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Carys-Athíl dwelled within the confines of Ilumrín, honing her performance upon the harp in preparation for the forthcoming ball.

A battle-worn Oksana embarked on her journey from the Fields of Blood, her form stained with gore—her arm, once the bearer of a shield, now rent asunder. With a scarred eye, she returned to the High City of Winburgh, the Fortress she vowed to preserve. Yet, her visage, marred yet concealed, lay behind a steel faceplate. To the Captain alone, she unveiled the countenance that betrayed her oath to the church. For him, she had fought, a boy she had nurtured, THE ANATHEMA. . .

Full Name of Man - Bo Amador Date of Birth of Man - 1924 Name of Woman - Yelena Carrion Date of Birth of Woman - 1929 Location of Ceremony - Cathedral of St. Arpad Date of Ceremony (Year) - 1955 Name of Clergyman who performed ceremony - Mother Oksana

Enide de Weit, known to some in the courts of Winburgh as both trumpeter and cupbearer, of late delved into a far more expressive pastime. Her artistic talents might not be deemed remarkable, yet her work held deeper significance to the recently anathematized and excommunicated Captain-General Sir Gaspard. She painted into the late hours, capturing the Bull of Middelan crouched amid Vallagne's once-ivory chapel, his gaze almost contemplative. On one side, a depiction replicated from Cardinal Stanislaw's audit, while the other featured the shield of the Burgundian Bull.

Full Name of Man - Ratibor Reagan May (now van Leuven) Date of Birth of Man - 1929 Name of Woman - Adela Taronitissa van Leuven Date of Birth of Woman - 1932 Location of Ceremony - A private chapel, Haense Date of Ceremony (Year) - 1951 Name of Clergyman who performed ceremony - Mother Oksana

ℑ spent months in strange temples, water was scarce, and when I did not labour to unearth a hidden puddle from the arid clay, I would descend into delirium. The nature of my visions haunted me, and I questioned if they were mere illusions, figments of my mind, or a muddled reality. Out of the dark—out of the unknown—came a serpent slithering along the temple's catacombs and pillars, dancing upon the wall amidst the smoky tendrils that billowed from my torch, as if the flames themselves had charmed the creature. It whispered, “Be ye readied to ignite thyself within the flames of thine own inner-hearth; how mayst thou ascend anew ere thou hast been made to naught but ash?” Its fanged maw shared secrets, revealing that His magic was unlike the sea's gentle waves, but of a darker sort. It spake of honey and wildfire, both painted with the same gold, and foretold that I would be transformed into a spawn of Dragon, akin to you. I mourned and lamented, questioning the wisdom of submitting to a King I had never encountered. It recounted what had prompted my change of heart upon that palisade, “I wish to serve, Brother,” as if it were me, as if the words escaped on their own accord. Anything holy enough could sense my falsehood. Yet, you provided reassurance with the words, “Duty is vital, understanding is not,” even though a pit settled in my chest, and the talons of flesh and fire became all too familiar. “Do not fight the Light,” the two flames peered at me with their ire and glow. “Endure. Doubt not thy strength…” Your words echoed louder than any anguished scream of mine. With a pained flinch, I recoiled, cursed by the very thing I had come to worship. I closely studied “His Boon,” the bestowment I would soon revere. Not a day had passed; the sun still bathed us as we walked. Despite the warnings that any man or King that bowed to the Titan would be cast into the depths of the nether, toppling the sun from its heavenly perch until its magma spilled over them, you led me to your stronghold—beyond good and evil. The altar fires had witnessed whispers, “Only He can stopper the bleeding heavens,” etching the words upon my tongue and mind, a permanent mark. Only he, I thought in my half-awake mind, could stopper all the wrongs that I had known. Time and time again, the foolish machinations of mortal man had cracked upon the anvil of worlds. Yet the serpent reassured me once again, its soft underbelly sliding along the stones as if it belonged so much more than I. Its words flowed like wine, “The blade of man shall be tempered in the flames, and thou art coals for the embers.” I felt its bite against my ankle, and the light faded from sight. Emerging from slumber, I found myself in a cracked and crumbled tomb, my sanctuary from the ashen shroud that veiled my sight. The serpent, a frequent visitor, would often disperse into the stone floors of the temple, vanishing into a crack within its foundation, while pitch-black nights seemed to reside deep within my very bones. It was unclear whether I experienced a dream or a vision; the distinction remained elusive. And of your riddle, the answer became clear to me. As your words left your lips and met my ears, I had always known the truth, the truth of time. But what I did not know, had you believed in another gospel before? I felt I knew. I knew that you did not ask me this riddle to glean my understanding of time. No, you asked so that I might reforge my understanding in the melting heats of this land. Time is a furnace. It is an unending cauldron from which things are filled for eternity. It is a great stew that we call existence, that which devours all things that are placed within its reach. We will die, and we will be incorporated into the waters. But we must ensure that our legacy changes its flavour. READ

