AndrewTech

Somewhere, an aging Adunian pensioner finishing potting a rose.

As the diplomatic mission to the north traveled southward on its return journey, Elizabeth Brae-Wittenbach would mull the happenings of the day over in her mind. The sorceress had not expected to be greeted in this manner upon their arrival in Karosgrad. It was a very uncharacteristic action for the Haeseni to undertake. Particularly by Sigismund, whom she had believed to be a man of honor. Did the Haeseni blame them for what had transpired between Henrietta and her father? If so, she could only wonder what they thought of King Henrik's brutal mistreatment of his own sister not a decade and a half before. The King's own aunt. Not to mention other family members of his whom had suffered similar fates before his assent to the throne. They had been beaten, abused, and had clearly suffered through far worse than Henrietta. Privately, Eliza was glad that Henrietta had found happiness, and wished that she and Marus would lead a happy life together. The girl was like her own daughter, and she wished her all the best. Alas, this was opportunism at its finest. Tales of chivalry meant naught in the real world, something she hoped that the young King would come to see given the acclimation of experience. All this she kept to herself, however. As they crossed into the lands of the Grenzi, she recalled something that her mother, a Haeseni hauchkossar, had once told her many years before: "The annals of history must be told and heard by all sides involved, lest revisionists seek to rewrite them."

Quietly, a woman whom had done much to raise the Lady Henrietta reminisced about the passing of this day's events. Or what she had heard of them, rather. She stirred a cup of strawberry tea as she thought about the ongoing quandary as she thought about the rumors she had heart of Cathalon. She recalled how Henrietta had initially begged the King not to get involved in this manner, how his own brother had even done so. Alas, honor was a fickle thing, a concept she understood all too well. But need the exchange truly be handled in this way? And for what, to humiliate the Duke of Cathalon? He was an imperfect man in an imperfect world. There were some Haeseni lords she could think of off the top of her head who had emulated him in the past. Having newly turned to religion, she would move into her chambers and simply kneel before her bed to pray. "Lord God, do watch over Henrietta as she sleeps tonight. Watch over the Helvets lads and lasses, as they suffer through this most terrible time for their family. But most of all, please watch over the future, and let it be a promising one that we may behold beyond this turbulence."

✵ A Young Artist’s Auction ✵ 6th of Horen's Calling, 1846 For the last several years, HIH Catherine Anastasia, the eldest child of the late Duke of Furnestock, has endeavored to sketch and subsequently paint a variety of scenes depicting the everyday lives of the people of Oren. From the most majestic balls and galas of the latest social season to more personal scenes depicting a deeper meaning within, this gifted youth has sought to capture the vibrant and dynamic nature so characteristic of the Holy Orenian Empire. In her first ever display to the public, Sir Henry Penton and Princess Catherine will be auctioning off SEVEN of her most esteemed works at the Le Fleur Theater in Providence! Each work has been painstakingly crafted with the finest detail, made not only with beauty but with spirit as well. Anyone, from any walk of life, will be able to bid on HIH’s work, and own a little piece of culture for themselves. Furthermore, 50% of the proceeds will be donated to the national government to assist in initiatives to improve civil aesthetics throughout the Empire. CATHERINE’S PORTFOLIO: (NOTE: All bids will begin at 150 marks per art piece. All bids must be cast in person at the auction, or via a proxy. Example pieces are watermarked to prevent unauthorized replication. Replication for commercial use is impermissible without the artist’s approval.) ((TIME, DAY, & OOC:))

A letter was sent for Crimson Archer, a certain young buyer having taken an interest in it…

A certain Adunian redhead continues to tend to her potted plants, the retiree quite relieved that they won't be trodden upon by bandits anytime soon!

