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╔══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╗ Iduna lingered wearily at the hearth she had always known, her form nearly spectral in its pendulous swaying. The flames roared just as they always had, but the warmth she had derived from them as a girl had faded entirely; now, there was only shame. Her people had turned their backs on the fight she swore herself to, and resolved instead to conquest. And Iduna, in turn, had resolved to depart. The Knight lifted the parchment to her gaze, her lips forming a stiff divide across her features. Surely, this could not be folly. Surely, this would be the chance she had always sought: to eradicate evil, or aid in its eradication, in any case. A hand - free of gloves for the first time in years and marked with eidolic, serpentine tattoos - went to the falchion's pommel at her waist, and her resolve was reborn. Surely, she now knew. This was the course she had seen in the black of so many sleepless nights. ╚══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╝

-scheming eunuch: @ncarr -loathsome heir: @Phersades -court jester: @Tav -noble knight: @Greehn

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Somewhere within Nevaehlen, the most junior of the Fox's leash hoisted herself to the uppermost branch of a great, towering tree. As she surveyed the lush expanse about her, Fëa felt that she might take flight from that place. She had never known such freedom as this: the whole world hers to discover.

The metallic cacophony of chains resounded through Iduna's ears as she lay in her chambers amidst the black of night, woken from a horrible, lonesome nightmare. She had been stuck, fastened to the stone beneath her by a flurry of blackened, spectral chains as a blizzard formed with her at its heart. So terribly cold, she had been - so alone. She woke with a start to find that terrible chorus of metal in her ears, ever-ringing. Dry. Her throat was so dry, as if whipped raw by callous frost. She lifted a hand to it, and winced at the tenderness she found. Hastily, she collected a candle from the coffer at her beside, lighting it with a dying ember of the fire in her hearth. Drowsily, then, she set off for the kitchens, the puny, flickering light of her candle lighting the path she would have known in total darkness. As she rounded the stairway that led to Al'Ildic's kitchen, she was met with the bustle of servants milling about, their heads hung low as they whispered commands and entreaties amongst themselves. Strange, she thought, for this time of night. Still, she could not be rid of that grating scrape of metal that danced between her eardrums. "What is the meaning of this?" She called to a passing servant, lifting her candlestick to regard her. The chambermaid could not bring herself to speak, only to turn, snapping, to another, who extended a sealed parchment Iduna's way. The clanking of chains grew to a roar in Iduna's ear as she accepted it, her brow creased. She fetched her water and was on her way to her quarters once more. Alone. Alone. Alone. This was the chanting that accosted Iduna's senses now, a new chain sinking into the sinew of her heart with each repetition. Faeleth had promised. She had sworn. Faeleth was a woman of her word. She could not have meant for this to happen - for Iduna to be left so terribly alone. She could not fathom this: the only mother she had ever known, stripped from her so soon after she returned home. A metallic acidity rose in Iduna's throat as her eyes darted over and over across the parchment, searching for some clue to its meaning. All she found was solitude.

[!] A belated courier bird made its soaring approach to the sage's door. Thalandir, Much time has passed since last we met, and much has changed of our world. I am told of a reckoning to come, and I believe that the quest for which you gather shamans has to do with that very reckoning. A warning has come to me that your shamans will fail without the help of those who sought the Mountain's peak - those who heeded its call. I would seek audience to discuss what is to come, that I may assist in this quest of yours, lest calamity come for us all. Signed, Síriel

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Lorena of Gant smiled from the Seven Skies... At last, peace for the Adrians had been secured.

esotericas try not to be based challenge (impossible)

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."

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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.

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