MapleSunflower

Primrose smiled as she read the missive. “You go, kid!” 

Somewhere within the Seven-Skies, a raven-haired woman watched her mother below. 
 

She had never been angry about her mother. Concern always filled her for her mother’s condition.
 

Perhaps it was her greatest regret she couldn’t seen her mother one last time.

Got maidens?

Favorite rp moment on one current personas and your earliest personas. 

It brings be great pride that I am your forum signature

Hieran do be looking fine too 👀

PRIMROSE GENDIK SNIFFS TOES


Favorite ISA moment?

Favorite CRP moment?

Favorite Cooper moment?

Liberation

A painting of Cailin in her early 20s.

The Trials.

It was all Cailin thought and sought. 

Dirt road traveled by foot or hoof, it mattered not where she went.

She was in pursuit of freedom.

Freedom from her childhood of homelessness.

Freedom from the tug-of-war between families.

Freedom from the War of Haelun'or and Fenn

Freedom of the lies she had told. 

Lies to her family.

To her friends.

To her brothers.

To her boyfriend.

Cailin was fortunate and unfortunate.

She had family, but they certainly didn't like one another.

She was a Ni'Leya by blood, but a Valwynn by adoption.

A child who had spent her youth alone sought the affection of her loved ones.

Pulled from one side to the other, Cailin was a pawn.

Cailin didn't know her mother or father, but she loved her adoptive Mother,

Ayliana Valwynn.

She taught her manners.

She taught her basic elvish.

She gave her a glimpse of joy in the darkness.

Cailin didn't know her mother or father, but she loved her Uncle,

Braxus Ni'Leya.

He taught her what it was to be a proud mali'thill.

He taught her to not eat too much sugar.

He gave her a roof to sleep under.

It was Ivarielle who inspired her.

Who piqued her interest.

That was when the lies began.

That was when she moved

From the island of warmth to the snowy mountains.

Cailin never had brothers or sisters, but she loved her adopted brothers.

Connak and Miryaris.

Connie taught her how to play.

He taught her to appreciate the cold of the snow.

He gave her something to laugh about.

Mirya taught her not to jump off of roofs.

He taught her how to make a snowman.

He shared his warmth when she was frostbitten.

A snowball to the head.

A forget-me-not pressed to preservation.

They didn't have money, but they had love.

But unfortunately that doesn't pay the taxes.

Nor does it win a war.

Cailin, defeated, returned home.

The war was over.

Haelun'or was independent and Celia'nor was formed.

She was barely 20 when she met her Uncle again.

But even then, the lies grew bigger.

Cailin was no longer a child soldier.

Taking interest in the Lectors, she travelled to Du Loc.

She seeked solace, not salvation...

But maybe what she really needed was therapy.

The Path of Owyn.

Day One: Pilgrimage.

Day Two: Sitting in front of the Eternal Flames.

Day Three: Read the Scroll of Spirit written by Owyn.

Day Four: Confession.

Day Five: Quest to repent for sins.

She didn't get to finish.

She had much to confess.

But she did confess.

To the El'Sohaer.

To her Haelun.

She didn't get to finish.

It was on the road to Du Loc that she fell upon trouble.

Cailin found herself homeless once again.

She'd always sleep on the bench across from the pyre.

She never made it to her unconventional bed alive.

Instead, her body was dumped there.

All that was left were the letters she had written.

Her final thoughts as the blood stained her pale blue robes was a man.

A man with auburn hair and golden eyes that radiated like the sun.

Voldar Heartstring-Vanari.

Voldar taught her how to love.

He taught her to not be afraid of her true self.

He gave her hope.

She lost her sight, but she could still see him.

She lost her hearing, but she could still hear him.

And she finally lost her feeling, but she could still feel him.

The sight of his beauty.

The sound of his sweet voice.

The warmth of his supporting hand.

Cailin was dead.

The letters would be found and sent off to her loved ones.

Perhaps it was with these letters, Cailin would achieve her full confessions and succeed in her Trial.

Ayliana Valwynn

Braxus Ni'Leya

Lectors of Du Loc

Connak

Miryaris

Voldar Heartstring-Vanari

Dr. Primrose Gendik seems alright with the verdict - though wonders where the justice is for her dead grandchild -  the sole cause for all the mayhem in the first place.

Dr. Primrose Gendik smiled widely at the missive sent all over Almaris. She hung it on the wall of the Oren clinic for all present medics and prospective medics to see!

