juliaINC

✠ Discord & IGN Usernames: juliaINC / saintjulia ✠ Full Legal Name: Ysawynn Miln ✠ Residence (Must be within constituency): Hadriansmarkt 9 ✠ Age (Must be over 18): 36 ✠ I, a property owner in Rittersberg, cast three votes in favor of... ✠ Oliver Napier ✠ Alexander Galbraith ✠ William of Curon

The same moment when, finally, the eyes of the ᴍɪꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ ᴏꜰ ʀᴏʙᴇꜱ narrowed down 'pon that unfortunate slip of parchment, a mouthful of chewed up marmalade finger sandwich slid down her throat. "Gulp!" The appearance of this Lady Truthful heralded trouble, and yet still, excited her so. "As you will, Your Highness!" She departed, a rapid clack of heels tailing her step in the corridors.

A certain Mistress of the Robe made an effort to acquire the newest writings of the good Lady Olympe - within the confines of a chamber, she reposed, wine chalice in one hand, the NGS report in the other.

A giddy chuckle, like a chime of coins carelessly tossed, rolled from Miss Ysawynn's lips. A lazy palm caressed the fabrics spilling over from the crates scattered over the boutique. "Soon we shall uncork a bottle of the good wine, Miss Margery! Soon, very soon!" Tutted she to the woman occupied in the next chamber. @ydegirl

The imperial bedchamber doors closed. One handmaiden uttered to the other in the silent corridor, interrupted only by distant wails of joy, "Shush now, and let no one enter until she is calm . . . Let the crown crumble the crozier. This is the sound of a sizeable supper."

The Imperial handmaid Ysawynn knelt beneath the Lorraine cross within the servant's quarters, her hands clasped in a grip so vigorous her knuckles whitened. She prayed, and prayed for Empire's heir and the sound return to health of the gracious Princess Valentiná!

A candle flickered in the windowsill of a servant's lodging in the Burgundy manor. Two hands and one flushed nose plastered to the cold glass, Ysawynn onlooked toward the Imperial Palace. By the cloth she was cut from, she could not remain idly in just one place for too long a time, so at nights such as this one she'd dream of marble floors, heavy drapes, jewels and chambers taller than churches. She sat to her desk, set pen to paper, and wrote. Though she knew it was not yet time to trouble her Lady, the letter, sealed and hidden safely in between the pages of a prayer book, awaited such a time.

THE LAST TESTAMENT OF PRINCESS WILHELMINA Issued by the Princess of Sutica and Minitz In the year of our Lord, 628 Princess Wilhelmina von Brandthof portrayed with her daughter Johanna and son Siegfried. When amidst the harrowing winds of winter a babe is brought to the world, a good mother knows to cradle it to sleep by the hearth and often feed it warm milk. Only then can it continue to grow healthy, tall, and happy. Yet even the fittest body, the hardest muscle and the sharpest mind does not grant any Man to evade the one equal and finite law that is death. The winter-born daughter of Brandthof, who despite the biting frost had not been held in warmth, had many occasions to learn this well. The first of which was that the Baron and Baroness of Brandthof let their love fade and parted ways, leaving their children behind. “These days my home harbors a quietness so intense it hurts the ears.” She once told the mother of her husband, High Chieftess of the Reinmaren. In her eyes, Frederica was a gift sent to her by the Lord to keep her from wilting of sorrow. “I hope the earth breaks open beneath me first, before I inflict a hurt like this upon my children.” “Let the Flame guide you, and you will be a good mother, my dear.” Frederica spoke gently, her soft fingers reaching to soothe the dry and lanky hands of her ward. “No doubt, a better Chieftess—yet a good mother still.” Before Frederica could see it come true, she had died sleeping in her bed. After that went her beloved aunts, Gertrude and Josefina. Some, like Wilhelmina’s ward, Felicie, had their guts clawed inside out by the merciless werebeasts terrorizing the tribe. Some were slain the day the enemy breached into the Palace during the War of Crown and Crozier. Pyre by pyre, their corpses burned into eternal peace, and the Chieftess’ heart bled for each. As a bleeding heart runs dry, a sharp mind dulls over time with age. Faces started to fade away from her memory, her tongue tangled on names and words. A proud woman such as she could not stand to become a bed-ridden, spoon-fed burden. Upon the second year of Wilhelmina’s descent into, what she knew would finish in her end, she told her physician and chambermaids to go away and not bother her until they’d be preparing her body for the pyre. Then she arranged for herself and Erwin to walk through the gardens. “Listen to me, my husband.” She spoke to him by a secluded pond, where no one could listen to them talk. “I have grown old. My will is strong, but I can feel time stealing the reins of my mind from my hands. If I do not let go now, it will steer me into senile madness. It is time for me.” “If this is what you believe you must, do so.” The Chieftain did reply. Sadness visibly crept into his gaze, yet for now, his will did not yield to emotion. “Perhaps our ancestors already await you.” The Chieftess’ hands lifted the diadem off her brow. The gold clanging on the wood of the tabletop rang in the heavy silence. She looked at it for the last time. Then she wrangled herself out of the royal gown, remaining in just the chemise, and placed the green tribal cloak around her shoulders. Her gaze befell the crookedly embroidered black Barclay eagle upon the tablecloth her children had once gifted her. She touched it for the last time. Just then, when she meant to leave, the prayer beads hanging by her door caught her eye. She reached out and took them with her on the one last journey. Thus did Wilhelmina go, despite the cold winds that heralded winter’s return; nothing but the cloak upon her shoulders, prayer beads within her hand, and peace within her mind. It did not matter. She did not need anything when she had the Flame to guide her, where cold would trouble her no more. The semblance of Wilhelmina upon the last tapestry ever made by her hand. Of Wilhelmina von Brandthof, Princess of Sutica and Minitz I, Wilhelmina Esther von Brandthof, declare this document as the sole testament of my will. I entrust my son Rudolf Barclay and my nephew, Ludolf von Brandthof to execute it accordingly. Unto my husband, Erwin I Barclay, I bestow the seax from my hip, that it may rest at his side as I did for all of our shared years. Furthermore, I grant unto him the dried bouquet of flowers I carried on the day of our union and the living statuettes of Leon Barclay and Frederica Barclay. To my eldest son, Siegfried Otto Barclay, I leave all of the weapons of my collection—save those here bestowed unto others—and my embroidered warrior’s belt. All of my regal raiments, furs, long cloaks, clasps and silken slippers, together with the knitting needles of Chieftess Frederica Barclay, are to be borne unto the quarters of the Baron of Sigradz, for his betrothed and future Chieftess to own and to wear. My cherished grey wolf pelt I pass unto my dear son, Rudolf Lothar Barclay. All books of my personal library are to be gifted unto the Abbey of venerable Anton and kept in the care of Frederica Wilhelmina Barclay. My Lorraine pendant shall likewise be hers to wear. I wish that Freda von Byrde inherit my shortbow. The remaining two of my children; Johanna and Owyn Barclay, may divide the rest of my personal belongings, unmentioned in this testament. THE FOLLOWING RELICS ARE TO BE DONATED TO THE HALL OF HEROES of Leonstadt; the Gelimarison throwing axe and throwing spear from the last War Games in Kretzen; an antique vase from the time of Mori Wars; Prince Leon’s poem to his sister, Gertrude; and the Ernshjelm of Konstanz Barclay. THE TROPHIES LEFT AFTER PRINCESS ADALFRIEDE OF HEXENWALD are to be placed into the keeping of Erwin Barclay. THE JEWELS OF PRINCESS FREDERICA AND PRINCESS ADALFRIEDE, per Frederica’s own wish, are to be returned into the princely treasury. CONCERNING MY WOLF, it is my will that he be put down with gentleness and laid beside me upon my pyre, for I require my hunting companion with me in the Realm of Spirits. THE MARKS IN MY POSSESSION are to be delivered unto the treasury of Leonstadt. WER RASTET, DER ROSTET , Princess of Sutica and Minitz

