trinn

Thread locked. Stop being idiots on the first day of war. If you need to post your warpath, dm them to me.

everyone cancel ur saturday plans till the summer the guy 2 responses below me has a twink dragon pfp

wheres my credit for my intellectual property

Issued and averred by the office of the IMPERIAL CROWN ✠ HEED, LEAL SONS OF HOREN; Steadfast is he, the Prince of Ivory, Galahad Ilumrin of the Holy Protectorate of Malin. That in these days of war, do the children of Malin acknowledge the wisdom of their service to the Emperor. Thus, it is for this keen devotion that the Crown accedes to their attaining of Illivira, now formerly vassal to the Province of Iryalen. That the Crown bids the High Prince Galahad to oversee and maintain this land in sagacious rule, and thereafter affirms responsibility for its affairs. ✠ I: ON THE MATTER OF ILLIVIRA In consequence, the Crown charges Galahad Ilumrin to present the treaty of unification between the Protectorate of Malin and Illivira. That in the integration of this vassal: the High Prince Galahad attains responsibility and stewardship of its lands, and likewise does Illivira attain the responsibilities wherefore assigned to the treaties of the Holy Protectorate of Malin. Whereas the Crown is informed this is a willing and deliberate concession by both the Province of Iryalen and the vassal of Illivira, a peaceful and graceful transition is expected between the two provinces in the making of their treatise. That any issues and objections which may arise between them must be settled in the purview of an Imperial Delegation, so as to ensure the Emperor’s peace. AVE IMPERIUM! H V M A N I T A S I N V I C T A “Für Gott und Kaiser,” HIS IMPERIAL HIGHNESS, Marcus Tiberias of the House Horen, Crown Prince-Regent of the Empire, King of Burgundy, Duke of Grense. NON DVCOR, DVCO HIS IMPERIAL EXCELLENCY, Ledicort de Senna, Imperial Archchancellor and Regent. HER IMPERIAL HIGHNESS, Joan Mariana of the House Horen, Imperial Princess of Man, Duchess of Helena, and Deputy Emissary of the Provinces. Uell ito Maruthiran, Galahad Ílumrin High Prince of Cauróst, Prince of Malinor & Eldest Son of Húrin Ilumrin Evar'tir Oranor, Praetor of Elves, Prince of Caras Eldar, Adjudicator of Malchediael Medli Oranor Seawatcher of Illivira Nenar Terin Servant of the Wilds

Raelwyn frowns when both his roommates Farah and the Nameless Nikolai both convulse in their sleep from their bad dreams...

I don't mind or disagree with people being upset, hence why status updates haven't really been touched. I dont disagree that the memes and hate stem from somewhere or otherwise absolve it by calling it unnecessary/unwarranted - I would just like the thread itself be with actual questions/feedback rather than the repetition of the same unproductive memes/troll. if your stuff got removed and u disagree with it, and think it doesnt fall under the ^ above situation, feel free to dm me on discord and I'll unhide it (@trinn.)

Hello guys, this has blown up to be clear, the comments are being removed by the mod team as a whole right now Its not a case of us wanting to erase your frustration, we just don't feel like 10 pages of unproductive memes and hateful replies will be otherwise beneficial in a post such as this. If you've noticed, we're leaving up questions about the decision (see unwillingly's) in hopes that those queries are more predominant and clearly seen rather than pages of memes and shih sorry i am inadvertently taking your rep

u guys are slop posting on our post ? if i had my pex... why i oughta..

I do not like liars, Owyn. Particularly liars who make company of me and mine. The searing pain of a fractured arm remained in her memory; a man who loomed in the fog of the shore beyond, and the ghoul which made haste in his departure. In the words spoken beneath the eaves of that forest, a few truths were laid bare between them. Though, in her recollection now, the truths seemed to have beckoned the need for a greater count of lies. He’ll make a liar out of you, Joan.

