trinn

Vesta Tiber (?) taps her handkerchief against her eyes.

"U-uhm, Cassius?" Vesta was wringing her hands at their dinner table when the brothers had finally returned home. ". . . I might have blown up all our cannons."

Issued and averred by the office of the PRINCESS-JUSTICIAR HEED LEAL SONS OF HOREN; That the gifts granted by the Aengul Tahariae come not in scrutiny of its maker, whom We acknowledge as a servant of our most divine Lord God, but the conduct in which its mortal agents partake. As such, the endowment of his gifts, sourced from the servant of our Lord, and its use are acknowledged as lawful wherefore they are practiced in reverence to God and in accordance with Our established order of Imperium. The Empire shall not condemn the diligent who seek virtue, healing, discipline and righteous conduct in their pursuit of gifts endowed by Tahariae. Henceforth such practice, in general, is considered peaceable and honest, beneath the Crown of Man. However, let it not be that devotion to the Servant eclipse devotion to the Lord of whom he serves. Twofold is this warning: firstly, that the agents of Tahariae may not posit this Aengul as a figure of worship, so far as he might supersede our Holy Lord God. Secondly, that the agents of Tahariae may not consider his tenets and way as greater than Imperial Law. For the Laws of the Imperium will remain primary, and in tandem with it the standing of our Temple of The True Faith. Thereforce, by this edict, the following is so proclaimed: ✠ I: ON ITS USE AND PRACTICE That the use of the art of the Aengul Tahariae is permitted within the Empire of Azuras, so long as its user abides by the articles listed and are a citizen to a sworn Vassal or Province of the Imperium. However, practitioners have no inherent bearing or authority to detain, harass, or question Citizens of the Empire, and doing so without permit or lawful authority will be considered an act of Vigilante. An Imperial Clerical institution must be created as an extension of Good-will between these newly endowed agents of Tahariae and the Imperial Crown, as charged to the Cleric [REDACTED]. This will be done beneath the office of the Justiciar, as managed through the Grand Inquisitor, and permit them conduct investigations within the Empire of Azuras with lawful authority to the degree of an Inquisitor. Two persons of the Crown’s selection will be undertaken by the Cleric to be taught. ✠ II: ON THE WORSHIP OF TAHARIAE That no practitioner to the art of the Aengul Tahariae may declare him equal to, greater than, or sovereign above our Lord God. That any might elevate him, will incur the brand of heresy and be brought to heel in answer of our Imperial Crown and Church. ✠ III: ON THE LAW OF MAN That no singular practitioner, or joined congregation, may compel obedience to Tahariae in contradiction to Imperial Law, or other recognised Vassal authority. Any preaching which encourages sedition, or rejection of lawful Imperial Authority, and otherwise elevates their personal tenet over Imperial Law, shall be investigated under charges of subversion and High Treason. ✠ IV: ON HARM INCURRED That the use of the Art of Tahariae in incurring harm, so much as it harms an Imperial Citizen or Official without due cause, will result in branding upon their forehead alongside its other respective punishments beneath Imperial Law. All those branded may not practice the Art within Imperial Land, lest resolved with a permit from the Imperial Justiciar or Emperor of Azuras. ✠ V: ON THE AGENTS OF MALCHEDIAEL For the belief of Tahariae does brand the Templar Knights of Saint Malchediael blemished. Any practitioner of Tahariae which draws first blood, without due cause and for the sole pursuit of their rank as blemished, against agents of Malchediael will be marked seditious. AVE IMPERIUM! H V M A N I T A S I N V I C T A “Für Gott und Kaiser,” HER IMPERIAL HIGHNESS, Joan Mariana Horen, Imperial Princess of Man, Princess-Justiciar of the Empire of Azuras and Man, Duchess of Helena and Asturias, and Deputy Emissary of the Provinces. HIS HOLINESS, CAIUS II High Priest of the Temple of the True Faith, Successor of Clement and Evaristus, High Pontiff of the Church of True Faith, Servant of the Servants of Heaven, Servant of the Holy Flame, Apostle of Saint Lucien, Envoy of Aeldin, High Servant to the Prophet’s Testaments, Humble Servant of the Faithful and Vicar of GOD

"The world is moving faster than I'd like." The Imperial Princess brooded, finding herself within the bearings of a Church for the first in many years. Joan and Oro-Oro, or the Father Zeno as she had known him, had met in proper within one, afterall. A strange priest, and later known as an even stranger man. There was seldom any in her life who had given more than they had taken; Zeno had been the only company she kept that have had asked nothing for her nor her station. " ... For a virtuous man, Zeno, why did you keep my poor company?"

