SapphirePool

Lavanya read the challenge, then re-read it and let out a huffed chuckle of confusion "Since when could a peer of a nation declare war against a peer of another nation?" She would sit and watch keenly for any further updates on this new emerging feud that grew hotter by the day. Little miss Corinna stuck her foot out to trip the sneaky Gaspard, before promptly snatching Magnus's popcorn for herself! She settled in a corner, protective of her loot whilst stating, "I think they should settle this with a bard battle".

Rosemary embraced her son as she met him at the gates "Language," she said with a smile as she pinched his cheek.

The sounds of Pluck, Skrrrr, Pluck, Skrrrr became Rosemary's whole world in the past few years. Waiting as she had for over 50 years to take her to the seven skies had proven fruitless. Many things in the woman's life turned out that way, it was only to be expected. Needle in Pull the thread Needle out Knot Clip Repeat. Her veined arthritic digits worked slowly, painfully slowly as they sewed large patches of fabric together. Her room became a storehouse for all the colors of the rainbow, draped across every surface. Pluck, Skrrrrr, Pluck, Skrrrr Even as she felt her bones creak, her skin prick against the needle, her eyes unable to focus on the small stitching, she carried on. Magda, her handmaiden of elder age herself did other works. The diligent maid placed an order with the local carpenter for a large basket- the blacksmith for a metal basin. She sought cartons of oil and brought them back to Rosemary. Pluck, Skrrrrr, Pluck, Skrrrr Rosemary was never as good at sewing as her mother. Even now, her stitching was askew, jagged and unrefined. Her mother often sat at the dining room table in old providence, hand mending the never ending tears in Rose’s elder brother's wardrobe. Brothers- initially she had three. Two are the same as her blood, one adopted. So very different to each other, more tempestuous as their ages decreased with each addition. Rose was the baby for a long time, worry free as her brothers made sure she would be able to play without fear of the turbulent politics. They tried at least. Pluck, Skrrrr, Pluck, Skrrrr- Rosemary's hand paused, shaking as it released the needle and made its way to the loose skin around her neck. A choker necklace, frayed at the edges and dulled by wear. She wore it and others like it since she was the mere age of six. Seldom had been privy to the knowledge of why, and those who were told are long deceased. Even dear Magda had not seen the horrendous scar beneath the cloth, a gift from one she trusted, and one who wore green. Pluck, Skrrrrr, Pluck, Skrrrrr She grabbed another piece of fabric, attaching it to the last. Night would fall, day would rise, and she would sew. Her mind often wandered to long forgotten places. A dock, in the cold north of Norland. Red trees and mountains cradled the stone encampment resting upon the river. She held in her hands a rod, and a bucket sat beside her. A man of green cloth sat beside her- she thought for a moment to be afraid. Green had caused her scar, yet this green was kind, murmuring an explanation as he showed her how to cast her line. His hazel eyes met hers, their hues the same. Pluck, Skrrrr, Pluck, Skrrrr, Prick A spot of blood pooled from the elders finger, she reached for a box of bandages she had off to the side for this very reason. The pain was so minimal, she hardly cared anymore. There had been worse done upon her. “Filthy dirty commoner!” her hands dropped the bandage roll, her eyes clouding. “Commoner, Traitors blood runs through you!” crack. The girl's fists hurt, her cheeks burned, nose in a constant state of askew. It did not matter though, she was simply the henchwoman to the caller. Anastasya, she was the demon in Rosemarys young life. Princess Anastasya Barbanov would let her cousin Nikoletta do the dirty work. Rosemary knew why they disliked her, though she could not accept it. Eirik Baruch, her first friend. Whenever she was not being beaten by the girls, she was like a duckling to his side. He was kind to her, unlike many. Feelings beyond friendship kindled inside her soul, but how does a traitor's daughter of Oren be with the Heir to the Baruch name? She doesn't. Pluck, Skrrrrr, Pluck, Skrrrrr Anastasya and Eiriks' arranged betrothal was announced at his coming of age gathering. The entire ride home, she wailed to the sky's about how unfair it was. She did not choose to be born a commoner, she did not choose for her father to betray his nation and become a ferryman. She did not choose for that same father to be captured because of her. She decided then, she would stay away from Haense then on. Most of the pain she had experienced was done so in its borders, how foolish of her to not know that it simply follows her like a dark shadow. Haense, oren, it mattered not where she was. It loomed. Rosemary