MC Name:

         MapleSunflower

Character's Name:

         Tara Series Unit 1

Character's Age:

Character's Original Race (N/A if not applicable):

         N/A

Transformed form:

         Automaton/Animii

Creator's MC Name:

         TelvanniMagister

Creator's RP Name:

         Rigatoni

Briefly explain the lore behind this construct or creature:

If this construct or creature has some form of aesthetic choice, can you describe how they look? 

Tara Series Unit 1 is an automaton made from steel stained bronze. She has chocolate brown hair in the traditional Oyashiman Nihongami hairstyle. Tara-Bot 01 has purple animii eyes that compliment her purple Oyashiman Kimono. She is 5'11" in height and has the ability to speak in Oyashiman and Common.

Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it:

         No

Do you agree to keep Story writers updated on the status of your magic app?:

         Yes

Do you understand that if this creature's lore is undergoing an activity trial and that trial fails, you will no longer be able to play this creature and will be forced to either revert the character back to its normal form (if it was a transformative type) or stop playing the character entirely (if it is an entirely new creature)?:

         Yes

Memey RP or using this CA for subpar villain/bandit RP can lead to your app being denied, even after acceptance. Please put "I understand" as your response once you have read this part and understand the consequences.

         I understand

Have you applied for this creature on this character before, and had it denied? If so, link the app:

         No

The Magpie Flies Free

A painting of HIH Isabella Marie in her wedding gown.

"Get vyr thumb out for vyr mouth, Bella! That is disgusting!"

It was Isabella's first memory. Her brother Josef would hold her close as she sucked on the thumb in her mouth. He bullied her, her sister Natalya ridiculed her. The scrutiny still haunted her for years to come.

"You wanna play sticks?"

"What do you want, toad-breath?"

"You're a stupid toad-breath. Come on though, I'm bored."

Her first friend, Katherina Tsecsar, ward of the Galbraiths. The girl lived under the stairs, but the two spent countless hours playing with cards in her room. Many injuries were given and taken daily. The tomboyish girls couldn't be without at least one round of sticks a day - training to be soldiers. Female knights.

"I love your dress, the white really makes your black hair stand out."

Isabella beamed at the compliment, her cheeks turning a flushed pink at her first compliment from someone non-family! Eager to impress further, the girl held onto her flowering skirt as she ran down the stairs. The layers of the white gown did flow around her as they caught air, raven-colored curls bouncing with each step. Just mere steps from the bottom... she slipped. 

And soon after her fell George Maximillian, who had made the dash after her.

Fated friends. That's how it all began.

They fought together. George just wanted to take a nap with the lovely and revered Oracle sheep of the Orenian Kid-Kingdom... To which the duo were promptly banished. But they fought long and hard, and even made their own kid-kingdom - Helsreach. It was their own little world within the walls of the Augustine Palace to share with their friends.

Decades went by. George and Isabella became more than best friends; they were now husband and wife. They bore 4 beautiful children together; Annabelle Augusta, Catherine Marie, John Aurelian, and Diana Amadea.

Isabella became reclusive in her older years, only leaving the confinement of Huntshill to attend balls and banquets at the behest of her husband. In her times of solitude, it was her husband who truly gave her peace. Some say the Countess was simply fitting into the stereotypical Ruthern personality. Those who were unfortunate enough to spend any length of time with the Princess would know the real reasons - and perhaps those first people were just a smidge correct on their assumption.

Soon enough, their children began to have children of their own. To Isabella, their names were unknown. She always had a stoic demeanor about her, simply turning a cheek to all the grandchildren... all except one.

Her darling Leopold Edwin. Her Raven.

George was always a peculiarly sick one. Any cut or scrape would cause the Prince to fall into illness. The pale complexion of anemia. Any cut was a danger to George's life and he spent one too many days and nights on bedrest.

Unfortunately, birds took a liking to him. Birds with letters to deliver, to be exact. They'd swoop down onto the Prince, sometimes dive-bombing him in the head if they had a good aim. George since had a terrible fear of letters.

The Coalition War had come and gone.

The Civil War had come and gone.

The children and grandchildren of Huntshill moved into the safety of Fort Imperium, leaving Isabella to care for Huntshill. Break-ins were frequent during the Civil War. Usually the Countess was hidden from the burglars, while others came face-to-face with the raven-haired Princess. Many were kind to her, simply taking things and leaving... But there would be one who was not as forgiving.

A dagger given to her by her father.

It was taken from her. The dagger that had once been stopped from being held to her stomach by her own hand was now the very weapon used to kill Isabella. How ironic.

It would be mere hours before Isabella would be found. Blood-slicked carpet squashed under George's shoes, staining the knees of his pantlegs as he held his dear wife within his arms.