In the year 14 of the Age of Rights and the Age of Reckoning . . . A WOODCUT OF THE HIGH CITY OF WINBURGH 𝔗he Captain-General, we the Order of St. Jude, alongside countless innocent folk, have beheld the ruthless onslaught of the undead, who afflict our lands and many others. They lay waste to homesteads, desecrate cathedrals and monasteries, and assail our Burgundian Legionnaires. Meanwhile, a cursed disease has rooted in neighbouring realms, its talons dragging through mankind, known as Vampyrism. It is rumoured that these plagued creatures have slaughtered Baron Cunimund hal'Cingedoz, razing his village of Bodbwodz upon the peaks of the Langkettes mountains. A list has been wrought of these Vampyres, amid others, deemed darkspawn by Lord Johan Vuiller, for which we owe great thanks. The folk of Aaun have, of their own accord, resorted to oust them with force through the fiery destruction of their once-homes. Overall, there has been an escalation in encounters and sightings of these creatures of the night. Henceforth, it is sanctioned and decreed that compulsory testing will be implemented for all Winburgh citizens and all vassals, including nobility, of the League of Veletz. Each man, woman, and child shall be subjected to scrutiny. No exemptions shall be granted to those who object; no corner shall remain unexplored, and no stone will be left unturned, as we cleanse ourselves of this blight. * Refusal to be tested will result in a spontaneous trial to be carried out with a Knight of Veletz overseeing. Upon being found guilty, the standard consequences will be issued. Upon being found innocent, one will be fined no less than one hundred and fifty mina. The following examiners have been appointed to perform the tests and are confirmed to be free of any corruption or influence; Captain-General of the League of Veletz, Sir Gaspard Hand of the Captain-General, Sir Hannibal Marshal of the Legion of Burgundy, Sir Hendrik van Aert Grandmaster of the Order of St. Jude, Halston Veyont Sergeant of the Order of St. Jude, Gerard Ouvrier Reverend Mother Oksana of the Order of St. Jude Vicar of St. Arpad’s Cathedral, Father Alexios Father Nerium Margrave of Drusco, Edmond Ashford de Rouen Landgrave of Bonby, Sir Godric ap Easworth Stablemaster Yvine Pavlinchenko Head Physician Irene Palmer Tavernkeeper Bailey Penned by THE REVEREND, Mother Oksana of the Order of St. Jude HIS GRACE, Gaspard of the House van Aert, Captain-General of the League of Veletz, Duke of Middelan, Bannerlord of Velec, Protector of the Midlanders SIR Hannibal of Ostfeld, Hand of the Captain-General, Sergeant of the Order of St. Jude

In meek reverence, Mother Oksana humbly knelt before the altar within the Cathedral of Winburgh. "Saint Arpad, pray for us, for the lives of the Canon's flock. In our unrest, grant us the grace to forgive one another."

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From within the depths of St. Arpad's crypt, Reverend Mother Oksana lit several candles that night, a personal vigil for the fallen men.

In the year 12 of the Age of Rights and the Age of Reckoning . . . ℑn the realms of the faithful, a tempest of war looms once more– darkening our horizon. In these trying times, let us steadfastly remind ourselves we are kin in blood, brethren, and sisters of the Holy flock; men are made to serve, worship, and be dedicated to venerating the presence of our Almighty GOD. For it is He who has graced us with the blessings of life on this very day. Let not the avarice of wrath cloud our senses and tarnish the sanctity of His creation. Through countless ages, strife amongst the disciples of the Canon have torn the fabric of the Tapestry of Man. Let idle discourse be cast aside, that we may not set man against man, but rather stand united against the plague of heresy that festers in our lands. GOD, in His boundless wisdom, has granted unto each of us a miracle of existence itself. As we tread the path of faith, let us not forget this endowment. Penned by REVEREND MOTHER OKSANA

In the year 11 of the Age of Rights and the Age of Reckoning . . . ℑ was brought forth into a life of lowly circumstance; my days lived beneath the shelter of a lean-to on the outskirts of Veleç. In the days of my youth, I met my now-beloved husband. At that tender age, our understanding of life's winding path was nought but a dim flicker, yet within the depths of my soul, I harboured a profound sense of purpose, a purpose tethered to faith, to disseminate the wisdom enshrined in the scrolls and to instil it within the hearts of the Adrians. For a span of years, I struggled relentlessly in my pursuit of becoming a deaconess of the church amid the Adrian War. It was only after innumerable attempts that I was finally granted the opportunity, and subsequently, I received the ordination under the auspices of Antonius Cardinal Artorus. Many moons have waxed and waned since my tenure as both deaconess and duchess took root, and, regrettably, my sickness has since deepened. I discerned my once-humble and modest nature escaping me, thus prompting me to initiate a change in my way of life, an endeavour to rekindle that flame of humility while casting off the blemishes and burdens that nobility has imposed upon me. Complacency, that nefarious spectre, shall find no refuge within my heart any longer. The Almighty has a divine calling for each soul; mine, to serve Him steadfastly. Therefore, I hereby renounce my station as the Duchess-consort of Adria and the Countess-consort of Aldersberg. In due course, I shall be ordained as a Reverend Mother, wherein I shall strive to serve Him and our flock to the utmost of my ability despite the relentless march of my ailment. May GOD shower blessings upon our flock, now and for all eternity. Penned by DEACONESS OKSANA MARUSYA SARKOZIC