“..ahahahahahahahahahahahaahahah…” ”..ahahahahahahah…” Resounding laughter came from the tower of the Princess-Justiciar, a sound so scarcely heard from the confines of that gloomy office. The servants scrambled from the doors for fright of what it might mean.

ᴛᴏ ʜɪꜱ ʜᴏʟɪɴᴇꜱꜱ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏɴᴛɪꜰꜰ Flame Guide You, ʟᴀᴅʏ ᴠᴇꜱᴛᴀ ᴛɪʙᴇʀ I am very scared of the dark. My brothers tell me too many ghost stories, and they refuse to stop. If you could please bless my cross, to ensure it is the most blessed cross in the continent, I would be very appreciative. I do not know your home address so I had to make a public missive of this. P.S if anyone else has ideas on how to make my Cross even more effective, please send a bird to the Barony of Hartwell. Do not mind the Trebuchet! I can also facilitate the Tiber Production of the Clapton Special if you are wanting Cigars in bulk.

Issued and averred by the office of the PRINCESS-JUSTICIAR ✠ HEED LEAL SONS OF HOREN; So has this ‘Stag-Lord Tahariae’ made fit to endow his gifts again, as it was the clerics of old. I am deliberating its place within this Empire of Azuras, and whether it will devolve to cultish practices or find itself equal in righteousness of our Templar-Knights; send a letter to make your case to me. If no-one sees fit to advocate its existence in the coming year, I will presume it a degenerative practice, in the hands of suspicious and socially inept practicioners, and decree it so. AVE IMPERIUM! H V M A N I T A S I N V I C T A “Für Gott und Kaiser,” HER IMPERIAL HIGHNESS, Joan Mariana Horen, Regent of the Empire of Azuras, Imperial Princess of Man, Princess-Justiciar, Duchess of Helena and Asturias, and Deputy Emissary of the Provinces.

Joan seldom found herself so frozen, as when she was beside the bed of the ailing Empress. She had made a habit of fidgeting, so often moving and reaching for something beyond herself; but Valentina's hand was limp upon that bed, and she was herself transfixed in a mirrored stillness. In my memory, we are girls again. A girlhood lost to us save in some recollecting dream. And there is naught but us, and the wind of the ocean upon your father's ship, and we are gleeful. Had I a wish, perhaps I would take us back there, and urge us never sail home.

"...?" Joan contemplates beating the Grand Inquisitor for the fourth time this week.

