm wins out. He gets to his desk and drafts a letter… “To whom it may concern, I am writing to you out of a duty as a fellow member of Descendent-kind to help you protect your child…”

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