set down the cloth in her hands, a break was needed. She called Magda to bring her hot cocoa. The handmaid used to tease Rosemary for her childish tastes. A comfort the hot mug would bring to Rosemary as she recalled her eldest brother Samuel who would always buy her chocolate from beans n’ baubles. Samuel was the only one of her brothers she could talk to about her heartbreak. He was kind, comforting the broken teen girl that she was. He supported her as she set her mind to other things. As she reached adulthood, she opened an aquarium shop, and was introduced to a young man one moon younger than herself. The mug grew cold in her hands, and she set it to the side after but two sips. She chose not to remember that man's face anymore, though she could never forget his piercing blue eyes. Rosemary chose to only remember the outcome of marrying him. Two children, and a new father. Rev Vuiller was more of a father than her own ever was, and especially her stepfather who did not even see her as his own daughter. The scholarly man often chimed to others that Rose was his favorite daughter, and everytime it warmed her heart. She loved her Pa, and he loved her as his own. She picked up the fabric once more. Pluck, Skrrrrr, pluck, Skrrrrr Vuillermoz. Her new home, one far larger than she could ever dream of having. Her husband, the heir and her daughter a spunky girl. She often found herself chasing the little one around new providence, the child on adventures with her cousin. She never wanted their world to be rocked by war, but it would be twice. Rose did not involve herself in politics, nor could she even recall the reasons for the first of the wars. She knew it had to do with her adopted uncle Duncan, and if her memory served, a goat. Or was it a sheep? Eitherway, it took her mother and brothers away many times to the battlefront. It never felt too close though, too real. She still ran her shop, and apart from a minor fire caused by a raid, she was untouched by the conflict. But her brother was not. “SAMUEL!” She cried in front of the grave site daily. Thrown from a bridge by a man in green. The greens, the ferrymen, her friends, her enemies, her uncles in bandanas. How cruel was it to have your own brother killed by those you learned so much from, even if in secret. They could never be trusted. Pluck, Skrrrrr, Pluck, Skrrrrr Rosemary had become barren after having her second born, Samuel. He was premature, labor induced by a traumatic fall whilst helping her young brother in law. He was born blue, unmoving. She thought it so cruel how the world would take her child so soon after her brother. But she saw him, the red coat from the corner of her eyes and the soft hazel eyes. Her baby would live, though weakly. Pluck, Skrrrr. The second war could not be avoided by Rosemary, for it came knocking at her door with the force of a platoon of soldiers. It had been less than a day since the announcement of a rebellion, of the start of the brothers' war. A misinterpreted message brought Prince Fredericks' army to Vuillermoz where only Rosemary, her daughter, her cousins' babies and her daughter's cousins rested. They spared no pity towards the unarmed women. Bleeding from an arrow in her flank, she finally heard her mothers voice call out, pleading with the army. Everything would be alright, her mother was here and surely more would come right? “What are you doing, mother” “Saving you” They stood in the sitting room of the keep, blood and bodies all around. Her mothers husband, her mother, and her. “You side with those who did this!” “TO SAVE YOU!” “Get out” Rosemary had never shown such disgust. Her mother was with those who did this. She let them into the keep, she caused the slaughter of those lying around them, those who had truly come to save her. The blood of Ivan var Ruthern was on her hands, and in a way, rosemarys. She was the reason her mother had access to this keep. Who would suspect the future vicountess’s mother of such heinous crimes? “You are no mother of mine” Pluck, skrrr, pluck, skrrrrr BOOM The war was lost, and so was Vuillermoz. Rather than allow the new king to occupy the keep, Pa had chosen to obliterate it instead. Bundles of dynamite made short work of something so safe at first. They hadn't even finished scrubbing the blood from the stonework. They traveled a long distance, south past Urguan, across the sea. Finally, they could travel no more and sought refuge at the spring of St Lothar in the deserts of Almaris. They had nothing but the clothes on their backs, but she kept on for the sake of her growing children and her Pa. They were all she had left. It seemed like a dream. Long hard years turned the desert into an oasis. Their family took up within one of the largest residences in the grand duchy, her pa taking his place as the duke's right hand. It was comfortable, albeit hot. The past seemed like a long distant nightmare. It