PerfectLittleLady

I joined LotC in early 2021, and I can honestly say it has changed my life. Due to this it pains me to say that this is it. This is the end of my journey on this server. I am sad to go, as I know I leave behind people who I’d hoped would be lifelong friends, but doing so feels almost freeing. I won’t make this a long goodbye, but I will make sure the reason for it is known. Trying to keep a community safe and free and happy is hard work. People who take up that responsibility know that and expect conflict in trying to do so. It is also expected that a system put in place to keep things fair is followed and respected. So when a community is targeted for out of character reasons, harassed after leaving a situation they didn't like, and overall unprotected by the system they hoped would keep their peace? It just gets exhausting. In my 22 years (yes, 22 years) of roleplaying on countless platforms and with hundreds, if not thousands, of other writers I have never encountered a situation where a community was essentially told ‘sorry bro’ when asking moderation for this sort of help. I have also never left a platform for a reason like this. I’m sad when I’m unable to finish one of my character’s stories, but this one pains me so much more than any other. Anyway, I’ll make sure to post the link to the document submitted to staff. Some of you may agree that this is crazy and should have been addressed. Some of you may think this is a tantrum or uncalled for. I personally do not care. Time to move on. Thanks -PerfectLittleLady

IGN: PerfectLilLady Persona: Sindri Vildr PID: 82667

Sindri sets down the missive. "The High Keeper doesnt understand...hopefully she will one day."

Sindri exits the city carrying his belongings.

Sindri sighs, wondering how the clinic will do now that it's lost so many medics and physicians.

Ciaran shakes his head. "A sad day indeed..."

Lissa Vildr wasn't a stranger to the spectral figure that appeared by her bedside. Since Arthur's passing, she had seen it countless times. Each friend's death, every one of her children's final breath—Death had become a constant, silent companion. The cold air, the creeping hairs on her neck, the looming shadows, they no longer startled her. Instead, they were reminders of the countless farewells she had whispered over the years. Lissa’s once sandy-blonde hair now fell in silver waves around her face, her bright blue eyes clouded with age and dementia. She often found herself drifting in and out of memories, a life more than two centuries long filled with joy, sorrow, and regret. She wondered if she had done enough, if those she'd loved would be alright without her. Moments of lucidity were rare, but when they came, they brought clarity and pain. She recalled Arthur's last days, his strength even as his body failed him, and the way he had greeted Death not as an enemy, but as an old friend. The same figure she saw now, standing at the foot of her bed, had once been his silent companion too. As she lay there, Lissa's mind wandered through the significant moments of her life: the birth of each of her children, her marriage to Arthur, the heartbreak of losing him, coming to this new land and rebuilding her home. These memories were her treasures, even as her mind struggled to hold onto them. "Arthur," she whispered into the cold air, her voice frail. She longed to see him one last time, to feel his comforting presence. And then, as if summoned by her yearning, he appeared. Not as a memory, but as a spirit, his form bathed in the same green light of his magic. He looked as he had in his prime, strong and kind, his eyes filled with the love that had bound them together for over a century. "Liss," he said softly, his voice breaking through the fog of her mind. "You’ve done more than enough. You’ve lived a life full of love and kindness. It’s time to rest now." Tears welled in her eyes, and she reached out a trembling hand. His spirit moved closer, his presence warm despite the chill of Death nearby. He took her hand, and for the first time in many years, she felt at peace. "Arthur, I’ve missed you so much," she said, her voice choked with emotion. "I’ve always been with you," he replied, his thumb gently brushing away her tears. "And I always will be." The figure at the foot of her bed seemed to nod, as if acknowledging that its work here was done. Lissa felt a profound sense of relief, her worries and regrets melting away. She smiled, her gaze never leaving Arthur's. As her final breath left her body, Lissa Vildr greeted Death not with fear, but with love. She knew she was not alone, that Arthur was there to guide her into the afterlife. Their spirits intertwined, the verdant-green and honey-gold lights merging in a beautiful, eternal dance. And in that moment, Herilissa Vildr found peace. [A series of letters would appear in the mailboxes of friends and family, all notating her love, her regret, and her hope for the future. Some read as follows:] To Azora To Odin To Io To Orin ((Playing Lissa has been a pleasure. Thank you everyone for the memories with her!))

Ciaran Vildr pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "At least...at least Sylvi is the Marshal?" He hopes his daughter will keep the Ruric children out of too much trouble. Somewhere in the library Sindri shrugs. His sister and cousins do their own thing usually.

Ciaran Vildr sat in the palace meeting room, reading the report in silence. Well, he really read it in silence two hours ago. Now he was just staring at the parchment with blank eyes. It was still difficult to believe: the brother he’d looked up to his entire 50+ years of life, brainwashed and made to attack the people he’d sworn to protect. There was a time he’d thought his brother invincible, immortal, completely untouchable. Even when Sindri was missing, he never once believed he was dead. Now there was no denying it. He’d seen his brother’s mutilated body with his own two eyes. Sindri Vildr was dead. In reality he’d died months ago. The person who attacked was just wearing his face. That’s what he’d have to say over and over until he managed to convince himself it was true.

Ciaran Vildr nods as he reads. He knows things are about to get lively in Alisgrad and can’t wait to meet the newcomers. Like many older Norlanders he remembers moving to Alisgrad after the burning of Varhelm, so hopefully the citizens of Norland can use that experience to better help the Vistulian refugees.