An unsightly hag with tangled tufts of red hair stumbled upon the missive, understanding nought but 'Brasca,' for the rest of the writing remained utterly indecipherable to her. "Oi! tha's me fockin' bairns!" She cried!

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A Chambermaid of Merryweather prepared a holding cell for the fugitive, carelessly spilling stale dishwater, swapping the hay-filled mattress for a crude wooden one, and permitting an extra allowance of vermin in readiness for Ottomar's impending arrival.

Issued on the 8th day of Horen's Calling of 1938 TO FELLOW PEERS, LOYAL SUBJECTS, AND ALLIES, Amidst the tapestry of renewed amity unfurling across the Midlands and Lowlands, the Duchy of Adria thrives under the steady mantle of Duke Markus I. His reign breathes vitality into the realm, fostering an era steeped in chivalry and loyalty to the wider Midlands. In homage to his and others' tireless endeavours, a yearlong ode of revelries and merriment has been arranged by the Duchess and Lady Suzana of Emalyne. ITINERARY Duel of the Aves [THURSDAY AUGUST 17TH @ 4PM EST] A feast dedicated to the threefold quest given to Markus and Oksana in their youthful years by the Specter of Velec. The feast shall begin with a short speech of the Duke of Adria surmising the history of Sarkozic-Karovic rooted in Anthos’ Aldersberg, then two bouts of fighting which shall both be open to all attendees. First shall be a joust in commemoration of the chivalry taught by the King of Númendil to the young Count of Aldersberg. Second shall be an open brawl in the style of the Old Crows, each brawler obligated to have drunk a full bottle of Carrion Black. Trophies of Aldersberg [FRIDAY AUGUST 18TH @ 4PM EST] King Balon Ruric's hospitality embraced the Adrian's petition for whaling rights within his realm, bearing a juvenile whale to the Midlands' saltwater lake. This marine treasure, once settled, will become the centerpiece of a grand spectacle. The Duke Markus beckons the masses to partake in an exhilarating hunt of the seabound beast. Tidewater’s Feast [SUNDAY AUGUST 20TH @ 5PM EST] In the hunt's aftermath, Adrians convene for a grand feast upon the whale's bounty. Merriment and black ale fill the air as guests pay homage to the ocean's gift. Under the moon's radiance, the Duchess invites all to craft jewellery and keepsakes from its baleen and bones. … Couriers had hand-delivered special invitations to all peers, citizens, and allies of Duke Markus Sarkozic Specifically to the Karovic Houses of the realms; ✶ All house members of Sarkozic, Tuvyic, Vladovic, Basrid, Ivanovich, and Suzecht. And to other friends within the League of Veletz; ✶ His Grace, Captain-General of the League of Veletz, Duke of Middelan, Germanicus van Aert and his retinue. ✶ His Grace, the Duke of Blackvale, Valentin van Aert and his retinue ✶ The Most Honourable, the Marcher Lord of Verbant, Fedor Vilac and his retinue ✶ His Eulership, the Euler of Eulersberg, Jan Euler and his “Eulers”. ✶ Mister Grant Halforde and his house. To those friends beyond the Midlands; ✶ His Royal Majesty, the King of Númendil, Tar-Númenatâr Arthalionath and his retinue. ✶ Their Royal Majesties, the King of Aaun, Edmund I, the Queen-Mother Adela-Olympe, and their retinue. ✶ Her Royal Majesty, the Queen of Petra, Renilde I and her retinue. ✶ His Majesty, the King of Norland, Balon Ruric and his retinue. ✶ His Highness, the Prince of Merryweather, Heinrich von Alstreim and his retinue. ✶ His Grace, the Duke of Stran, Istvan Ivanovich and his retinue. ✶ His Grace, the Marquis of Clermont, Laurens Halcourt and his retinue. ✶ The Most Honourable, the Viscount of Pompourelia, Kasimir Sarkozic and his retinue. ✶ The Most Honourable, the Marquis of Aldersberg, George of Aldersberg and his retinue. ✶ Ulfar Starbreaker and his company, surpassing order of exile. ✶ Misters Boon & Bane. PENNED BY, His Grace, Markus Marie Sarkozic, Duke of Adria, Count of Aldersberg Her Grace, Oksana Marusya Sarkozic, Duchess-consort of Adria, Countess-consort of Aldersberg Her Ladyship, Suzana Otta Suzecht, Matriarch of House Suzecht Click the image above for a Discord Invite