was hot here though, too hot “JOHANNE!” flames lapped the residence of the Aquilae. Her pregnant daughter was trapped on the top floor, head gasping for fresh air from the window. She called back frantically “Father, where's father!” Rosemary knew where her husband was. She had passed the charred body on her way to the upper floors. “Don't worry about him, he is fine” she would lie. Grief gripped her heart, She thought perhaps the fire had started because he was making her one of her favorite sweets, as she always asked him to do. But something felt off. STAB, Skrrrr, STAB, Skrrrrr She found the note, as the ashes settled. She wanted to scream, cry, plead. How could he do this? After all she had done. She kept his secrets, fed him. The bony hands stabbed through the fabric, ripping it. Rosemary came to her senses, muttering about wasted cloth. She had thought about it- accidentally leaving an oil lamp alit beside a curtain as she slept. But she was a coward, too scared of death yet yearning for it so deeply. Envy, envy, envy. Letters upon letters came year after year, at first almost a cascade, but slowly dwindling to a drip. Each carried a black seal, a name crossed out of her pocketbook. First was her mother. She had reconciled not long before the letter came, connecting over the shared hatred of her stepfather, and Primrose’s now ex-husband. A fire had broken out in the Gendik residence, and a body was found. All Rosemary could do was laugh, a dark abysmal misery befalling her. It had been a year since her husband's untimely departure. Her skin grew thinner, wrinkles and gray hairs looked back at the young hazel eyed girl she expected in the mirror. The vanity accumulates black stamped letters year after year. Not even her grandchildren could bring the elder from her room tucked away at the back of the estate. It was a miracle Magda was able to pry her from her seat when the mori overran the continent. What would it be like, to watch them break down the door and end her suffering? She would never know, her handmaid had other plans. There was little change, once she settled into Portoregne. She oft looked out the window, towards the sky. How exhilarating would it be to touch the clouds once more within a basket, carried by a colorful balloon? Vuillermoz had always had a hot air balloon. Her husband proposed to her in one. But not here, the tradition had died with her Pa Rev. Magda had inquired on her behalf a couple times to local artisans, though the concept was unknown or too intimidating to most. Pluck, skrrrr, pluck, skrrrr The pieces of fabric came together after years of toiling. Bandages covered Rosemary's thin skin from the constant prick of the needle. Magda paid some local boys to assemble the basket and heating apparatus. The balloon’s cloth was a shabby affair, it would be a miracle if it even held air. Slowly, the handmaiden let rosemary outside to the coast, the hot air balloon already inflated and held to the ground by a rope. Rose smiled as she looked at the cloth. Magda had stitched the pattern of Aquilae on it behind Rosemary's back. She withdrew her hand from Magda’s arm. “Finally, finally” she wheezed, stumbling towards the basket in her haste. Magda did not stop her, nor help her further. The maid watched sadly as her mistress beamed with a joy not found since her childhood within the candy store of beans n’ baubles. “Magda, come here” she called, and the maid obeyed. The servant was handed a book “Please make copies of this, and give them to Duke Johann Vuiller, and Laurelai Holly. Do with the rest of the copies as you wish, it matters not to me anylonger.” Magda looked at the books title, ‘Rose’s wilt’. Below the title read ‘The Autobiography of Rosemary Cooper, Gendik, Vuiller’. FWOOOSSHHHHHHH Magda looked up from the leather bound tome to see the basket rising. She had not noticed the elder had tossed the binding rope from the undercarriage, releasing the tether. Rosemary did not look back, only forwards across the ocean she set as her path. “Samuel” she smiled ear to ear. After a short time of watching the balloon fly into the sky above the waters, the balloon was seen to rip apart. Down, down the colorful rainbow fell, a speck in the distant skys of the horizon. It took several days for the currents to bring the basket and waterlogged cloth to shore. It was no wonder the stitching failed, it was a miracle to have worked at all. A simple announcement from the duchy of Aquilae was sent out once the basket was recovered. A simple announcement from the duchy of Aquilae was sent out once the basket was recovered. Rosemary Vuiller 1828-1978 Daughter of Primrose Gendik and Arlo Cooper Wife to Kristian Vuiller Mother to Johanne Vuiller and Samuel Ludovar Grandmother to 12 Great Grandmother to 11 Great Great Grandmother to 11 Great Great Great Grandmother to 7 “Even a traitors daughter can one day become beloved"

