najtik

⊱⊰ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊱⊰ ⊱━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⊰ “Scorched, Yet Unscathed” ━━━━━━━ ISSUED ON 13th OF Malin’s Welcome, 219 ARP ⊱━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⊰ [Artist’s rendition of Lady Silvya] ━━━━━━━ Let it be known to all whom it may concern, in light of Lord Ilarion Valkonen’s passing, I, Silvya Véronica of House Valkonen, do assume the role of Acting Regent, entrusted with the stewardship and governance of the House in his stead. This regency shall persist only until such time as his heir, Cassian Mikhail Valkonen, is duly prepared to inherit and uphold the mantle of Valkonen. Such action stands not without precedent, for as Cardinal Alaric once guided my sister Evelina in her time of inheritance, so too shall I now ensure the continuity and stability of our House until its rightful successor may stand. House Valkonen has endured hardship and rebuilding. It shall endure still. Its duties shall not falter, nor shall its name be diminished under my stewardship. We are scorched, yet unscathed. By my authority as Acting Regent, I further decree the formal renunciation of Daemon Valkonen from all standing, title, and claim within House Valkonen. His actions stand in direct violation of the values and dignity we and all humans should uphold. Henceforth, he shall bear no right to the name, nor any protection or recognition from this House. So long as I bear this responsibility, House Valkonen shall remain steadfast, ordered and unbroken. S I G N E D, THE LADY, Silvya Véronica Valkonen, Acting Regent of House Valkonen, Court Alchemist of the Petra

Silvya Véronica Valkonen read the missive in silence, her eyes moving steadily from line to line. She exhaled quietly as she reached the end. “…I was only just beginning to know the boy.” A brief pause followed. “It is… disheartening, to see where he chose to stand.” Her eyes lowered slightly to the parchment. “He should not have followed Daemon.” She said quietly. “Not like that. Not when he was still so easily led. Children mistake conviction for truth far too often.” She folded the parchment with care. After a brief pause, Silvya moved to her desk. She would begin writing an announcement.

Silvya Véronica stood before the posted decree, her pale gaze moving line by line without visible reaction. Her fingers folded neatly behind her back. “Fool” She murmured under her breath. After a moment, she reached forward and flattened the curling edge of the parchment against the board, as though ensuring it would remain visible to all who passed. “The Valkonens have never done anything quietly” she said at last. “It seems that tradition continues.” Without further comment, she turned and walked on, her expression unreadable.

Silvya Véronica stood before the posted parchment, her eyes tracing each section carefully. She read it once. Then again. “The Autumn Court reclaiming Redquill,” Her fingers lightly brushed the edge of the missive, thoughtful. “It was never meant to sit vacant.” At the mention of instructors and qualifications, her gaze stilled. “A formal academy…” She stepped back a half pace, folding her hands behind her back. “If they restructure it into a general school, the laboratory must be preserved,” she mused quietly. “Alchemy cannot be taught in a broom closet.” Her eyes flicked toward the direction of the old Redquill building. “And if they seek instructors…” A faint smile touched her lips. “… then I should attend. With public education comes responsibility,” she concluded softly. Silvya turned from the notice board, already considering how her medical seminar would align with whatever this new academy would become.

