sarahbarah

NADYA HELOISE STOOD IN QUIET AWE, her fingers lightly brushing the dark blue silks of her wedding gown. The fabric shimmered beneath the soft glow of candlelight, the intricate embroidery of golden thread weaving delicate patterns within white chiffon. A sapphire diadem sat atop her dresser, its brilliance a stark contrast to the modest life she had grown accustomed to. She had never been one for finery, her days far more often spent in the scuffed armor and trousers issued by the Brotherhood; yet, here she was, clad in a dress befitting a woman soon to marry a prince. Despite Nadya’s initial protests, the seamstress insisted the gown was perfect for her. Even so, she could not help but feel a pang of bewilderment at the transformation. This was so far removed from the life she had led – running drills in the biting cold, standing guard at castle gates, or sparring in the yard with men twice her size. The sight of the gown brought with it a heavy realization, then: the path ahead would demand even more from her. To bear the Bihar name was no small honor, and she would need to serve her people with an even greater sense of duty and purpose. But even amidst the weight of expectation, she found comfort still. Her union was not one of political maneuvering or royal decrees, but love. Thoughts of Joren came, easing the tension from her shoulders. Their story had been an unlikely one, born from the spirited scuffles of their youth. What began as rivalry blossomed into a bond forged in the fires of respect and admiration. Joren came to love her impulsive, bold nature, just as she cherished his steadfastness and wit. They were mirrors of each other; spirits entwined in a way that felt destined. With a sharp inhale, Nadya ran her calloused fingertips over the gown, smoothing out imaginary creases. The day of the ceremony would soon be upon her – a day of joy not just for them, but for the realm. It would be the first royal wedding held in decades, a celebration of their love witnessed by the entirety of Haense. As the final folds of fabric fell into place, the fledgling bride allowed herself a moment of quiet anticipation. Soon, she would stand before the court – not just as Nadya Weiss, but as Nadya of Novkursain, the Duchess-consort of Alban. And for the first time, she felt ready. DENIZENS OF THE REALM are cordially invited to the Union of Alban as His Royal Highness, Prince Joren Manfred, the Duke of Alban, and Lady Nadya Heloise of Novkursain join together in holy matrimony. This grand occasion marks a historic moment for the realm, as it celebrates the first union between the Royal House of Barbanov-Bihar and House Weiss. The day will begin with a sacred wedding ceremony at the Basilica of St. Joren and the Broken Chains where the couple will exchange their vows under the eyes of God. Following the ceremony, a series of festive events will bring the realm together in jubilant celebration. The day’s entertainment will commence with the much-loved Haeseni sport of Snailula One, a thrilling race featuring the finest snails from across the kingdom. Afterward, a grand joust will showcase the courage and skill of the realm’s most valiant warriors in an enthralling contest of honor and chivalry. His Royal Majesty, KARL IV, King of Hanseti-Ruska and his royal pedigree. @CheekyNolan His Grace, DMITRY VAR RUTHERN, Duke of Vidaus and his noble pedigree. @Masouri His Grace, SIGISMUND LUDOVAR, Duke of Kvasz and his noble pedigree. @Legoboy7984 The Most Honorable, DAVYD COLBORN, Margrave of Kazan and his noble pedigree. @JuliusAakerlund The Right Honorable, DUNCAN BARUCH, Count of Ayr and his noble pedigree. @Pureimp10 Their Right Honorable, ERIK & EMMA KORTREVICH, Counts of Krusev and their noble pedigree. The Right Honorable, KARL WEISS, Viscount of Novkursain and his noble pedigree. @CasChaos The Right Honorable, NERIDA AMADOR, Viscountess of Zvezlund and her noble pedigree. @Melpomenne The Right Honorable, SIFRA KORVACZ, Viscountess of Koppány and her noble pedigree. @Frawlic The Honorable, VARON KOVACHEV, Baron of Kovgrad and his noble pedigree. @Herod The Honourable, ADELINA VAN LEUVEN, Baroness of Furentaliz and her noble pedigree. @Dramatude The Noble, FLORENCE VALKONEN, Matriarch of the House of Valkonen and her noble pedigree. @Emm The Noble, ILYA IVANOVICH, Patriarch of the House of Ivanovich and his noble pedigree. @North His Royal Highness, ERWIN I, Prince of Reinmar and his royal pedigree. @Timer His Royal Majesty, JOHN II, King of Balian and his Royal Pedigree. @Andustar His Royal Majesty, THERIN I, King of Petra and his royal pedigree. @Tremerus His Lordship, ANAKSANDR AMADOR @Koodini Firress DAISY OF THE LILACS @Irene Her Ladyship, ERIKA KORTREVICH @Toffee Her Ladyship, LOUNA VAN LEUVEN @RingAroundRosey Her Ladyship, MIKHAILA COLBORN @krispeechips Firress OLGA IVANOVICH @scarahpot Firress YELIZAVETA MAHAUT @retro Firr TOMASZ KAROSWALD @garentoft Her Excellency, MAHAUT VAN LEUVEN @pomegrad Her Ladyship, MORYANA AMADOR Her Ladyship, ISABEL VAS RUTHERN@myochii His Excellency, SER ANDREI KORTERVICH @Gandhi Her Ladyship, DIMA KOVACHEV @Frawlic Her Ladyship, SOSINA AMADOR @shay His Royal Highness, SIGMAR LORIK @Halt Firress MARA VANIR @iris1612 Her Serene Highness, OLIVIYA LORINA @Mady Firr DRAGOMIR OF SOLGAARD @M1919 His Lordship, JOREN VAR RUTHERN @Seuss Her Royal Highness, NÓRUIEL OF NUMENÓST @carebear Her Royal Highness, MATTEA OF THE PETRA @tilly Her Royal Highness, MILENA ANASTASYA @MunaZaldrizoti His Excellency, MAGNUS RAUÐRDAG @_RoyalCrafter_ Her Ladyship, PRIMROSE KORTREVICH @LuxyLucy His Lordship, SIGMAR VAR RUTHERN @Terry Her Ladyship, NADYA HELOISE WEISS His Royal Highness, JOREN MANFRED, Duke of Alban

━·𖥸·━ NADYA’S CHEST ROSE AND FELL in labored rhythm, each breath carrying the weight of the battle just fought. Infernal blood mingled with her own, streaking her armor as she pulled herself from the smoking pit – a grim and vivid indication of the carnage she had endured. Death clung to her like a shadow, the acrid stench of charred earth and scorched flesh filling the air. The clash of steel and the cries of the dying still echoed faintly in her ears, a haunting reminder of the chaos she had commanded. Her blade, slick with the unholy ichor of the undead, glinted in the dim light. She had aided in rallying the Haeseni fleet to drive the monstrosities into the abyss, and their unwavering, unabashed courage had turned the tide. As the haze of battle cleared, her gaze swept across the blood-soaked clearing until it found Sigmar Lorik and Patriarch Villorik standing amidst the aftermath. Relief washed over her, shoulders sagging as pride welled within her chest. Never had she felt more honored to stand beneath the Haeseni banner, to wield her blade for a cause as just and true as theirs. For them, for her King, she vowed silently as she gripped her sword. Always.