✦ • ───────── • ✠ • ─────────• ✦ . . . “....You wish to kill her?” – “I know death, my sister. Have you ever killed anyone before?” Hadrian questioned her, the emperor’s one-eye twitching in a violent narrowing. “Killed so often that it became a heartless endeavour. You do it once, and then do it twice, and soon enough, you start craving it -- death is the resolution to every answer. If you do not like someone, kill them. If someone has caused you a grievance, you kill them. However, whereas I have accepted the burden of my own demise, what of you?” . . . ✦ • ───────── • ✠ • ─────────• ✦ 9ᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ᴏᴡʏɴ’ꜱ ʟɪɢʜᴛ, 631 “I’m a bastard, your Highness. A barrow. I do not know my parents.” 𐃏 The Squire lowered his head in his greeting of her amidst quiet candle-light. The squire was too-tall and awkward looking in his armour, the stitching of the red dragon upon his tabard. But to a Princess newly returned to the Empire, a stranger amidst Imperials from her sheltered upbringing in Hollyhold; he was everything that he needed to be for a companion. ❇ “You’ve shed your accent, though, Owyn.” She recalled meeting a Ruthern once, his accent so thick it was scarcely understood. In the early days of the Empire, the tense memory of his fallen regime remained a topic of cruel scrutiny. His accent had given away only to some cruel japes and mockery. Yet the squire in front of her now had none of that memory in his manner of speech, the history rinsed and replaced by the Empire’s making. “There wasn’t anyone to teach me how to speak it so.” 𐃏 With all the sweetness of youth, and desire of friendship, The Princess beckoned him close and shared a task he could see done in her favour. The task was irrelevant to her. Only the pity for a poor, orphaned boy and the charm of a budding friendship. She smiled easily then. ✦ • ───────── • ✠ • ─────────• ✦ 10ᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴜɴ’ꜱ ꜱᴍɪʟᴇ, 633 “They will not oath me.” The bitterness in the squire’s voice had some attempt to hide itself, though she heard it nonetheless. He stood amidst a bed of flowers, caused by the Princess’ insistence for a reroute in their return from the Princedom of Caurost. The Squire accompanied her often, despite his lack of assignment to her; she wondered if he had any other friends. “I have completed more tasks than three squires combined. But they will not.” “Who? The Grand Knight? – Well, is it so bad to be a squire?” She was ankle-deep within a creek, plucking from the water’s surface stray leaves and petals. Imperial correspondence and treaties found themselves scattered upon the grass, fallen from her discarded satchel as she made priority her exploration of those elven meadows. A look back towards her sullen companion had her re-considering the next of her words. “...I’ll send a few letters. Don’t be so glum, Owyn!” “You would do that for me?” 𐃏 ❇ “It’s only a few scribbles of ink, isn’t it?” ✦ • ───────── • ✠ • ─────────• ✦ 15ᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ɢᴏᴅꜰʀᴇʏ’ꜱ ᴛʀɪᴜᴍᴘʜ, 636 The forests of Emberrest is an unforgiving, accursed place; and it was a foolish endeavour for an Imperial Princess to have traversed it on her lonesome. Some petty argument with her brother had spurned her from the capital, her horse taken before the sun had risen in her indignation. But the protected life of the Imperial capital prepared her little for the fog-infested paths of Emberrest, veiling in its mist the wickedness of the dark beyond. The path taken was misguided, too far from the proper paths of Idunia, and too close to the shadowed ruins. So when the Ghoul had made its unexpected appearance, its lone figure looming over her, its first lash landed true. The mace struck upon her arm, bludgeoning the armoured limb until she felt it break. Ackh – … pain was a strange thing, when she was sheltered from even the most minute of troubles. My weapon, where is it –... Flame swept her vision in the midst of her frenzy, searing and bright. It cut in the space between the dreaded unliving and her wallowing form, dividing them apart. The ghoul did not linger at the sight of what came after. “A princess. . . A true dragon.” Ash seethed upon the Nephilim’s features, a breath of flame upon its exhale. The words were spoken as it pathed towards the Imperial Princess in a lazy gait, the ghoul it had banished fleeing from behind its frame. “Dragonsblood.” “There is no hiding your lineage, Joan.” “Your eyes, those grey eyes. They speak of domination, yet you cower before me.” The words screeched ‘pon her ear, louder than the pain of her broken arm cradled close to her figure. Her own words seemed far-away in their reply. The pain was foreign. This thing was foreign. The tall walls of the Imperial Palace, their polished plates of Dragon Knights, had once barred all that now reckoned her in that accursed woods. Yet eventually, the ash faded, and revealed a truly familiar face. Owyn's. That typical smile, wry and uncertain was plastered on the man's face. He looked to Joan, “It is odd to find you here, Joan.” ᴀʙᴏᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ. ✦ • ───────── • ✠ • ─────────• ✦ ❇ “You should not have revealed your secret. I do not have cause to hide you.” “You’ll lose my loyalty if you share my secret.” 