MapleSunflower

The brunette woman smiles from her place in the Seven Skies, nodding approvingly at her husband at her side as they watched over the lady writing her missive. “I’m glad there is still some sense in our people. It seems some of them have forgotten what we and the others fought and died for”

If you’re going to take a moment and discuss further about how you want to proceed, I highly recommend talking with the people of the server. Talk to women, talk to men, talk to non-binary folk. Understand the micro-aggressions and bigger signals of the issue that appears. Maybe LOTC is better than it was 3 years ago when I joined, but that was still 3 years ago. The roleplay experience of sexism I faced still remains ripe in my mind; You’ll get good examples of what kinds of rp is an issue from people who have actually deal with it. Talk with people you don’t know, go to every community, and take your time to make an educated decision and a well-thought-out decision on what sexism RP rules will look like.

Blood squelched under the boots of the Queen Kathryn, the black pools flooding the cracked concrete of the square and congealing around fallen limbs and shattered blades. Smoke hung low, dragging the sky into a dull grey haze -- as if even the heavens wished to turn away from the sorrowful scene. Fires burned in the distance as the rooftops of Portoregne still flickered with the dying memory of battle. Burgundy now owned these lands -- at least in name. Their banners had fluttered like omens in the wind, flaring against ash-colored skies, as they marched under the guise of instilling the ‘fear of GOD'... but the war had ended as wars often do -- with only death and destruction. The Burgundian soldiers and their allies were gone now, retreating to distant courts and chapels, leaving behind scorched earth and silence. In their wake, the displaced wandered like ghosts through the bones of their city, salvaging what the flames had not yet claimed. Kathryn knelt where the heart no longer beat. The man before her -- her husband, her heart, the other half of every quiet morning -- now lay still. Once, he had been the voice of laughter, of stories spun with a grin in the glow of lanterns, of prayers murmured beside her as the stars turned overhead. John had always peeled oranges for her with care, separating the half and offering one into her hand like a precious ritual. They had done so since they were young. She could still remember the scent -- bright, sharp, alive. His smile was wide; That silent moment of warmth passed between them as they shared something so simple... so... constant. Now, that light was gone. His hands, once so full of small kindnesses, were empty. Drawing the slain body of her beloved husband close, Kathryn's forehead touched John's gently, a gesture worn from countless nights of closeness. Tears traced her cheeks, not for the grandeur of loss, but for the small things: the stories unfinished, the warmth of peeled fruit pressed into her palm, the breath between words never to be spoken again. Fingers brushed the grime from his face. His blood, still warm, had smeared along her armor. "Wait for me, my love." The words left her lips as she pressed a final tender kiss to his lukewarm skin. "Susurrus tritici vocat..." She whispered as iron tinged on her tastebuds, his blood marked on her lips as she lifted her gaze to the Seven Skies above. "Guide him home, Uncle." Brows knit as she pleaded to the crepuscular rays of sunlight that shone over the horizon. "Almighty GOD, Welcome my husband into the shelter of Your mercy so that he may find rest at last in the comfort of Your heart. You have tested him with many burdens in this life. Now, I pray, that you may grant his soul peace and everlasting rest... please -- Let him rest." Soft, golden beams broke through the clouds in the amber skies like a whispered promise and in their quiet holy glow, their sign of hope held tight to the trust within her heart. The people of Balian now gathered around her. With tears staining her visage, the widow now rose. Wordlessly, they drew forth -- no command need be uttered. With their faithful aid, the people took to her side and aided her in lifting up John the Good to carry him home.

The golden sun hung high above the fields of wheat, casting a warm amber light that shimmered across the swaying stalks. Each head of grain wisped in the wind, their tips dancing like the waves of the ocean. A woman stood within that rocking expanse, her hoe held tight within her grasp. She was dressed modestly for the work; The veil she adorned protected her skin from the wrath of the day. Reaching underneath the veil that shielded her visage, she wiped the sweat from her brow. Dirt smudged across her cheek as the sun beat down. A courier runs up the path with a folded missive clutched in his hand. Those blue hues landed upon the man, dipping her head gratefully as she took it with calloused fingers. Unfolding it carefully, blue hues scan the page, lips parting just slightly as she reads. Then, slowly, she nods — once, firm and steady. A flicker of pride lights in her eyes, her chest rising with quiet resolve. For a moment, she stands tall among the furrows - the wind brushing the fabric covering her head - as she faced the setting sun. Glorious rays of warmth, their colorful array lighting the sky with hope.

