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TO DISTANT SHORES

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From Ashes, We Rise

EST 143 E.S. - Present | 1590 A.H. - Present

 

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TO DISTANT SHORES

A DOCK TO CALL HOME


PUBLISHED BY
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ON THIS HOLY YEAR OF 2063

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My lord father often spoke of stagnation as a hindrance greater than any other; the unwillingness to escape from content or ease and strive for greater prospects proved destructive. This is a trouble House Amador has found itself plagued by for many generations. A stillness, awaiting the arrival of opportunity rather than seeking it out. Years spent in complacency having wrought insignificance into the annals of our centuries long histories.

 

Even so, my house remained beneath the fleeting solace afforded to us. Alongside the remnants of an identity which found itself marooned — the Marian peoples scattered and afflicted with a thing no better described as cultural dissolution. Ink spilled by my own grandmother spoke of a wish to keep Amador where the spirit of Lady Haense persevered. Yet I look to what has become of a refuge once promising and know, for the legacy I carry, to remain is a fruitless endeavor. 

 

Streets once bustling have turned hollow, the laughter of children and chatter of tavern-goers replaced by the stirring of nearby creeks and shifting forests. We came to ensure we wouldn’t have our identity slip from between our fingers, but how can we preserve what doesn’t remain here? No longer does it feel like home, a place I wish to raise my family or a place I cling onto hope for.

 

It is these thoughts which lead me, after many nights of contemplation and in pursuit of a brighter future for my own, to seek establishment elsewhere. There is no ease which comes with a decision of this fashion, nor is there simplicity in deciding upon somewhere to start anew. Options were few and far between, but of them did only one gleam with promise: Alba.

 

It wasn’t long before I was honored with an audience before the Archduke. His Highness, with the utmost graciousness, extended my house a welcome into the Alban fold and offered purpose in the fashioning of management of Janisport, the very place we were afforded stay. And here shall we remain, our foreseeable days taken by vessels to dock and sailors to greet. 

 

A fresh start, where generations of Amadors to come aren’t restrained, able to walk the path of their ambitions without a shade of estrangement atop their heads.



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‘The Silver Wake’
His Lordship, Kristoff Isaak Amador, 

Patriarch of House Amador, Lord of Queen’s Crossing


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Her Ladyship, Inez Artemisia Amador, 

Lady of Queen’s Crossing


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‘The Anchor of Amador’
His Lordship, Anaksandr Albus Amador,

Lord of Queen’s Crossing.
 



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"I could be no prouder," Anaksandr offered his dearest son, a man of seldom fashioning — one who seized the reins of his fate instead of allowing the tides their way. That day, when they came to grace a golden shore instead of frigid, northern recesses, joy struck the elder Amador's face.

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A certain redhead would be stirred from a nap at his desk by a servant. After rubbing his eyes awake, Aviel would procure his small reader’s glasses and prop them onto the bridge of his nose to read the contents of the missive he was handed.

 

“At least the trips t’ see m’ in-laws wouldn’ take as long anymore.” The ginger jested with the servant.

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In the midst of her campaign, the incumbent Lady Mayor of Saint Godwinsburg could only smirk with a smug pride. It seemed they had GOD's favor, to bring them such prolific fishermen at a time when she proposed that their dockyard be maintained by worthy Aldermen.

 

Another wayward house of elder origins, to seek haven and restoration in the Alban Crownlands. Susanna could not ask for a clearer sign of continued success.

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The Luminary of the Red Faith, Mímír, would be meditating before coming to his senses as a red-cloaked Newt arrived to deliver the missive to him. Upon reading it, the Sorvian gave a soft sigh as the Newt departed back towards the main sanctum of the temple “It is saddening to see a house depart from the Ashen Realm, but I do wish they find new endeavors and opportunities in their new home.” He spoke with a smile in his voice before he went back to meditation.

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The Hetman would grasp the missive, once-sharp eyes glancing to each word as they were eloquently written upon the page. His attention leapt from each and every word, fatigue and the effects of his long life building the closer he got to the last of that missive. 

 

At those final words, did he gently place the missive down on his desk from atop the tower of his keep. Blackened, charred hands soon found his wrinkled face as they rubbed tired eyes, as the old man was left to his thoughts. 

 

"That does it, then." Spoke the Marian, after some time. What exactly they correlated to was yet to be seen, but evidently the man would not leave that tower for some time.

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13 hours ago, Sladetricity said:

And here shall we remain, our foreseeable days taken by vessels to dock and sailors to greet. 

 

An Amador cousin, sat within her home in the Idunian capital, mulled over the statement made. "It is a difficult choice to make for all involved, but we must follow what we believe to be right."

 

"Had we not done the same, we might not habe experienced half the happiness we found, by going our own ways."

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"Glad to see our Cousins have seen at least some reason," Earoslav Rostova would say parsing his lips in a sly, toothy grin.

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