𐃏 ❇ “...I ought still have you executed.” “I am immortal, Joan. You may kill the vessel, but the flame lives on. …And what good would you have, forsaking an ally such as I?” 𐃏 ❇ “A good show.” ɪ ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴋɪʟʟ ʜɪᴍ. ✦ • ───────── • ✠ • ─────────• ✦ 15ᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ɢᴏᴅꜰʀᴇʏ’ꜱ ᴛʀɪᴜᴍᴘʜ, 636 There was a tentative uncertainty between them, whatever presumptions of the relations banished now for the precipice of something new. As an extension of trust, Owyn extended to her another truth; his ability to cross through realms, the Princess of Man brought alongside him as witness. Planar travel, how absurd. Yet, the realm they found made no effort to spare their feelings, and they found themselves in a world of recollection. The realm brought forth all the deeds she did in the name of love and fealty. The travellers found themselves amidst green overgrowth, consumed by the gluttony of flame. Steel sang its ringing tunes, wailing and terror a chorus abundant; yet all occurred around them without interruption, their presence a phantom guest. The sight did not relent even as the flames faded, a different shade of red made way into center stage. Behemoths looming tall over others, their path marked by crimson steps for all the bodies which toppled. He must think me wicked, to have brought me here. The last of their audience was the cruelest; a sight never seen before, but vividly imagined. Her Emperor, elder brother, falling in his frail form with a dagger struck into his back. The ichor bubbled from his form, spilling at the traveller’s feet upon their halting. Yet still, they were those phantom guests; her hands could not reach him in her stupor and blind grief, the vision uninterrupted, and her mind punished for the attempt. Warm hands dragged her back from the reeling pain, and the audience faded in their return to their world. ❇ “You mock me. You mock me with his death,” The Dagger from the vision was held in her hand now, somehow transported in their return to the Palace library. It’s form is intangible, wisps more than material shape as it struggled with its own existence. “That was not my doing, Joan. I am simply the key.” 𐃏 “But you are not a key; you are a man, with his folly and decisions. – Why did you show me this?” A degree of disbelief remained in her retort; unwilling to absolve him from the blame she accused. Her hands supported an unsteady rise back to her feet, thereafter approaching him with a hand reaching to shove at his shoulder. Owyn's features narrowed as she attempted to push him. One such as he was not so easily shoved, and he did not budge at this. “A glimpse. A partial truth.” He conceded. “The lies needed to cease.” Owyn gave only a brief moment for her to presume that all truths were now laid bare, before a secondary confession came in their return from that foreign realm. “My name was Josef Stanimar Barbanov, once Duke of Galahar.” He would not face her in his candor, head bowed, playing the part of a dutiful Soldier. “Son of Ivan the eighth, King of Hanseti-Ruska.” Joan had inherited her father’s temper. His truth was received amidst shouting and thrown furniture. Some bitter, quiet realisation that a simple friendship was a fool’s errand in her position; there was always a motive, in sheltered secrets, in half-spoken oaths given by careful words. A confession that the price of his loyalty bent under the pressure of his own self ambition. But a part of her seemed almost glad — the confessions of a prince of eld. At the very least, Josef Stanimar shared what it meant to be a child of a monarch, and they were bound now by their shared secret. She did not want to lose a friend. ɪ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ✦ • ───────── • ✠ • ─────────• ✦ 21ꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴀᴜʀᴇʟɪᴀɴ’ꜱ ɢʟᴏʀʏ, 639 Ser Owyn was made her sworn-knight upon the beginnings of the Urguan war, a dragon k***ht draped in grey. He was present when her letters of courtesies became writs of execution, invitations became negotiations for the sole right of existence. Somewhere along this time, meadows and creeks became a luxury solely seen in paintings, rather than stolen time leisured in their travels. But he was there all the same, a grey shadow in her dealings as the Emperor’s hand. ❇ “The priest defied my brother’s decree.” “It was right of you to tell his Majesty, Your highness.” 