George Maximillian and Isabella Marie, Count and Countess-consort, Prince and Princess of the Holy Orenian Empire, were found dead within the upstairs hallway of the Huntshill estate, just outside of their bedroom. 

They had died together. A stab to the gut and a broken heart. Flesh was broken broken, but their arms embracing one another were not.

Letters would be found on a table within the bedroom. Upon their deaths, they would be distributed.

Catherine

Leopold

George

Joseph and Philippa d'Azor

Rhys and Valentina Ruthern

There was a final letter at the bottom of the pile. It was torn and stained, as if it was very old and even forgotten, In fact, when one opened it, it looked like it was written in crayon!

Dame Primrose Gendik laidup in bed late upon one night, crocheting a baby blanket with the banner of St. Lothar for one of her many new grandchildren.
Her hands were always kept busy. 
 

She had recently crafted a new leg for her husband, made from alchemical clay and grafted onto the leg he lost. A sacrifice for the service. Prim recalled when he told her that the ISA’s scar upon his life all laid on that atronach limb he wore in its place. After a year, his leg will turn from sculpted alchemical clay to real flesh and bone.

Her hands were always kept busy.

The grandmother recalls the night royalists stormed Vuillermoz and brought harm upon her daughter. While the young children were spared, her grown daughter was beaten and battered - shot. She had saved them from certain death, only for battle to still ensue… Blood poured from descendants’ ears and eyes, a dirty trick a certain Ruthern had achieved. Had he not done such a spell, the Primrose would have spared his and all the loyalists lives. Once assured her daughter and the children would be assured safety, she opened the door to the room Ivan and the others had retreated to. The battle would be over. Ivan’s death was her own doing, but he still managed to do her in good - a stab wound to the gut. And yet,

Her hands were always busy.

She didn’t think about The Duke of Reutov’s death. Her gaze turned to her husband, Sir Arthur Komnenos, deep asleep at her side. The clay-grafted leg supported under the throw blanket. Dr. Primrose smiled, a hand going to stroke at his dark hair. “From the earth we come, and to the earth we go.” It was them her silent crocheting continued. 

She wondered if she had paid the taxes…

Dr. Primrose Gendik blinked in surprise at the missive. She didn't take Hieran for a Haenser, but good for him. Away from the hell that spoiled the soil of Orenian lands, he could be free from the wrought of fighting friends. She'd fold the missive, setting it into her journal to save for later. "I'll be sure to have tea with him in Karosgrad one of these days."

Matviy Artem Rahoul Kortrevich wails, because he is a baby with a poor, upset stomach… And then the baby blessed his father, spitting up all over him. He may need a new cloak.

Another mother sat in her home, bloodied from the battle that had ensued. The remaining eye wide with horror and clouded with grief, sorrow and pain. She'd done it again. Her children hated her. She didn't know why she was like this...

Sobs came from Primrose Gendik, her face now buried deep into her hands. The doctor ignored the stabbing pain of the wound inflicted upon her. It would forever scar her flesh just as the situation her mind - a nasty reminder of what she had done. "Why did I do it?! Why did I do it?!" Primrose screamed on top of her lungs, hugging herself close as hot tears streamed down her cheek. "Rosemary, I'm sorry!"

23 minutes ago, Aidan_CoG said:

Aldrych Bennet  somehow manages to get his hands upon the missive. The widest of grins appearing on his face, “Hoonseti-Rooska? They would be no match for Spoooky Castlee!” The Young Ward says as he gazes to Prim, showing her the missive! “Right Prim?’@MapleSunflower

Glancing away from the book she read, Dr. Primrose Gendik read over the missive the ward showed her. The woman chuckled, a hand resting on Aldrych's head softly. "Spoooky Castle!" Prim chimed in to the boy she considered her own son.

Dr. Primrose Gendik did not stay at the court to stand guard. No one had their job properly for years - and knowing well this would be a major court - she stood guard at the gates. Sorting through visitors, she kept inventory on who came in and from where...

And then the predictable happened. The ferrymen rode right into the metal bars of the gates - locked out from their desired location. Vyllaenen called out to the soldier "You owe me!"

"F' off" The woman muttered as she grabbed the bell's hammer and prepared to swing.

"Enemy at the gate!" She cried as the bell was rung, the people gathered in the court now charged towards the gates to meet their foe. The boys in green sped off - they were no match for the unified strength of the Orenians!

