liz

TRAGEDY in the HOUSE OF BARUCH VA BIRODEO HERZENAV AG EDLERVIK, Tragedy has once more struck the House of Baruch. Let this missive serve to announce that Her Grace, Roslin Baruch, Duchess of Valwyck passed into Godan’s hands on the 10th Day of Vzmey ag Hyff in the year 517 E.S. The ailing Duchess had retired from public view in recent months in light of her dwindling health, and was attended by family and loved ones in her final days. It was her Grace’s most fervent wish to witness the birth of her grandson before her death – a wish that merciful Godan granted. After a long and arduous labour, Lady Alexandra Baruch welcomed a son into this world. The late Duchess blessed the boy Petyr Jan Baruch as the sun began to fall, and her last rites were performed as the final remnants of light disappeared from the sky over Valdev. Her Grace passed peacefully, surrounded by her surviving progeny. BY MOUNTAIN, RIVER, AND COAL, His Grace, Garen Baruch, Duke of Valwyck, Count of Ayr, Viscount of Voron, Baron of Gant, Laval, and Riveryn, Lord of Jorenstadt, Guardian of the Hanseti Coast Her Grace, Alexandra Baruch, Duchess-consort of Valwyck, Countess-consort of Ayr, Viscountess-consort of Voron, Baroness-consort of Gant, Laval, and Riveryn, Lady of Jorenstadt

A UNION of VIRTUES Matrimonial Vestments by Malcolm Balfour, c. 515 E.S. VA BIRODEO HERZENAV AG EDLERVIK, As the House of Baruch emerges from its time of official mourning for its late heir, the time approaches for it to announce the heralding of a new beginning. The newly-named heir, Ser Garen Baruch, has found his bride in the Lady Alexandra von Alstreim. The pair were wed in the Basilica of St. Henrik on the fourteenth day of Julia and Piov in the year 516 E.S. Through the auspices of a shared companion, the two met and discussed ambitions of a new home for the both of them and the people of Ayr. But it was not merely this dream that drew the two together, but their piety and a profound kinship. Together, the two envision a future where the people of Ayr have a place to call home, safe from the turmoils that plague the rest of Aevos. BY MOUNTAIN, RIVER, AND COAL, His Lordship, Ser Garen Baruch Her Ladyship, Alexandra Baruch

"They refused to heed your warnings, mother..." The notoriously stone-faced Alexandra von Alstreim murmured, a wicked frown playing at her lips. She would not weep for her father , that fact had long been decided, but she could not help but to bow her head, fiery tresses - the tresses bequeathed her by her fallen sire - falling as a veil over her striking features. "Father died because he would not listen. How many men have died this way? By refusal to harken a woman's song." (( @Moenah))

"The good Koeng will be waiting for many moons, if he expects the Aaunic government to behave like men." Sonorously declared Alexandra von Alstreim to her elder cousin, Marjoreya. She grinned with the vigor only conjurable by a Haeseni, though she silently mourned the brothers against which she would soon raise steel. [ @ncarr]

Alexandra of Merryweather, in all her years of childhood, never once recalled having seen this Louis Dresnay in her erstwhile homeland. “Some Aaunic patriot…” she mused aloud, to no one in particular.

"You are a coward, Gawyn Tiber." Those were the last words Alexandra von Alstreim ever spoke to the fallen Knight whom she had once called mentor. And he was a coward, reflected she as the word of the Prince's death reached the timbered sanctuary of the Esrova Palace. For we are all cowards - every one of us. Even she, with her grandiose character and her mother's fury, was a coward, realized Alexandra as she tended to the hearth in her apartments. The next, and final, time she and Gawyn met, she had not had the courage to meet his gaze, nor to say any words to him. She knew this would be their last meeting - the Knight had said so himself - and yet she, the coward, hid within her mother's arms rather than apologize for her words. Now, she lacked the courage to weep. Tears came and her hands trembled as she held the missive, but she waved it off as a trick of the flames she nurtured - remnant tremblings of the bitter Haeseni cold. She was a coward, and even now - even when the world had crumbled around her - she had not the honour to weep for a fallen friend. Instead, she tossed the parchment into the flame, and did not watch as its infernal tendrils reduced Gawyn's final words to ash.

