NoxIndigo

Past far-off felds and foreign hills, an aged apothecary turned timeless eyes toward the slow-rising bright of dawn. He sighed for weariness, then urged on his ceaseless steed. The long road lulled, yet the ride stayed rest; and in vigil were the sleepless thoughts to keep him company. "I held true my promise. Yet it would have been better had I not." "It was unfair of me, that I should come and leave again." "She is happier without me." "Gods, she is so much like Mother." "She is happier without me." "She is happier without me." So he told himself. ─────────────────────────────────────────── “Are you tired yet, Nalia?” Amon stifled a yawn of his own, eager to see his sister finally to bed. Contrasted with the harshness of winter dark, the hearth before them seemed all the more comforting. “Nein…” the girl muttered into her brother’s arm. Much to Amon's distress, her resolve had not quite been arrested by the warmth of the quilt lain across her shoulders. “If I tell you a story, might then you go to bed?” “Story?” Nalia shifted ever so, striving against what weariness she held. “Deal.” With a sigh, Amon’s gaze tilted to regard Nalia’s features, then turned again to the faint flicker of hearth-light. His eyes fell closed, and he strived to recall. “It ist ein sad story, but ein true one. About Mutter. About Anna. Anna was lost. Where was her mother? Where was her father?” ─────────────────────────────────────────── “I’m so sorry.”

In the snow-crested arms of a far-off feld, an aged healer turned inward for a winter's respite. Though young of flesh, his eyes were of a grey age. He knew the mettle of man and the face of war, whose prey his very own hands had long labored to heal. Averse to the sword, he did all he could to mend where mend was due. The hearth burned bright, crackling gainsaid the silent night beyond. Yet he knew the illness was a mortal one; one which, however long he might toil, would forevermore beset what and whom he held dearest. So when, once more, the thrums of war clamored high, Amon--with other considerations--knew he could not stay to see it through. The dusk horizon billowed with smoke, yet they were turned toward the dawn. The missive found him at a port, earlier that day, where he had deigned to purchase supplies for their travels. "We chose well to leave when we did..." He turned to Arianna, unfolding the worn parchment from his satchel. "If we returned, what even would be left?"