Dr. Primrose Gendik covered her mouth as a soft “Oh” was whispered upon reading the poem. She set the missive into her journal with a weighted sigh, “Poor Borris…” The woman headed into the dining hall of St. Lothar to prepare a comforting and calming tea for her “adopted son”. There was a long conversation to be had. 

A servant at St. Lothar brought the letter to Dr. Primrose Gendik’s office upon its arrival to the keep. Handing it to her, he’d say “A letter from Sir Duncan Vuiller, my Lady”. Prim’s attention immediately shifted, taking the missive with a gentle thanks muttered. 
 

The woman slumped in her seat in shock. One of her oldest friends were gone. She’d remember the days of talking with him and Mata outside of her home on Marshall Lane 1 - far before she had even met Arlo Cooper. She remembered Celeste, the fiancé she would never get the chance to meet, and attending Duncan and Ravn’s wedding. 
 

Duncan was quite prone to injuries. If it wasn’t for their decades old friendship, he would have been a familiar face from just how frequent he required medical attention. The doctor faintly smiled as she glanced back to the piece of parchment in her hands.

”It was truly an honor, Duncan, to have you as a brother. I remember the day I had to amputate your legs, and immediately then deliver your son Johann… I will watch over your daughter and her children for you - I will make sure they know who you are, my friend…” 

Dr. Gendik rose from her desk to light a candle beside a fresh pot of lillies. She’d take a step back as she watched the small flame flicker before signing the Lorraine over herself….

Another friend outlived. 
 

~*~*~*~*~*~

Madeline Vernhart deeply frowned at upon hearing the news of her Uncle’s death. She would hear the twins playing loudly upstairs, thuds and giggles coming from above. The blonde kneeled before the altar of Saint Harald in their home, signing the Lorraine over herself as she prayed for the only family member to come to her wedding despite the danger.

Incense burned at the altar as Madeline left her home in search of her brother Ledicort to share the news.

MC Name:

         MapleSunflower

Character's Name:

         Dr. Primrose Gendik

Character's Age:

         65

What feat(s) will you be learning?

         Tawkin

Teacher's MC Name:

         Islamadon

Teacher's RP Name:

         Lector Danzen

Do you agree to keep Story updated on the status of your feat app?:

         yes

Have you applied for this feat on this character before, and had it denied? If so, link the app:

         no

Are you aware that if this feat is undergoing an activity trial and fails said trial, that you will lose the feat? And that if it is apart of the Lore Games, it might drastically change soon?:

         yes

Good post. ngl

Within the confines of the Huntshill-Novellen estate, a certain raven-haired Countess seethed over the open letter. Hidden away from the world for years, Isabella Marie vas Ruthern Huntshill-Novellen practically frothed by the mouth in rage upon coming to realize what her kin was up to.
 

Her father was dead. Her daughter was dead. And now her only son brought her unfathomable shame. How she deplored her children. The darkness of her inherited curse choking her mind further.

The only light in her life… her husband and her grandson. 

Cailín Valwynn raised a curious brow as she recognized a name within the missive.  “Braxus? Really?” She said with disappointed surprise. “I cried for him once… and yet he turned to scold another mali’ for coming to the city.. He thought he was going to die… and with his bigoted, closed-minded views close to his heart.”

The young mali’thill glance to the citadel, her lips tugged into a frown. She grit her teeth as the missive was clutched tightly in her hand. “Such hateful people disgrace Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya.”

Dr. Primrose Gendik set Richard Harver into the 2nd cot of the clinic, just as he had always done in life. "Godspeed, my friend. You will never be forgotten." She laid the blanket over Richard's body so he may rest in peace. 

"Would you like a new eye, Doctor?" The man's voice said within the surgical room's walls. "We can make you one. What color would you prefer?" 

Dr. Primrose Gendik jolted as gislocinovi oil was squirted into the empty eye socket after she was treated by her mentor, Lector Danzen. Her good eye opened to glance towards the first man's voice, Lector Stor Vuiller, and gave him a thankful smile. "I appreciate your offer, my friend, but I will have to decline for now." The single brown eye turned to her husband in the corner. "Scars aren't a bad things, after all." 

It was much easier to break something that to fix it. To break something only took a few mere seconds - the Staff of Homa only had to pierce her eye within seconds for Primrose to lose it. To fix it... well, this was something that couldn't be "fixed". No glass eye could replace what was lost... Nothing could replace the life she took away either.

And yet when Viktor Romstun had allowed her to treat her eye before being taken to the city hall, she smiled to him. She forgave him. Prim knew it was coming for her, just not when. Anyone in their right mind would have done it for someone they loved too. Wouldn't you?

And so, it was an even deal. An eye for a life.