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    maple.sunflower #3249
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    Olenna Katerina Haverlock
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  1. Name: Olenna Katerina RademacherAge: 34 (at the time of the pageant)Gender: FemalePlace of residency within Aaun: Horen 1 (the rademacher estate)Are you in good standing with the Aaunic government?: I'd hope so (I work for them)
  2. This set of unpublished poetry struck familiar to a certain blind transcriber, the pen reading aloud to her the words of the late Kortrevich. With a perked brow, Olenna Katerina Rademacher turned to face the wall at her right lined with volumes of texts and tomes. Taking a length of shelf to itself, the entire collection of transcribed works of Sir Borris Iver Kortrevich stood there, long since published, displayed, and sold in Aaun. The blonde hummed as she set aside the collection only recently published. "Good to know I'm ahead of the industry..." Her visage veiled by a white cloth bowed low in brief prayer. "GOD bless Ser Borris upon his death anniversary."
  3. ((i can’t make a spoiler bc on mobile, will edit later. Just wanted to say that I don’t usually post on things like this… it straight up looks like God came out of the sky and put a cardboard box on top of Stassion. It’s just straight up bad faith. I was present while Stassion was building their fort. It’s their own fault for not IRPly and OOCly considering their defenses in preparation for this. This shouldn’t be allowed. i hope that moderation and admin will thoroughly consider this and resolve it. Nothing in any warclaim I’ve ever seen in my 3 years of being here had genuinely looked so (to be frank) shit before. I have heard arguments that compromises and this and that have changed in the fights recently, but this is on an ENTIRELY different level. Absolutely abysmal, absurd, and rather disappointing build.))
  4. A U N I O N O F S K U L L A N D P E O N Y Lady Olenna Katerina Haverlock & Ser Wulfram Heimrad Rademacher von Hexenwald Wulfram and Olenna in the gardens of Whitespire's Chapel. SA 163 The air was filled with the sweet fragrance of blooming peonies and the gentle rustle of leaves overhead created a soothing melody. Linked by intertwining fingers, the couple strolled along the dirt path, laughing amid their joyous conversation. An ethereal glow illuminated the Chapel gardens they paced through hand-in-hand. To the denizens of Aaun, Ser Wulfram Rademacher and Lady Olenna Haverlock cordially invite you to partake in celebrating our taking sacred vows of union. This union will see its fruition in a few month's time. Within the Whitespire Chapel, the Holy Matrimony will take place, inviting the friends, family and denizens to witness. There shall be a reception held in the Rademacher estate following the ceremony. Special Invitations are sent to: HRM, John Alexander and his esteemed pedigree HRM, Amelya HRH, Charles HRH, John HRH, Josephina His Lordship, Robert Matyas Haverlock, and his esteemed pedigree His Lordship, Fernand de Lewes, and his esteemed pedigree His Lordship, Emilio Varoche, and his esteemed pedigree His Highness, Johannes von Alstreim, and his esteemed pedigree HRM, Sybille of Balian and her esteemed pedigree HRM, Ezren HRH, Xander TRH, Johan and Gwenyth Vuiller and their esteemed pedigree Alberic du Lac Ser Hodrick Morne Ser Malcom MacKenna Adalfriede Rademacher
  5. Emeline Barclay's brow raised as a Veletzian ballad sung by some strange fellow on a city corner fell upon her ears. The young noble bard scoffed as she turned her nose the other way! "What rubbish! This means WAR" The teen marched home to begin scheming up some new songs!
  6. "Mom, Can we get Templarism/Paladinism?" "No, we have Templarism/Paladinism at home" The Templarism/Paladinism at home:
  7. Sitting in the quiet of her chamber, the blind girl's attentive servant began to read a message to her, translating the handwritten words into a world of sound and emotion. With each sentence, the missive's content evoked a mixture of surprise and disbelief. The girl's brows furrow as the servant finished reading. "It is truly quite funny to me how we only asked they be tested by us. Yet, they refused so we advised them to arrange for their children to be moved away for the time being, in places they could learn to be good, honorable squires and wards. Once again, we were met with anger and offense. Their home burning is not our fault but by sheer coincidence. It was my friends and I who put out those fires and yet we weren't even thanked." The Haverlock curator released a breath as she simply sat back in her her comfy chair. "If they had only followed our initial request, perhaps they could have spared themselves from all this mess."
  8. Darkness was the price to pay. Names, descriptions, locations. They rang off the blindfolded Haverlock's tongue with lightning speed as her words graced every corner of Aevos. Her sight was taken from her and from them she'd take their very lives. The author could no longer write, but the very power of night shivered when she spoke. She'd burn their village with words of fire.
  9. LETS GOOOO!!!! I loved this book, man. I’m so happy to hear there’ll be a second. It’s sad to see you go. We hadn’t ever met I think, but I do wish the very best during your deployment. Sending much love to you and your family.