⊰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⊱༒︎ •✦• ༒︎⊰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⊱ A public missive: contemplations of Imperium and War 9th of Aurelian’s Glory, 637 ⊰━━━━⊱༒︎ •✦• ༒︎⊰━━━━⊱ ⊰━━━━⊱༒︎ •✦• ༒︎⊰━━━━⊱ Death claimed my mother early into my life. The Empress-Consort Circe Horen, remembered so vividly in my mind for the love which emanated from her as naturally as she breathed. You, my reader, perhaps will recall her. Perhaps it is a memory buried and nestled uncomfortably in your mind, as a memory of an Imperial who spoke only from a kindness now scarcely attributed to our names. For myself, it is a memory of my mother – a memory of, when all things otherwise find themselves disturbed in uncertainty, how I truly know myself at its beginnings. I wondered, as our Imperium finds itself upon the precipice of expansion, how she might feel. We find ourselves before the turning point of history, as armies gather united against our treacherous foes – and we might feel, at every coming sunrise, the bitter kiss of steel and stench of blood for every stand we take united. It is an honourable thing to serve in your Imperium, to protect a legacy that has not been seen since the ages of our forebearers; but then, as well, it is a heavy thing to defend and bear the burden of violence upon ourselves. For in our Earthly Kingdoms we remain beneath the auspice of our Lord, and war makes heavy upon our souls. So when it is that I see my brother return from battle, and his face is parched of youth, I think again; “what would my mother say?” If she had lived, she would see upon our horizon the Imperium we have made, and how far we have come together. She will see that humanity sees itself settled firmly in the unity of our Imperium, that houses lost to time have found themselves rooted, a common banner stands amongst us, and we are kin again. Lorraine, I would have urged her to visit, and the warmth of the hearth it has rekindled. Tarnavon, as I would lead her down the river, where the remnants of old foes now found themselves settled with new-found love in marriage. Idunia, perhaps if our journey would go so far, where the one she would have known only as a boy in his youth, ascended so far as its High King. Therefore if she had lived till now, we would have found ourselves beneath the summer sun again, gladdened by the legacy of an Imperium that would have found itself absent if not for the deeds of a collective, greater humanity. But her gesturing finger would have raised further than our borders,where our foes gather and lurk, and pry at the weaknesses of our fortitude. She would see those who would reject this Imperium, those who would flee and those we call other. I would tell her, they will be our foes in this war, and we will see them behind iron shields or walls of stone; in blood and viscera, or enlocked in chains. But she would urge me, you, to look again, closer still, and see them beneath the iron and themselves laid bare. Through our eyes, which we share as inherited gifts from the Lord, and see untowards their redeemable souls. So as I sit here lost in my memory, and you find my writing upon this missive, I daresay that she might bid mercy. My father loved her for her compassion and heart, and she spoke to us these lessons under oaken leaves hiding glimpses of sunlight. Her hair vibrant beneath afternoon suns, so vivid that in my youth I thought it comparable to gold itself. Joan, she had bade me: It’ll be a troublesome thing, to let yourself feel. It will hurt to hope, and more so to open your heart to it. But you must promise me something – you must never stop daring to. It will be our promise alone. Yet it is my hope that in my sharing of this, this promise will not stay ours alone. ⊰━━━━⊱༒︎ •✦• ༒︎⊰━━━━⊱ Ser Misha, the Watcher ⊰━━━━⊱༒︎ •✦• ༒︎⊰━━━━⊱ Mercy is an easy thing to miss in this time of strife, a small action that might otherwise be deemed unnecessary or unearned. Heed ourselves to my newly found friend, the newly Knighted Ser Misha, the Watcher. On the eve of my return from Idunia, a snow elven traitor was brought to execution within our lands. At its completion, it was a simple thing to burn the dead as our customs dictate. The head was to be piked as example. Yet, on this eve, he pleaded mercy for the traitor’s corpse. There is a custom, he begged, for those of his ancestry. His remembrance of customs for even the traitorous dead, that bid my hand to stay. At his urging, I asked for the return of the elf’s corpse, the head included, and he laid it to rest in burial; a return proper of his own, at no benefit to himself. Ser Misha, who asked only for a simple grace, for a stranger he knew nothing of and undeserved. Hence, again we stand at the precipice of a march. Abide by your Emperor, abide by your oaths; it is a dignified thing to pursue a legacy of man, and find the light of the Lord banishing the darkness of these lands. The soldiers of this Imperium are a testament to a legacy that has not seen itself returned for many-a years until our forefathers found themselves victorious. Yet I beseech you at this precipice to, as well, heed the words of my mother, an echo of all mothers. Pursue this war with the burden of merciful justice in our minds, and the daring to hope for the redeeming of our foes. That we might meet them upon the battlefield in the inevitability of our victories, but greet them thereafter with the conscience to handle our laws mercifully and kindly. Wherefore we may leave this time of war better than we had begun — not merely triumphant, but justly kind. Let us, when drums fall silent and our banners place to rest, say we had not surrendered our souls in exchange for conquest. Peace will return, it is a bud which grows and will find itself in splendour with each rising sun: so wherefore we are triumphant in battle, let us not raze this bud of peace. Let us remain unyielding in our duty to this Imperium, but humble still in the judgement which comes thereafter. The hand of mercy is a generous one, and we may impart it even when it is not given in kind. Stay your hand, not at my command but upon the command of virtue.Victory is assured in our unity, but the measure of our souls remains in the keeping of our deeds alone. Joan Mariana Horen, Imperial Princess of Man Daughter of Circe and Tiberias Horen Proofread by Mayelasiol Aen Tarem (Thank you Johann for proofreading for me) ⊰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⊱༒︎ •✦• ༒︎⊰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⊱ A Private letter is penned to Johannes Horen, alongside a copy of the missive.

