Cally

Somewhere in a distant hedge, a girlish knight-to-be laid along the crickets and gentle winds of an elm in the summer evenfall. As much as she wished to weep, tears did not find the squire of Elerrion. She simply smoothed water over the surface of the ancestral blade in her lap. Liar’s Bane, and its reflection had ceased to frighten her. But now, it made her frown. That terrible version of her staring back at her, dreams unfulfilled, life wasted… And she vowed on her once always smiling face to be the knight he had wished her to be. Selfless, honest, caring, and fearless. Her head bowed to wipe her face on her cape. “Why did you never knight me, Ser?” On the other end of the celestial barge, a certain bard he had come to know as a deep and trusted friend… Spread her arms out as his dinghy boat arrived on the shores of the milky white beaches of Malchaediel’s bleached realm. “Y’er awful early—!” Said the lady knight with white hair, laughing jovially as she brought him into a hard hug. Departing only to squeeze his shoulders. Her husband not far behind her in the line of templars who welcomed him home.

Somewhere, a Won-In woman seeks comfort for the loss of the man who believed in her wholly first. Such sentiments starting with grief, and ended with it too.

Areum of Yorumachi barks back a laugh as she reads the missive. “Oge naebwa.”

omg reserved

stoppp - oh come on... stoppp

AEREDAR WILLING Penned on the 13th of the Snow’s Maiden, year 266 of the Second Age Revised on the 5th of the First Seed, Year 279 of the Second Age Foreword, I, Maerîl-Emigliana O’Rourke in good health and soundness of mind, do make decrees upon the event of my disappearance, capture, otherwise untimely demise. I leave the distribution of these orders to be handed out by my chosen executor; Ser Arthur Marsyr. My trusted friend and close colleague. — It has been an honor to serve and support the High Kingdom of Idunia as High Admiral of Ports, Master of Tomes, Royal Bard, Justiciar of the Order of the White Tower, Knight of the White Tree and to have been friends with some of the most extraordinary people. Letters to them are to be distributed upon my behalf as attached below. On matters of Wealth: My earthly wealth and possession of coin is to be passed down to my granddaughter and heir, Einin-Alweth O’Rourke. With allowances to be handed at her discretion to offspring of her choosing. The rest shall be invested in the upkeep of The County of Ildon. On matters of Estate: The County of Ildon is to be passed to my granddaughter and heir, Einin-Alweth O’Rourke, should she find it fit to elect another successor, I would hope it to be Cathal O’Rourke to take the mantle. Should the need arise, the next of kin will take either of their places as Lord or Lady Regent of the Comital Paramountcy. The Towers Tirgoneth shall stay in the control and possession of Ser Arthur Marsyr and his chosen heir after him. The Lordship of Edrica shall stay in the patented hands of Greye and Ser Aurus, with his chosen successor as heir. My capital shop is to be taken over by the line of Zimrabar to be run in the pursuit of aiding my successors in maintaining wealth and upkeep of Ildon. With allowances to Wyllm O’Riley, the Marsyrs and Colm O’Rourke. Control of my elite force of soldiers, the Elendâri stays with Ser Arthur Marsyr as my trusted Knight-Captain and military commander. At both the discretion of himself and Einin as she takes the mantle, orders are to be given solely to him and my sergeants and captains. On Matters of Possessions: There have been many armaments and other items and trinkets that have come into my hands throughout the years of my life. These were things that I carried with me every day or have crafted myself in the pursuit of glory. I do hereby allow some of said armaments to be displayed or distributed as follows. — The Tabard of Rourke is to enter the hands of the next Count or Countess, and follow suit with each successor when they are appointed the role of leadership. The Flanged Mace of the Wintered Witch is to be put into the hands of Cathal O’Rourke, so that he may lead with the weapon that brought me great victory. The Liar’s Bane previously in the possession of Edwyn O’Rourke shall be passed on to the most combat and moral-oriented member of Rourke by his own choosing, or put into storage. Airgead, my deepsteel mythril war axe is to be placed into the hands of Einin O’Rourke for her resolve in stamping the significance it had to her mother, and overcoming it to see it as a weapon that got me through many wars. My Radiant Banner is to be put into the hands of The Iron Lady, Ojo Ugokoyama Atsuko, my good friend for a multitude of battles by one another’s sides, and her unknowing inspiration to me for all of these years as the best warrior I have ever met. Something to remember me by, even if it cannot be put to use. My Templaric Trophies are to be presented to Arthur Marsyr as most of them were gathered either by his side or in defense of the place we built together. My Lobster Chitin is to be given to the girl Ayni, she gave me much comfort in my end days and I hope she takes this well as something to remember me by. My spoils of war and battle are to be put on display in the keep of Rourke to tell my tales. The majority of my collection of instruments is to be given to Bronadron Callaghan, for his love of music and bright outlook on life. Always remember I was in your corner through it all, Nicky. The rest, by discretion of my executor, are to be gifted to various members of Zimrabar, Rourke, Greye, and Marsyr, for they are the strongest pillars of the Lordship I have built. On Matters of Wishes: It is my wish that the Greyes and Cathal O’Rourke take the Oath of Tar-Numenetar, to follow my legacy as one of the first people to take the oath when it was introduced by Numenetar himself. Should Cathal wed, and produce an heir, it would be in the good graces of his great-grandmother and Predecessor that he would elect the first born girl of his line to inherit the County. Since our line as O’Rourkes has remained in a matriarchal system for many centuries, his election is technically a break in this system. Letters to be Distributed: Note: These letters are solely individual. The seal is not to be broken lest it be damaged in their travel to their respective recipients. OOC Note: These are not to be metagamed or used against any characters they are inscribed to. They are solely for the person intended. Einin Cathal Imchad Eislyn Azlyn Atsuko Ser Arthur Petyr Ayni Barahir Nickolai Ninny and Linny The Zimrabars The Greyes