  10. People live, People die. Such was familiar to the aged Orenian soldier. It was the first lesson a medic learned. Now she was older and wiser and the years had caught up with her. It was impossible to sleep in her last years and she often found herself sitting at her window staring out over the lands of Stassion. The mountains towered high into the night sky and a cool breeze would stir through the window she peered from. Primrose drew a breath of crisp midnight air before resting her head against the back of her chair. Her fingers mindlessly pinched the fabric of the blanket draped over her lap, rubbing it between the pads of her digits comfortingly. She shared lives with many. Many had died. Her children, lovers, friends, comrades... Each plagued the old woman with a silent vigil held within the elder's mind each night. Tonight was Borris Kortrevich. She had saved the boy and watched him grow. The collection of poetry had been tucked into her shelves and even with the burning of her home, pieces had been torn out and tucked into a notebook. The withered book sat on her bedside table, the bindings barely holding on by the threads. Each night since she had moved to Stassion, she'd read the notebook and the remnants of poetry. Over and over and over. The beautifully scribed words played through her mind in a harrowing emptiness. There were things she regretted. Always was and always will be. One of those was not seeing her son in his final days. Had she not faked her death, could she have seen him? Why had she not trusted him enough to reveal her secret to him? Could she not stomach admitting her faults to someone who looked up to her? It made her sick. Dull chocolate eyes stared at the waning crescent that pierced through the night with its white light. Even as Borris' life ended and her own waned, her love never diminished. A shaky breath was drawn as Primrose whispered past her wrinkled lips. "I'm sorry," Her voice wavered weakly with age, "I'll be home soon, my son. Thank you for waiting for me..."
  11. The past years were difficult for Olenna. From Otto, to the tsunami, and to the loss of her library... The quiet girl could no longer bottle the pain she felt. A sorrowful scream was heard from deep within the woods of Petra. With tears in her blue-green eyes, the little Haverlock tilted her chin to view the cloudy skies above. "Why?!" She cried, her voice raw from the emotions that burst from her. Birds fluttered out from the spruce trees, startled by the girl's weeping. Everything she carried within her satchel was tossed, the bugcatcher's jar completely shattering into billions of pieces upon impact with the tree trunk. Finally, her tear-stained cheeks lifted to the Seven Skies above as a weak whisper rasped from her throat, "I didn't even get to say goodbye..."
  12. The holly-crowned child sat on the saddle of Thalgrim’s steed, driving her miles upon miles to their patient in need. She clung onto him as to not fall off the horse as the road became rougher and steeper - as it always was upon the Urguan mountains of Almaris. Those verdant hues so full of life sparkle with excitement and in wonder looked to the man who guarded her. Thalgrim of Clan Goldhand. The same human woman sat in the dark woods, the blue-grey tartan shawl draped around her shoulders kept her warm amidst the chill of night. Her hands worked at the healing craft, skillfully grinding the herbs into a refined paste to be used for her next patient. Whispers of a prayer were muttered under her breath - light as the snowflake and gentle as the condensation that swirled from her lips. Her features were illuminated by the golden glow of the campfire: Forest eyes reflected the dancing light as the faint wrinkles around her eyes crease with the faint smile upon her older visage. The fond memory formed so many decades ago was still sharp in her mind. The medic’s gaze lifts to the clearing through the trees above that revealed a might abundance of stars. Softly, her prayer ends as the lid was screwed onto the jar containing the medicinal paste. “Anbella, Yemekar… guide me.”
  13. Writ of Abdication Issued by THE COUNT OF JEROVITZ On this 5th Msitza ag dargund of 467 E.S. VA VE EDLERVIK, It has been sixteen years since I first inherited the County of Jerovitz from my father, Nikolai. Throughout my tenure, however, I dedicated most of my time to my family, as much of my tenure has been spent battling a series of illnesses. This has been kept a secret from everyone but my wife, as she has been in charge of uplifting our House through her work as the Grand Lady of Haense. Regarding my firstborn daughter and heir, Ileana, she has shown great prowess in comital affairs from the very beginning of her heirship. Though she is not yet of age, I know that my wife, Viorica, will guide her until she reaches her 18th name day and shall henceforth lead as the regent of House Kortrevich, considering my illness had thus become too severe to succinctly continue my tenure as the Count of Jerovitz. Such abdication may even cure these illnesses that plague me. Thus, I proclaim that all of my titles - Count of Jerovitz, Viscount of Krusev and Baron of Koravia are to be abdicated to my firstborn child and heir, Ileana Stefaniya Kortrevich. LONG MAY SHE REIGN. WITH DUTY COMES HONOR, His Lordship, Matviy Artem Rahoul Kortrevich Her Excellency, Viorica Irena Kortrevich, Grand Lady of Hanseti-Ruska, Countess-Regent of Jerovitz, Viscountess-Regent of Krusev, Baroness-Regent of Koravia
  14. The mother of de Lyons stared at the river Petra, the cloak wrapped around her weak figure. Blue eyes that had once been so full of life had iced over. In front of her stood her son, the blond who looked so much like her late husband, the man killed at the hands those not even of Petran blood or spirit. Her grip upon the nine-year-old's shoulder tightens as she drew a sharp breath through her nostrils. They watched the sunrise, the golden hues of morning light shining upon Petra. Juliana looked to her son, lifting her hand as she signs to the hopeful luminescence. For as long as the sun shines upon the Commonwealth, we shall not be oppressed.
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