𐃏 ❇ “Should I tell him, too, that a Lordling of eight summers refuses to bend the knee? … no, I can fix it.” She did not wait for his answer, spared no effort in looking at him. There was no point to; he now seldom went without his helm. “Goodnight, Josef. I’m retiring early for the night.” ✦ • ───────── • ✠ • ─────────• ✦ 15ᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ʜᴏʀᴇɴ’ꜱ ᴄᴀʟʟɪɴɢ, 644 ❇ “Josef,” “Highness,” 𐃏 ❇ “Do you miss it? Haense. Everything that it was. Do you miss your mother’s face?” “I see her in my memory, Your Highness. Always.” 𐃏 Owyn had always rejected being Josef; yet, at the same time, never declined to answer as him. She wondered if they might have been friends, had they met earlier were he still a Prince of Haense. Likely not. Moments like these, she remembered that his family were the ones to have butchered her father’s. Did his mother know her father’s face, when his brothers were put to sword? “Why did you save me; in the Emberrest – you risked everything to expose yourself.” She threw a grape his way, lounging in a recline into her cushioned seats. “You looked like you needed the help.” The man answered, honest and cheeky. “.... – Whatever.” She squinted some, and threw a pillow at his face. Yet in the unlikeliness of the pairing, they kept close company; the Empire’s devoted voice and her quiet shadow. Perhaps his constance came to be the norm, an assumed inherent step behind hers that she needn’t check for. But eventually, the steps became less present – and when she turned, to look behind rather than forwards, his absence had become some silent secret. Then in the gardens beyond her office, her own twin’s wife declared executed in her grasp, she realised the loneliness of that gaping absence. Her shadow was empty, the Grey-Knight missing from where he would usually loom. There was a disturbed sense of anger in her realisation. She could not recall how long he had been absent for. ✦ • ───────── • ✠ • ─────────• ✦ 25ᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ɢᴏᴅꜰʀᴇʏ’ꜱ ᴛʀɪᴜᴍᴘʜ, 647 She raised the quill from paper at the conclusion of her entry. The work in the Palace grew increasingly demanding, in her appointment as Princess-Justiciar of Man. She found herself scarcely at home with family; scarcely herself, even, rather than the arm of the Empire. The walls felt suffocating, the people grating. Then, Hadrian’s death came as some sickening joke, her brother informing her of his own death by pen and paper whilst his singed corpse floated the open sea. And he asks her to be joyful, in the most joyless time of her life. “You’ve been gone. Your other life called, I presume?” The words did not come biting to the Grey-K***ht in his entry to the office; despite whatever poor expression she gave. “My apologies, your Highness.” Owyn’s reply came dutifully, and irritatingly simple. “An issue by Tor’Urldar.” You made an oath. The words were curbed, relegated only to be said in her mind. Some part of her desired to leave the conversation in her anger of him; but to leave was to resume again her place as Justiciar. There were seldom any-else beside him that she could be Joan for. “…— it’s fine. There was no issue you missed.” A portion of her had hoped that there was some kinship between a prince and princess; that perhaps his time as Josef Barbanov would keep him grounded to humanity, as her station kept her. But Owyn went as between and beyond the empire as he pleased, just as he had so readily left his name of Barbanov. So she was here, and he increasingly was not. ..— absence will make him unpredictable. Dismiss him. “We’ll need to go to Aelwen, the Archdruid wishes to discuss the inheritance of Iryalen… we’ll need to tell the terms of the Councillor’s punishments… —“ The rest of the tale came as some sordid script, a practiced rehearsal of her itinerary. The words were a bore. The conversation dimmed again in her disinterest. But at the very least, the work meant that he would stay. And he bowed his head, the very painting of the obedient Sworn-Knight, for the temporary time he would remain. No longer constant. He had freed himself, and she had not. What an enviable selfishness. I do not know the solution to you.