"Did I pay my scribes this year ...?" Joan scratched her head forgetfully. "Pontius ... Do I pay you ...?"

For the first time in a long time, Joan prays One might wonder what she's praying for - the obvious answer, Valentina's health and the baby's, of course. The less obvious one. . . that the baby would grow up to look more like Valentina than Marcus, god bless his poor soul .

"In all of this, The Elven Prince Galahad rightfully condemned by a very, very firm hand for having . . eh, opinions and thoughts," The Imperial Princess Joan spoke in her path home to Valentina @kuerbis, "And finally a Just and very, very striking Punishment is given to the Lord Baruch who dared to let his son find love and happiness. A good day for our Imperium, What wise decrees my brother has made today."

rubs my belly such an awesome culture post..

"Is this his way of having his bachelor's party. . .?" Joan inquired, rubbing her chin as she read the missive from her nephew.

Joan Mariana released Anton's ear from the deathly pinch it had found hostage in, as the missives were finally sent. "Thank you, Lord Asturias." The Imperial bid, elated at last. She looks to a portrait of them, side by side. ". . . Are you sure the two of you are related?"

Empire tyranny so rampant a liberation ca got dropped to nerf it

HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY, Hadrian I of the House Horen ⊰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⊱༒︎ •✦• ༒︎⊰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⊱ Has his appetite shrunk? He looks more gaunt. Have I painted wrong? The criticism found itself spilled into an overflowing cup — piles of abandoned sketches discarded before it. The last stroke of paint was the pale, white glint in his eye, eyes she had not met much. Not in these recent years. The Imperial Princess Joan Mariana relinquished her brushes, the remnants of paint upon her fingers swiped on the canvas of her apron. “Will he like it?” She questioned The Lady Valentina d’Asturias, peered upwards from her work. Joan loathed to look at her. “It seems rather risky,” The Asturian spoke, “to send a gift that starkly paints his wound.” •✦• The pallid grey of her eyes settled in her examination of her brother’s portrait. An eye lost, and his daughter with it. “. . .Yes, perhaps it is. How wise, Lady Asturias.” She wondered if this is how she will remember him - perhaps, she might forget him in his youth. ⊰━━━━━━━⊱༒︎ •✦• ༒︎⊰━━━━━━━⊱ Joan. . . ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Joan. . .? ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ “Joan.” ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Her head raised, attentive by the third beckon. Valentina’s worry was palpable in her stare towards her, a palm pressed to her forehead thereafter. “Are you ill, Your Imperial Highness? You have not been so-much yourself.” “Have I not?” Joan feigned her ignorance to the query, “It is a mood affecting Lady Mareno, too, I think. She, too, seems quite tired. . .” Joan felt herself slip back to her memories of youth, her own words heard through murky waters. ⊰━━━━━━━⊱༒︎ •✦• ༒︎⊰━━━━━━━⊱ “You were not there, Joan. You haven’t been here.” She pressed a brush against her chin, mulling over the words which stung in each repetition. It was not something she could defend against, not without twisting and bending the truth. Or by bringing his own faults as reproach, deflecting blame elsewhere – away from herself. I should have done that, she considered – could I have done that to Johannes? The Imperial Princess considered the painting again. He will hate it, she concluded, he will punish you for it. Yet, still, she found herself signing her name upon the canvas. There were things that she loathed to put into words. She had a habit of twisting them; pleasantries that were never meant – japes too wicked to be earnest, but said with such talent that its humour was lost. A simple fear settled in her heart, for a wrong word to take the wrong turn. Whatever she loved, she found comfort in professing only by paint. “. . .It is only a portrait of my Dear Brother. Why should I complicate it?” By morning, she had sent the painting. A wordless gift, if he would consider it one.

“Are these Haelunorians not the elves who would usually deem other elves lesser? They call to other elves, now?” The Imperial Princess Joan Mariana spoke to her lady in waiting, “You know the histories write that their kind were so bold as to melt the bodies of their elven kin for the crime of … what was it? Impurity?” “Where did their spines go?”

Joan re-does the map of the world for her brother, in preparation of the next Imperial Court

Never talk abt my good friend richard source like that ever again …..!! For realsies the art maybe idk but his writing is beautiful .. merry christmas xxx