PrincetDime

"One step closer ter feelin' like teh home Talon's Por' once was," Bella hums to herself, thinking back to the shop she used to visit in her first bigg'un city. "If peace can las', maybe t'ere'll be reason ter open Teh Wanderin' Pebble."

Bella would smile a tired smile at the news, doing her best to be happy despite a gnawing worry that maybe she'll never be able to find proper peace anywhere. After a whispered prayer for the Diona they had seen hanging from the gallows, Siomun goes to enjoy cactus by the campfire for the first time since before the war began. "Should have another fes'ival! Ter celebra'e!"

Siomun would perk up to see that the teashop was officially opened. "Would be good... Siomun needs more good. Will come back with mina." Then they go off in a hurry, excited for something to cling to that would distract themselves from the war. "Otter's teashop is open now?" Belladonna would pause her continued preparations, looking to her own tea supplies, and hum. "S'pose Oi should go check 'em ou'. Make sure wha'e'ver Oi make isn' goin' ter stray inter 'is realm."

Belladonna would busy herself by preparing for her tavern's opening, wanting nothing more than to forget the sight of all those bodies. "No' e'en a season has passed since t'is began..." She'd pause her preparations, her bottle-making and drink-brewing, just to take a moment to cry. The moment turned into an hour. Siomun would keep themselves huddled in their bed at home, quietly mumbling to themselves that their natshen will keep them safe.

Username: PrincetDimeRP Name: SiomunAddress: Property 2 in the dah'Rini DistrictVote: Mellow

Username: PrincetDimeRP Name: Belladonna ProudfootAddress: Arazo Avenue I / FarmsteadVote: William Buckfort

Bella would frown as she read the missive, twirling the ends of her braid with her free hand. "Lad's no' wrong..." She then lets out a sigh and sets the missive to the side, shaking her head. "Bu' we've go' ter much for us in Rozania now ter be rethinkin' our loyal'ies."

Bella would snicker at the news. "Well, wen' from real cheap ter real free real quick. S'pose tha' means Oi'll be makin' donashuns as Oi can." "Siomun doesn' know wha' taxes means..." They pause, thinking. "Will ask natshen."

In the dah’Rini district of Rozania's capital, a small form would be curled on a mat, clutching two differently-sized masks to their chest. One would fit an adult human; one would fit a child - or a halfling. The figure itself looked to be the size of a child, hunkered under a blue robe. “Siomun’s sorry,” the figure mumbled, voice thick with tears and snot. Their own mask was set to the side, round face discolored red from how long they’d been crying. Their eyes were shut tight, face contorted in pain, as they just sobbed. When a crack sounded out, Siomun's eyes flew open. He stared, horrified, at the smaller mask. It was now in two pieces, split down the middle. “P-Purin?” More tears came, and he hugged the masks to him tighter than before, not caring if he somehow got splinters from the split birch. “S-Siomun’s sorry… sorry…” His thoughts were a flurry, mixing between what may have happened all those years ago and what happened in the capital city just last season. ~~~~ “Where’s the heathen? The one who procreates with non-humans? Tell us or we ransack your stall.” “She’s- she’s a good person.” A cold, cruel laugh rang out. “She needs to meet justice for her crimes.” When the merchant hesitated, one of the figures put a hand on their sword. “In-a-tent-outside-the-city.” Siomun’s head was filled with the clanking he was surrounded with when those same figures moved to find Brawly, but now they were moving to find his parents. ~ Then Siomun saw the tent he lived in with his parents, could hear the pair talking inside, and knew where his mind was going. But it couldn’t be stopped. The tent was slashed open, revealing his human mother and halfling father. “Kill them and take what you want.” ~~~~ Siomun would start to furiously shake their head, preferring the pain it caused over what their brain was coming up with. “Siomun’s sorry!” They cried out, new sobs coming as fresh tears streamed down their cheeks. When the pain of lashing their head became too much, they simply curled into themselves tighter, accepting that their ears would ring with the clanking of the metal and the cruel laughter they had heard. That their nose would sting from the smell of their parents' corpses, found by them much later in the day. That their hands would tingle from the feel of the sand as they attempted to give them a burial, too scared and numb to even think of asking for help. He would fall into an uneasy sleep, still mumbling apologies to the masks, body exhausted from the crying but mind still tormenting him.