"This injustice shall not go unpunished," declared Melina of High Peak to her niece, the Lady of Alba. "Your mother will be returned to you in time, or the world will burn."

The junior Alexandra bore a steely countenance as she stood atop the parapets of Valdev's Esrova Palace, her features arrestingly similar to those of her Lady Mother's. Her fiery red hair, the mark of her house, drafted about her as the bitter Haeseni cold whipped against the girl's frame. She turned to her mother, her gaze as frigid as the snow-buried Haeseni capital, and spoke thusly, and with a fervor that far exceeded her years: "Know this, Mother: that all those who would threaten you - all those who would question you - will one day bow at your feet. I swear this to you. Your enemies will fall."

ign: lizbeathan discord: lizerable skin: sonya stay warm amount: 17 usd

ign: lizbeathan discord: lizerable skin: sonya stay warm amount: 12 usd

TO THE MERRY PEOPLES OF AEVOS, It is with considerable elation that the Houses Novellen of the Petra and Dieuxmont de Rosius announce the planned union between HRH Paul Alexander of the Petra, the Prince of Valfleur, and his long-courted bride, Melina-Isabeau Dieuxmont de Rosius. The pair shared a largely private courtship spanning a number of years and have, at long last, undertaken the merging of their households. The Prince and his bride are to wed under the vigil of the Aldtree in the Petran countryside, in keeping with the Petrine tradition. The newly-annointed Prince and Princess will then receive their guests in the Chateau d’Estenou, where food and drink will be served. All who come in good spirit are welcome to celebrate this momentous occasion - the joining of houses, hearts, and national spirits IN NOMINE DEI, His Royal Highness, Prince Paul Alexander of the Petra, the Prince of Valfleur, Lord Chamberlaine of the River Court Her Excellency, Lady Melina Isabeau Dieuxmont de Rosius, Lady Treasurer of the United Kingdom of Aaun, Deputy Chamberlaine of the River Court

Royal Recognition of the C O U N T O F T A L E N T I N E Issued and Confirmed in the name of the King in the year 1940 Penned by HM the Queen Mother As confirmed by the Regency Council Know ye that We, of Our Special Grace, and Royal Right by this the great seal of the Realm given to Us by special commission of King James, and with good counsel, We have created you Our trusty advisor Louis Haverlock to the title of C O U N T O F T A L E N T I N E. And for Us, Our heirs and successors, do give and grant unto him the dignity and honour of the C O U N T O F T A L E N T I N E; investing him with the said County by girding him with a Sword, having his name and certain items of heraldry etched upon its forte, and putting a Circlet on his head. And We further will by these Presents that for Us, Our heirs and successors, that for him and his heirs the said dignity shall hold no precedence for any and all further estates dignities and honours given to him and his heirs by Our pleasure. In Witness whereof We have caused these Our Letters to be made Patent Witness Ourself at the Hand of Horen the eleventh of Sun’s Smile in the third year of Our Reign. ✿ BY THE ORDER OF OUR REGENCY, Her Royal Majesty, Adela of High Peak Queen Mother of Aaun, Viscountess of Valence His Highness, Heinrich II von Alstreim Prince of Merryweather and the Rhine, Landgrave of Alstreim, Baron of Corwinsburg, Lord of Blackwater His Eminence, Arnaud of the Petra Cardinal Albarosa Her Excellency, Melina Dieuxmont de Rosius Lady Treasurer His Highness, Gawyn Tiber Prince of Beaufort ‘STRENGTH THROUGH UNITY’ TANDEM TRIUMPHANS

"Long Live the King..." Breathlessly whispered the Lady Melina Dieuxmont to her sister, mother to the young King. With great effort, she steeled herself for what was to come.

discord: lizerable skin: elizabeth of york bid: 15

Melina, the junior sister of the bride-to-be, beseeched her weary father to have new silks made for the occasion of her sister's wedding.