The halls of the Cathedral echoed as Kathryn knelt before the altar. Signing the Lorraine over her frame, she prayed for Achillius, the boy who had grown into a strong young soldier. A leader of blade now made Duke, she wished him wisdom blessed by GOD, that his life be long and happy, and his decisions be made in righteousness. Her prayers turned to Laurelie - the new Duchess - and she support her husband with strength and tenderness in all his endeavors. Finally, she prayed for her friend Esfir: "May peace find you, my dear, and the mantle be passed to your noble son. Do not fear; He shall make you proud."

T H E C R O S S T O B E A R ✧⥼─────────────────༻❁༺─────────────────⥽✧ FROM THE MOMENT BALIAN WAS BORN, SHE WAS A SANCTUARY FOR REFUGEES SEARCHING FOR A PLACE TO CALL HOME. Our ancestors traversed across Almaris - through rough waters and burning sands - until settling in the desert where they laid the first stones. GOD guided them in their unity, blessing them with the resources required to survive. Where water sprang from the rock, an oasis formed to quench our thirst. Crops grew from the toughened soil, providing us with the nutrients to live. It is for our survival as humans that we require a roof over their heads, water to drink, and food to eat. However, these basic needs are not enough to satisfy the soul. A FEELING OF SAFETY IS ONE OF THESE REQUIREMENTS. To be free of persecution and harm to both body and mind. There is a saying I think of often: “Home is where the heart is.” Where there is love, kindness, and joy, our heart shall remain there. To treat others fairly, without judgement or prejudice, is the cornerstone to building any civilization. That welcoming feeling - open arms and open hearts - is what our hearts truly yearn for. It is integral for our survival and happiness. NEARLY THIRTY YEARS AGO, AT THE AGE OF TEN, I ARRIVED AT THE PORT OF BALIAN. I departed from my home, venturing across the ocean to become a ward in the courts. I was greeted immediately with warmth and friendship by Prince John, even in these new lands that I was an outsider to. With time, trust was rooted into our cores. TRUST IS THE ROPE THAT TETHERS US TO ONE ANOTHER. Love is built upon this, reinforcing its strength to be greater. Love for spouse, your family, and friends; but love does not have to be so intimate. There is love also for our country, our citizens who reside within as our neighbors. Every relationship, no matter the kind, is nurtured by our actions and words. It is cradled in the palms of trust. PEOPLE ARE DYNAMIC CREATURES. They change, grow, and think. Their beliefs may transform and they, like the caterpillar, emerge uniquely - some for better, some for worse. No one is spared from this nature. Yet, in all those years, there is one belief that cannot be shaken from my core. BALIAN IS A FAMILY. EVER SINCE I ARRIVED, I HAVE WATCHED AND LISTENED. I have observed resilience in times of strife and know this belief to be true. When regency ruled our lands, we had faith and stayed true to our Kingdom. When attacks were made upon our King, brave souls leaped forth to take the blow. When war loomed over the lands, we prepared and prayed together. We feast together; Celebrate together. We mourn together. We have welcomed others with gladness, aided them in their settlement, and when they wish to fly once more, we set them free letting them know they may always be welcome to return home. This is love. So when I say that Balian is a family, I say it with my full heart. WAR BRINGS OUT THE WORST IN PEOPLE; BROTHER FIGHTS BROTHER, MOTHER FIGHTS SON, FRIEND FIGHTS FRIEND. During times of war, the tether of trust is torn. Family blood or bond, are broken apart. There is no honor in killing one’s flesh and blood, for it is sin, nor in killing those who made strong bonds. There is no victor, no great reward for these deeds. There is only sorrow and regret. It is for this reason that mercy, both on and off the bloodied battlefields, is something that should be admired, respected, and returned in kind. An understanding for others and the opportunity for a second chance is virtuous. WHEN ONE OF OUR CITIZENS WAS ACCUSED OF ESPIONAGE AND TREASON OVER A LETTER TO HIS SISTER, EUGENE OF BURGUNDY AND HIS MEN DESIRED THE EXTRADITION OF OUR CIVILIAN. The man simply promised to not bring harm unto his sister should they cross paths. No crime had been committed, for our family was given a choice. No one is forced to fight. This man desired to, his actions and words proving he was indeed fighting and his blade was sworn to his homeland. If I had not held true to my trust in him, where would he be now? WHEN WE DENIED THE SURRENDER OF OUR KINGDOM, IT WAS NOT AN ACT OF DESPERATION, BUT ONE OF RESOLUTION. A declaration that we would not yield to the will of conquerors. Our family, once shaken