LADY EMMA KORTREVICH, C. 560 E.S. WITHIN THOSE REDDENED WALLS of the Kastell Lesanov, Emma peered out the frosted window, her gaze drifting over the lively streets of New Valdev below. The city bustled with movement – merchants bartering their wares, children darting between stalls, and the rhythmic clatter of hooves against cobbled streets echoing through the crisp morning air. It was a scene she had witnessed countless times, yet today it felt different. The streets teemed with faces she had known since their youth, children she had once watched stumble through their first steps, now grown into capable men and women. Many of them, she realized with a pang of bittersweet pride, she had a hand in raising – if not as their mother, then as a guiding figure in their lives. Her fingers absentmindedly brushed against the strands of gray streaking through her dark hair. The change had come faster than she expected, though she knew well enough the cause; years of service upon the Aulic Council had finally taken their toll. Two Kings she had served faithfully, dedicating herself wholly to the realm. The weight of diplomacy, of forging alliances and mending fractured ties, sat heavily upon her shoulders for many years thus. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Emma expelled a weary sigh, her breath fogging the icy glass. She had never been meant for politics; not truly. Her heart had always been too soft, too fragile for the ruthless complexities of it all. Yet in her softness, she found strength. That same tender heart endeared her to allies both near and far, allowing her to weave bonds of trust and loyalty that ensured the Kingdom’s stability for generations to come. Eighteen years she had labored in service to the realm, each one harder than the last. The corners of her lips curved into a faint smile as she noted a pair of children bumbling through those dear, familiar streets. It had not all been hardship. There was joy in knowing she had played a role, however small, in shaping the future of her people. But as the years passed, the joy had grown heavier, and the weight of her responsibilities had hardened her once-soft heart. It was time, she realized, to let that heart finally rest. Turning from the window, Emma crossed the room to her desk. The wooden surface was cluttered with letters and documents, each one a reminder of the endless tasks that had filled her days. She reached for a blank sheet of parchment and dipped her quill into the inkwell. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ The words came slowly at first, but with each stroke, the weight lifted from her shoulders. As she penned that notice of her impending retirement, she saw the faintest flicker of the girl she had once been – a girl who had never dreamed of politics but had embraced it out of duty and love for her Kingdom. When she set the quill down, she leaned back in her chair, her gaze landing upon the window before her once more. The streets of New Valdev bustled on, indifferent to her decision, yet she felt a quiet peace settle over her. It was time to step away, to let others carry the burden she had borne for so long. She allowed herself to imagine those quieter days ahead – her hands ink-stained from hours of writing treatises on Koravian culture, the soft rustle of parchment filling the silence, and the distant laughter of her grandchildren echoing through the halls. It was a life she had yearned for in the quiet moments between duty, and now, at last, it was within her grasp. With a steadying breath, Emma folded the letter, sealing it with the emblem of the Emissar and placed it neatly atop the stack of correspondence. Her service to the Kingdom had been her greatest honor, but now it was time to embrace the peace she had long denied herself; time to let the stories she had helped shape live on not through decrees or treaties, but through the quiet power of words and memory. NOTICE OF RESIGNATION AVAILABLE FOR PUBLIC PERUSAL Issued by THE LADY EMISSAR On this 13th day of Vzmey ag Hyff of 566 E.S. ╠═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╣ VA VE EDLERVIK, FOR EIGHTEEN YEARS, I have served the realm as Lady Emissar, dedicating my efforts to the prosperity and stability of our great nation. It has been a journey marked by triumphs and trials in equal measure, but above all, it has been a privilege to serve this land and its people with all my heart. I never was a politically-minded sort, yet the Lady Palatine saw fit to vest her faith in me; entrusting me with the position despite my initial reservations. Her belief in my abilities compelled me to serve, and serve I did. Months of tireless work were poured into planning joint festivities, forging treaties, and leading negotiations with our allies. Over the years, I have witnessed the culmination of a generation, many of whom I had the joy of watching grow from children into steadfast men and women who now carry the Kingdom forward. Of course, my time in service has come at a cost (as evidenced by the graying of my hair), but I would not trade a moment of it for anything. To have served two Kings alongside so many dedicated leaders is an honor I will carry for the rest of my days. Even still, the most steadfast servant must one day lay down their burdens, and I find that day has come for me. In stepping away from this role, I look forward to returning to the simpler joys of life within Jerovitz and leave with a heart full of gratitude for the support and trust the Haeseni people have placed in me throughout these seventeen years. To the next Lady or Lord Emissar, I offer you my well wishes. This role is not an easy one, and you will oftentimes find yourself stretched thin. Rely on your fellow councillors and ambassadors, for they are your greatest allies in the service of this Kingdom. Above all else, do not let the frivolity of politics sour your heart. The weight of diplomacy will feel unforgivingly heavy, but you must always remain true to yourself and to the love you bear for Haense and its people. Krusae zwy Kongzem. ╠═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╣ IV JOVEO MAAN, HER EXCELLENCY, Emma Mariya Kortrevich, Lady Emissar of Hanseti-Ruska, Countess of Jerovitz, Viscountess of Krusev, and Baroness of Koravia.

A plain letter is sent, bearing naught but simple handwriting: "For the auction of Ar-Malna, I would like to meet and discuss a potential price. Where shall we meet to discuss and negotiate? -N."

The air was thick with tension, the gentle ripple of the River Lahy a cruel contrast to Emma’s pounding heart. She stood at the water’s edge, her hands clutching the silk of her skirts, twisting it between trembling fingers. The Drowning of the Blades had just begun, and though her son Andrei stood strong as he waded into the icy waters, she could see the faintest quiver in his breath. As she watched him, her vision blurred – not from the river’s mist, but from memories that rose like phantoms. Andrei as a babe, wrapped tightly in soft linen, his tiny fingers grasping hers with surprising strength. His laughter echoed in her ears, the sound carrying her to another time when he’d dashed through the golden wheat fields surrounding Jerovitz. He had stumbled then, his child’s sword clutched too tightly in his small hands, but he’d risen with a fierce grin, determined to master it, even then. Her heart swelled with pride at the man he had become, yet fear coiled like a serpent in her chest. The river was merciless, and the trial demanded every ounce of strength he possessed. What if it asked for more than he could give? What if this was the moment fate decided to claim him, leaving her with nothing but the memories that now assaulted her? ━━━━━━━━━·𖥸·━━━━━━━━━ "Be quiet," she'd hiss to the judging bystanders, her voice sharp as the edge of a honed blade. Emma's glare cut through the crowd gathered along the riverbank, silencing their murmurs and whispers. Did they not understand the weight of this moment? Did they not see that this was her son – her Andrei – facing a trial that demanded not just his strength but his very spirit? Her fingers dug into her palms, the pain grounding her as the spectators dared another round of muttered commentary. The pressure to maintain her composure as Countess warred with the raw vulnerability of her own motherhood. To them, this was a spectacle, a rite of passage for a future Knight Paramount. To her, it was her son, the boy she'd held through countless sleepless nights, now daring the river’s depths to prove his worth. It was only when Andrei broke the surface again, gasping and victorious, that Emma’s knees nearly gave way beneath her. Tears trickled down her cheeks; an amalgamation of relief and pride as she watched him wade back to shore, his steps steady, his resolve unbroken. He was no longer the boy who ran through the wheat fields or swung his toy sword. He was her son and heir, Andrei Otto Kortrevich, the Knight Paramount of Hanseti-Ruska.