AFTER THE WEDDING | TO THE NEW DAWN As a rook to the first of the waking oats At the winding of months drawn grey Or as springs to the weary of winters ere So the frosted, what lightness may As the poet to words in the formless heart For his song, yet in wend, yet found And as soft as the vespers of priestly mark Or the pages, with candle, crowned In the hollow we met And black was the night Yet lost in our hands We found the light. Finally, did they retire, the sun long having passed under the far-off pines and speckled glades of the rolling, western hills. The music still, and the courtyard now vacant, Amon and Mariele sought silent sanctuary for which to share… hand in hand, as husband and wife. “... That… didn’t go well,” Amon whispered, an arm risen in want of her embrace. “But I don’t think I could bring myself to care.” “Oh, it was terribly chaotic.” A soft laugh fled even from Mariele’s lips, muffled quietly against the crook of her husband’s neck. “But you’re right, I don’t even care.” Light did Amon’s laugh pass in echo of hers, his head swaying heavily against the top of her copper tresses. “... We’ve waited so long… struggled, overcome.” A contented breath slipped between his words. “... I’m so grateful you chose to spend your life with me…” “You are by far the best decision I have ever made, Amon,” she whispered, her hand clasped tight around his. “I owe my happiness to you.” “And mine you,” he murmured into her hair, his words borne off upon a fleeting sigh. Evermore would the fervent thrums of war and grey turning of years plague the realms of descendants; yet if evermore he could wake to Mariele at his side, none of it would matter. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.” “I know I never have until now.” Her weight leant in full upon his flank, she lifted her stare in search of his storm-hued eye–ever a doting smile upon her lips. “And I have the rest of our lives to look forward to. Everything was worth it.” They came to a quiet spring beneath the valley rim, the clear waters flecked with the soft, rose hues of the early evening sun. Ever did conflict beset the realms of Aevos; yet, in each other’s company, the black motions of the world felt as but faded whispers, hardly worth their time. Only, that peace was a lie. A dark secret burdened her heart, one which had come ever close to threatening their happiness before—yet unbeknownst to him. “It’s still a little scary…” A nervous chuckle fled tentatively from his parted lips, a hand placed near to her side in silent offering. It had been a few days since they had officially begun courting, and he was at a loss still for what to do. Taking his hand into her own, she said naught—her stare affixed to the still pools stretched far before them. Tall, earthen walls reached skyward, vanishing any indication of settlement far from view. They were in their own corner of the world. With a trembling squeeze, she inhaled. “Amon… there’s something I need to tell you.” “We should depart soon…” With a delicate hand, Amon swept stray hairs from Mariele’s visage, so as to rouse her from the light rest into which she had slipped. An incoherent mumble passed from Mariele’s lips in hazy protest, eyne struggling to hold her husband’s stare. “Sorry,” he whispered, a wry smile flitting briefly over his visage. “You seemed so peaceful, but I thought it best we left before sunrise….” “We should,” she muttered in dazed concurrence, yet made little effort to stir from Amon’s side. “... but there’s one stop I’d like to make ere we go…” *** At last, they came to the cherry grove, indigo skies receding for the coming sun; the land in wait of a day yet to be had. “I fear the places I would have liked to visit have been lost… but I had a lovely time here, with you,” Amon whispered, then settling amidst the wild oats and fallen cherry leaves. “We moved continents, and I hardly noticed, so long as you were there.” Mariele lowered herself to the short brush and sank against Amon’s side, digits sewn through his with hardly a thought. “I enjoyed the move. I didn’t think it possible–but, it was because of you.” Lacking in fair words, Amon ebbed against Mariele’s flank and fell quiet, content with the silent motions of overhead stars, and the faint, wending ripple of the nearby brook. A faint smile danced over Mariele’s lips, as tender moonlight to the calm waters of a spring.. “I love you,” she whispered, her words barely breaking the quiet night. Time passed. The first rays of light glistened over the far-off horizon, and Amon inhaled. “Ready?” he whispered, spoiling the silence. A long breath came in, then out. “... Ready.” “We’ll be back,” he whispered, coming to a stand. “One day.” Rising alongside him, she sought his hold and started east. “One day,” she echoed. Sunlit streams passed soft through the thin morning mist, casting faint flecks of orange and red over the far-off hillside. Hand in hand, they headed along the brook, and parted mirthfully toward the new dawn. Time would touch them no longer; ageless and unburdened. The rest of their days, for however long they chose, would be spent together, forevermore. The End AMON’S LETTERS SAFIYAA VOURKEHARDT @jihsoo NALIA VOURKEHARDT @chaoscorvus EMBERLYN VOURKEHARDT @drywall AURIS VOURKEHARDT @Tainga SER ARTHUR MARSYR @The Vulgate Cycle MARIELE/ARIANNA’S LETTERS MUM & DAD @retro@drywall FLORIAN @Lapidary YHL’FLAAOWNI @DizzyGrey ANY SURVIVING RADOMAVICS ANY SURVIVING DENODADOS JORO @lemonke OOC NOTES DuckIndigo: RatFromTheTrash: Credits to @RatFromTheTrash for co-authoring this post, and @jihsoo for review.

MC Name: DuckIndigo Discord: duckindigo Image: Description of Image: A memorial portrait, to be situated within the Numenedain clinic. Dimensions: 1 wide, 2 high

