christman

There was a silence that wrung out against the once busy ground. A silence heavy and laden with confusion and distress. Her movements ceased, turning immobile as the news was delivered upon the girl. The only sound that wrung out now, was her body turning to sit against the half-built rocky stairs of the keep she was working so feverishly on.

The green-coloured eyes that sat in the pale face of the redhead welled with burning hot tears. Though, if you were to ask her why she began to sob; she would have no answers. They cut down her somewhat grimy face, in fat droplets. Leaving a trail of cleaned flesh behind. In the field, a field of quiet dismay - inhabited only by the cascading sobs that swelled up - her mind begun to race. Racing not only with one thing, but a multitude of things.

It came first as a wave of panic, then that of sorrow, and then of confusion. All three crashing down in waves that now welled inside her. 

"What?" A mumble came from betwixt lips, turning her gaze downwards. "No. . no. . This. . ." Words turned into an amalgamation of half-formed sentences. Her small body physically unable to extrude the overwhelming force of emotions. So, her words turned to sobs, and the sobs turned to silence. 

Mary Amaricius rose from her spot, against the half-formed stairs that would soon be her home. Gaze affixed against a meaningless rock. Her lips curled downwards into a spiteful frown, as she went to wipe her face with a fist of dusty nature.

The war had been only in its infancy, and already this had begun. Her eyes finally squeezed shut, and she produced a question. Echoing out to nobody in range to hear.

"Liliuth. . Eugeo. What the **** did they do to you?" 

A furrowed brow of displeasure came upon the Norlandic girl, the news crashing down upon her. A slow, solemn sigh escaped her lips. Followed by a grunt of anger; pain. A foot slammed into a pile of rubble, causing a miniature type of land-slide. 

She spoke, voice an angered mutterance:

"What the ****," The question spoke-statement came from her. "What the ****?!" She repeated, hands crawling upwards to cover her face. Was it. . shame that welled up within her? As the realisation of Imperial fraternisation slammed into her as if it were a brick wall.

"This. . isn't right. War, or no war. This is. ." Words faded into obscurity, as she mumbled incoherently now. A looming air of displeasure now about Mary Amaricius. 

A small goblin, a few years off her maturity, cackled a cackle upon over-hearing her mothers discussion of war! Bloodlust swelling in eyes far too large for her developing body, as hands came clacking together in a repeated clap!

"WAGGGGGH!" Tor'Lur proclaimed, feet bounding up and down against the ground beneath. She would likely, not fight in the upcoming battle, but. .  it was the thought that counted. Right?

Somewhere off, elsewhere in a field, the cascading noise of feverish stone placing wrung out. Through grunts and groans of hard labour, a girl lamented the news recently told. 

"War. . . There goes my social life, I suppose." Mary Amaricius mimbled to nobody in particular, quickly resuming the mind numbing work of keep-building.

i would be UP for unethical and villainous scholars. sounds slick as hell

From within his office space, Superus Vilica Tuklha sat. His fingers curled around the small slipping of parchment that had requested invite of the nations citizens to his home. His lips curled, scarred and chapped, under his beard. 

"I do hope that barkeep is there; it's been a while since I've met with her." His head bobbed downwards, as the invite was returned to the wood of his desk. Normally, it would have quickly been replaced by a piece of holy scripture, or some undefined paperwork. Though that was not the case today. 

He rose upwards, the faint scraping of chair legs against stone ringing out. Turning in off-wards movement to the door, and exiting into the halls. 

A brisk walk resulted in another set of grandiose doors, as he entered into the monetary. The kilns alight with vibrant fire drew his eyes. . His gaze turned upwards, however, towards the cold, frozen sun that peaked through the glazed windows.

Thus, he spoke;

"You have done well, Brother Mursten. For the people of Fictilis, and all who have yet to know his name!"

Hail Fictilis!

It had been years since the last man, or woman, had seen the face of Elisabeth Raven. Nerry, a family member, or mere acquaintance on the street had noted the woman; less even heard her name. Had her voice been called, in questioning, since her last moment of appearance? The answer was a simple one. No.

For, while few cared; or even knew of the woman, she - a law abiding Orenian citizen - had shared the unholy burden her family had inflicted. For a brief time, a few shoulder crushing years, the mention of ‘terrorism’ or ‘rebellion’ caused the name of a particular bird to rise within the mind of the hearer. 

When she was a child, her only friend had been her brothers, and her sister. And when she was an adult; they all died. 

The first to go was Samson. He claimed his trips took him far and wide, across oceans and cities. . But one day, he never returned. Her letters of concern were met with nothing but air, never even opened - but always returned. 