INVITATION TO THE HAESENI LIFSTALA Issued by THE LADY EMISSAR On this 14th day of Tov ag Yermey of 564 E.S. VA VE EDLERVIK I AEVOSZ, It is with great joy that the Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska extends a formal invitation to our esteemed allies to join us in the grand celebration of Ve Lifstala, the Seventh Haeseni Social Season. In the spirit of camaraderie, all human allies of our realm are encouraged to partake in this cherished tradition to strengthen the bonds of friendship and facilitate the beginnings of new courtships amongst our peoples. We eagerly await your presence, as it is through events such as these that the ties of friendship between our nations are both honored and renewed. INVITATIONS ARE WARMLY EXTENDED TO THE FOLLOWING NATIONS The Principality of Reinmar @Timer The Kingdom of Balian @Andustar The Commonwealth of Petra @Tremerus The Kingdom of Numendil @AstriaS The Sovereignty of Hyspia @tadabug2000 IV JOVEO MAAN, HER EXCELLENCY, Emma Mariya Kortrevich, Lady Emissar of Hanseti-Ruska, Countess of Jerovitz, Viscountess of Krusev, Baroness of Koravia, Lady of Emsgrad, Lady Protector of the Koravians

EMISSARY REPORT - VOL III AVAILABLE FOR PUBLIC PERUSAL Issued by THE LADY EMISSAR Compiled on this 10th day of Grona ag Droba of 563 E.S. ╠═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╣ VA VE EDLERVIK, The ever-evolving landscape of diplomacy demands vigilance, respect, and a readiness to act in the best interest of the realm. By its nature, diplomacy is a delicate art requiring a steady hand, keen judgment, and the ability to anticipate change before it occurs. It is not simply about maintaining the status quo; rather, it is pertinent that each decision, pact, and discussion serve to strengthen the fabric of peace that binds allies together. Through renewed alliances, strengthened partnerships, and successful cultural initiatives, I have worked tirelessly to reaffirm our commitment to unity amongst our allies across Aevos. This report shall outline the most recent diplomatic achievements and developments witnessed by our realm. – Her Excellency, Emma M. Kortrevich, the Lady Emissar ══════════════════ DIPLOMATIC AFFAIRS ◆ The Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska and the Kingdom of Balian have reaffirmed their alliance through the renewal of the Pact of Monterosa. Under the guidance of newly crowned King Karl IV of Haense and King John II of Balian, both realms pledge mutual defense in the face of external threats. The terms of the pact stipulate that it shall remain valid until the passing of either sovereign. ◆ In a historic diplomatic development, our realm has joined a tri-defensive alliance alongside the Commonwealth of Petra and the Kingdom of Numendil known as the Garmont Pact. This agreement, negotiated by our King, Lady Palatine, and Prince Sigmar of Galhar, will serve as a unified front against potential threats and promote closer collaboration between the three signatories. ◆ On behalf of the Crown, I must express our gratitude to the Principality of Celia’nor for their continued vigilance and support. In a demonstration of good faith, the Lord Commander of Celia’nor, Jarad Mah’nel, facilitated the extradition of a criminal who conspired against the Royal House of Barbanov-Bihar. We thank him for his diligence and quick-thinking. ◆ A significant diplomatic milestone was achieved with the signing of the Eternal Promise of Krug and Joren. This pact of indefinite non-aggression between Haense and the orcish clans solidifies peaceful relations for the foreseeable future. ◆ The second iteration of the Hanso-Hyspian Artisan faire was held successfully in accordance with the terms outlined in the treaty between the Haeseni and Hyspian peoples. The event saw an impressive turnout of artisans and merchants, further strengthening cultural ties and promoting economic prosperity between the two realms. ══════════════════ CLOSING REMARKS As I turn to the future, it is clear that the work of diplomacy is never truly complete; rather, it is a tedious process defined equally by its challenges and triumphs alike, requiring constant attention and dedication. Yet, it is this very effort that ensures not only our own prosperity but the welfare of generations to come. It is by virtue of this that I am grateful for the duties that my role brings me. ╠═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╣ IV JOVEO MAAN, HER EXCELLENCY, Emma Mariya Kortrevich, Lady Emissar of Hanseti-Ruska, Countess of Jerovitz, Viscountess of Krusev, and Baroness of Koravia.

Nadya of House Weiss was no stranger to bloodshed or violence. Miraculously, she had endured what others might not, her spirit tempered by fire and her resolve as unyielding as the northern winds. She had witnessed the harrowing demise of Daels, and the cursed whispers of the Midlands had forever been etched in her mind. With her own hands, she had slain the wicked beasts that plagued her homeland. ...And yet, the prospect of the Prince of Carrion loomed over her like a shrouded mountain, vast and unknown. Though stories of his dark eminence had traveled far, the reality of facing such a figure was something beyond even her hardened comprehension. Her blade, forged in the fires of her trials and tribulations, would be Sigmar’s, undeniably. If the Prince of Carrion would rise, then so too would she. Zara's soul was untempered, fragile as glass in the first frost of winter. She carried within her the naivety of youth, untested by the harsh realities that shaped the world around her. Little did she know of the world's terrors, nor the full scope of the atrocities her own father had wrought in his tireless ambition. The Prince of Galahar, for all his charm and measured courtesy, unsettled her. His kindnesses were never without weight, never given freely. For everything he gave, she feared he would take twice as much. These thoughts gnawed at her, whispering doubts and suspicions as she sought solace in the quiet corners of that newfound Petran holding - a sanctuary that felt both alien and precariously temporary. There, amid its cold stone walls and silence, she mulled over the obligation that threatened to ensnare her. The holding offered her little comfort; it was a prize won through schemes she barely understood, its purpose and future uncertain. Yet, within its confines, she found the space to wrestle with the mounting weight of her circumstances, to reflect on the treacherous path she had begun to tread, and to wonder whether she had the strength to endure it.

Although it had been many years since she passed, the late queen welcomed her old friend with warmth, just as she had in life.