As the announcement was made during court, Princess Lavanya held her son closer upon her lap, a stoic expression remaining on her face as her chin tilted up. The woman sent a prayer for the safety of her husband and son during the upcoming times of war and darkness.

wait, same……

Lavanya kept the boy close for his first few months, disallowing royal Nanny’s from relieving her of his care for any moment. The first time mother fretted over her son constantly, even strapping him to her back so she could cook whilst he slept peacefully. The only times she let him out of her sight were when the child was with his father or grandmother.

Lavanya, a woman hailing from the nation of Cresonia read the decree. "Inking of any kind?" she sent a letter then to her childhood friend, Princess Kareena. 'Your highness, it appears we shall not be able to partake in our traditions of Henna inking for the foreseeable future. I had hoped to set up a small business to bring the artform to this land, though it appears persecution would befall my clientele. How unfortunate' @MissToni

There is nuance to every incident. However, playing on LOTC is not a right, a necessity. It is a privilege and a luxury. If you do something unsavory, and because of it you get permanently banned, exactly how awful is that? It is not taking your food, shelter, means of survival. It is disallowing the use of this attempted safe space we all know and love called LOTC. Do we give people the benefit of the doubt whilst opening up this safe space for the potential of re-offense? If they do reoffend, it will only look bad on those who chose to give the second chance. lotc is not some need, necessity, giver of meaning. It is a roleplay minecraft server. that’s my opinion at least

Well, Ezren wasn’t the thinest man ever… he enjoyed lemon cake with his chunky son

[!] Above is a not so primitive rendering of the mans brother-in-law [!] Following the notice of the Prince-Consorts death, this pre-written missive was published throughout covenant lands [!] Hola, it is with a very heavy heart I am forced to write this missive. I am dead, and if you are reading this it is because my dear brother-in-law is still single at the time of my death. Thus, I must resort to a long ago method of matchmaking- the public missive. Since this technique worked so well for my Tio Casimir when I was but a boy, I shall stick to tried and true methods! And as his favorite brother-in-law, it is my duty to make sure he does not die alone. Without further ado, let me introduce the man, the myth, the legend himself! His name is Enrico Amadeus Novellen He is the Count of Abretta, and the youngest brother to Queen Sybille I (My lovely wife) He is melancholic, and maidenless I'm not that good a judge of looks, but I would say he is dashing He is very very VERY tenderhearted! He is shy, so feel free to make the first move! Please send any inquiries to Enrico personally. Also compliment his hair, just to break the ice. Any and all inquiries should NOT send a letter to yours truly, as I am dead. Ezren Elijah Novellen of Tuvia, Prince-Consort of Balian, Best brother-in-law