The second to go was Ophelia. Her name rang true to the woman who had antagonised her father. Perhaps it was the crushing force of Soloman's hatred, or some other form of lurking despair. . But like Samson, she too disappeared into the realm of unanswered letters - and panicked family.

The last to go was Louis. His death had uprooted tragedy, and hatred. Her days spent mourning, sobbing. . it turned to a singular blur. While she prayed, her hands clasped to GOD in begging prayers, nothing turned back. No action on earth could undo his demise. 

When she was a young adult, her trips to Krugmar began to increase. Her kinship with her orcish comrades strengthened. But as time continued on, it began to diminish.

In jovial adventure, she took her cousins, Aleksi and Oliver, who were as dear as siblings, to the gateway of Krugmar. Upon entrance, she met with a fe-uruk, claiming signs of distress. Her brother had been impaled, metal slung into his shoulder, and he was dying. In quick motions, the three humans found themselves in the midst of a life-saving act. With rudimentary medicinal knowledge, they struggled between themselves to keep him from death. 

A friendship sprung to life, in her loneliest years - Askoon, the orc they had saved, offered his homeland to her. In a place of refuge from the beratement she adhered to in Oren. His request, put on hold - would never come to fruition. As she never saw him again. 

In her older years, turning fully fledged adult, she loved. She had loved three in her life.

Ziegfrid Mortimer, the first man - though brief - that she had turned for in conquest of love. The date had been short; and perhaps, it was one of her largest regrets to never pursue him. He was a recruit - on gate duty, at the time. A vivid memory of the man she had briefly come to adore. 

Methas was the second. A mistake; a foolish choice. Her father had laced them together - married barely in no ceremony, and divorced on the streets. A short, but impactful mistake.

Robert Archibald Galbraith, a surprising pick by the woman, was the one she had decided to love. But as her family turned and gripped in the way of treasonary acts - their relationship began to crumble. 

Though, there was something that had not been prevalent through only one sector of her life; instead, it had reigned supreme through the entirety of it. A looming figure of disdain and disappointment. Depression - ailment, it all turned back. . to him.

Solomon Raven had never introduced her to her mother. He, for her entire life, had been her only parental figure. When she was younger, her behaviour - good or bad - was met with an assortment of violent slurries. The cane against skin, the burnt hand coming down upon her face. . The noises echoed in her head for the rest of her life. Even as an adult, the violent barrages continued - though slowly turned to verbal insults. Slowly working against her mind - her body, it never ended.

His ventures caused her grief, both in sanity and in out of it. No matter what she did, she could never escape the words he had said. 

Or at least so she thought.

On a cold morning, in the time before sunrise, Elisabeth Raven slipped from the confines of her house on Rochefort. She meandered down the streets in quick - barely noticeable paces. A brief breath in-took, and she was out of the gates. Down the stairs she went, alongst the pathing of Henry's Wharf, and into the grasslands behind. She walked, though it was closer to a stumble, through the grassy wilderness. Unstopping until her feet began to sink in the marshy depths that neared closer. It was there, she waded into the water. Further into the depths. The green dress she had come to despise turning soggier and wet as she dove further. 

Having swum for an undefined period of time - she found herself content. Unable to see a single thing nearby, she closed her eyes. . and turned to pull that of sewing scissors from her slew of pockets.

Elisabeth Raven had lived a short life. A life filled with nothing but misery - with few moments of enlightened happiness. But alas, it would not be years, until her disappearance turned to confirmation. For it was on this saints day, that a bird would come forth. Seizing itself from the wilderness, to deposit old, tainted letters, to any who cared:

A sixteen year old Amaricius-Hartcold snickered upon reading the missive, her shoulders shrugging slightly. "Sheeeeeesh. Thats, a, errr. . Yikes." 

wouldn't it be fucked. .

https://imgur.com/a/GPJYdfe

Petrusian Bone: 20 Mina

Porcelain Doll: 30 Mina 

~ Mary Amaricius

ooc: 

christman#2353

"I wonder if they need an officiant. . ." Pondered the youth, her words directed to nobody in particular. Though, once she had finished her brief queries, her heels spun under the ground to head homewards. Preparing her wedding clothes for the event!

The fourteen, almost fifteen, year old meandered through Providence streets. Her brows furrowed briefly, as she looked upon the man in the poster. Her own finger jutting up to meet the posters. 

"Why'sa resistance leader jus' putting 'is face out there?" She questioned, to nobody in particular.  "'n, why's he wearing an MoJ hat?"