Vesta Tiber cries. Not for any great reason. She’s five and sees everyone around her in a panic.

why is settlement issues only the purview of implementation team this seems more like a moderation discussion as well

IMPERIAL APPOINTMENT Appointment of the Judge Issued and averred by the office of the Justiciary Her Imperial Highness, Joan of Helena, Princess-Justiciar HARREN'S FOLLY, 649 ✠ HEED, ALL LEAL SONS OF HOREN ✠ By this writ the Imperial Justiciary, in service to the Imperial Crown, aims to fill extant vacancies. Appointing hereunto William of Curon to the role of Judge, effective as of the promulgation of this missive. By right of this office, the Judge may exercise their right to maintain responsibility in the enacting of the Lex Imperialis while remaining in direct communication with the Imperial Justiciar. The Judge attains the ability to hold trial for commoners and lesser-nobilities of the Imperial Crownslands, lesser-nobilities being peers below the rank of Duke. They are permitted to freely enact punishments of Delicta Minima and Delicta Media (That of Minimum and Middling Offense), though issues of Delicta Gravia and Perduellio (that of Grave Offense and High Treason) must be overseen by the Justiciar proper. @Suxals AVE IMPERIUM H V M A N I T A S I N V I C T A HER IMPERIAL HIGHNESS, Joan Mariana Horen, Imperial Princess of Azuras and Man, Princess-Justiciar, Duchess of Helena and Asturias, and Deputy Emissary of the Provinces.

Vesta Tiber strikes a peace sign pose

Issued and averred by the office of the PRINCESS-JUSTICIAR ✠ THE DISSOLUTION OF IRYALEN. . . The Imperial Province of Iryalen is hereby dissolved for their transgressions in providing aid towards enemies of the Imperium, by aligning themselves in sympathy and man-power to the fallen Kingdom of Urguan. Thereafter, the Councillors of Iryalen have knowingly and voluntarily consented, by their own hand, to the execution of a denizen of the former Province of Iryalen for the preservation of their own lives. In accordance with this agreement, they shall be permitted movement into the Kingdom of Norland by the grace of his Imperial Majesty. The Crown of Man will now govern you, as you cannot govern yourself. ✠ I: THE DRUIDIC ORDER: OF THE VIRIDIAN ENCLAVE The Viridian Enclave is hereby granted the capital lands of the former Province of Iryalen, to be utilised as a haven for a Druidic order under the governance of the Archdruid Zaelyn Arvellon. The Druids of the Viridian Enclave are given leave to practice Druidism freely within the confines of their land. Nonetheless, the use of Druidism in the greater Imperium must still be conducted under the purview of an Imperial official or by way of permit. The Lands thereby received by the Enclave will be restricted to their Capital region, surrendering the periphery tile from claim. A debt of Five-thousand Imperial farthings is inherited in their acquisition of the land, to be paid in an appropriate and timely manner. ✠ II: IMPERIAL LAW The application of the Lex Tiberii will apply in full effect, but this does not count for their own local laws or that of faith, but only on matters of offences against the crown and the military. So long as their faith does not spread into the imperial crownlands, the denizens of the Viridian Enclave may practice their local faiths within their territory and their forest surrounding the outlined capital. Furthermore, The leader of the Viridian Enclave will be granted access to direct communications with the Imperial Grand Knight who will dispatch to their aid if it necessitates, and this means: defence and protection of their roads from banditry, to protect them from external warfare (interim: considered a war against the Empire) and the culling of kobold, darkspawn or cultists. Gate access will be provided to the Imperial Privy and the Emperor to allow for this to be facilitated. The common imperial guardsmen and knights will not be provided this access. Any mobilization of Imperial guardsmen or knights within the territory of the Imperial Province of the Viridian Enclave shall be made noticed to the leader of the province at its earliest disposal, and if appropriate, before such movement is made except during express matters of national security concern by writ of His Majesty. ✠ III: IMPERIAL GOVERNANCE An Imperial Governor will be implemented over the Enclave to oversee its creation, and thereafter its extended existence. The Viridian Enclave is hereby prohibited to enact any and all forms of individual diplomacy, leaving the matter to be conducted by the Governor alone. The Enclave is bid to exist in its solitary existence; outreach without Imperial purview and deliberation will be treated as a transgression against the Crown. “The soil you inherit was paid for by the treason of your fellow druids. Let their fate serve as a warning, lest you wish to share in their ruin” His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Marcus I of the House Horen AVE IMPERIUM! H V M A N I T A S I N V I C T A “Für Gott und Kaiser,” HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY, Marcus I of the House Horen, by the Grace of GOD, Sanctus Imperator Mundi, Emperor of Azuras and of all Mankind, Forever August, King of Burgundy, Oren, Renatus, Marna, Curon, Kaedrin, Salvus, Seventis, Santegia, Mardon, Vandoria and the Westerlands, Duke of the Crownlands, Avar, Cascadia, Aenus, Erochland, Grense, Helena, Istria, Kingston, Krajia, Middelan, Reutov and Sunholdt, Count of Ager, Cantal, Carolustadt, Felsen and Rittersberg, Baron of Dragonspeak and Senntisten, Patriarch of House Horen, Dynast of All Dragonsblood, Captain-General of the Church, Defender of the Faith, Protector of All Men, Heartlanders, etcetera. NON DVCOR, DVCO HER IMPERIAL HIGHNESS, Joan Mariana Horen, Imperial Princess of Man, Princess-Justiciar, Duchess of Helena, and Deputy Emissary of the Provinces. Zaelyn Arvellon, Archdruid of the Viridian Enclave.