"Do you know, Son of Man, what makes a man great?" "Death" In the din of the darkness that began to engulf the prince-consort as his head was crushed under the force of the creature's grasp, a memory played softly from the depths of the man's mind. “¡Madre madre!” a young boy's voice called excitedly, his small hand pointing out towards the ocean “Look! What is that?” Callista, the boy's mother, bent down beside him, smiling “That is a Bellena, a Whale. They are the biggest fish in all the sea! “ Ezren, all of five years of age let out a gasp, his eyes glittering with wonder “A whale… I want to be a whale when I'm all grown.” “Why is that hijo?” His mother looked to him, likely expecting a childish answer, or no reason at all. The boy kept his gaze locked on the immense sea creature as he answered “If I'm that big, I'll be able to protect everyone I love!” The scene was swallowed by the darkness edging around his mind, the word love echoing like a deep chasm. The memory was replaced by a singular person. Sibyl The young girl who was pushed into a small creek by that same boy. The adolescent princess, standing behind Ezren as orcs attempted to rob the two teenagers. The young woman walking from the back of the church towards him, the most radiant smile on her face. The Queen who stood at the frontlines of war for her people. His only wish was for her safety and happiness. “MALCHEDIAEL, AENGUL OF COURAGE!” The phrase that once uttered, ushered in the final paragraph of Ezren Elijah Novellen's existence. It came to him naturally, like the warm embrace of a parent. He no longer felt pain, his wounds mended, and his body ablaze with the patrons burning aura. He fought once more, remade anew and stronger than before. It was for naught but to give time- time for aid to come to his loved one. And it came as the clanging of metal and crackle of fire pierced the engulfed building. John Galbraith and Gwenyth Vuiller entered the burning church, pulling at Sybille I as she fought to get past the gate. It was enough. "Goodbye, mi amor" Sorrow, Peace, Acceptance. Once the others came, the prince-consort fell once more a final time. The fight was finished, and a victor was had, and his soul was reclaimed by Malchediael. [!] These letters and will were written up at the news of the continuation of the war, and instructed to be dispersed to their intended recipients should the Prince-consort perish in battle. To Enrico @garentoft To Ephrem and Callista Kervallen @ECS1999 @Lmcfc To Ophelia @comatoseprincess To Elianos @Lirinya To Ariadne @_yink_ To Alexandros @Harald To Mi Amor @HIGH_FIRE The Will of Ezren Elijah Novellen of Tuvia To each of my children I divide my savings to 100 mina for each child. My remaining possessions, barring the sword “Splendes Ulmi” , be divided equally amongst my children. The sword “Splendes Ulmi” shall remain in the possession of my lawful wife, Sybille I, until a time when she feels fit or after she has passed, at which point it shall return to the Peer of Tuvia, whichever is in possession of the title at the time. If the peerage of Tuvia is disbanded, the sword will be passed onto Ezequiel Kervallen or his eldest offspring, eldest grandchild, and so on and so forth. [OOC Note]

MC Name: Sapphirepool Discord: Sapphirepool Image: https://imgur.com/a/2w1I4tf Description of Image: Queen Sybille I of Balian Dimensions: 2 wide, 3 high

The steady tap of a cane echoed behind Casimir as he entered the Vuiller keep, Persephone Maxima d'Atrus-Vilac slowly coming to a halt behind the embraced pair. Her face was stoney, marred by long ago scars and sightless eyes. She waited, perhaps in her old mind thinking that if she simply waited then the little girls voice would echo out, calling that she was alright and to not be sad. But just as her eyes saw nothing, her ears heard no voice of her great granddaughter. She turned to an attendant standing sentry off to the side "Tell Gwendel to get his armor" she rumbled, her voice deep with malice and hatred. @Harald Throughout the day, a great ruckus was made within the Vuiller keep. Initially servants hurrying too and fro, whispers passing between them. Then the clanging of armor as guards joined in a search for something. Rosemary Vuiller Senior had long ago stopped inquiring about the day to day pleasantries that occur around her. The eldest Vuiller sat in her quant room, patching holes in children's clothes. It had become her newest passion, since her great great great grandchildren started playing outside and snagging threads in shrubs. A deep, despairing baritone cry rang out down every hall, room, corner of the keep. Rosemary paused and looked down as a small dot of crimson pricked her finger where the needle had startled into her flesh. Mystified, she gazed at the small bubble grow before breaking its bounds and streaming a small path to drip onto the Childs dress she was mending. "Magda, what ungodly affair has occurred that such a cry is heard from my family?" She spoke softly, setting the garment down to look at the handmaid sitting diagonal to her. It took only a minute for Magda to inquire in the halls and come back with tears streaming her cheeks. "L-lady Marjorie", eeked from the maids lips as if a sin in itself to say. Many had passed to the seven sky's during her long arduous years, and the old woman had taken each passing with poise and sadness. But today she wailed, cursing the name of GOD and clutching the Childs dress to her frame as if an old friend. She prayed for her heart to finally give out from the years of endless streams of wills, death notices, and lost goodbyes. But it still beat, strong and relentless. And so Rosemary would continue to suffer.

