MapleSunflower

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..."

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..."

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.”

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

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.

The de Lyons mother wandered the dark Castle Moere, the torches burnt out long after the battle's end. Dried blood caked the walls. Juliana knelt at the corner, where blood left no sight of the floor and walls behind. A trembling gloved hand reached forth, pressing the pads of her fingertips onto the crimson stains. Her head bows low, brunette locks shielding her visage like a willow's vines draped from above. "Arthur..." she exhales, tremor on her soft words. Tears began to streak down her olive cheeks, leaving puddles of droplets to mix with her husband's blood. Once again, Juliana was left alone, now to care for their children. The very children she had stayed home to care for instead of fulfill her duty to Petra. If she had gone, would she have saved her husband? Or would she have left their son and daughter to be orphaned de Lyons? The answer, of either, she could not answer. The first person she had ever spoken a word to was gone. And with his death, a piece of her died too. The Silent Lamb was reduced, once more, to silence.

"Poor Albert. A cheater never realizes how their selfish deeds affect their children." Juliana tuts, the clicking of her tongue echoing in the Sons of Petra meeting hall. "Good canonist... mea arse! Even Harald would roll in his grave at seeing that!"

Juliana hums, tilting her head at this. A frown tugs at her lips and she looked to the gates of the keep of Petra. "Couldn't be me." The Petran woman chuckles, leaning over to kiss her husband Arthur's ( @Andustar) cheek before ruffling the young Robyn de Lyon's ( @SmartScout) blond hair. "DEATH TO THE FALSE ARCHDUCHESS!" joins the once-Silent-Lamb, in the cries of the True Petran's warcry.

The Count of Kortrevich, Matviy Artem Rahoul, took the crown of flowers gifted by his son, Fabian ( @critter ) allowing the young blond to place ot upon his head. “Spathiba, mea boy!” He grinned brightly, ruffling his locks with a gloved hand. “Vy make eam pwoud.”

ANNOUNCEMENT from the HEAD OF HOUSE VERNHART THE DISOWNMENT OF HARALD LEON VERNHART This formal statement is made regarding a man child that has learned nothing over the years despite the pressing of now late parents and support of his siblings. After numerous actions against house and crown, including but not limited to, insulting the King of Haense during a Royal court, attacking citizens of Haense while unprovoked, and assaulting the late Grand Duke John I of Balian, House Vernhart under our father, Iulius Vernhart, saw it fit to disown him for the first time. After many years of estrangement and exhile, this son apologized and reconciled for his sins, swearing himself to Godan of his sincerity. A second chance was given, and he was welcomed into House Vernhart again. We were led to believe that our brother had changed, seeking forgiveness from Godan through his actions and words, particularly in his joining of the Canonist faith as a priest. And yet, it brings great sorrow that we must once again disown Harald Leon Vernhart for his abhorrent sins. Actions against house, family, and crown, including but not limited to, insulting the children of his wife, mistreatment of his wife and her children, withholding information of the previous disownment and his past, and attempting to deceit his wife to steal the title of nobility granted to her by King Charles I of Aaun, lead us to believe he is undeserving to return to House Vernhart. Harold Leon Vernhart and all his children shall be barred from carrying the name Vernhart. Therefore, all connections and history to the Vernhart or Vuiller name shall hence forth be broken. He is barred from inheriting the head of house title as well as any titles given to the Vernhart name. To Harald Leon, Fool us once, shame on you. Fool us twice, shame on us. May you be free of the guidance of your namesake, Saint Harald Vuiller, the protector of Vernharts and Vuillers. SIGNED, Juliana Rosemarie Vernhart de Lyons Head of House Vernhart