Is this about me i cant tell

ign : Spoopyred name: Laurie Vulnrith age: 100+ gender: ambigous the team you're playing for: desperate enough for both interests: being a bum extra info: Templar TA will teach as well

Joan considered, for the fifth time this week, the worth of keeping her son Martin as the Pontiff's ward. Some portion of her thought the church the safest, most quiet place he could find in this Empire of theirs. The missive, however, overturns that assumption. Or perhaps that's your bitterness for Valentin' actions speaking, She considered inversely. Either way, she sends her next-door neighbour, His Holiness Caius, an apple pie for breakfast. A good crusade starts with a good breakfast.

For Joan, Hadrian had died long before this. That sweet, beaming brother of hers in her memory, who ran through green meadows and crystal lakes. Their races between pine woods, inevitably scolded in tandem for the chaos brought by their speeding heels. A shared mischievous laugh. A lesson on dancing and chess. The Hadrian she knew, before the burden of sickness and Imperium, held an unmovable spot in her heart and mind. For every cruelty enacted by his hand as Emperor, she recalled a kindness taught to her by his tutelage. Know our mother through me, he promised as a boy. It was her own unintended cruelty to him; the memory of his sweetness as a boy overshadowed his being as a man. A deliberate blindness to his viciousness, an unwillingness to consider too long the gravity of his deeds; if only that it would keep her love for him intact. And it stayed intact, as selfish as it was, as her love for him remained unconditional. So perhaps, their dwindling interactions in his later life was a blessing – a parting kindness from him, who kept from her his spiral so as to conserve her desperate clinging to the memory of that sweet, beaming brother. But the truth, which she had vehemently denied even to herself, is that the Hadrian she knew was solely a shadow, trampled underfoot the Emperor of Man. This Emperor walked with the face of her brother, his voice; but that boy was long dead, taken by the illness early, and walked a corpse. And if he was not, then he desperately wished to be. ✦ • ───────── • ✠ • ─────────• ✦ The letter came to her in the early mornings. Read twice, then thrice. Likely more, though she lost count by the third read of it. As if the words would somehow change its meaning, and the reality of his death, by continued reading. But in her last read, she had found herself on the ground, staring at marbled floors and her warped reflection. No sweet memory could shelter her from Hadrian’s final truth: that he was, by his own hand, well and truly gone. Joy – … joy? Invoke joy? I have painted you, my beloved brother for all the beauty I believed in you, But you deny yourself even that. A dead man asks me for joy. What a cruel jape. Joan found herself walking quickly, a horse taken from its stables even before the sun had properly risen. Grief felt more like anger in its early blossoming, pelting at her heart in the silence of her search upon the shores of the Imperium. An indignance against his ask for forgiveness, denying him what little she could now. Yet, the irony of it all, was her uncertainty of if she would recognise his body; or if it would fall too unrecognisable amidst the countless others reaped from his Conquest of Azuras.