THE PROCESSION OF FURNESTOCK C. 1844 The Arrival of The Amadeus to Henry’s Wharf. The wind blew particularly thunderously above the sand-kissed shores of Henry’s Wharf on this day, the 6th of Tobias’ Bounty, sweeping the golden locks of Charlotte Augusta with the salted tang of the nearby sea. Her arms hung interlaced above the waist in wait for the appearance of The Amadeus, that which would carry her husband’s grandchildren to their rightful home once more - that which would bring with it the death of his firstborn son and heir. At this thought did her eyes move to coalesce over the exterior of the aforementioned husband, whom she could not dare parallel in grief: Philip Aurelian stood by several soldiers of the Imperial State Army lugging oars borne at their adjacence, each postured with a blether that sung in the common angst of the day. Without notice, one of those oars rose into the air in a singular swift ascent, a voice cutting through wind tremulously. “There it is! Over the horizon!” Shouted Robert Galbraith, who himself careered forwards posthaste. Trailing him were instantly the remaining soldiers, all advancing towards two readied sailboats that would greet The Amadeus and render the Prince and his progeny home. Philip Aurelian and Charlotte exchanged glances. “Bide your time,” he seemed to say, his faithful wife nodding in understanding as she watched her husband depart towards the location designated for the sails’ arrival. And so the two boats went into those murky blue waters, each somber of essence against the backwash of ocean waves. Even whilst transferring those children and their witnesses to board from ‘ere their galley, the soldiers’ primary ponderance was on the body concealed in the coffin that would follow… In landing onto shore, it was the focus of all. As it was removed from the hull, a blanket of red was deployed to envelope the Prince’s final cradle by Cardinal Albarosa, bearing the lorraine cross over its perfect center. The ivory casket was consequently emplaned into the waiting arms of various priests of the canon via the aid of brigadiers; wooden, humble in design yet intricately detailed and of an unmatched fantastical origin; honoring the legacy of that Prince in his imperishable youth. The children were removed in succession, aided by the warmth of their grandfather, who offered them a smile as best he could muster. “Welcome home, my darling grandchildren.” He verbalized gently, his hand offered to the eldest, Catherine, whose grey eyes affixed unto his- of the same color -with a sea of uncertainty strapping her. Attached to Catherine by the arm was the smaller Julia, black of hair, shadowed by a boy, Peter, just two years old, whose cheeks were doused in tears even after their nearly three months of travel. These three eldest were positioned unto the beach opposite their grandpapa, one’s eyes wandering to spot Charlotte watching on from across the bay in a monotone of wonderment, and themselves being placed in bewilderment. Two men additionally disembarked. The first was Franz Sarkozy, the aged old Archchancellor bearing a grin towards Philip Aurelian in contrast with the moody atmosphere of the rest. Finally, the ancient nauzican at the Duke’s lateral, Nyseia, heaved the last two babes from the sail that he’d himself been on. Victoria and James- innocent in their bundles of white cloth trimmed with gold -completed the disembarkment onto land. Thus, the procession began forth into the City of Providence - The Furnestock Coffin supported by priests of the Canon through the streets of Providence. -And ended in the chapel of the Augustine Palace, the silence of the city unmatched on this day with the exception of the golden bells of the Basilica that churned notes of sober solemnity across the halls of Providentia’s homes. The chapel was slowly occupied by patriots of the Princes’ past and dear friends and fellowmen, the train of priests lowering Philip Amadeus’ casket before the red cross that defined the body of Philip II, who stood in symmetry betwixt the white pillars of the chapel chancel. The Emperor’s head was declined to take stock of his grandchild’s resting bed, he who should never have surpassed him in death’s race. His wig, laborious a weight over the head, was done away with as a credo of respect, the man pacing down to vet the closed casket with a weathered finger’s touch. He began to speak, and as he did so his eyes landed on the sight of Catherine, hand entwined now in Charlotte’s, who also carried the juvenile Julia and Peter. His eyes were of solace to them, and of studied despair. He would end his speech with a beckon to his first great-grandchild, the youth’s rosy cheeks tinctured with a miserable melancholy. She whirled to face the great hall, peering towards the gathered many - peering timidly, and began: “My father was a great man. He was a good man, a kind man. Always looking to the horizon, ahead not behind... “ She hesitated before continuing, the pitched lilt of her voice carrying her guiltlessness in droves, “That is why he traveled to lands afar, to explore that new frontier. He loved to laugh, and joke around with mummy and siblings. My father, the Duke of Furnestock, loved this country. And he loved his people, just as he loved his own children. I will miss him. We will all miss him. But, I take comfort in knowing that he is in God’s hands, and I know that I will see him someday again.”

"An apt scholar, old Viktor. He had quite an affinity with the pen. I shall miss reading his works," A very elderly Celestine Herbert rasps to a traveling companion as she receives word of the man's passing, before continuing in her explorations.

MEMBERSHIP REGISTRATION FORM Name: Elizabeth Brae-Wittenbach Age: 58 Sex: Female Statement of Expertise: For nearly a decade, I served as an MHC in the Imperial House of Commons before its most recent reform. During my second term, I presided over the Diet as the first female President of the Commons. I also served as the third Chairman of the National Party before its being rendered defunct following the dissolution of parties and political factions within the Holy Orenian Empire. Furthermore, I have served for the last six or seven years as Foreign Secretary on the Council of State, negotiating a variety of treaties during my tenure presiding over the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. I am also well versed in the higher mysteries of the arcane, being an enchanter and a sorceress by trade.

Elizabeth Brae-Wittenbach, Foreign Secretary of the Holy Orenian Empire, smiles warmly as she reviews the published accords that bear her name. The tired Adunian is very happy to see the fruits of her hard work, and takes heart in the idea of the renewal of a pleasant, robust relationship between these two countries close to her heart.

Elizabeth Brae-Wittenbach, Foreign Secretary of the Holy Orenian Empire, smiles warmly as she reads over the newly released treaty. "To a better and brighter future, together!" She toasts to nobody in particular at her usual booth in the Novellen Tavern, quickly draining her glass of wine thereafter.

Raising an eyebrow as she reads over the missive, the leader of the National Party snorts. "What a pack of lies. This man's had a personal vendetta against me for years," She grumbles to her daughter as she tosses the missive in the flaming hearth of the Novellen Tavern. "Save for Basrid and Vuiller, very few members of the opposition he touts ever turned up, whereas many from our own party endeavored to do so regularly. And the impeachment was on the agenda, the man simply resigned before we got around to considering it. We passed several robust bills this session, whereas the opposition only proposed but a single one. Every Diet fails quorum at least once or twice, always has and always will. And is an especially hurtful for him to proclaim that a party, of which five out of six members are women, would EVER try to do institute such a ghastly and abominable practice. In reality, we authored a bill in an endeavor to LIBERATE commoner women from having to ask their fathers and brother for permission to wed! Part of our manifesto, laid out plain and clear for all to see. I shall never understand what animosity this fellow holds against me. Alas, I suppose it shan't be my problem anymore, not for long." Inclining her head, the former President and Foreign Secretary leaves a few marks on the table. Moving to leave the establishment, her daughter would follow after her. The Adunian woman privately decides that her energies would be better pursued elsewhere in the field of foreign affairs than wrangling with ambitious statemen.

Discord: AndrewTech#1007 Skin + Bid: Riding Boots - 200

snip