Marthia

"THAT'S MY DAUGHTER!! WOOO!" Cries Sascha Glennmaer, as if she wasn't the one making this decision.

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Sascha Glennmaer smiled upon the missive’s publish. She hoped, not only for those of Idunia to aspire to acquire Verdancy, but for the new Order to flourish.

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Sascha read this missive with glee. Decisiveness was something she admired and sought to reflect in every action she would soon take in this war. Let them lose sleep, pondering their next move.

WE LOVE YOU JULIUS!! Ok I gotta edit because I genuinely didn’t realize there was one for me. I just have to say THANK YOU for being so kind to me. This did make me cry, I can’t lie. This has to be the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. Thank you for joining our community. You have graced us with your presence and we cannot be more grateful!! I know Pip, Jih, Pepto, Milky (all of us, really) cannot be more excited to have you. HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

That missive left upon the corner table by her husband lifted her curiosity too. She called to the other room, “Bo, you better show up to that hunt! It’ll be a good show!” Sascha could not help but giggle at the prospect of watching her husband chase after a boar.

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Long ago, Sascha, too, had found homes in unexpected places. It was there that she and her husband found commonality; a seed took root. Where people were inconsistent, she turned to her surroundings. The whisper in the trees far exceeded the comfort any one person could provide. She knew what it was like to find a home outside the one where she was born, and she understood the primal desire to protect it once found. But to raise a sword against one's own people? Unforgivable. Sascha knew what must be done. Even after confronting the lass, reminding her that she had placed her family in the worst of positions, nothing shifted her resolve. In the night following the capture, voices echoed and rang true to what Sascha knew deep down. "We do not tolerate traitors; all must die." "Death is mercy." If only the girl had not fought on the battlefield, mercy might have been an option. But the blood of Idunians painted Sascha’s thoughts a vivid red. She could not ignore the reality. Morwen’s blade had taken the lives of her people. "This could have been kinslaying, had she found her brother on the battlefield," Sascha's aunt had reminded her. "She knew the risk." As those stormy eyes met the gaze of the lion, the Heiress asked those onlookers, "Do we not kill the enemy in every battle? In truth- how is this any different?" From the moment she looked upon that phantasmal lion, to long after its spectral claw broke Morwen’s neck, Sascha pondered the life that was taken and the ripple of loss it left behind. She did not regret the decision she had made—and she never would.

The day was bleak. Decisions were made, justly made, but weighed heavily on her. Sorrow. Rage. All a consequence of betrayal. The missive found its way to Sascha's desk. Scanning eyes only solidified the existing sentiment. Another friend gone. She hoped, now, that he would return swiftly.

A soon to be crowned Princess of Tir-Glas, a vassal of Idunia, smiles upon the proclamation. “Oh, how my people will rejoice in yet another victory.”

Sascha Glennmaer chuckled upon reading this forgery. Still, she did see an opportunity. “Oh Llyw! You have abandoned our people, have you?” More did she laugh. In times of great suffering for Druscans, still did they provide some humor. May that be all they are good for?

Sascha Glennmaer smiled, her armor marred with scrapes, dents, and a smearing of blood. A proper announcement of their victory brought tears to her eyes. Tears for the fallen, Tears of pride, Though they did not fall. They would not fall, unlike the Druscans.