Cracker

Excellent. When we did the return to Athera eventline and allowed for black powder cannon roleplayer it creates a great burst option in CRP events that expanded the strategy of conflict beyond soldiers against soldiers and allowed the protagonists to fight monsters at another level. Hope to see this lore approved and capture some of that spirit again!

Simon Basrid reviews the missive with a bitter distaste. “Salamander skinchangers defiling names from their sacred grave. It’s as some bloody children’s fable.”

His suspicions confirmed, the livid minister brewed in a quiet ire, fists clenched till they turned pale as the waves of melancholy set in like the tide. ”He calls the path he was set on crooked, but hasn’t even the stones to name the one who led him on that course.” After gnawing the end of a long cigar, Simon spat out an ugly rasp. “And to think I claimed to raise a warrior.”

Outstanding.

The Archchancellor grips the missive between a closed fist, gritting his teeth. “Something here is not right. Svjetlast.”

“To end a half century of farce...” the Archchancellor remarks in a quiet contemplation.

After the cursory sweep of the Pompourelian heir’s belongings, the Archchancellor suspicions are heightened. He begins to send out for some of the youth’s companions to question his motives prior his disappearance and death.

Underneath Helena’s printing houses’ text on imperial history of the era laid a copy of La Fleur’s script. The Archchancellor mulled quietly over the text, having no knowledge of the author or her background. Yet in moments, the statesman and sorcerer was enchanted, spirited away to the time of the Prophets – thoroughly lost in the saga of Lorin + Augustus. As he finished, he immediately penned a missive to the son of his personal friend Jasper,. @Heff “To the Master Peridot, We have a debut performance to the new opera house. Lorin + Augustus. My favorite – ensure me a front row seat to this story.”

Reserved.

“This Wick is some legal sorcerer. His second triumph, avenging Hampton Tea – impressive.” remarked the Archchancellor to the Lord Helena in passing conversation.

After some thoughtful recollection with family, Simon prepares to organize a funeral in Marble Hall for his sister in law. (4 PM EST, Sat)

This is that good ****... what the craft is about.... +1, great job as always Urara!

Long before St. Daniel the Great established the modern faith under the universal rite of Canonism, he was a boy at the tallest peak of Mt. Augustus’ spire, watching in some abject horror as his uncle Tuvya of Rosebud and his stalwart band of Franciscan loyalists held off the world. It was a formative moment in the High Pontiff’s life. He spent his childhood a ward to the martyr-king Francis on his great carrack Arjen’s Hand, an idyllic life at the high-seas, going from port to port to bolster favor in the long quest in reclaiming Svjetlast. When his wardfather finally claimed that relic from the depths of the stone city of Khavaz, he turned back to Oren to claim his birthright and restore order and dignity to his father’s name. All was a dream to the young bastard, who thought he was reading the pages of a fantasy tale to see his uncle ascend so. And that dream died on the bloody steps of Vekaro Keep, as the Decterum marched in and slew everything of the old world that he knew. Spirited away by a defector Drake Lancefeld, he found only melancholy in watching his last uncle hold steadfast against the hordes of Urguan, Malinor, and the Aeldinic invaders. It was down to some wire – neither side giving budge in the breach, but Tuvya’s men were outnumbered four to one, the attrition favoring the aggressors. Had that spire fell that day, an entire bloodline exalted would have been extinguished for their defiance against the Franciscan Massacre. That included that young boy, Siguine Barrow who would later take the cloth and codify a church, who was spared a grisly end when he saw the purple and black standard rose tall from the urban sprawl of Vekaro and pillage Wulfgar’s own siege lines, ending the gridlock for enough time for Tuvya to manage his counter assault. The forces thinned, the battle turned – and in some clever twist of fate, the relief of the Tribe of Azog played a pivotal and unmistakable role in the shaping of human ethos and faith.

The Baron Carrington had an inelegant clamber in his strut that told all of his natural birth. It was only magnified aside his haughty lady wife, a grandchild to the pedigree of two distinct imperial lineages. With Carrington’s gait, the Archchancellor would see two heavy feet trained to plod along thistle, field and fallow along the marble opulence of Novellen Palace. It made it so easy to hate the man. Unlike the other great titans among his cabinet such as Armas, deNurem, and Adler, Samuel Woods was a man in the unsavory business of money in the time of ultimate altruism. The society which built the great Helena experiment demanded a sort of selflessness that was entirely antithetical to the practice of mercantilism. Masters of war, culture, and law prevailed in that baroque era, and it was simple to conflate his talent for commerce for an ungodly avarice, his folksy character for wretched bawdiness, and his proximity to the country’s most dignified elite for ignoble opportunism. So simple, that sometimes the Archchancellor worried Lord Carrington himself believed it all. The old Rhenyari knew Green was the sort of man that gave Helena everything she ever wanted. He desired one day he could give the same to his country, and he very well could in a matter of time, but at what cost? The wager was left for the minister to determine on the road he chose – a gamble that even the sorcerer could not gleam the odds.

Flight of the Nordlings, 30th of Horen’s Calling, 1765 As a token of the Archchancellor’s appreciation of General deNurem’s fine command of the tense situation, Simon Basrid commissioned a painting in Pertinaxi anachronism called Flight of the Nordlings to be hung in his office which depicted Cedric’s surrender to the imperial hosts. While a popular painting among court, it was said His Imperial Majesty was not fond of the art piece whatsoever, believing it lent the Nordling chief a dignity undeserved. Simon himself understood full well where that critique emerged from – had Peter III had to personally confront another Nordling host on imperial soil, the aged sorcerer knew full and well there would have been no surrender.