mmjinae

A HOUSE OF NONE Sang s’ha d’unir Blood Shall Bind Issued on the 9th of The Deep Cold, 201 SA Those who know me know well of my distaste for politics. I have always kept my family closest to my heart, followed only by my studies, and my curiosity for the unknown. I, once so enamored with the glitz and glam of the promise of nobility, have now become a woman grown jaded with the birthright. Bohemian scholar that I am, the responsibility and dedication needed of an active member politic have become anathema to me. This fault, I’m afraid, lies solely with me. Until now, I have been satisfied with my allotment in life. Even as my blood and kin flow through my fingers like water, whether to death, to sicknesses of the mind, or to lands beyond, I have seen it as my duty to remain sequestered away in the dusty manor on the coast of Elena’s Rest. A matriarch for a house of none. A foolish concept. I have regretted this choice all my life. Only now, I find myself doomed to follow my father, and my father’s father, in the march to death. Time’s relentless march and the pedigree of my blood have taken their toll. Fire burns within my lungs; weakness plagues my bones; and my life of adventure and intrigue have rendered my corporeal body injured beyond plausible recovery. Even my mind, which I have once held as my highest virtue, has begun to fray at the edges. Dementia and decline have claimed the sanity of my father and my father’s father at a young age, and I now find myself setting upon that accursed path of madness. What will I become, bereft of the clarity of mind that I have always trusted until now? What cursed fate is it to witness death from inside a prison of my own flesh and mass, increasingly unaware of the terrible fate that I suffer? Old Balian, brave Balian - I ask you now for the gift of severance. A retirement, clean and pure, from the responsibilities of nobility. Let the House of Vilac unite together once again, and move from your lands in peace. Gift the pedigree of nobility – of the Viscounty of Valio, of that vaunted manor by Elena’s Rest – to a house more deserving, and bid me farewell as I make my way to a life of retirement. If I am to let this body of flesh perish to rust and rot, I shall do so amongst the company of the family that remains living. Old Balian, brave Balian, I shall never forget what you have gifted me. Ne’er shall I forget what I have lost, either; of the ghosts of my yet-present memory that haunt the now-empty streets of your city and streets. What use is the glory of nobility with no family to share it with? What purpose is the pedigree when all it has gifted me is a lifetime of melancholic loneliness and strife? My father, long and peacefully may he rest, would smile upon me even now; for I learned how to love my family, and myself, from him. Old Balian, brave Balian. I bid thee farewell, this cold winter’s morning, and I hope – perhaps naïvely – for a farewell in turn. I now embark on the final journey remaining for this decaying body, and I hope to prepare for what remains beyond amongst the company of those I love. SIGNED, Viviana Ximena Vilac Mother, daughter, student, scholar.

While every other mage seemed to entertain themselves with dramatic monologues and solitary observations of the inevitable, Viviana Ximena Vilac - Viscountess of Valio, and the apprentice of the illustrious Sarah Artenin - took the time to do what really mattered after winning a great battle: she rolled up a blunt, lit it with a click of her fingers and a spark of the Void, and celebrated her victory. Still, she couldn't help but wonder. . . "What is that lich up to next," she mused, before pulling out an old, yet unassuming tome, and beginning to read.

Viviana of Valio dipped her pen into ink, and began to fill out an application. . . Name of Prospective Scholar: Mirt of Valio Year of Birth: 173 SA Country of Origin: The Rexdom-Lurak Do you agree to abide by all rules of the Academy? Yub.

THE DRAKE RESTS Sang s’ha d’unir Blood Shall Bind Issued on the 9th of The Grand Harvest, 185 SA It is with great sadness that the House of Vilac announces the death of its longstanding Patriarch, Casimir Marius Vilac. For many decades, he served as the house’s leader, following the abdication of his father Gwendel Vilac. From fleeing the ruins of the Petran Civil War to gaining the peerage of Viscounty in the Kingdom of Balian, Casimir Vilac has served faithfully to his house. He passed on as a warrior, a scholar, a husband, and a father. We thank him and mourn his loss. THE VISCOUNT IS DEAD. LONG LIVE THE VISCOUNTESS. Lord Casimir Vilac’s heir, firstborn, and only child, Viviana Ximena Vilac, takes up the title of Viscountess Viviana Ximena Vilac, Matriarch of House Vilac. Despite the gloom of the coming days, House Vilac additionally announces the new Heir Apparent, the firstborn daughter of the Viscountess: Naida Sophia Vilac. If the Viscountess decides to abdicate or ascends to the seven skies before her daughter is of age, either Dame Gwenyth Vilac or Maria Giavanna Vilac will be named Viscountess Regent until the Heir comes of age. Blood binds us all. SIGNED,

What final words Viviana Ximena Vilac had for her father are not for the public to hear. Those treasured words between father and daughter were not to be intruded upon - least of all shared to all. But in the coming days, when Casimir Marius Vilac was returned to the earth, Viviana gave her father one last gift; carved upon the stone pulpit of his tomb, for perpetuity. . . When sunset came for thee, I stood with troth; My dearest father, lost beyond the veil; Whilst crimson ichor soaked through tattered cloth I clutched thy cooling corse, now ever frail. For the father that I had loved so dear who once cherished me, who once held me close, has now since passed to realms beyond this sphere; leaving me behind - broken and morose. But in my father's final hour, I know; in spite of thy once-professed fears and doubts; thou crossed the burning flames of hell below; and with sword in hand, thy made evil rout. My dearest father, though thy corse be still; Thy memory shall e'er courage instill. And yet, despite all these thoughts of valor; of splendid legacy of sword and steel; all I see now is thy face of pallor; for thy chilling flesh is all I now feel. for what shall legacy speak of thy heart; or of thy gentle timbre lullabies; what of thy love that thou'st impart upon me, a scar I cannot despise. For thou hast left me here, dearest father; thy destined departure hast took from me a part that shall ne'er heal nor proffer thy boundless love thou had given for free. Though legacy finds home in thy stone tomb; 'tis my hurt heart where thy love still dost bloom.