A small goblin kub pondered for a moment; her fingers going up to scratch her equally small chin. The snaggle tusk maw that adorned her face cracked into a wild grin as she digested the news. . .

"Mi wunt tu bi guhld wen mi flat tuu! Yub. . mi bi da skariizt ztatu tu ebar lib! . .  Err, ztand? Mi nub gruk duh tehrminholigi." Tor'Lur rattled off the cackling laugh she had gotten from her father, letting her hand drop to her side once more. Though her plans to become a horrifying statue was promptly pushed aside, as the kub returned to retrieving her lost snaga. . . for the fifth time.

"GOBLINS!" Scremt a girl high on Krugamine.

IGN: ImStuckInHell
Discord: christman#2353
Skin: Edict
Bid: 195

The pounding of small footfalls echoed the clan home, as an equally tiny girl suddenly came bustling into the quarters of her father. Within her grasp, an invitation sat. Without seemingly any care for whatever he was currently doing, the slip was shoved upwards into the mans face.

"Dad! Dad! We have to go! We can wear pretty dresses, and It'll be so pretty!" She'd promptly pause, though it would not be long enough for the man to get a single word in. "And! You can meet my family! . . . if they're not all dead." And with that, Mary Amaricius, once O'Connell, finally gave room for her Father to speak. 

@nothingbutdebrie

The Lovely Union of Shiromi

A depiction of the Happy Couple!

1. Ceremonial Union

Hoisted by the Lady of Clan Amaricus, Mary Amaricius, a brief ceremony to mark the exchange of vows!

2. Banquet

A surplus of alcohol and tasty food will be supplied to all guests!

3. After-party!

A glorious party, hosted by the bride and bride, will be held! Yes, there will be even more alcohol!

Invitations have been sent out to the following: 

        All of Elysium and her animals and especially racoon friends of Trash

        All of Norland
        All of the Iron Accord. 

        Friends and Associates of Saki and Minerva.

[[ OOC ]]

When? Sat Apr 3rd, 2021 ⋅ 1pm BST (UTC+1)
Today!
Location: Focrest Park, Elysium, Norland.

How to get there?:

Elisabeth Raven frowned upon the news, she hadn't expected to feel bad about an ISA man. "Ah. . he was one of the few who didn't believe the aimless claims of terrorism. . Perhaps, he was a good man." The woman would not be seen for a couple of hours. Nay, she would find herself pondering the direction the ISA would head now. A frown adorning her face in the hidden recluse of her home.

A certain drug fuelled 12 year old blinked. "Who?" 

👁️👁️

A rather confused Raven woman blinked. "I thought they disbanded? Godan above, Orenian terrorists are more confusing than the Ruthern family tree. ."

IGN: ImStuckInHell
Discord: christman#2353
Skin: Edict
Bid: 150

[!] 

A missive would be placed upon multiple walls, surfaces and frankly; wherever there was room.

Hey, you! 

Yes, you!

Are you an incredibly lonely woman?! 

A woman who is getting into her years, and is loveless? Well! Boy do I have an offer for you,

My cousin, my dear wonderful cousin, Oliver Crowly. Is lonely, and has nobody to love. He is a wonderful ISA man, of Senior Corporal, with flowing brown locks and piercing green eyes. He enjoys. . . long walks on the beach, and smashing the heads in of rebel scum. For years now, he has toiled for the Empire! Now, how can we repay him?! With wife! With children! With. . . less loneliness. 

Now, I'm sure you're wooed already. But let me tell you this, chatty women get your chattering on! Because he is a brick wall. A literal brick wall. He is the perfect husband.

At only 34, he's a catch! Please be sure you're not too much older, or too much younger. That'd be weird.

He will say almost nothing, he will give you children, he will give you home, he will give you mina, and most of all; he will give you love protection.

Contact me, Elisabeth Raven [[OOC: christman#2353/IGN: ImStuckInHell]] with your voluptuous responses. 

[!] Attached, would be an artists rendition of the man.

Elisabeth Raven read the notice, and laughed.

[[RP]]

First Name: Nathanial

Surname: Isiah

Age: 20

Reason for Interest: hoogala boogala pvp moment !:!? andgod bless 

[[OOC]]

Username: imstuckinhell

Discord: christman#2353

Elisabeth Raven would skim such a work, her brows turning downwards as her eyes reached the bottom. From there, she'd re-read it once more. Carefully this time. A quiet, wordless questioned played upon her lips as she read for a third time. Now, finally, she would take the time to speak.

"Good on her. . . I guess?" Confusion continued to coat her words, as she turned to continued her interrupted day.

.