Ophelie might have wept, in another life, were she not hardened by decades with nothing but the solitude of her own making to keep her company. She might have held her children close -- her little raven-haired, green-eyed children -- and beseeched them to make the most of every moment. In another life, she might have sat at the hearth of her new King, or the aging Ruthern Duke, and reminisced on the unending support Analiesa had lent her throughout the years, or the sisterly affection the two had held for each other in their youths. But this life was what it was; it was cruel, unfeeling, and impossible to bear. Instead of weeping, or loving, or looking back, Ophelie merely knelt before the altar. She had learned long ago that GOD heard not her prayers, but she knelt nonetheless and prayed to her God, or any that would listen, to allow her to join Analiesa, and Mathilde, and all those who had left her behind.

can i be ur consort pls pls pls pls pls pls pls @christman

WE'RE SO BACK

can u give me kani minecraft + why do u try to steal my wife?

Lorena trudged through the forests of the Upper Petra, faded leather boots picking up more stubborn mud with each step. She was vigilant, her eyes darting about the open forest with each harmless drop of rain that pattered against the trees. It was as if she expected the Brotherhood - with her once-father at their head - to ride up and whisk her away back to Karosgrad, back to that gilded cage she had always so resented, any moment, though they never came. Lorena heard at last the signature cawing of a lone crow approaching at her back, along with the desperate beating of wings against the rain. She lowered herself to the ground, watching as the bird landed in its nest. It offered up a meal of earthworms - freshly uncovered by the falling rain - to its pack of greedy children. Lorena cowered, for she too had heard the tales of crows and their powers of portent, and she had believed them, once. Crows were masters of death, meant to be revered, but in spite of this she slowly made her way toward the tree and the nest within it. There was a sickening crack underfoot which sent Lorena stumbling backward. What she saw made her wretch: a baby crow struggling for life, calling out desperately to its mother in its final death throes. The mother never came for it, though, and it died only moments later. Lorena's eyes hardened then, and she called out heedlessly to the nest above. "This is how you treat your own!?" She bellowed, her voice hoarse with the memories of too many tears to count. With her call, the mother crow went flying off, and the girl below knocked an arrow. She steadied her breathing, pure hatred on her face, and loosed the arrow on the fleeing thing. She watched it tumble lifelessly to the ground, and Lorena thought that maybe this was justice for the abandoned chick, dead just moments before.

Lorena of Lallybroch sighed, crumpling the missive and tossing it into the fire of her chambers at Emalinshrad. "Another father lost. Another daughter forsaken." She remarked, to no one in particular.

"My own father, my own father..." chanted the scorned Lady Gant from within a stuffy chamber in Castle Emalinhrad, her arms - thinning, thanks to her refusal to eat - enveloped her knees as she rocked to and fro with each iteration of the ritualistic chorus. "My own father..." once more echoed out as a retainer of the Lady Suzana delivered a bowl of stew, replacing the now-chilled, untouched plate of the previous day. "My father no more." Was her final resolution to the icy-eyed maid, who merely offered a meek nod before slinking back off to the kitchens - to speak of Lorena's madness, no doubt. "I will have his head." She spoke into the chilly air as she rose shakily from the down-filled cot, trudging along to the window. "I will have all of their heads."

"So they will not have peace," lamented a young Gant at the fireside of an Adrian hearth, enjoying tea with the Duke of Adria. "They mock it, even..." With that, the girl's mind was made. Her expression, so typically the embodiment of sunshine, was steely now. "One way or another, we will have our peace." ((@Nectorist))

THE LIYAR of PETRUH TO THE ARCH-MEANIE WEENIE BO BEANI OF PETRUH, eye’ve alwees thot wee’r frinds butt it seems tuh mee yew ar a deeceever and a liyar uf the most evilest swart. nawt olny did yew hiyde frum mee for yeers n yeers, an tel yor peepol to help. yew all-sow chewsed yer grumpy ole prince merry-is all-dee-mar ovur mee an plaided darts with hem wen eye just wanned ta tok to yew and interdews to yew meye bestestestest frind (culd bee yew so ya no) allie-on-ner . iff yew evur wonna c mee uhgen, yeew gotsa sey sorri for me. iff nalt, the keds uf haynse arr comin for ya. TRANSLATION: with haytred and lotsa sandness LORENA JOSEFINA GANT OF HOUSE GANT

"It has been an honour, Sviatoslav." Remarked Ophelie, offering her Lord Marshal one last salute.