"The flag of Oren is prelude to war," wrote Viviana in her super-private, totally-not-public diary entry. "I did not spend my childhood in bloodshed to see the signs of another in my city walls. Oren will not be forged out of pen and parchment, but from blood. I've grown tired of the sight of blood." Viviana finished writing her entry, put out her candle, and went to sleep. Dreams and nightmares of a dead empire haunted her slumbering mind.

Viviana Ximena Vilac read over the letter in her hand one more time, before tying it to the foot of a pigeon and letting it fly to Ser Sterling. Another soul joins the Silver Crusade.

Whenever I cast voidal magic on one of my character's, I like to emote that the aura and the air around her starts to smell like pungent ozone, or cloying salt, or something along those lines, depending on what she's casting specifically. Smell makes the magic seem all the more unnatural and cool!

Viviana Ximena Vilac stood before the Vuiller manor, its silhouette heralded by the setting sun. Just a few weeks prior, Marjorie had been laughing here without a care in the world. She had friends, family, and dreams of her own - beautiful, resplendent dreams, like budding flowers at spring's first breath. The manor had seemed so full of life, then. Today, the manor was dead. The last rays of the setting sun died away, withering behind the steep shadow of the mountaintop. Marjorie - sweet, gentle Marjorie - was gone forever. No more would her laughter linger in the courtyard of Portoregne; it was taken away by the monster who robbed her of her future. No more would she greet Viviana with a smile on her face; that, too, was seized by the vermin who ended her life. The truth of the matter was that, despite all of Viviana's hopeless protestations, Marjorie was dead. She was dead and gone and all they had left of her was a single lock of hair to bury away. Eleven years of life and love, and all they had was a single ******* lock of hair. Marjorie's voice haunted the inside of Viviana's mind. Marjorie was dead. But the murderer was not. Not yet, at least. "One year, five years, ten years from now - it doesn't matter. You will be brought to justice. I will see you rot."

A paper note, a lock of hair, and a splatter of blood; that was all that Viviana Ximena Vilac could find left of Marjorie. Who would hurt her cousin? Who would even dare? Marjorie was the sweetest girl that Viviana had ever known. She loved fashion, her fish, her family most of all - who would ever think to hurt her, let alone take her away? Viviana's memories flitted back to the party Marjorie had held just months prior; of the unforeseen guests, of the strangers she had never seen before that night. Her memories recalled the words and promises on the note left behind; of the people named therein who were her only clues to her cousin's disappearance. With these memories, with these clues, Viviana began to write a list. "I should have been there," hissed the scion of House Vilac. "I should have saved you. The least I can do is find the ones who took you away." She held up her list of suspects, and pinned it against the wall with a dagger. "All will be held to account, even the world. If I find it wanting, it too shall burn. I will bring you home, this I swear."

A lone librarian stared at the missive in her hand, the words lit up by flickering candlelight. Old memories flickered through her mind's eye: the screaming citizenry of Portoregne, slaughtered by remorseless Ferrymen; horror stories of kidnappings and maiming committed against her friends, her people, her Royal Majesty; the air of terror that loomed over the Marchlands and beyond. The missive crinkled under her tightened fist. "You shall fight for pride," she murmured, "and you shall die for pride. So be it. So will I." Asya Carmesía got up from her chair, and set the crumpled paper down on her desk. She marched to her armoire and threw open the doors, revealing her armors, her sword, and her bow. "I will help see this war reach its end. I will put your brigands to the sword. I will see Winburgh burn."

Late at night, long since the sun had set and the stars blinked awake, a redheaded librarian sat at her desk before a missive, high above in her residence in the attic of La Biblioteca Cittadina. After a moment of deliberation, Asya Carmesìa lit a candle, fetched her ink and quill, and retrieved a sheet of parchment. In the flickering glow of a burning wick, and amidst the whispers of a sleepy city, she set her quill to paper, and began to write... REGISTRATION FORM Full name: Asya Casimirivna Carmesìa Age: 29 Address of Residence: Johannes' Lane 1, City of Portoregne, Kingdom of Balian (( IGN: mmjinae )) (( Discord: mmjinae ))

A tired scholar peered over the article that had reached her library. "Oh, finally," Asya murmured, "some good ******* scholarship. I haven't even considered some of these points before. Oh, I've been such a fool...!" She pulled out a quill and an ink bottle, and began to annotate the work in great detail, mumbling to herself in the flickering candlelight...

Asya stared at the notice in front of the palace gates, then exhaled slowly. "É così," she sighed. "It is what it is. Not like I was going to get it, anyways." She rubbed her palms into her eyes. "Eugh. I will congratulate John. He deserves it. I'm just... Nen. I will be satisfied with how things are." She lowered her hands slowly. "Best to put on a happy face for John when I see him next. That's the way." She turned around, then shuffled down the road, headed towards La Biblioteca Cittadina once more. Later in the day, Don John Augustus Galbraith (@TreeSmoothie) would find a letter in his mailbox, congratulating him for his new position!