“Mama…?” The timorous youth tugged gently upon the soft edges of Anneliese Vourkehardt’s sleeves, his voice small and shy as it oft was. Anneliese had silently hoped that her son would grow more sociable in time, yet it seemed that, if anything, each passing day only rendered him quieter. It was a beautiful morning. Early birdsong permeated the streets of Portoregne and cool dewdrops had settled over the common greenery, providing a rare and much-needed respite from the sweltering, southern climate. The towering woman’s ginger tresses glistened luminously in what tender streams of sun did persevere through the thick boughs of their canopied garden. “Ja, mein ibn?” Her tone was light, though flecks of concern gathered like rain within the recesses of her stormy irises. “... What’s wrong?” Anneliese prodded, stooping forth to meet her son’s gaze. There was a beat, and the boy’s stare fell, cast unto the dirt below. “Mama, promise you won’t forget me,” he whispered, falling forth and clinging desperately to the hem of her dress. Anneliese’s voice faltered upon the unanticipated remark, ringing with the dissonance of shattered glass and broken heart. The boy’s words unsettled her, but she knew why he asked; her lapses in memory; the subtle shifts in personality; the moments of blankness that came over her without warning. Her hand instinctively flew to the small impression just over her left brow. “Ich wouldn’t ever. You are the most precious thing in the world to me...” “Memories,” Amon muttered listlessly unto the cracked stones of his bedroom wall, his visage enwreathed in a palpable darkness. Neither sun nor candlelight reached him in his forlorn sanctuary; only dust, which clung carelessly to every surface of his dwelling like a thick, ashen cloud. Since the passing of his mother, he had withdrawn entirely into the black confines of his room, seen and heard by no one. The silence was tangible, to a suffocating degree. The hearths and candles of his keep had gone unlit for some time, thus casting the residence into a bitter cold; the tidings of winter in Númendil. Half-drunk bottles had once been strewn wantonly across every fixture and surface, but he had since learned that tears were far more intoxicating. Drinking, anyway, was the vice of his mother–one which he had always regarded with silent dissent. His mother had been a familiar and constant presence throughout his life, whose devotion and love to her children was unwavering. Yet Amon knew, and had known from a very early age, that she carried within her a deep sadness. One that, however desperately he tried, could not be counseled. “I failed you,” she would always lament to her son; “I am a terrible mother.” And Amon would always reply, “But are you not proud of me? Let me live then as proof of your success.” It was his solemn dream that, one day, he would find the solution to all of his mother’s woes. Yet he had been too late and now she was gone. “Ich won’t ever forget you, Mutter. I'm sorry. I failed you.” “I WON’T EVER FORGET YOU.” Amon drew upon a deep inhale, breathing in fresh air for the first time in months. His heart was still wounded, and he looked upon the world as though it were a little blacker than it was before. Yet, day by day, he was getting better–and the shadow over his soul began to lift. On windy days, he would still catch the faint glint of a ginger hair; dancing like candlelight and carried hurriedly by warm summer’s breezes. In the clinic where he worked, he would swear upon a comforting scent, overpowering even the concentration of herbal pastes and tinctures which were already so familiar. And on some nights, when all was still and Amon had already settled into bed, the dulcet sound of his mother’s voice would permeate the nighttime cadence, swiftly lulling him to rest… *** He looked outward from his home of Caladras, unto the rising sun and rolling hills–the day still young and yet to be had–and all he could say was, “It’s such a beautiful morning.”