THE FIFTH KRETZENFEST DER FÜNFTE KRETZENFEST | THE FIFTH KRETZENFEST Issued by the Princess of Sutica and Minitz and the Seneschal of the Heather Court In the year of our Lord 627 ÖHNE UND TÖCHTER VON REINMAR, REVEL, KIN OF THE LAND, in the golds and auburns of fleeting summer months that have welcomed us upon these new shores. Where the tribe placed foot, the soil proved rich and fertile, and it birthed a splendor of wheat and rye. The next three days shall be a celebration of the many centuries of great fortitude that have made the tribe imperishable through the harshest winters. Kretzenfest is a festival of perseverance, fruitful toil, and the final farewell to the sweet summer winds. All men and women of the Empire of Man are cordially invited to join us in this celebration. We must always remember that the wisdom of our forebears is woven into all the rye and grain we gather, as well as that their strength and spirit are ever present in the work of our hands. And that, without their wisdom, come the winter, we would be lost. DIE ERNTEBALL | THE HARVEST BALL On the first day, we shall gather within the main square of Leonstadt, where the festival shall be opened by two great events. First shall come the Harvesting Contest, wherein the finest reapers among us shall step forth, to gather as much wheat as the strength of their arms allows within the given time. When the grain has been weighed and the victor declared, the day shall conclude with the Harvest Ball, held in the halls of the Palace, where the winner shall be crowned Hay Lord or Hay Lady before all assembled. DIE MARKTAG | THE MARKET DAY On the first light of the second day, the Leonstadt square shall open for trade. Merchants, farmers, and huntsmen will have a chance to set up their stalls and display their wares, while contests of strength, archery, and wit take place by the fire. Those interested in displaying their wares are to send letters to the Seneschal of the Heather Court, Sir Ludolf von Brandthof. WER RASTET, DER ROSTET HER HIGHNESS, WILHELMINA VON BRANDTHOF, Princess of Sutica and Minitz HIS LORDSHIP, LUDOLF VON BRANDTHOF, Ritter of the Order of Saint Tylos, Seneschal of the Heather Court

In the calm of a warm eve, a carpenter scraped and polished her woodwork. Detailed with carvings, it resembled a runestone miniature in size. With a jolly whistle upon her lips, Mathild turned the figurine in her hand to reach its back with the sharp tool. Her eyes flickered to the missive, carelessly placed under a mug of water. "...Hm. To consider!" Having thusly decided, she took a hearty swig of water from the mug and turned back around to work on her figurine.

Warm rays of sunshine slipped through Mathild's lashes and cast long shadows across the apples of her cheeks. She rested her bones upon one of the chests being hauled onto the courtyard of the keep Ernstburg, and observed the proceedings. The edge of her knife scraped rhythmically on a small chunk of wood. The keep was busy as a beehive in the late morning. Brisk footsteps, voices giving out directions, a bad joke—then, a hoarse laugh. Mathild enjoyed all of the noises of Ernstburg equally, and she felt so amused by them all in that moment that she adorned the horse's head with a lion's mane and carved two feline paws growing from its hips, snickering to herself all the while.