[!] A missive has been sent to members of the Brotherhood of Saint Karl stationed across the Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska. R E P O R T S F R O M T H E F R O N T T H E P A T R O L O F T H E M I D L A N D S, 5 6 0 E S KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM Issued by FOOTMAN NADYA WEISS On this 19th of Joma and Umund of 560 E.S. VA BIRODEO HERZENAV AG EDLERVIK, THE PATROL COMMENCED AT DAWN, consisting of the following members: Lord Marshal Magnus Rauðrdag, Sergeant Willam van Leuven, Armiger Erik Colborn, Footman Nadya Weiss, Footman Anaksandr Amador, Footman Edvard Ludovar, Initiate Isabel vas Ruthern, and Page Alekzmirez Korvacz. The Lord Marshal led this valiant company of eight as they rode through the gates and headed southward into the midlands. Their route took them through the battered ruins of Veletz and onward toward the Korvacz holdings, where they conducted a brief survey of the area. Finding no immediate concerns or hostile activity, they pressed further into the vast, open plains just shy of the forest’s edge. It was here that the patrol first encountered an unsettling shift in atmosphere. A creeping unease settled over the company as they neared the woods, as though an unseen force weighed down the air itself. The soft whispers of wind through the tall grasses took on a sinister quality, resembling hushed voices that carried words just out of earshot. Every flicker of movement in the distance drew their eyes, nerves awry despite no visible figures appearing. Though nothing could be seen, the inescapable sensation of being watched gnawed at the patrol’s collective mind, heightening their awareness and unease. Pushing onward, the patrol entered the Woodland region, where the dense canopy above dimmed the light and muffled the world around them. Their pace slowed as an eerie stillness seeped from the shadows beneath the trees. Then came the voices. “Help… please, someone!” The cries were faint at first, but distinct. The Lord Marshal reined in his steed, lifting a gauntleted hand to silence the company as they strained to listen. The cries grew louder and more frantic, yet something about them felt… wrong. Too precise. Too hollow. The sound of despair seemed to come not from an unseen victim, but from the forest itself – a mimicry of human suffering. Uneasy glances were exchanged as the cries splintered into fragmented wails and whispered pleas. The deeper they pressed into the woods, the colder the air grew, until it seemed to sink into their very bones. As they approached the edge of the treeline, the patrol halted, their steeds shifting uneasily beneath them. Beyond the towering spruce and pine lay an unnatural darkness – a void where light could not penetrate. The air felt thick, oppressive, and with it came a sudden wave of sorrow that settled like a shroud over the riders. The overlapping cries of shrill, haunting voices suddenly rose in chaotic frenzy, surrounding the company on all sides. The shouts grew harsher, more accusatory, and it became impossible to discern any singular source. The steeds reared nervously, and the soldiers fought to maintain their composure amidst the unnatural cacophony. Sensing the source of the disturbance, the Lord Marshal bellowed above the voices: “It’s ghosts, phantoms! Do not let them influence you! Everyone with aurum or slayersteel, line up front now!” The command, however, was met with a grim realization. Of the patrol, only two carried weapons lined with aurum. Recognizing their disadvantage, the Lord Marshal made the decision to withdraw. With an organized retreat, the company rode back from the edge of the forest. The patrol returned to Valdev without casualties but shaken by the events in the Mardonlands’ woods. It is clear that a malevolent presence haunts the area beyond the plains, manifesting as phantoms or spirits that seek to unsettle any who wander too far. Further investigation will require a better-prepared force equipped with aurum, slayersteel, and perhaps the guidance of one versed in spectral phenomena. The nature of the voices – both their mimicry and their accusations – suggests that the forest holds an otherworldly threat. Whether it is tied to the ruins of Veletz or some other force lurking in the midlands remains to be determined. Until then, vigilance is advised for any who venture into the Mardonlands’ woods. ╠══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╣ IV JOVEO MAAN, His Excellency, Magnus Rauðrdag, Lord Marshal of the Brotherhood of Saint Karl. Her Ladyship, Nadya Heloise Weiss, Footman of the Brotherhood of Saint Karl.

Nadya Weiss CHEERS -- albeit disappointed to have missed the fight, she was deeply proud of the victory nonetheless.