Belladonna grins at a very particular part of the coronation information - the smacking part. "Oi'm goin' ter ge' teh back o' 'is knees for threa'enin' ter shear me." She pauses. "An' Oi'll gif' 'em some'in', ter, Oi s'pose..." Though she trails off, the halfling does go to look through her various collection of items to find something that would be suitable. Siomun wouldn't be interested in the event at all, mumbling something to himself.

Siomun would grin brightly behind his mask when he finds the first flyer in the city. "Firs' fes'ival in Rozania~! Firs' fes'ival in Rozania~!" He does a little happy dance. Belladonna hums at the invite, smiling. "S'pose tha' means Oi should go ge' me mask from Hefrumm, jus' in case Mellow's wearin' 'is. Bu'... Oi wonder who's goin' ter ge' tha' hand mask..."

"So's... wha' Oi'm readin' is... Oi can' smack anyone with me smackin' stick, bu' Oi've a' leas' no' go' ter join teh KAR? Ge'in' mixed emoshuns from t'ese laws." Bella taps her bigg'un smackin' stick against her leg as she reads over the official laws. Siomun stares at the laws for a while, reading over it several times. "Will need ter talk ter natshen... Siomun has queshuns."

Belladonna had a mix of emotions reading the letter. Her and Will's relationship was never smooth or easy to explain. But what he wrote to her? It solidified that the past was the past. So she picked up her pen and wrote a response: "King William Buckfort, You and your daughter both will be seeing me more. I plan to follow Delphi wherever she may go, which means following to Sarissa as well. I was uncertain at first, given our history, but I trust you to lead Sarissa to greatness. Depending on how spacious Del's place is (and whether Per will let me), I may not need that burrow you offered. Sarissa Forever, Belladonna Proudfoot" ~~~~ Siomun read the letter with a smile hidden by their bamboo mask, but they decided to not respond to it. Mellow would likely respond, and as natshen, that would be enough.

Bella would learn of this event through the Sarissa camp - and have a load of mixed feelings about it. "Haven' 'ad a chance ter really mourn mos' o' t'ose Oi've los'... could be a good time ter." The masked traveler and doctor-in-training Siomun would hear of the event through the grapevine. "Siomun likes this idea. Sounds like good fesi'val." They nod in approval of it. "Maybe if 't ge's held again."

Belladonna sees the notice on her way to get supplies for her newly-approved cottages. She frowns behind her iron mask. "Delphi's teh Sheriff now...? Be'er check on her an' make sure she's alrigh'." She promptly turns and heads for her friends' burrow.

Student Application OOC: MC Name: writtenShipper Discord: biitch#5564 Timezone: Central IC: Name: Siomun Age: 17? Field of Interest (Class): Medicine Will you require housing? (Y/N): Yes

Donna-Bell would sigh at the list and shake her head. "Love me mam, bu'... I don' think this lis' is possible. I really should've jus' found meself Knoxville 'stead of Talon's Por' before I se'led here..."

Belladonna would be passing it by on her way to the storage burrow, shrug, and say, "Haven' even me' the other person ye'." She'd pull out an old flyer (from the most recent harvest fest) and write on the back: Name: Belladonna Proudfoot-Maelstorm-Aurelius (or just Donna) Are ye a village resident?: Aye! Who do you vote for?: Filibert Applefoot [X] Cuthburt Weedfoot [ ] Apples 'er Pumpkins?: Apples!

A particularly short redheaded halfling snatches the paper from the wind, grinning behind the iron mask she now wears. "Oi'm sure Marb'll love ter go with me! Should invi' the res' of me friends from Talon's, ter." She folds up the parchment carefully and continues on with the finishing touches of her new burrow.