by fear and uncertainty, found renewed purpose and camaraderie. Even now, their choice remains: to fight or to stand aside. No one is forced to fight. Yet, citizens from noble to commoner took up the cause. We labored side by side to reinforce the defenses of Portoregne. OUR FAMILY STANDS STRONG. ✧⥼─────────────────༻❁༺─────────────────⥽✧ “And as I made for you the worldly pleasures, so too have I made the pleasures of the spirit, and the love of the husband and wife.” (Virtue 3:5) ✧⥼─────────────────༻❁༺─────────────────⥽✧ THERE ARE MANY OATHS I HAVE SWORN IN MY LIFE; THESE ARE NOT TAKEN LIGHTLY. I hold close the holy promise of the faith and our almighty GOD, my allegiance to Balian in citizenship, and solemn fealty as Queen-Consort. I have taken the sacred vows of matrimony when I stood by my husband’s side at the altar. We have faced many challenges together; from the very beginning of our union when our wedding was bombed by a terrorist to the war we presently find ourselves in. As Julia to Horen and Tara to Joren, it is my duty to tread the path of life faithfully alongside John no matter what chaos and fear Iblees may bring to our doorstep. It is for this vow of love and country that I am persecuted. ✧⥼─────────────────༻❁༺─────────────────⥽✧ LATE INTO THE EVENING OF THIS PAST PETER’S GLORY, I SAT IN THE CATHEDRAL OF THE HOLY SUPERNALS WITH A YOUNG MAN UNFAMILIAR WITH THE CANONIST FAITH. We discussed its teachings and virtues, learning from one another in what it means to believe in GOD. Our conversation brought him closer to GOD in a more meaningful way. It was as we bid our goodbyes that the Cathedral was stormed and we found ourselves quickly surrounded. MY BLOOD WAS SPILLED UPON THIS HOLY GROUND, FOR I WAS STRUCK IN THE TEMPLE – A SCAR NOW LEAVES ITS MEMORY. Consciousness was stolen from me, and we were forced to the Holy See. Upon arriving, according to witness reports, my unmoving body was placed into a small torture chamber to be shaken uncontrollably. Flashing lights caused me to slip in and out of consciousness. I can only remember the pain like lightning through my skull and the aching of my limbs. WHEN I CAME TO, MY BEARINGS WERE STILL NOT ABOUT ME. The dim lanterns still blinded my eyes, their booming voices made their demands. Renounce your husband. Summon for him to save you. I recognized the voices, their faces difficult to focus on - but I knew them. Faces of those I once called friends. Yet, they called me another name not my own: Lavanya. I tried to speak, but it was as if my body would not follow command. My mind was sluggish, as if trudging through thickened mud. Yet, I was not dumb. We shall force him to surrender here. WITH THE STRENGTH I COULD MUSTER, I CLASPED MY HANDS TOGETHER. I prayed. To SAINT TARA, Patron of the Captives; SAINT JOREN, Patron of the Imprisoned; MALCHEDIEL, Archaengul of Courage. I pleaded for them to hear me and to pray to GOD on my behalf. I asked for freedom. Then, for the gift of resilience, strength, and courage so that I may remain true to my vows to Him, my Kingdom, and my husband. MUCH TO THE FRUSTRATION OF MY CAPTORS, I DID NOT ANSWER THEIR DEMANDS. I couldn’t — partly because I was hurt, and more importantly, because GOD meant more to me than my own life. For this, punishment is what LEDICORT VERANZA and CARDINAL ENRIQUE deemed fit for me. I WAS FORCED TO STAND, TO STUMBLE AS WE ENTERED THE COURTYARD OF THE HOLY SEE INTO ANOTHER CELL WITHIN. My head was pounding as I was put behind these cell bars. ✧⥼─────────────────༻❁༺─────────────────⥽✧ “So I am the Most High, and in pursuit of My Virtue, I bid my faithful this: You shall not raise a hand in wrath, nor in envy, nor in any kind of sin.” (Virtue 5:9) ✧⥼─────────────────༻❁༺─────────────────⥽✧ I FELT GREAT SADNESS WITHIN THOSE STONE WALLS. My Virosi ancestors remained upon my mind; Those who had served EXALTED GODFREY, translated the Scrolls, wrote our Canon Law, and uplifted and even sat upon the Throne of Daniel. The men and women of humanity who served GOD for millennia now watched us carefully from their place in the Seven Skies. I wept for the souls of those who now stood in that room outside, deciding what should be my fate. May God have mercy upon their souls. The words of Ledicort followed; I remember them as clear as day: “It's a providential day for you, Kathryn. In my continued mercy, I have chosen not to give you the guillotine. However, I should stress, you are excommunicated. Properly and formally. For endless amounts of crimes against virtue, including but not limited to war against the Temple.” I COULD HEAR THEM BEHIND ME. The iron bucket and the metal rod. Their hands grasping my arms as a radiant heat neared my right cheek. It seared into my skin a thousand scornful fires, the stench of putrid burning flesh stinging in my nostrils. Pure agony