━━━━━━━━━·𖥸·━━━━━━━━━ HE SUN HAD BARELY RISEN, its golden light stretching across the sky’s horizon, when Nadya Weiss – a soldier of only fourteen winters – stood in the barracks yard, nocking yet another arrow. Her fingers, calloused from weeks of training, tightened on the string of her bow. She exhaled slowly, narrowing her focus on the target ahead. Release. The arrow flew true, sinking into the center of the hay-stuffed bullseye with a satisfying thud. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She was improving. Just as swiftly as her arrow was loosed, the peace of her morning practice was interrupted by a sudden, deafening toll. The bell to rally. Its iron song rang out over the walls of the city like an urgent cry, sending flocks of birds scattering from the nearby trees. Nadya's head snapped toward the sound just as the voice of Magnus, the Lord Marshal, roared from the courtyard beyond. “Petra’s Chancellor has been captured! Rally to rescue her!” The words stunned her for a fleeting moment. Captured. Her pulse quickened, confusion momentarily seizing her thoughts. As soon as confusion had come, though, it had left just as swiftly, and instinct took hold in its place. Her bow was slung across her back as her hastened feet carried her toward the source of the call. Nadya wasn’t the only one; soldiers streamed into the barracks in droves, their boots pounding against the earth, the scrape and clang of armor filling the morning air. Among the flood of warriors came a familiar face, a welcome sight amid the chaos. Prince Joren rode into the barracks astride his trusted steed, his armor gleaming faintly in the early light. Though he was her age, the prince carried himself with the steady resolve of someone far older. His presence brought an odd calm to Nadya’s pounding heart. She paused at the sight of him, her breath catching as he slowed his horse amidst the crowd. “Nadya!” he called, his voice clear and warm. She brightened upon spotting that familiar prince, though her smile was fleeting. The weight of the situation gnawed at the edge of her excitement. An ally of the Kingdom was in danger, and here she stood among seasoned soldiers preparing for a rescue mission. What am I doing here? Inside the barracks, there was a cacophony of steel and movement. Soldiers armed themselves swiftly – swords sliding into scabbards, helmets buckled tight, shields hefted onto arms. The air was alive with the sharp scent of oil and leather. Nadya caught sight of King Karl himself, standing a few feet from the Lord Marshal, Magnus. Together, they distributed weapons and armor to the soldiers gathered in the barracks. Nadya pushed through the crowd until she stood before the Marshal. “My Lord Marshal,” she greeted, her voice steadier than she felt. Magnus paused to look at her. His stern expression softened briefly, a flicker of pride passing through his gaze. “Initiate Weiss,” he greeted with a firm nod. “You’ve come far already. Be ready to ride.” She straightened, shoulders squaring. “Yes, Lord Marshal. I’ll be ready.” – “Good,” Magnus grunted, thrusting a small dagger into her hands. “Take this. Keep it close, girl. You’ll need it.” As Nadya tucked the blade into her belt, Prince Joren approached, guiding his steed carefully through the bustling throng. He leaned down, extending his hand with a familiar grin – one that reminded her of the countless days they had spent riding together as children. “Come, Nadya,” he said, his voice carrying over the scattered noise. “You’ll ride with me.” Her hesitation vanished in an instant. With a firm grasp of his hand, she let him pull her up onto the horse. Around them, the soldiers of Haense prepared for their march. Spears were hoisted, banners unfurled, and the crest of the crows fluttered above the assembled force. The Lord Marshal raised his sword high, the polished steel catching the sunlight as he bellowed the final call. “We ride for Petra!” The gates of the city groaned as they opened, and the rally surged forward like a single living entity. Nadya clung tight as Prince Joren’s horse broke into a gallop, the sound of hooves thundering against the earth. The morning air was cold against her face, and the wind tugged at her unruly curls but none of it mattered. Her mind was sharp, her heart steady. She was no longer just a girl with a bow – she was a soldier of the Brotherhood of Saint Karl, and she was riding to battle. Ahead, the horizon beckoned. Nadya Weiss did not know what awaited her in Petra, but as the army charged forward, she vowed to herself that she would not falter. HEY RODE HARD THROUGH THE DAY and arrived at Vallagne in Petra as the sun continued its ascent into the sky above. Soldiers lined the walls to greet them, their armor shimmering in the afternoon light. Though Nadya recognized none of the Petrans and Numendians personally, their banners and crests were familiar enough. Inside the city, a host of 2,000 Petran and Numendian soldiers awaited, their lines disciplined and weapons ready. It was the arrival of Celia’nor’s forces that caught Nadya’s eye, though. A column of 800 Cilia’diraar warriors crested the hills to the west, their presence unmistakable even from afar. The wind carried their glittering purple banners high above the host, the deep violet silk emblazoned with silver crescents and stars. The Crown Regent, one Gareth Lucius, emerged from the crowd as the last of the soldiers arrived, drawing the young Weiss from her daze. “My thanks," he uttered, addressing the soldiers that stood before him. "We are first searching the abandoned Aaunish keeps. Likely places for a bandit to hold up.” As the commanders quietly discussed the strategies they’d employ in the forthcoming battle, Joren guided his steed toward a quiet knoll overlooking Vallagne. Nadya sat behind him as the two gazed out over the city. The glow of lanterns began to flicker to life in windows, and faint wisps of smoke curled from chimneys into the afternoon sky. It was a serene scene – peaceful and calm in a way that seemed almost surreal given what lay ahead. “It’s beautiful,” Nadya murmured, and Joren nodded in agreement, his own gaze lingering on the quaint houses and the faraway fields beyond. “It is. Hard to believe that men would spill blood on lands like this.” Nadya tightened her hold on the saddle’s edge, the faint hum of nerves stirring within her. “Do you think we’ll find her? The Chancellor?” “We will,” Joren said firmly, glancing back at her with a confident smile that seemed perfectly unwavering. “And we’ll bring her back to her people.” Nadya allowed herself to believe him, if only for that moment. The two of them sat in companionable silence, listening to the faint sounds of the city and the distant rush of the river. But the peace did not last. HE THUNDERING OF HOOVES and the sound of a frantic scout’s call drew them from their moment of solitude: “The bandits have been found in the mountains to the east! Follow me, soldiers!” Joren turned in his saddle, his expression sharpening. “It’s time.” Nadya straightened and offered naught but an affirmative nod as he urged the horse forward, descending the knoll to join the other soldiers assembled near the city’s entrance. Before long, Nadya and Prince Joren were galloping eastward toward the mountains. The path was rugged and steep, but the beauty of the land was undeniable. Nadya, seated behind Joren, held tight to him and his steed. The ascent up the mountains was as grueling as it was breathtaking. Nadya’s breath came quicker in the thinness of this mountain air, but she couldn’t help pausing now and then to take it all in – the jagged cliffs painted gold by the afternoon sun, the mist weaving through the valleys far below, and the wildflowers that stubbornly pushed through cracks in the earth. The quiet beauty of the scene before her clashed with the forethought of what awaited them past the mountain’s summit, her heart fluttering with awe and unease alike. Nadya marveled at the world around her, at how something so serene could exist mere miles from the battle they sought. “It’s so quiet,” she whispered, half to herself. Joren, riding ahead, glanced back. “Not for long.” S THEY ROUNDED THE FINAL BEND, the scenery changed. Ahead lay the ruined holdings sprawled across a rocky plateau, their broken walls jagged and blackened with age. Voices echoed faintly from within – the taunts and jeers of Daelishmen that turned Nadya’s stomach. Prince Joren slowed his horse to a stop. Nadya looked up at him, her expression resolute despite how her stomach churned. – “Are you ready, Joren?” she asked, dismounting swiftly. The young prince nodded, determination aglint in his gaze. “Aye,” he replied. “I’ll be right there with you.” They drew their blades together, their steel glimmering in the afternoon sun as they braced for what was to come. At the King’s call, the Petrine-Haeseni forces began their infiltration. Nadya followed Joren down the stairs, her grip steady upon her sword. The air grew colder as they descended, the flicker of torchlight casting shadows that danced ominously on the damp stone walls. Her fear gnawed at her conscience with every step. We can’t fail. Beside her, Joren moved with the same steady confidence she had always admired, and it gave her a small measure of comfort. "We’ll bring her home," she whispered under her breath, as much to herself as to the darkened path ahead. The rally was split – half the force secured the upper levels while the other half pushed into the lower depths of the keep. Bandits hurled insults, their jeers a futile attempt to deter the advance. Skirmishes broke out in the narrow chambers, steel ringing as soldiers clashed with the Daelish. Nadya found herself fighting alongside her kinsman, Andrei Kortrevich, a familiar face in the midst of the chaos. He was a well-practiced warrior, his shield raised high and his blade steady with every swing. “Stay close, Nadya!” he barked. “I’m not going anywhere,” she shot back, her voice strained as she parried a blow that threatened the security of her chainmail. The close quarters made every move deliberate, the smell of sweat and blood thick in the stale air. “I’m here, Andrei!” Together, they held their ground, cutting down any who dared approach. Nadya felt the sting of a glancing blow to her side – naught but a minor gash that her armor had mostly absorbed. Shouts from above caught her ear. Faint but unmistakable, the names of Viktor and Rhys var Ruthern rang out in the air triumphantly. Two Daelish lords had fallen by their hands. Nadya’s chest swelled with renewed resolve. “Capture them!” Nadya cried desperately as bandits fell before her. Justice for the Dame-Chancellor – for Petra – was within reach. But the lords she sought to capture were already dead, the chaos too great to take them alive. HE SIGHT OF HER BROTHER, Kazimir, parrying a bandit's blow in the chaos of the lower keep sent a surge of relief through Nadya. Her heart quickened as she caught sight of his familiar form, his movements fluid and precise despite the chaos around him. His blackened armor gleamed in the dim torchlight, and his face – stern but determined – was a reminder of their shared lineage. Their shared glory. “Nadya! Watch your left!” Kazimir shouted, his blade ringing with the force of the strike. Without hesitation, Nadya pivoted, her sword hefted just in time to deflect another incoming blow from a Daelishman. The force of the clash sent a jolt through her arms, but she held firm. A quick glance to her brother confirmed he was still fighting. She had witnessed it all firsthand – the brutal clash of steel, the agonizing cries of the wounded, the final moments of comrades who would never again draw breath. It was a sight she would not soon forget. She could hear Prince Marius’s commands cut through the chaos some floors above, ordering an additional charge into the depths of the Daelish lair. The soldiers, invigorated by the sounds of battle echoing around them, surged forward once more. The Daelish, now scattered and disorganized, scrambled desperately to mount a defense behind their gates. One by one, the Daelish were cut down mercilessly, their resistance fading as the warriors of the coalition pressed onward. To Nadya, it was all a blur. A small group of Daelishmen still remained, but their harrowing presence did not go unnoticed. Aganar and Dmitry, the relentless and equally unexpected pair of warriors, chased the bandits into their vault right before the young Weiss’ eyes. With a flurry of well-placed strikes, the duo dispatched the last of the bandits, ensuring that no Daelish threat remained in the heart of the keep. HE ROOM ITSELF REEKED OF METAL AND BLOOD, a heavy, suffocating stench that clung to everything around her. The air felt thick with the weight of battle, and Nadya could feel the tension in her chest as she pushed forward. The troops began to file out of those bloodstained ruins, leaving behind the remains of their fallen foes, their triumph hard-earned but undeniable. The King of Haense, his face set in a mask of stoicism, was the first to mount his steed. Nadya followed after, and as she emerged into the light, she was grateful to feel the sun upon her face once again, the warmth a stark contrast to the cold, grim darkness of the tunnels they'd just left behind. Karl spotted the Daelishmen's corpses being hauled out from the tunnels. He tugged on the reins of his horse, urging it forward with a subtle motion. His face crumpled into one of distaste, both for the pitiful state of the Daelishmen, even in death. He gazed upon them with a quiet fury, his thoughts unreadable but sharp as a knife. “Homeward, Haeseni. There’s no more work to be done here,” he commanded. Nadya, though tired and sore from the battle, felt a flicker of pride wrought from the King’s words. She nodded and mounted Joren’s steed once again, settling behind him with a silent sense of relief. Together, they rode with the rest of the victorious soldiers. Haense awaited them, and though the cost had been high, their triumph was assured. As the sun dipped below the horizon, they rode back home victorious. The sky above was darkening, but for now, peace was theirs, a fragile peace that they would protect at all costs.

A wisp of a memory, fleeting but not entirely forgotten, softly smiles upon the mortal realm.

A young Weiss girl dusts off her plate with pride.