[!] An announcement is posted all across the Kingdom of Norland, from the streets of Alisgrad to the hills of Dunrath [!] “All citizens of Norland and her allies are hereby invited to the wedding of Ciaran Vildr & Marta Sutharlainn. The wedding will take place at the beautiful wedding venue in the Lairdship of Grenzstadt." Personal invitations have been sent to: The members of Clan Vildr The Jarl of Rathonia and all members of the Sutharlainn family Keepers of the Red Faith All members of Clans Edvardsson, Eiriksson, and Freysson, and their respective leaders The Laird of Grenzstadt and all family members And all other Clans of Norland, and their respective Chieftains

Ciaran Vildr wipes his brow, having just returned home from helping his comrades work in Dunrath. He’s proud of the citizens that ran to give aid, and he’s already thinking of ways to thank and repay them for their hard work. He silently prays to the All-Father that all their work turns out to be for naught, and that peace continues in their lands.

Name: Ciaran Vildr Age: 41 Gender: Male Race: Adunian Interested in: men and women, but tends to prefer women I am interested in being scehmed on? (yes or no) Probably not?

Full Name: Ciaran Vildr Horse Name: Chocolate Allegiance: Norland

Signs his name on the missive with a nod.

Lissa first learns of the King's demise while she is busy cleaning out Doctor Blackthorn's office. She simply nods with a frown. "Such a shame. He was a good King, and he will be missed." She finishes her task and decides its time to go home for the day. Only when the door closes does she allow herself to break down. The Adunian falls to her knees and leans against the wall, sobbing, crying, wailing into her hands. She thinks of their last interaction and wonders if she should have done more, if she should have said something else. Her corgi tries to console her, but its no use. Ciaran can hear his mother's cries from his room in the attic, though he doesnt run to ask whats wrong. He knows. He's known about Ragnvald's passing, known before anyone else in the city. He knew the moment he watched the King leave alone on his horse, knew it would be the last time he would see the frail man alive. Ciaran stares out his window long after is mother's wailing stops, long after the moon rises and the sounds of toasts and celebration drift in from the tavern. He should be there, shouldnt he? Toasting the life of the King of Norland? The former Marshal? The man who treated him like a son? The man he'd called father as he watched him leave through the gates? He is still wearing his armor, having not moved from that spot on his bed since he returned home. He should go. No, as Overseer it is his duty to be there. Ciaran wipes his eyes one last time and stands to leave, but not before he takes a note from his pocket and sets it in his bedside drawer. The Adunian still hasnt read it, but he doesnt need to. Hopefully no one has to. One last adjustment in the mirror and he's off, already mentally preparing a toast to the life of Ragnvald Eiriksson Ruric.

Lissa hears the news through her son, who breaks down the moment the front door is closed. She does her best to calm him, until he’s too tired to shed any more tears for his greatest friend. Once her son is settled, she takes a deep breath. There’s someone else she needs to comfort. Herilissa leaves the Vildr clan home and heads straight for the palace. Hopefully Ragnvald isn’t too fargone.

Ciaran sighs as he reads the letter, rubbing the back of his head. “Oh, Princess…” He heads back to the Vildr Clan home, thinking hard about his next move. It’s always tough for him when Astrid and Ragnvald disagree.

Ciaran steps outside the door to Ironguard, adjusting his pack. He’s still got to return to Alisgrad to collect his mother. Hopefully she won’t mind a small vacation there, especially since she seems to be getting along well with many of the newer Adunians. He’s heading for his horse when Lissa’s trusty blue jay flies down to land on his shoulder, a note tied to its leg. The young man of course takes the letter, thanking it with a scratch under the chin, and begins to read. Let’s see…hope this finds…nothing you could have…wait, what couldn’t he have done? As he reads, his face grows paler and paler. Ciaran stumbles back, landing on a bale of hay when his legs finally give out. He can’t take his eyes off the letter. There has to be a mistake! There was no way this was true! How could…how could his sweet little cousin…how could… he keeps reading it over and over, hoping there was some way he missed something, anything, but the All-Father does not answer his prayers. The Adunian’s arms fall to his sides, the letter dangling, barely held between two fingers. His eyes are unfocused and his breathing is shallow. He’s like that when Astrid finds him not long after receiving a similar letter. Only then does he allow the dam to break. The gentle giant first sobs, then whimpers, then finally lets out a gut-wrenching cry. He clutches the smaller woman with all his might, his wails echoing in the valley. Every so often he manages to speak, but he simply says the same thing over and over. “She’s dead. She’s dead. She’s dead.” Olivia, his dear sweet little cousin, the light of his life, is dead.

Ciaran reads the summons, groaning and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Olivia, what did you do now?!”

Ciaran is tending the horses in the barracks when he hears two others speaking outside. Nothing unusual there. Oh they’re talking about Astrid? It better be only good things or he’ll have to…have to…did they just say she had the baby??? The Adunian drops the bucket of feed, sprinting off to find his best friend.

Ciara Vildr nods upon reading the missive. “I’d gladly stand at the front once more should this threat return.” He hands it to his mother, Herilissa, to read as well. She looks worried but proud, offering to make his favorite to bring to training.

Ciaran stared at the missive, still not quite processing the information, and clenched his fists in frustration. There wasn’t anything he could do for his best friend except be there for her….right?

Lissa sighed, watching a few more brittle leaves fall from the tree. It sadly did not matter what had caused this, as the damage was already done. Her youngest son, Ciaran, looked concerned, asking what was happening to the great tree. “Perhaps,” she replied, “this is simply part of the Ashwood’s life cycle. All living things must die, after all.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “It does not make this any less troubling, though.”

Herilissa scolds her youngest son for his calendar prank, turning to see when the celebration actually is. She’s delighted she didn’t miss it!