scourged through my already exhausted and abused bones. It remained there as I tried to pull away, but their hold prevented me from escaping their wrath. Even as the branding iron was pulled away, their torment still surged through my visage. WHEN ALL WAS DONE AND THE ONLOOKERS HAD THEIR FILL OF THEIR ENTERTAINMENT, ONLY THEN DID LEDICORT ALLOW FOR OTHERS TO TEND TO THE WOUNDS HE INFLICTED UPON ME. They forced food upon me, shoving it down my throat until my body rejected it, expelling everything from my stomach. They attempted again, but I refused until they ceased their efforts. SAINT TARA, SAINT JOREN, THE ARCHAENGUL MALCHEDIEL, AND GOD HIMSELF HEARD MY CRIES– EVERY WHISPERED PLEA UTTERED IN THE SHADOWS OF MY SUFFERING. In their mercy, they answered. It was through their divine grace that I found the strength to endure, the courage to resist, and the freedom to walk away from that cell. When all seemed lost, when the weight of despair and torment pressed upon me, they lifted it. I did not break beneath the scornful eyes of those who wished to see me dead -- those who, in hushed corners and gleeful murmurs, plotted my execution and the forced surrender of my beloved. I remained steadfast not through my will alone, but through their sacred power to bring mercy upon me. WHEN I RETURNED TO BALIAN, I FOUND MY FAMILY – THE PEOPLE OF BALIAN – WAITING FOR ME. Their faces were etched with horror, their eyes wide and wet with disbelief. I stood among them -- bloody, broken, but not bowed. And yet, in their silence, the weight of a thousand unspoken sorrows hung in the air. LATER, WHEN I WAS ALONE, I STOOD BEFORE A MIRROR. My dress, once a warm shade of orange , was now nearly consumed by the dark, rusted hue of dried blood. Patches of vomit clung to the fabric, reminders of the forced feeding I had endured -- the violence that had intruded into something as basic as nourishment. Within my hair, delicate white lilacs -- the symbol of peace and purity -- were now painted in crimson, their petals soaked in a sin not their own. BUT MY EYES COULD NOT LINGER THERE FOR LONG. They were drawn, inevitably, to my face. There, seared into the tender flesh of my right cheek, was the mark. The branding. The shape was unmistakable; A Rhodesian Cross was scorched into me with ritualistic precision. The skin around it was red and raw, the edge puckered and angry. It still ached with a phantom sting, the kind that comes not just from the fire or forge, but from the dying of nerves. [!] A depiction of the Rhodesian Cross is illustrated here. ✧⥼─────────────────༻❁༺─────────────────⥽✧ “I am the Lord GOD without peer. I put into your heart the power of creation, and I created the seed and chaff, and put heat into the forge that reddens iron.” (Virtue 4:3-4) ✧⥼─────────────────༻❁༺─────────────────⥽✧ I RECALL SOME WERE KIND TO ME. I remember a priest wiped my still-bleeding wounds with a rag. I felt him dab my skin with such tender care, albeit fruitless for I was covered head-to-toe in my own blood. SISTER JOSEFINA pleaded with her colleagues to cease their torture and allow me time to recover and speak. She offered me a drink, but I held a hunger strike in favor of prayer. BROTHER VINCENZO, who tended to my wounds, carried me home safely. I thank them all for their touch of kindness. GOD worked through their hands and words. AS FOR THOSE WHO HAVE BROUGHT ME HARM: I FORGIVE YOU, FOR I SHALL NOT LET YOUR DECISIONS AND ACTIONS WEIGH MY SOUL WITH WRATH. I shall not judge, for it is not mine to cast. GOD shall bring that unto you upon your final breath. May GOD have mercy upon your soul. ✧⥼─────────────────༻❁༺─────────────────⥽✧ MY BLOOD HAS BEEN SPILLED ON THE FLOORS OF THE HOLY CHURCH OF BALIAN, AND MY FLESH MAIMED WITHIN THE SACRED WALLS OF THE HOLY SEE. I have been tortured and excommunicated for the sin of virtue. Punishment has been delivered for upholding my vows to GOD and His word, to my Kingdom, and to my husband. FOR AS LONG AS I SHALL LIVE, I SHALL FIGHT ALONGSIDE MY FAMILY IN BLOOD AND IN BONDS. Until my dying breath, I shall continue to serve the people of Balian. I shall fight for my home. THIS SYMBOL OF HATRED UPON MY CHEEK WAS CALLED JUSTICE. It was wrath sanctified by our Church. It shall not be erased nor rid of. It shall not be forgotten, but remembered by those when they look upon my visage. YOU MUST LOOK UPON THE CROSS OF CRUELTY. THIS SHALL BE MY CROSS TO BEAR. HER ROYAL MAJESTY, KATHRYN OF RHEN, Queen-Consort of Balian, Princess-Consort of Providence, Duchess-Consort of Helena, Lorraine, and Reutov, Countess-Consort of Pompourelia, Viscountess-Consort of Eflen, Anatis, and Valio, Baroness-Consort of Renzfeld, Brucca, Valens, Malenos, and Ciavola, Lady of Portoregne, Atrus, and Monterosa, Warden of La Costa Rubinissima, Protector of the Heartlanders and the South, etcetera.