The aging Countess of Jerovitz smiled, framing yet another one of her daughter's works in her office. That night, she left a small bouquet of primroses outside her daughter's bedroom; flowers that symbolized grace, valor, and persistence-- all traits that Erika possessed to the fullest extent.

P E N N E D B Y T H E C O U N T E S S O F J E R O V I T Z c. 559 E.S. Long ago, I discovered iterations of these old folktales in the archives of Jerovitz. They are precious, ancient stories rooted in Koravian mythology that demonstrate who we were – and are presently. Through these tales, we remember the lessons that have shaped our people and the wisdom passed down by our ancestors. Koravian folktales have persisted through the ages, and now, I share them with the people of Haense, passing them on from one generation to the next, from one mother to another. In doing so, these stories continue to inspire, teach, and remind us of the magic and strength that reside in our hearts. – Emma M. Kortrevich, the Countess of Jerovitz ⋅ ───────────────⊱༺⠀⟐⠀༻⊰─────────────── ⋅ Long ago, in a small village nestled at the edge of a dense forest, there lived a girl named Mila. She was a kind-hearted soul, known for her gentle ways and her talent for tending to the wildflowers that grew near her home. Yet, the villagers warned her never to wander too deep into the woods, for strange and wondrous things were said to dwell there. One spring morning, as Mila gathered herbs at the forest's edge, she noticed a trail of vibrant flowers leading deeper into the woods. They were unlike any she'd seen – golden blossoms glowing faintly in the shadows. Unable to resist their beauty, Mila followed the trail, weaving between ancient trees until she reached a sunlit glade. At the center of the glade stood a massive bear. His fur was dark as the richest soil, but scattered across his back were patches of moss, vibrant blooms, and mushrooms of every color. As he turned to face her, Mila saw his eyes glimmer with a knowing kindness. "Do not be afraid," the bear rumbled, his voice deep but warm. "I am Branimar, the keeper of the forest's magic." Mila, though startled, was not afraid. "Your back – it's like a garden! How does it grow so beautifully?" Branimar chuckled, and the flowers on his back seemed to sway with his laughter. "The forest gives me its life, and in return, I nurture it. But my powers are fading. The balance of this land has been disturbed, and I can no longer grow as I once did." Mila's heart ached at his words. "What must I do to help you?” "There is a hidden spring deep in the forest," Branimar said. "Its waters hold the essence of life. But it is guarded by the thorned ones, spirits who despise mortals like yourself. You must brave their lair and bring back the water." ⊱༺⠀⟐⠀༻⊰ Without hesitation, Mila agreed. Branimar guided her to the edge of the Thorned Ones' territory, and with a quiet wish of good fortune, she ventured forth. The thorned ones appeared as twisted trees with sharp, barbed branches. They hissed and creaked, trying to ensnare her, but Mila's kindness shone like a lantern. She sang to the spirits, offering them peace, and her voice softened their anger. At last, they allowed her to draw water from the spring. When Mila returned to the glade, Branimar was weak, his flowers notably wilting. But, as she poured the water over his back, the transformation was instant. The flowers bloomed brighter than ever, mushrooms sprouted in vibrant clusters, and the moss grew lush and green. All the creatures of the forest seemed to collectively sigh in relief. "You have restored me," spoke Branimar, his voice stronger now. "For your courage and kindness, I grant you a gift." He touched her hand with his great paw, and a small flower began to bloom upon her palm. "This flower will guide you to those in need," Branimar explained. "May your heart always guide you, as it has done today." From that day on, Mila became known as the forest’s guardian, a healer and protector of naturekind. And though Branimar was rarely seen again, villagers would sometimes find trails of golden blossoms leading to the woods, a sign that the magical bear was watching over them still. ⋅ ───────────────⊱༺⠀⟐⠀༻⊰─────────────── ⋅ Once, in a village surrounded by dark, misty mountains, there lived a girl named Anya. She was like any other child, save for one remarkable trait: her hair, golden-red like autumn leaves, would burst into flames when her emotions surged. Though it never burned her, the villagers were fearful of her gift, deeming it a curse from the spirits of the mountains. As Anya grew older, the fear turned to hostility. "Your fire will bring ruin upon us!" the villagers cried. Despite her pleas, they drove her out, leaving her to wander the cold, shadowed woods. Anya wept, but she vowed to survive, hoping one day to prove her worth. She made a home deep in the forest, learning to live with her fiery gift. Her flames could cook food, warm her in the cold, and even protect her from the wild beasts. Even still, she always longed for the village where she was born. One fateful winter, a great shadow descended upon the village – a monstrous wolf, as black as the night itself, with eyes like glowing coals. It was no ordinary beast but a spirit of vengeance, who came to punish the villagers for their greed in taking more from the forest than they gave. Each night, the wolf would prowl, its howls freezing the air and its presence stealing the warmth from every hearth. The villagers, desperate and cold, prayed to the spirits for help, but none answered. Finally, word of their plight reached Anya. Despite their cruelty, she could not bear to see her home suffer. Gathering her courage, she made her way back to the village. ⊱༺⠀⟐⠀༻⊰ When she arrived, her fiery hair lit up the night, casting long shadows against the wolf's massive form. The villagers watched in awe and fear as Anya stood before the beast. "Spirit of the mountains," she called, her voice steady despite how her fingers trembled. "Your anger is just, but the innocent suffer with the guilty. Let me make amends for their wrongs." The wolf growled, its breath a cloud of frost hanging in the air. "What can you, a cursed girl, offer to satisfy their debts?" Anya closed her eyes and drew upon the fire within her. Her hair flared, blazing brighter than ever before. The wolf lunged, but she met it head-on, her flames wrapping around the neck of the beast like a fiery cloak. The two struggled, but Anya’s fire continued to burn. It burned not in anger, but was set ablaze solely by the compassion for her homeland. The wolf, feeling the warmth of her heart, finally relented. "You have shown courage and selflessness," the wolf rumbled. "I will spare your village, but they must honor the forest from now on." With that, the wolf faded into the mist, leaving behind only a faint trail of frost. The villagers, overcome with gratitude and shame, begged for Anya's forgiveness. From then on, Anya was no longer feared, but celebrated. Though her hair still burned bright, it was no longer seen as a curse, but a blessing henceforth. ⋅ ───────────────⊱༺⠀⟐⠀༻⊰─────────────── ⋅ In a kingdom where the winters were long and the summers brief, there lived a princess named Karlotta. Though her beauty was renowned and her castle stood tall and proud atop a looming mountain, her heart was heavy with sorrow. Her parents, the king and queen, were kind but distant, and the court was filled with whispers of politics and intrigue. Karlotta longed for something pure, something untarnished by the world of men. One gray morning, Karlotta slipped away from the castle. Draped in a simple cloak, she wandered into the vast forest that stretched beyond the castle walls. The woods were quiet, the kind of silence that felt alive, as though the trees themselves were listening. As she wandered deeper, a soft glow caught her eye. Following it, she came upon a glade bathed in pale sunlight, and there stood a creature of such beauty that it took her breath away – a unicorn. Its coat was silvery white, shimmering like moonlight, and its horn spiraled delicately, glowing faintly with a light of its own. The unicorn turned its deep, knowing eyes toward her, and Karlotta felt as though it saw the sadness she carried in her heart. She knelt before it, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I am no threat to you," she whispered. "I have come seeking solace, nothing more." The unicorn stepped closer, and as it did, wildflowers bloomed in its wake, even in the midst of winter's chill. It lowered its head, touching her hand gently with its warm muzzle. "Why do you cry, child of men?" a soft voice echoed, though the unicorn's lips did not move. The words seemed to come from the air itself. "I am surrounded by riches and power, yet my heart feels empty," Karlotta confessed. "I see only greed and cruelty in the world. I wish to find something true, something worth believing in." That creature regarded her for a long moment, then spoke again. "The world may be filled with shadows, but light still exists if you choose to see it. I will show you what lies beyond your sorrow." ⊱༺⠀⟐⠀༻⊰ With that, the unicorn led her through the forest. They