Seva

Phoebe raises a cup to her Emperor as she plots the movements of the Black Church within her borders. Death to the Undead.

A return missive would be penned and posted without much care. "Allow me to share yet another fundamental truth: I am well aware of who penned this note. To the woman in question, do you truly wish to burn our relations? I expect a letter of apology for this attempt. After all, it is most unlike you to do much of anything in person." "To all others, I welcome you to find fault in two lovers aiding one another in the affairs of their fiefs. You will soon be shaking with revulsion at the entire court."

Phoebe Lucia de Senna Malory had spent a long time cloistered behind the walls of her childhood. Yet for every moment she sat held in stasis, there was another memory she felt in retrospect. Being given her first cane, being taught the walls of their home, and being taken outside for the first time to feel the grass. She could not hate that part of her parents, and in the end, she decided not to hate any of it. It had made her who she was, and she would never let that go.

Phoebe hums as she sits in her study, drawing over the plans for fortifying the gateway to the North. A thought occurs as a maid sets the notice from House Tiber before her. Atop the battlements, she sketches the crude shape of a fortified, Imperial Cannon. A smile draws over her lips. " Let corrupted flesh meet Imperial Steel. "

12th of Godfrey’s Triumph D. C. XL. VIII. TO HE WITHOUT HOME, I SEE YOU, WEARY WANDERER, and I understand your plight. The Empire stands united, and yet, you are lost, without purpose. You walk from one village to another, seeking from them a home that will grant you the peace you so desperately desire. You are an elf, tarnished silver, wondering when you may be safe from knives at your ears. You are a halfling, pockets empty of honey-bread, and robbed of wit and whimsy. You are a dwarf, people eradicated, a lone smith with no forge. You are a human, who above all does not understand where they might belong. I SEE YOU. And I understand, for as a child I ran away from my home in the dead of night. Sightless eyes that I was birthed with, refused to guide the feet that carried me o’er flagstones and through the fields. I see you, because I know what it means to understand there is a place beyond, that you have not yet found. What is it? What pulls you? It is not Haelun’or. It is not Urguan. It is not a Federation born from Four Brothers. Your place is among the Descendants of Horen, those who have come together to stand firm against the coming dark. You have been freed from the world we once knew, deluged in politick and schema. You have been wrested from the great diversion of the evil above all. You have been welcomed now, by me, to a seat at our table, to a place at our fire. For the great evil sends his forces, his commanders of the night, against the seat of descendant-kind. We will be waiting for their arrival. TO HE SEEKING PURPOSE, COME SEEK ME IN THE SOUTH. A letter, bearing your name and profession, as well as your purpose for joining my ranks, is all that I require. Our Late Emperor afforded me the right of recruitment, to see in each of you a role in my land. Let it be known, to swear to my banner thou must: ✠ Forfeit any claims or obligations to noble succession within the Empire, as Sternfell shall not serve as refuge for those seeking advantage in succession disputes. ✠ Declare the vocation they intend to pursue, be it blacksmithing, carpentry, hunting, farming, adventuring, or scholarly pursuit, and swear fealty first to His Imperial Majesty, Marcus I, and thereafter to Her Ladyship, Baroness Malory. ✠ Submit to examination to ensure no allegiance to Darkspawn or their servants; any found in such league shall be put to swift death under the sanction of the Church of the True Faith. ✠ Should a noble household seek settlement within Sternfell, it must swear fealty to Her Ladyship and obtain the express permission of His Imperial Majesty. TO HE WHO JOINS ME, WE DEPART SOON. Our banners will fly over the Southern Coast in a little over a year. We will march to the borderlands, establish a forward operating camp, and secure the resources to erect a wall against the darkness. I will not lie to you, there will likely be opposition, for the forces of Darkness know we are coming. And they are afraid. S H O W T H E M F E A R, HER LADYSHIP, Baroness of Sternfell, Matriarch of House Malory, Lady-Archivist of the Imperial Court, Sorceress of the South

The server culture is very important to me, and it feels great to have a firm vision for the future. P.S. Road to 500

" Oh, " says a Baroness who has taxation with representation. She begins to pen an application. . .

15th of Sun’s Smile D. C. XL. VII. TO HIS HOLINESS, CAIUS II, AS BARONESS OF THE NEWLY FORMED BARONY OF STERNFELL, I have chosen this land claim for only one purpose. The Mountains that once contained Urguan similarly contain the Silver Isle’s Scourge to the coast. As I once served His Imperial Majesty, Hadrian I, in undermining our enemies to the Southwest, so too shall I serve as a bulwark against our foes to the Southeast. I am gladdened that they are not mortal, for I need not veil my actions in mercy. Sternfell will hold the coast, and the gateway into the mountains, forming the front line by which the forces of GOD may march. I call upon those with nowhere else to go, the wayward Elves and Halflings, the broken Belethians. Renew your purpose against Darkness. Swear yourself to this Crusade, and perhaps you can win a home amidst your conquerors. To those of other lands, Sternfell will serve as a staging ground for our grand Crusade. I open my doors gladly, a merry host to those who would safeguard our realm. Allow my lands to sate your spirit. Allow my home to be yours. Allow the Empire of Azuras to hold the line. L E T T H E M C O M E, HER LADYSHIP, Baroness of Sternfell, Matriarch of House Malory, Lady-Archivist of the Imperial Court, Sorceress of the South

Phoebe de Senna, now the Baroness Malory, shook her head gently as she read over the missive, her eyes downcast. " I conquered my birth-born weakness, in part because of your spirit. It is a shame, this Horenic Curse. " She cast her mind back, to futures unwritten. She thought for a moment, brief yet strong, of how he gently supported her arms to carry her down the halls to his office, when her blindness still debilitated her. Tenderness that she had seen, if only in his most private moments.

Oh hi sporky chuck

Alas, for the scheming Salvian, this settlement would rise organically from humble means. Not even a tent was pitched yet, for the Expedition is still gathering to depart!