THE NÚMENEDAIN CLINIC S. I | COVENANT OF MEDICAL CONDUCT All certified healers within Númendil must swear by this oath upon completion of their training. Breaches of this contract may result in expulsion from the clinic and loss of medical privileges. Preamble: Unto God, and the predecessors of my craft, I earnestly pledge my services as yield before this covenant: I) Clause of Impartiality: I vow to heal without prejudice unto all who come before me, be they of high estate or of humble means; irrespective of class or credence; and without regard to virtue or blood. II) Clause of Competence: I shall endeavor to extinguish the physical suffering of others to the fullest extent of my capacity to do so; further, I hold in firm conviction that I shall perform that function well. III) Clause of Confidentiality: I shall hold the privacy of my patients in supreme regard, ceding only to the prospect of greater woe that may come of it. IV) Clause of Sanction: I shall never act upon a patient who does not will it, barring those divorced from the wherewithal to express such. V) Clause of Charity: I shall make of myself a charity of our vocation; I shall not demand recompense for my skills, nor will I withhold innovation for mine own benefit. VI) Clause of Purity: The ambition of the mediciner is to heal and restore; not to adulterate or corrupt. Thus, I shall not debase the natural form of GOD through metal or graft where it be not necessary. VII) Clause of Quietus: As an attendee of death, I bear the sacred responsibility of harbinger for the Skies. I, therefore, solemnly vow that I shall not degrade this role. S. II | STRUCTURE OF THE CLINIC The functions of the clinic are loosely divided into six classifications, with the responsibilities of the Apothecary, Nurse, Surgeon, and Master Surgeon being treated as additive to the role of licensed Physician. The aforesaid positions are not mutually exclusive, and senior clinicians are expected to assume work in multiple departments. STUDENTS Aspiring healers who have yet to complete their formal training and certification. PHYSICIANS Clinicians who are responsible for patient care, managerial work, student education, and triage. APOTHECARIES Physicians charged with the additional responsibilities of preparing salves and alchemicals, and gathering herbs. Apothecaries may be tasked with educating students on matters pertinent to alchemy. NURSES Physicians who oversee long-term patient care. Responsibilities include meal prepping, administering medicine, monitoring patient health, and assisting with therapeutic treatments. SURGEONS Physicians who have been certified for invasive surgical procedures. Additional responsibilities include conducting invasive procedures, garnering consent from patients/proxies, preoperative assessments, postoperative counseling, and surgical education. MASTER SURGEON The chief surgeon and executive physician. Additional responsibilities include overseeing clinic functions (including recruitment and training), managerial work, and communicating on behalf of the clinic. S. III | COLLEGE OF HARRENITE MEDICINE The College of Harrenite Medicine is the medium whereby aspiring medics may seek out teachers or attend public lectures. The College is responsible for the education and certification of clinicians within Númendil. Classes are separated into four courses, defined by the nature of knowledge they are pertinent to. COURSE of GENERAL MEDICINE The Course of General Medicine encompasses all classes pertinent to mundane healing and non-invasive treatments, including first-aid, herbal properties, and nursing. Senior Physicians are expected to regularly host lectures or seek out students of their own. COURSE of FIELD MEDICINE The Course of Field Medicine is a collaborative effort between the Clinic and Radiant Guard to equip soldiers with basic knowledge of battlefield triage and wartime healing. COURSE of ALCHEMY The Course of Alchemy seeks to equip members of the Clinic with knowledge on matters of alchemical inquiry, and to disperse lesser-known recipes amongst the scholars of the realm. COURSE of SURGERY The Course of Surgery delves into topics of advanced medical inquiry and complex invasive procedures. Proficiency in the practice of general medicine is an essential prerequisite. S. IV | CERTIFICATION AND SUSPENSION Certified healers have been officially ordained as members of the clinic, and are verified for all forms of medical conduct. Though a license is not necessary to operate within the clinic, it is ill-advised to do so without, for Physicians are granted certain protections that laymen and civilians are not. FORMAL TRAINING Prospective healers must undergo intensive training before they may be licensed. Education should be overseen by a senior healer of the clinic, and the Master Surgeon must assess their medical proficiency prior to oathing. Additional certification is required for surgeons, which entails a similar assessment of competency from the Master Surgeon. OATHING Oathing is overseen and documented by the Master Surgeon, who verifies all licenses passed by the clinic. It is also under their authority that licenses are revoked. MALPRACTICE Licensed healers are granted certain protection from legal repercussions in the event of err, though may be subject to admonishment, suspension, and litigation should the Master Surgeon deem there be reasonable grounds for accusations of incompetency, neglect, or ill intent. BLACKLIST Blacklisted persons may not operate in the clinic under any circumstances, under the threat of a malpractice charge. Darkspawn, enemies of the state, and suspended healers are barred by nature. HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, Argelion Zôrzagar Anorion of the House Arthalionath, Crown Prince of the Númenaranyë, Templar of Saint Michael the Archangel, Knight of the Realm, Slayer of the Gilded Queen

Amon Vourkehardt's harrowed gaze remained affixed to the sealed epistle, its sheen, smooth surface held delicately betwixt trembling hands. It had been some months since Baldric's death, and he had since assured himself that, in spite of his grief, he would be okay; that the sorrow he had felt before had finally ebbed. Yet in this moment, he did not feel okay. He hadn't, he realized, felt okay in quite a while. -------------------------------------------------------=+=------------------------------------------------------- Over Saint's Days, Baldric Vourkehardt's absence had festered silently within his heart as a growing listlessness. His ashen iris had, in time, grown cloudy and despondent; his already timorous voice had fallen to a hoarse whisper; his aureate locks fell disheveled over his broken visage; and the marks of sleepless nights lined his countenance with increasing intensity. Yet all these harrowed shifts had gone unnoticed by him. They had been gradual, and rooted in the darkest recess of his mind; a place he had long suffered without ever being able to truly behold. With little else to do, he had continued persisting. Idly living; dreading the feeling of waking each morning to realize what he had lost, and despising the moments prior to what little sleep he was able to muster, where he was left alone to suffer his thoughts. He had found scant moments of bright, tender bliss to stave off the tall night, but each languid day subdued the ability of his heart to feel both little and large pleasures. -------------------------------------------------------=+=------------------------------------------------------- His sister, Nalia Vourkehardt, was sat content outside the walls of Caladras when he had received his letter, unburdened by the knowledge that he bore. With a sharp inhale, he approached. "May ich sit here beside you?" His request was met with a confused nod, and the immediate concern laced throughout her visage nearly undid Amon. Yet he continued, his gaze fallen; forsaken to the green country overlooked by Caladras's ivory walls. "Have you been told yet. . . ?" A harrowing sob was stifled at the base of Amon's throat as Nalia shook her head further, her distress reflected within the flicker of his remaining iris. "Baldric was killed." His voice hitched sharply. "Ich am so sorry."