- THE - “The body does not wait for courage. It waits for competence.” From the desk of the Court Alchemist, Lady Silvya Véronica Valkonen. Published 4th of Sun's Smile, Atstana de Regne Petrère, 214 To the physicians, would-be practitioners and medical enthusiasts, Not every injury happens on a battlefield. Some happen in kitchens, some in workshops, some in quiet homes where no one expects danger. A cut while preparing food, a burn from careless flame, a fall taken alone. In those moments, knowledge matters more than panic. This gathering is for anyone who wishes to understand what they carry in their satchel, and what to do when someone is bleeding, fevered, burned or simply afraid. We will go over common medical potions, what they truly do, and when they should, and should not, be used. We will speak plainly. There will be time for questions. You do not need to be a physician to save a life, you only need steady hands and the willingness to learn. ✠═════════════════════⊱⟡⊰═════════════════════✠ PROGRAMME During this gathering, we will walk through the foundations of practical care; the sort of knowledge that proves useful whether you are a traveler, a tradesman, a soldier or simply someone who wishes to be prepared. We will explain proper use of common medical potions such as coagulators, burn relief draughts, organ menders, waters of life, tranquil tonics, and pain reducers. More importantly, we will discuss when not to use them. We will also cover the basics of herbal medicine. You will see how simple salves and poultices are prepared, how wounds should be cleaned properly before any treatment is applied, and how certain teas or tinctures can ease nausea, fever or shock. There is a difference between stabilizing a wound and healing it, and understanding that difference is often what keeps someone alive long enough to receive further care. There will be practical demonstrations throughout the session. We will show how to properly bandage a wound so that it holds without cutting circulation, how to place a tourniquet safely and how to splint a broken limb in the field. We will also speak about recognizing blood loss, exhaustion and shock, and how to position and monitor someone who fainted or collapsed. Those who wish may take part in simple guided exercises. Volunteers will have the opportunity to practice wrapping bandages, identifying which potion suits a given situation, preparing a basic herbal mixture and stabilizing a mock patient. CONCLUSION We will conclude with an open question and answer session. You may ask about specific potions, what to carry in a medic’s satchel or anything your heart desires that I may have an answer for. No question is foolish when it concerns someone’s life! ✠═════════════════════⊱⟡⊰═════════════════════✠ ≋▐ TEMESCH OF THE PETRA ▌ ≋ ≋▐ THEONUS | REINHOLD | AUCLAIR | VALKONEN | CARNELLE ▌≋ S I G N E D , HER HIGHNESS, Mattea Asadha, Princess of the Petra, Countess of the Phoenixsphere, Grand Chamberlain of the Pétrine Court of Autumn HER LADYSHIP, Silvya Véronica Valkonen, Court Alchemist of Petra

Dame Katarina of Schwyz stood alone when she read it, helm set aside, gloves removed, the parchment trembling. "You were one of my favored children" Her jaw tightened. She had spent her life earning glances, commands, expectations, but never softness. Never this. And now it arrived too late for rebuttal, too late for pride, too late for argument. She folded the letter carefully. Once. Twice. Then she sat. Far away, in the halls of Fritzbrook, the old chamber lay undisturbed. The sunlight still touched the floorboards where he had once sat. The incomplete Lorraine remained unsigned upon his chest. Katarina imagined him there. Not as the numerous titles he held, but as her Großvater. The man who corrected her grip on a sword when she was too small to hold it steady. The man who told her that leadership was not a crown, it was a weight. When she finally allowed herself to bow her head, it was not dramatic. Only a slow exhale as her shoulders sagged, armor creaking softly with the motion. “I would have borne it” she murmured into the quiet. “The mantle. The burden. I would have carried it for you.” Her fingers pressed to her chest, as if to finish the blessing he could not. “GOTT mit uns” she whispered, and completed the Lorraine over herself. Katarina rose at last. Her eyes were red, but steady. She slid the letter into the inner lining of her gambeson, over her heart. “You should have burdened me” she said softly to the empty room. “I was forged for it.” Then she reached for her helm. There were soldiers to command. Ships to guard. A family to steady. And though the old lion had laid down his crown, the blood of Augusten still stood. “Long live Schwyz” She breathed. Then she stepped back into the noise of the living.

Silvya Véronica Valkonen folded the missive with care, a faint smile touching her lips. “Then let the young carry the mantle” she said softly, looking out the mansion's window. "I pray, Evelina, that our family is in good hands. I shall do my utmost in aid, to make sure it is" The last mainline Valkonen spoke

OOC (MC Name: najtik) (Discord: najt4383) (Timezone: GMT+1 ) IN-CHARACTER What is your name? "Dame Céstariel" Why seek membership to the Mages Guild? "To expand and share my knowledge" What arts, if any, do you currently practice? "I am a master of fire and life evocations, translocation and currently learning earth evocation. I am also a master of alchemy, medicine and blacksmithing." What position do you desire to attain upon acceptance? "Adeptus Majoris" When should you be contacted for an interview? "We can organize through discord"

Dame Céstariel stood in still silence beside the quiet grave. No words. Just the hush of wind combing through her cloak. She hadn’t spoken Adrian’s name in some time, not the real one. Not the one she'd found caged beneath layers of armor, duty, lies, and burdens he carried like chains. In life, he'd been fractured: devout, unwell, loyal, treacherous. Human. And yet, beneath all the rot and ruin, there had been a man. A man who looked back, questioned himself, bled for others, and in the end, tried to choose redemption. She remembered the day she handed him over to Anaire. How she'd watched him walk away without knowing if he’d become a monster... or another broken tool in someone else’s war. But in the end, Adrian made his own choice. Céstariel lowered her head. “Adrian Obediah” she said quietly. Then she turned, and left nothing behind but footprints.