Ezren Of Tuvia looked down at his blade as the scrape of the sharpening stone whisked across its gleaming moonstone surface. Methodical, almost in a trance did the sound flick off the stone. Finally he stopped, looking out across the fields which lay between the covenants encampment and the doorstep of Veletz. Lifting the sword up, he pointed the tip towards the fortress, looking down the shaft of the blade with one eye. “Soon. Soon they shall reap what they sowed for decades. It all began with Adria, and it shall end with Adria.” He lowered the sword, his face showing not glee but sadness. “May GOD show mercy on the innocents who made their home within these lands, for their lords folly shall soon reign blood. And may those lords see their errors in the seconds before death, and beg for forgiveness, so that perhaps their souls may still reach the seven skys”

Ezren glanced over the missive after sybille, a hefty sigh and shake of his head following. He opened his mouth to say something, though closed it soon after and just looked at Sybil, his face saying all that needs to be said.

In the south of the continent, Prince-Consort Ezren’s eyes nearly bulged from their sockets as he read the name, then re-read it. “Mi abuelo?” He exclaimed. A laugh arose from his chest “that old man is good at everything as is, why should I be surprised!”.

A reply was swiftly penned thereafter "Segnor d'Viuva, it speaks loudly towards your character that you would choose to issue a duel over the act of calling you Lucian, instead of your excellency whilst awaiting the fate of my wife as she underwent a procedure. Perhaps it was when I asked you leave me be after you started to chastise over this slip up. I also must wonder what else you see as a slight towards yourself? The only previous incident I can recall is that of when you first came to balian and enlisted, where you refused to heed my command of silence when you spouted off against the nation of balian for, quote "Hiding behind walls" whilst our enemy was at our gate. Apart from that, I have scarcely interacted with you. If these two incidents are all it takes to have such disdain brought on a person, I simply pray for your furious soul. Seeing as the challenge has been issues, I must ask the terms. I cannot fathom it would be to the death. This is neither an acceptance nor denial. My thoughts are but with my family and nation, and not a perturbed man who cannot take any form of criticism without calling foul play. You shall have an answer soon." [!] As with the challenge, this reply was posted next to the original letter on the notice board.

“We brought war to their lands? Dios! Who would have thought that the capturing and coercing of the crown princess of Balian would cause such a thing! Not to even mention whilst she was in her last month of pregnancy with the future monarch!” Prince-consort Ezren of Tuvia rolled his eyes, flicking the paper, “To demand we drop all reference of orenian heritage before letting our princess go, then stating you have no qualms with our heritage and culture? I dare say that this lady Easworth may suffer memory loss.” The man tsked, tossing the missive aside. “Lest the citizenry of Veletz forgets, it was their own lords who housed those who kidnap women and children. We gave them ample opportunity to oust those ingrates from their lands, yet they sought destruction on themselves and their people. A true shame.” The father of that once kidnapped child within the womb sought out his son, now of the age of five, so they might continue their fishing lesson.

Outside the chambers stood several figures awaiting the return of the Princess Sibyl who had entered. Ezren held the twin babies, whilst Xander and Ariadne stood by his side, each unable to fully comprehend what was transpiring within. He stood in silent vigil, only breaking to hush the babies small cries. It felt as if they knew before any others that the nation was without its king. Soon after, Sibyl exited, and with her came the new reign. The reign of Sybille I. +-------------------------------=======--------------------------------+ An elderly woman with sightless eyes and black hair muddled with white streaks pondered endlessly within her chambers of the Vilac estate. It distressed Persephone that she could not hardly remember her nephews own face. She had never seen his face whilst he was Adrian, and she could only recall the times of his youth- Hadrian. Whilst she did not recall his features, she recalled the troublemaking nature of his youth with a small smile. How far had that troublesome young heir come from those days within Atrus. Truthfully, he always had the makings of a kind ruler. Some boyish faults were had, but despite that he didn't let it hold him back. She hoped that soon, she could view him fully alongside her frate, Alexander and her pater, John. Gwendel ( @Harald ) and her were of a generation long forgotten, and she felt their time was nearing.