[Dual PK] Spoiler: They approached the pair in incomprehensible numbers. … Ghoulishly groaning, claws chittering to grasp onto makeshift weapons. Eyes hollow, abyssal plague deep within their souls as they trampled on the living world. Hel-spawn blood soaked the ground below the feet of Maerîl and Edwyn as they fought, back to back and darkened the land below with embers of retaliated, fallen foe. Some fluid, however, betrayed its mingle with the tar-black substance to render red. Green and grey eyes tilted down in their visors in witness to the display of gore. Not from foe, but from them. And adrenaline beat the fear out of their eyes and bodies as axe-blow and jaw grab turned more dire. A branch sputtered in the moonlight of their great battle, bearing lush leaves of green. The needled, hearty log cried in pain as bites found their way to trickle sap. “Just like we always did, Ed. . .” Said the pecan tree. “Fight to live.” And as such did the fir find his roots mightier, his branches unpunished by snow or decay, vandal or misery. Flames of twin-make burned in the forest amongst the darkness. Begrudgingly illuminating each pass of violence by their hands as their tabards, banners and armor became unrecognizable in the wake of black-coated flesh, wet with the blood of abyssal demise. Yet, the trees together strong, shuddered ragged breaths of increasing pain. The pecan tree thought of Almaris winds in bug-infested heaping battles where much like they were now, they fought viciously by one another, love so juvenile and young. She thought of what that fir lumber might have said then if she could hear him over cries of Haeseni soldiers. “We fight for the future, Emi. You and eam?” She believed even now that those days, those horrible years at war with the Mori’Quessir molded an incomplete woman to her resolve. She felt as if then that her goals as the last heir of a dying house would allow her to plant her roots, and do so right beside her beloved fir planting as its height protected her feeble branches from the wind. There was a sharp pain across the fir’s trunk as sap flowed freely from it in threads of thick red. His gasp of pain made the pecan turn, and too did she gain a wedge of bark severed from her form as resin leaked from soft flesh. The Dark Aengul beheld them to encourage victory, for succumbing such injuries pushed them into the holy state of out-of-bodiness. The pecan, even despite her less superior height could see farther than he as winds flicked her loose leaves into reckless gales, lifting them high among the trees. She saw, with intrusive clarity, the grasp of their fight in full. It was fruitless, not without sacrifice. “NO!” Called the resinous voice, choked with a cry. The fir tree wailed as sap spilled from him, felled at her feet. As such did he find himself waning with each labored breath as they cut down one after another, smattering them with ectoplasm of the hexwraith. By the time their lives were teetering on the edge, there were still many left. “I take it back, Ed. . .” The pecan tree croaked as the grip on her axe became loosened. “We- we fight for the future. . .” He hesitated, gripping Liar’s Bane with a sharp gulp. “The f-future.” Hands became misty around her axe and form filled with wisps of bleached white and her body was ephemeral with the evocation of Second Chance. He caught a glimpse of the wispy hair he held in his hands each night, now cloudy and bright with white rays of gentle sunshine. Tears pricked his dark-lashed eyes and their back-to-back fight against evil became evenly matched. And Edwyn, too, evoked the orc-strength fervor of his own Second Chance. The two became bright, beautiful stars in an indifferent but hostile universe. Wispy and untamed, vengeance incarnate. What were once mere slashes against battered flesh of ghoul and rot became wicked punches of power. Cuts turned to ripe, long gashes of spewing ichor splashing into their misty, eternal forms. Sharpened teeth and unmade, desperate attempts at attack were met with war-screams of many voices as the power of four warriors met each of the two chanced survivors with pumping vigor of unearthed sorcery. They prevailed, limbs and viscera pooling around their bright boots with severed limbs of darkened phantasmic warriors littered the ground between them. . . They turned, and sighed. Gently did the two trees twine their branches, and press their visor-lifted foreheads together. The long-destined lovers took their last moments to share one last kiss, as corporeality melted away. All they knew, was that this journey together was worth their trials, And two stars they remained, painting the sky with their bleached colors forevermore. They were eternal, forever, unmatched and unmade. Two trees. Two swords. Two, forever. Special thanks:

i hate u ho

The Matriarch of Rourke, Maerîl leant over a whetstone wheel, sloshing her hand into water before bringing the axe head of Airgead up to its tumble. She looked over to her husband. "Do you want me to do Liar's Bane next?" She asked, feeling his presence in the forge's archway. @Bones

Areum of Yorumachi showed the missive to her dear friend and good-cousin, Enkai. “Didn’t he ask you for a new sword? Probably best not to make it.”

claps louder than everyone else

Neasa O'Rourke held onto the missive with bleary eyes and an even deeper frown. Breaths passed through her in short bursts, air she couldn't seem to catch in her lungs. She had just watched her mother return with twigs in her hair, smile on her face. The little hedgeknight and priestly aspirant smiled to her as she went into the keep, her mother kissed her head like she knew. Now, she lay on her bunk in the monastery, her sobs gently vibrating the walls. And only certain priests and deacons knew her sorrow as it crept through the stones like a winter wind. @Nectorist@winterblood

The previous Master of Tomes, the Countess Maerîl is proud to see the library in its completion! She certainly could not have gotten it all done juggling bard duties, being Admiral of Ports, and Countess at once. Giving the duties over to Zora might have been the best decision for the Scholarium!

Little Neasa, as jovial a girl as she was… quite un-piously enjoyed the thrill of gossip. Some she thought deserved it, though as green eyes traced along Eirene’s name so many times.. as they had the last missive, she could not help but frown. “Why do they try to hurt my butterfly buddy’s feelings so?” Asked the girl as she leant on the root of her residential hearty oak.

dm me instead this man was a white man in disguise discord: callypso

Name (MC Name): Tsukinomiya Areum (CallyI) (Discord): callypso Clan: Tsukinomiya Citizenship: Yorumachi, Kurai-Kuni Mahō: Shamanism Materials: Arcanium Availability Preference (Day(s) of the Week): Any time after 6PM EST

"Oh, thank GOD. . ." Said the Admiral as the matter met her hands, she did not read any further. "That guy was a prick anyway, as nice of a kid as he was, his attitude curdled like milk. At least that trouble is quelled."

The Admiral Maerîl sees the missive, her brows delving deeper and deeper into a chevron over her eyes. Mouth perked into a disgusted scowl. “We’re bedding robots now? What the ****?” And burned the missive on a candle nearby to cleanse her eyes of it.

The new overlord of the Greyes, Maerîl of Rourke, notes their many enemies, and makes her lands ready to defend her family. And, likewise, advises them to take any mention of Vuiller out of their missives entirely.

Neasa Anastasia O'Rourke looks happily unto the Beatification of her namesake ancestor, Anastasia! She holds the parchment close in a hug, pausing the cleaning of the monastery to read.

continue forth, my lovely friend!