Stevrik Starling stood before the message, his gaze lingering on the words. Snow clung to his shoulders as the wind swept through the streets of Silasia. Slowly, he brought a closed fist to his chest, two solemn taps against the old, worn breastplate. He said nothing aloud. But when he turned to leave, the weight in his steps spoke clearly enough: the old Silasia mourned, and the new one would remember.

-Kekodesu "My sword is heavy with memory." In the long-shadowed days of the Marchdom of Lotusgrad, before Silasia ever rose to grandeur, a child was born to humble yet dignified lineage. Stephen Starling, first son of Adele, a soft-spoken housewife, and Stefan Starling, the well-loved tavern keeper and Chief Justiciar of Lotusgrad, came into the world in a time of small hands and slow change. The Starling name was whispered in courts for its honor and in taverns for its ale. Stefan upheld law by day and served warmth by night. From this dual world of discipline and hearth, Stephen was forged. As a boy, Stephen was inducted into service beneath Grand Duke Sterling the First, a legend in his own right. Trained alongside a number of chosen youths, Stephen's steel was sharpened against the best. Among these trainees was Cordelia, his equal with the blade, and later in life, the keeper of his heart. They sparred with bruises, unaware they would later build a life together. His training became legend. His swordplay became gospel. In time, the Grand Duke himself knighted Stephen Starling, and the realm rejoiced. Then came war. Silasia bled in battles, and Stephen with it. He fought in the great war against the orcs, a veteran's veteran, surviving while others fell. But with the Grand Duke's death, the fire within him began to smolder. Yet he did not yield. He turned his loyalty to Arturas, the boy-grandson of his liege, and stood beside him as Silasia fell. "That boy picked up a crown too big for his brow. But damn me if he didn’t grow into it." After the fall, Stephen left. He roamed Aevos as ghost of the knight he once was. In Haelun'or, he encountered Arturas again, no longer a boy, but a man of stone. The Count showed Stephen his new keep, asked him to stay. "There’s something stirring again, Ser Stephen. Stay. Be part of it." "No. My time was forged in one keep already. Yours will rise without my shadow." And so he wandered. Until one day, by fortune or fate, he found Cordelia again. They married. Built a quiet life. Raised a son: Stevran. Stephen never drew his sword for another soul, except to teach. Stevran was trained from the time he could walk. Stephen passed every strike, every stance, every parry. Then came Stevrik, and the cycle began again. A third generation of blades, and perhaps the sharpest yet. Together, Stephen and Stevran honed the boy. For over twenty years, Stevrik trained until he could match his father and nearly match his grandfather, who despite being in his twilight years, moved like the prime had never left him. But fate is cruel. Stevran collapsed during a training session. A heart attack. He passed in the following days. And now, in his hundredth year, Stephen lies bedridden, the strength still burning in his mind if not his limbs. His armor, his swords, and his final words are now entrusted to Stevrik, who rides for Silasia. In his possession is a letter, sealed in wax, addressed to Count Arturas. "Take this to Arturas. Tell him he still has a Starling who remembers what it meant to kneel without breaking." Stephen was not just a knight. He was the last whisper of a dying marchdom, the sword that watched empires fall. He was husband, father, grandfather. He was born of a tavern and a courtroom, and through him, both honor and ale survived. Even now, through Stevrik, the Starling name rides on in brew, blood, and bond. Rest well, Ser Stephen Starling. Knight of Silasia. Blade of Lotusgrad. Guardian of Memory.

A woman far from home lingered over the notice, its words stirring both pride and ache. Katarina von Augusten wished to be there among them, to laugh and share in the warmth of family once more, yet the sea still held her brother’s shadow, and duty kept her far from Alba. That night, beneath the quiet hum of her campfire, she shed a tear.

Virel Aurelion stood beneath a rain-darkened awning, the missive in his hand trembling slightly. He exhaled slowly "Justice doesn't wear boots" He muttered "But it leaves footprints" The paper crumpled in his fist. He looked to the horizon, turning, coat trailing behind him as he stepped into the road.

Dame Katarina von Augusten, weary from her long search across the coasts of Azuras, found a rare moment of quiet. Her gaze lingered on the notice, written with the same conviction she remembered from their earlier talks. A faint smile tugged at her lips as she read. “If there is one fit to guide this city with both reason and heart, it is you, Mister Halcourt. May fortune favor your campaign and may Godwinsburg see the best of your vision made real.”

A very enticing CA with the most interesting mechanics. I've always wanted to play an angel-like creature.