On the 8th day of Horen’s Calling of 1938 TO FELLOW PEERS, LOYAL SUBJECTS, AND ALLIES, The Vineward's Bounty, an ode to the noble grape, emerges as the fallow's vines relinquish their abundant fruits. The denizens of Adria, entwined with the earth, labour to press concord grapes into wines of distinction and variety. A clarion call beckons all to partake in the harvest's bountiful yield, wherein wine-tasting orchestrates a spectrum of tastes, accompanied by sumptuous grape pies, tarts, jams, jellies, and locally-sourced honey, each serving as a testament to the marriage between soil and soul. The sounds of joy resound over time-honoured drinking games, weaving bonds of fellowship. Guided by the seasoned hands of the Sarkozic women, the gathering delves into the artistic realm of wine-stained portraiture. Those hailing from distant lands are welcomed with arms wide open and hearts akin to chalices, their offerings of wines intertwining their cultural threads with those of the Adriafolk atop the lofty Eagle's Peak. … Couriers had hand-delivered special invitations to all peers, citizens, and allies of Duke Markus Sarkozic Specifically to the Karovic Houses of the realms; ✶ All house members of Sarkozic, Tuvyic, Vladovic, Basrid, Ivanovich, and Suzecht. And to other friends within the League of Veletz; ✶ His Grace, Captain-General of the League of Veletz, Duke of Middelan, Germanicus van Aert and his retinue. ✶ His Grace, the Duke of Blackvale, Valentin van Aert and his retinue ✶ The Most Honourable, the Marcher Lord of Verbant, Fedor Vilac and his retinue ✶ His Eulership, the Euler of Eulersberg, Jan Euler and his “Eulers”. ✶ Mister Grant Halforde and his house. To those friends beyond the Midlands; ✶ His Royal Majesty, the King of Númendil, Tar-Númenatâr Arthalionath and his retinue. ✶ Their Royal Majesties, the King of Aaun, Edmund I, the Queen-Mother Adela-Olympe, and their retinue. ✶ Her Royal Majesty, the Queen of Petra, Renilde I and her retinue. ✶ His Majesty, the King of Norland, Balon Ruric and his retinue. ✶ His Highness, the Prince of Merryweather, Heinrich von Alstreim and his retinue. ✶ His Grace, the Duke of Stran, Istvan Ivanovich and his retinue. ✶ His Grace, the Marquis of Clermont, Laurens Halcourt and his retinue. ✶ The Most Honourable, the Viscount of Pompourelia, Kasimir Sarkozic and his retinue. ✶ The Most Honourable, the Marquis of Aldersberg, George of Aldersberg and his retinue. ✶ Ulfar Starbreaker and his company, surpassing order of exile. ✶ Misters Boon & Bane. Her Grace, Oksana Marusya Sarkozic, Duchess-consort of Adria, Countess-consort of Aldersberg Her Ladyship, Suzana Otta Suzecht, Matriarch of House Suzecht

Duchess Oksana's pale fingers danced over the pages of the Dumacratic directory, her lips curling into a fond smile. "Godanistan y love Dumacracy!" Her raucous exclamation echoed through the keep, unsettling the calm with a chorus of cawing crows from the heights of Eagle's Peak.

Perched atop the Eagle's peak, Oksana of Verskaya pondered the delivered missive, one that had somehow managed to scale the heights. Her interest stirred by the words 'His Majesty,' her reaction was tinged with an air of nonchalance. The missive hinted at an Owynist wedding, an occasion that failed to captivate her curiosity, except for the mention of a Sarkozic bride. "Y shall be w attendance," She informed the snivelling messenger boy, his worn satchel draped across his frail form. "A union with cousins of Balian jest surely one to witness." "Ai, y ledi duchess!" The courier boy concurred, nodding briskly before descending the mountaintop, leaving her thoughts in their solitary perch.

A decade's passage rekindled memories for the Duchess of Adria. Her mind wandered the trails of time, retracing the onset of the Berger's blight that had ensnared her, inflicting suffering on her and many Adriafolk. The Captain-General's image emerged within her recollections, marked even in their fledgling days within the Midlands. Red blisters, persistent itch—recently recounted in letters—echoed in her mind. Unease twisted her thoughts, gnawing like teeth on her cheek. Guilt loomed large; wondering if her ailment had been the harbinger of his own. Yet, the burden of her own secret weighed heavily; confessions remained unspoken.

Sister Emerentia prays for the souls of her kin.