A D E V O T E D U N I O N O F S O L D I E R S Holy Matrimony of Arthur de Lyons and Juliana Rosemarie Vernhart To the friends, family, and citizens of the Commonwealth of Petra, Arthur de Lyons and Juliana Rosemarie Vernhart cordially invite you to our ever so devoted union. The union will see its fruition in a month’s time within the Chapel of Saint Emma of Woldzimir in Valfleur. Father Harald Leon Vernhart, the bride's brother, shall officiate this union of holy matrimony. The friends, family and citizens of Petra are welcome to bear witness to our union. Upon the conclusion of the ceremony, the bride and groom will hold a reception within the city's tavern. We hope for the appearance of all friends, family, and citizens of Petra will join us in celebration. Invitations are sent to: HER GRACE, The Arch-Duchess Renilde I HIS GRACE, The Arch-Duke Constantine 'Constanz' I HIS HIGHEST EXCELLENCY, The Chancellor, Louis Valencour d'Azor The Sons of Petra Lambert Wings and Aviana von Draco and their esteemed pedigree Artriev Colborn and his esteemed pedigree Jakob Vernhart Johanna Vernhart The citizens in the Commonwealth of Petra

Twinkling stars shone over the keep of Jerovitz, a dark figure sat upon the roof as they peered into the night above. Northern winds howled until they died, roughing raven locks until they fell in into place. A gloved hand ran through the mussy bangs draped over his forehead; The shoulder cape flopping aside as the arm raised to his face. He sat there like a lost boy, drinking the moonlight into the dark void within. Matviy Artem Rahoul never expected this. This… life. The boy who chewed his shirt until it was soaked and stretched, who sucked his thumb and bit his nails, who ate dirt to fruitlessly satiate his need for stimulation. The Kortrevich runt… was now the Count. Perhaps it was written in the stars that he and his father were so like. The one that no one expected to rise to the task. He looked like his father, eerily so, and acted like his mother. He loved them both equally and abundantly that now he felt hole had been pierced through his heart. Matviy knew they were sick. They had told him, each doing their own to guide him into Counthood… but he wasn’t expecting to not say goodbye. He expected to be by their bedside until their dying breath. Instead, there were blood on the steps of the chapel and an empty room with a cold bed and dead fireplace. Bowing his head into his knees, the Komit Kortrevich wept.

Firstly, there is nothing in the recipe that would utilize change within your potion. Potions can't magically change color based on genus (they still need dye for the boogie-bomb aesthetic potions i'm pretty sure). The color indicator just isn't accurate to alchemy lore. It sounds like the colors are simply based off the pH indicator for acids and bases. Saturation might be a better indicator. I don't understand why you chose Aether sign which is typically used for spook potions as far as I know. How do the two potions *know* when they are related? My biggest issue is that this will get meta'd so hard. It shouldn't detect anything past grandparents or nephews/nieces well. I think it'd be too OP to see anything more than 1st cousins. Medicinal Lore has specific lore locks and we can't even cut a lung to relieve pressure or collapsed lungs without killing the patient. The same is said for drawing blood from a patient and I hope it is done with the proper steps and training. Otherwise, cool lore. Can't believe we finally have "DNA"... which makes it feel too modern.

Somewhere in the North, Laurelai Holly rode her old stallion across the snowy landscape. Each hoof track left in the snow was covered by the gentle descent of white that fell from the sky. By the time the holly-adorned woman had found shelter, she sat up in the makeshift bed and began to write in her leather-bound journal decorated with herbal designs. The quill tip scratched against the parchment. NAME: Gustaf Sigismund Morovar AGE: 87 YEAR: SA 100 LOCATION: Karosgrad, Haense INJURIES SUSTAINED: Arrythmia and weakened heartbeat. Old age TREATMENT: Treatment rejected. Peaceful death desired. Do not Resuscitate. ADVICE/AFTERCARE: Love. Laurelai stared at the ceiling that night, unable to sleep. Her lids shut at her force and she drew slow, deep breaths. Eventually she fell into a light sleep with the medic journal resting over her chest.

"Mea darling..." The familiar feminine voice breathed as darkness fell upon the Vernhart father, his heart drawing to the final beat it would give. "You only deserved light." A delicate, deinty hand extended like a beam of like for Iulius, guiding him home. The imagery and voice seemed like it was right next to the man in his last moments, perhaps simply just an illusion of the mind. "Welcome home, Iulius." ~*~*~ A brunette girl found her father, for she was the only one left near the man in his last days to see him and know how his health had fallen. Juliana dressed in black and veiled her head in mourning for the only parent she had left. The girl was always so shy and quiet, afraid to speak up for herself or for others... but the only one she would talk to was her dear father, even if it was just one phrase. Now she would never speak again.