visited the creatures of the woods: a family of foxes huddled in their den, birds singing despite the chill, and a mother bear cradling her cub. At last, that unicorn guided her to a crystal-clear pond, gesturing for her to look into the water. When Karlotta peered into its depths, she saw not her reflection but visions of her kingdom. She saw villagers laughing together as they toiled in the fields, children playing in the palace gardens, and her own parents sitting quietly, their faces lined with worry for her absence. "True beauty lies not in what is perfect but in what endures," the ethereal being said. "Your people, your land – they are flawed, yes, but they are also filled with hope, kindness, and love. It is up to you to nurture these things, to let them flourish." Karlotta only nodded, her heart lighter than it had been in years. She reached out to touch the unicorn's mane, but as her fingers grazed it, the creature shimmered and vanished like mist in the morning sun. When she returned to the castle, her parents embraced her tightly, relieved at her return. From that day on, Karlotta began to see her kingdom through new eyes. She spent her days among her people, learning their joys and struggles, and worked tirelessly to bring peace and prosperity to her land. Though she never saw the unicorn again, she would sometimes find its hoofprints in the forest and hear the faint echo of its voice in the rustle of the trees, reminding her that even in sorrow, there is always something worth believing in. ⋅ ───────────────⊱༺⠀⟐⠀༻⊰─────────────── ⋅ In the windswept fields of Old Koravia, a land of rolling hills and endless skies, the people depended on their wheat to survive. Yet one fateful year, the rains came late, and the sun scorched the earth. The wheat refused to grow, and the villagers feared starvation. Among them was a boy named Andrei, known for his quiet demeanor and his talent for playing the lute. Though he was poor and often went unnoticed, his melodies brought joy to those who heard them. His lute, passed down from his grandmother, was old and weathered, but its sound was akin to the voice of the wind. One evening, as Andrei played his lute near the dying fields, he noticed a faint shimmer in the distance. Following it, he found himself at the edge of a forest. There, standing beneath a towering oak, was an old man with a beard as white as frost and eyes that sparkled like stars. "You play well, boy," the old man said. "But why do you play when your heart is heavy?" "The fields are barren," Andrei replied. "The wheat will not grow, and my people will go hungry. My music is all I have to offer." The old man nodded, a glimmer of sympathy in his gaze. "Then let your music bring life." From his pocket, he procured a string made of pure gold. "Replace the lowest string of your lute with this, and your melodies will awaken the earth. But remember, the gift of life is not for selfish gain. Play with a pure heart, or the land will suffer." Andrei thanked the old man and hurried home. That night, under the pale light of the moon, he strung the golden string onto his lute. Tentatively, he played a single note. The sound was unlike anything he had ever heard – deep and resonant, like the earth's heartbeat. ⊱༺⠀⟐⠀༻⊰ The next morning, Andrei walked to the fields and began to play. His fingers danced across the strings, weaving a melody that spoke of rain, sun, and the promise of renewal. As the notes floated across the fields, the earth began to stir. Shoots of green emerged from the soil, growing taller with every chord. By the end of the day, the barren fields were lush with golden wheat. Word of Andrei’s miraculous music spread, and villagers came from far and wide to witness his gift. Yet not all who heard of it were kind-hearted. A wealthy merchant from the neighboring town, blinded by greed, devised a plan to steal the lute. One night, as Andrei slept, the merchant crept into his home and took the lute. The next day, the merchant stood in his own barren fields and attempted to play. But his heart was filled with greed, not purity, and the melody he produced was harsh and discordant. The ground cracked, and the crops withered. Furious, the merchant threw the lute aside, and it shattered into pieces. The next morning, Andrei awoke to find his lute gone, and his heart sank when he noticed its absence He ran to the fields where the fragments lay and knelt beside them, tears of dismay streaming down his face. "I played only to help my people," Andrei whispered. "Not for fame or wealth. Please, great spirits of the land, give me one more chance." As his tears touched the lute's shattered remains, the pieces glowed softly and reassembled. Now that the lute was whole again, Andrei picked it up and played a soft, heartfelt tune. This time, the melody was one of forgiveness. Miraculously, the barren fields of the greedy merchant and others around Koravia began to flourish as well. From that day forward, Andrei’s gift was treasured by all. He continued to play. not just for the promise of a bountiful harvest, but for the joy and unity of his people as well. ⋅ ───────────────⊱༺⠀⟐⠀༻⊰─────────────── ⋅ In a small town tucked between dense, dark woods, there lived a young girl named Emelya. Her heart was full of curiosity, and she often wandered into the forest to explore its secrets. The elders warned her not to venture too deep, for the woods were said to be enchanted, full of strange creatures and hidden dangers. But Emelya, ever brave and eager for adventure, paid no heed. One autumn afternoon, as the sun dipped low in the sky, Emelya wandered further into the woods than ever before. The trees were thick with golden leaves, and the air was cool, carrying the scent of pine and earth. She followed the sound of a bubbling brook, thinking it would lead her back to the village, but as the shadows grew longer, she realized she had become hopelessly lost. Panic began to rise in her chest, but just as she thought all hope was lost, she heard a soft, melodic whistle through the trees. Turning, Emelya saw a figure standing before her, its shape shimmering in the fading light. It was a creature like none she had ever seen: part man, part bird, with wings of fiery red and gold that sparkled like embers. His eyes glowed like burning coals, and his features were sharp yet regal, as though he had once been a prince of some forgotten realm. "Do not be afraid, child," the creature said in a voice as smooth as a breeze but with a deep, commanding resonance. "I am Sigmar, the Firebird Prince, bound to these woods for as long as the flames of my heart burn." Emelya’s fear began to fade, replaced by wonder. "A prince... and a bird?" she asked, still unsure whether she was dreaming. "I am both," Sigmar answered, his wings fluttering with a soft crackling sound. "Once, I ruled over a distant kingdom, but I angered the spirits of the forest with my pride, and so I was transformed. Now, I guard this realm, guiding lost souls like yours back to safety." Emelya’s heart swelled with both awe and sorrow. "But how did you become like this?" Sigmar’s fiery eyes dimmed for a moment, and a shadow seemed to pass over his face. "I was foolish, believing that power could be won by force. I sought to conquer the spirits of nature, to bend them to my will. But the spirits are not to be controlled; they are to be respected. In punishment, I was cursed to walk this forest, part bird, part man, until I prove my humility." Emelya felt a deep sympathy for him, and in return, she offered, "I will help you. I may not understand your plight, but I believe you can find peace again." The Firebird Prince smiled, his golden feathers glowing brighter. "You have a pure heart. Perhaps that is why you were brought to me. But it is not your kindness I need, but your courage. Follow me, and I will guide you back home." ⊱༺⠀⟐⠀༻⊰ With a flick of his wings, Ilya soared into the sky, and Emelya, trusting in him, followed his shimmering trail through the trees. As they traveled, the forest seemed to come alive around them, branches parting to reveal hidden paths, and the whisper of wind seemed to sing songs of guidance. Sigmar led her through thorny brambles and over winding streams, his fiery wings lighting the way even as dusk fell. As they approached the edge of the forest, Emelya looked up at him in awe. "You have saved me, Firebird Prince. But will you ever be free of your curse?" The Firebird Prince looked down at her with a wistful smile. "Perhaps one day, when I prove my humility to the spirits and accept that the forest is not mine to command, I may return to my true form. Until then, I will remain as I am, a guardian of the lost. With a final, graceful bow, Sigmar spread his wings and rose into the air, disappearing into the night sky. The fiery glow of his feathers lingered for a moment before fading into the stars. Emelya returned to her village, her heart full of the warmth of her encounter. She shared the story of the Firebird Prince, and the villagers, moved by her courage and the tale, came to respect the forest even more. The once-feared woods became a place of reverence, for they now knew that a prince, half-man, half-bird, watched over them.