"Our family." Queen Kathryn tenderly whispered as she held the missive within her hands, clutching it close to her bosom. "I shall serve you until my dying breath. Thank you."

Am I the favorite?

The Raid of Hyspia ✧⥼─────༻❁༺─────⥽✧ Come all of you good faithful Good news to you I'll tell Of how the good ol' Cov’nant Has come in here to dwell Which side are you on? Which side are you on? Which side are you on? Which side are you on? They talk of hope and progress, Then rob us one by one, So I'll stick with the Cov’nant 'Til every battle's won Which side are you on? Which side are you on? Which side are you on? Which side are you on? They say in lands of Aevos There are no neutrals there You'll either be a Covenant man Or a thug for Harrentzdek Which side are you on? Which side are you on? Which side are you on? Which side are you on? Oh, Canonists, can you stand it? Oh, tell me how you can, Will you be a lousy scab Or will you be a man? Which side are you on? Which side are you on? Which side are you on? Which side are you on? Don't scab for the “preachers” Don't listen to their lies Us poor folks haven't got a chance Unless we organize Which side are you on? Which side are you on? Which side are you on? Which side are you on? Which side are you on? Which side are you on? Which side are you on? Which side are you on? ✧⥼─────༻❁༺─────⥽✧ Music and Performance by Her Ladyship, Emeline Josefina of the Petra and His Lordship, Sigismund de Lyons 8th of Peter’s Glory 155 B.A.

Queen Kathryn of Balian read the missive before suddenly feeling the urge to sneeze. "ACHOO!" She blows her nose with the missive.

"RRAAAAGGGHHHH!!!" The voice raged from the other room followed by a swift shattering. Immediately, Kathryn rose from where she had been writing at her desk and rushed in to see her husband fallen in despair. She stood in the doorway, cornflower blues flickering to the messenger who remained at his post. Like a broken heart, pieces of pottery scattered the floor in millions of pieces. They could never be restored. With a summon of her finger, she leaned in to hear his news before permitting him at ease. "Prince Thorin was captured and executed, Your Majesty." He whispered. A sharp ache pierced her heart and the air was punched from her lungs. Her own tears welled within her eyes; Sorrow for the loss of good Thorin, for the widow her dear friend Isabel now was, and his children, one even being their godchild, were now fatherless. The bitter agony of war. Without a word, Kathryn now knelt before her husband and eased him into an embrace, resting her chin upon his head with tender care. Mercy, Thorin had been given once. John had fought for it amidst the calls for his execution in Hyspia. It was what was right. A man should return to his family, for he committed no crime other than doing what he was told to. Would that not be what all would want if they were in his shoes? Thorin was lucky that night, and every night Kathryn prayed for his safety... But luck ran out and they were not there to guide for his release. Thorin was a good man. A good man gone. Saltwater tears trailed down Kathryn's cheeks as she wept softly for the Rostovan Prince and his family, pressing a soft kiss to John's temple in gratitude that she could still hold the one she loved. How her heart ached for poor Isabel and her children.

"Pink the the color of resistance." Queen Kathryn of Balian mused with a warm smile, as she herself was adorned in the vibrant hue. It was her favorite of them all, known by those who knew her. "Let us rise - united - in banner and blade against our foe. Gentle but not weak are we."

“Sad to see the Pontifical States have resulted to bullying folks.” Kathryn hummed as she read over the note, a coy smile tugging upward the corner of her lips. "They think they are smart, but clearly one is ahead."