Late into the tall, black night, the medical examiner unveiled Dean's broken visage and stifled an anguished sob. Only hours later did he begin his work. Amon conducted himself wordlessly and with measured care; only the scratch of the occasional, painful cough did punctuate the silence; and only the slight tremble to his hold threatened his attentive precision. Head trauma. He concluded in his notes with a quavering sigh. Truthfully, any one of the little and large breaks in Dean's shattered frame could have been his undoing. Only then did he procure a mallet and take to the stone-wrought binding that encased Dean's skinless hand--giving it a forcible tap. Its sheen, onyx surface shattered instantly, revealing a rolled parchment held within a curled, skeletal fist.

| Joust Participation | Name: Sebastian Eros Nationality: Balian Do you possess a horse? - Yes [IGN: (DukeIndigo)]

“Remove your uniform, Eros,” the prince stated firmly. “And get out of my sight.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Recovering from prostration, the disgraced captain turned a heel and fled. The trust of a nation was bestowed upon him, and he had failed to return in kind. Alone then, the sorry man held an empty bottle by his side and a blade unto his heart, his resolve nearly steeled, though his breaths were faltering and unsure. The darkness of his intent beckoned the blade nearer, pressing cold ferrum unto bare skin. But its edge never did draw crimson. Instead, a new resolve settled within the recesses of his mind until it finally permeated his every thought and his breath steadied with clarity. It was decided. "Igarashi Shirunai..." The man spoke then, barely above that of a whisper.

Balianese Workers’ Party With the Senate Elections looming, a new political party rises in the lands of Balian. As our nation stabilises and begins to recover from the recent population deficit, it becomes more important than ever to ensure the needs of the common man. The Balianese Workers Party pledges to champion the rights of the average person! The Party holds and is reflected by three core ideals, those being altruism, transparency, and culture. With these values applied to all aspects of Balianese life and government, the nation shall surely grow and prosper beyond the turmoil of the late Annums. The focus of this term shall be in large, to encourage and incentivize an uptake in migrant residence within Balian, and furthermore, to introduce new job opportunities and communities within Portoregne. For the less fortunate who seek residence within our walls, an expanded affordable housing system shall be produced and enacted. In addition, new means of self-provision and production shall be introduced to the kingdom of Balian to allow for diverse job opportunities and a boon in exports. It is crucial that Balian establish itself as an active and independent nation within the realms of Aevos in the coming Annums, lest it appear weak and incapable of handling its internal affairs. To boost activity, community, and morale, the party shall propose the establishment of government-funded programs, “guilds”, designed to encourage the sciences, arts, and other niche interests of the Balianese populace. Furthermore, the party will advocate for a new, state-funded educational institution. Through the proposed state-funded university, the education of tomorrow’s leaders shall be ensured, as will the ability to manifest one’s aspirations, regardless of standing, under the guidance of proper schooling. Above all else, the party strives for a unified culture of work and altruism among the Balianese people through the teaching of arts, language, and through the aid of others. Furthermore, the party shall work to ensure a future where access to basic necessities such as sustenance and hearth is ensured through the power of welfare programs and public donation chests. For the good of the public and the Kingdom of Balian, vote for Sebastian Eros or Atriana Rorin! The Workers’ Party shall see to it that the nation’s growth is secured and the people are cared for. The First Balianese Workers’ Party Rally shall take place in two Saint’s days. To join the Balianese Workers Party, send a letter or meet with Sebastien Eros or Atriana Rorin. Signed, Atriana Rorin Sebastian Eros

NAME: Sebastian Eros AGE: 32 RESIDENCE: Ledicort Lane 5 CENSUS STATUS: Completed IGN: DukeIndigo DISCORD TAG: dukeindigo

A loose piece of paper was tacked to the notice board. It read... I SEEK INFORMATION REGARDING THE WHEREABOUTS OF A MALI BY THE NAME OF: 'PERNEHIERER' He is a former resident of Whitespire He procures a golden mask due to disfigurement He previously served in the Garmont Assembly Any help would be much appreciated. He is a dear friend of mine, and it has been long since we've last spoken. Send a bird retaining helpful information to: Sebastian Eros (IGN: dukeindigo).

I've posted the second map here. I'm posting in this channel because I was told that it would be useful for Regiment events. This is the closest related channel I could find.

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