Emma's eyes gleamed as she read her daughter's report, hands delicately clutching the edges of the gilded document. Every bit of her pride was palpable.

EMISSARY REPORT - VOL II AVAILABLE FOR PUBLIC PERUSAL Issued by THE LADY EMISSAR Compiled on this 20th day of Tov ag Yermey of 559 E.S. ╠═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╣ VA VE EDLERVIK, It is with great pride that I present to the Haeseni populace the latest report on the diplomatic achievements of our esteemed realm. Over the last several months, the tireless efforts of Haense’s emissaries and representatives have borne fruit, securing alliances, facilitating peace, and deepening cultural bonds with our allies far and wide. The following report will detail the major milestones accomplished through the realm’s diplomatic efforts including renewed alliances, the successful mediation of disputes, and the celebration of shared heritage with our trusted allies. – Her Excellency, Emma M. Kortrevich, the Lady Emissar ══════════════════ RECRUITMENT AND APPOINTMENTS ◆ To ensure the seamless operation of my Office and to provide consistent leadership in my absence, Lord Cardan van Leuven has been appointed my Deputy Emissar. This individual brings a wealth of experience in diplomacy and leadership, with a proven track record of forming meaningful relationships between other realms. ◆ Recognizing the growing need for skilled representatives to carry out the Crown’s vision abroad, the Office is actively seeking to expand its cadre of diplomats. Applications are being accepted for individuals with a passion for diplomacy, cultural exchange, and fostering international goodwill. ══════════════════ DIPLOMATIC AFFAIRS ◆ In collaboration with the Principality of Reinmar, the two nations hosted a series of joint cultural events, including an orchestra performance, a spirited game tournament, and a baking competition. These events fostered camaraderie among the denizens of the Dual-Kingdom and Principality, and highlighted the shared values of kinship between the Highlandic realms. ◆ The longstanding partnership with the Sovereignty of Hyspia has been reaffirmed through the renewal of our defensive pact. The renewal was met with enthusiasm by our Hyspian counterparts and shall facilitate cultural and economic exchanges between our two realms. ◆ Per our agreement, the dutiful diplomat Baroness Adelina van Leuven successfully organized an artisan festival celebrating Hyspian and Haeseni artisanship alike. The festival was a vibrant showcase of cultural craftsmanship, further strengthening the historical ties between our peoples. ◆ The Office of the Emissar had the honor of facilitating a historic peace summit between the Principality of Celia’nor and the Silver State of Haelun’or. After several hours of constructive dialogue, both parties reached a peaceful resolution to their disputes. ◆ Our diplomatic relationship with Koyo Kuni continues to flourish with the renewal of our non-aggression pact. This agreement secures peaceful relations with this esteemed realm and allows for continued dialogue on mutual interests. ◆ Following the unfortunate passing of His Majesty, King Marius III, the Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska and the Kingdom of Númendil have reaffirmed their commitment to peaceful relations through the renewal of our non-aggression pact. This renewal shall provide a stable foundation for ongoing dialogue and potential collaboration, ensuring that the spirit of cooperation remains steadfast in the face of change. ══════════════════ CLOSING REMARKS The successes detailed in this report underscore the strength and resilience of our realm’s continued diplomatic efforts. Our alliances, both renewed and newly forged, henceforth reaffirm the Kingdom’s role as a stabilizing force upon the continent of Aevos. As acting Lady Emissar, I shall continue to safeguard the prosperity and security of our people. I pray that my efforts inspire further progress and that our nation will stand resolute as a pillar of strength and diplomacy in an ever-changing world. ╠═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╣ IV JOVEO MAAN, HER EXCELLENCY, Emma Mariya Kortrevich, Lady Emissar of Hanseti-Ruska, Countess of Jerovitz, Viscountess of Krusev, and Baroness of Koravia

The Lady Emissar excitedly made preparations to send many-a-letter to the budding King John and his to-be consort.

here once again to express my support for the goated writing duo conor and joolius. +1 p.s. amazing format once again : ) i love the dividers.

The author’s mother read the biography with much fondness, a soft smile stretching across her face as her fingetips brushed the gilded pages. How proud Emma was.

Emma drew a weary sigh. She had never intended to be a politician, or even a diplomat, for that matter. But Marius was kin. And so, she would serve him until his last breath.

The author's mother gushed with pride, certainly intending to partake in her daughter's creation.

The Lady Emissar returns to her alchemical lab after several months of vacancy, readying various potions and remedies that would be of use in the coming years.

THE SUMMIT AT LESANOV Issued by THE LADY EMISSAR On behalf of THE CROWN On this 15th day of Tov ag Yermey of 554 E.S. ╠═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╣ VA VE EDLERVIK, Solemnly, the Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska announces the grievous discord that has arisen between the recently unified realms of Haelun'or and Celia'nor. For many years, our fair Kingdom has upheld a steadfast alliance with the Celian'orian people. Yet now, in the wake of unification and the declaration of a new elven empire, turmoil stirs among our elven allies. As an allied nation deeply invested in the stability of these realms, the Crown does henceforth extend its hand in earnest to restore stability through open and honest dialogue. In pursuit of peace and transparency, the Lady Emissar, on behalf of the Crown of Hanseti-Ruska, hereby calls for a summit to convene within the halls of the Kastell Lesanov this Saint’s evening. Leaders are thus invited to bring with them two guards and three representatives, so that deliberations may unfold safely and efficiently. The proceedings will be overseen by the vigilant Crown of the realm, as well as the dedicated Lady Emissar, ensuring that all voices are heard and that resolutions are pursued for the collective well-being of all. ╠═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╣ IV JOVEO MAAN, HIS ROYAL MAJESTY, Marius III, by the Grace of Godan, King of Hanseti and Ruska, Grand Hetman of the Army, Hochmeister of the Marian Retinue, Prince of Bihar, Dules, Lahy, Muldav, Slesvik, Solvesborg, and Ulgaard, Duke of Carnatia, and Vanaheim, Margrave of Korstadt, Rothswald, and Vasiland, Count of Alban, Alimar, Baranya, Graiswald, Karikhov, Karovia, Kaunas, Kavat, Kovachgrad, Markev, Nenzing, Siegrad, Torun, Toruv, Valdev, and Werdenburg, Viscount of Varna, Baron of Astfield, Buck, Esenstadt, Kraken’s Watch, Kralta, Krepost, Lorentz, and Rytsburg, Lord of the Westfolk, Protector and Lord of the Highlanders, etcetera. HER EXCELLENCY, Emma Mariya Kortrevich, Lady Emissar of Hanseti-Ruska, Countess of Jerovitz, Viscountess of Krusev, and Baroness of Koravia .