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Everything posted by JoelTheGinger

  1. Francesca would weep within her chambers for the fallen Golden Prince, the man having shown her many acts of kindness since her arrival. She decided she should become accustomed to wearing black in mourning for the many deaths that would likely follow this one.
  2. Francesca would remain isolated for the weeks following the events of her kidnapping. She would ensure that Elric Roul was honored as a hero, feeling a strong guilt for allowing a man to give his life for her own.
  3. Francesca would remain in her chambers for the days following her kidnapping, scarcely eating or receiving visitors. Her grey visage was directed out of her window, a low-burning flame burning in the hearth beside her. “Elric died a hero...but it won’t be in vain,” She’d murmur to herself, looking down at a leather glove being held in her hands. It had belonged to the man who had so willingly given his life in exchange for her own. She would make sure his legend lived on, though for now, she mourned and brooded over the events.
  4. Francesca would read the King of Haense’s statement from within the palace kitchens of Ves, taking a break from her baking of bread. She’d smile heartily. “My father will appreciate a man who can pen such a bold statement,” She’d bob her head, setting the parchment down to carry on with her task.
  5. ((As a former mother of House Amador, I approve! 👍))
  6. Pearlescent eyes opened to find a cold and desolate desert spread out before her, the woman known as Victoria Vientos surrounded on all sides by its cold sands. A brisk breeze blew across her skin, carrying strands of her hair off to one side. She had merely sat down to rest a moment, finding herself here moments later. Her lips spread thin, the Ascended began trudging forward, struggling against the winds to press further and deeper into the desolation ahead. For what felt like hours, she wandered and wandered. Her body ached, her strength growing thin. As she lifted her visage from the grey landscape to the horizon, a ringing, like the toll of a bell, sounded over the area, a chill running down Victoria’s spine. “Victoria Vientos, child of Anna and William. Daughter of Heial, wife to one Artyom, a second Rickard, and mother to many. A Princess and once-Queen, but Ascended above all else.” The voice carried with the wind, almost non-existent. A figment of her imagination. “You may now rest, my child. The Archaengul has honored your service with eternal life here, with her, so that you might guide the souls that need your aid.” It took all Victoria had not to weep. For a moment, she was a little girl again, the disgraced daughter of Queen Anna once more, hunted for and abused by so many before she found her path. She was grateful now, for all her life had given her to spite those harsher times. A true blessing. She rose, taking a final breath before accepting that she had served her purpose and done her duty, walking onward and into a more peaceful existence.
  7. So what was said about me in the discord for an Empire you’re in charge of, that wasn’t considered OOC bullshit? Seems there is a double standard, otherwise I would’ve expected some sort of outreach from you days ago. There is a difference between ****-talking and actually discussing physically harming someone. But, like you said, it’s all just a game.
  8. A withered mali’aheral would shudder at the memory of her infatuation with the September Prince, along with the memories of the horrors she had committed and the friends she had lost. “I miss Yew, most of all...” She’d rasp, continuing on her way in darkness. Victoria Vientos would take a respite from her ongoing constructions, the groundwork for her new abode being laid as her husband brought her the compendium that detailed an account of September’s assault on Atlas. Her pearlescent gaze would linger on a particular name, the corners of her lips turning upward slightly. “Elenora...I never forget a name. Fitting, that Sophia’s half-elf daughter was the one to aid in unleashing this terror onto the Druids and the rest of the Descendants. Like her mother, she functions on pride and not on proper logic.” She’d continue reading, passing the tome back to her husband afterward.
  9. Francesca would hear of the assembly in passing as she walked through the city proper, a routine she practiced daily. As she observed the construction of the new Bazaar, she decided she might also enjoy looking into the assembly as a way to sate her hunger for knowledge.
  10. It’s been a while, dear Eris

  11. Francesca would sup with her father at midday, made with leftover rations that had not been taken to the previous siege. The young princess took a spoonful of her carrot stew before a messenger entered her father’s apartments, bidding he read the letter the youth clutched so tightly in his hand. It bore the seal of the High Pontiff, stamped with reddened wax. With grey eyes focused upon her father, she frowned as his brow furrowed. He set the parchment down, his own gaze more focused on the seal that had concealed the contents of the letter. His fingers would wrap upon the cloth of the table. He rose, without but a nod to his child, before stalking out of the chamber, the page in tow. Francesca would rise carefully, peeking at what had been written in such haste. She did not recognize the name of this Pontiff, for the only one she knew was Everard V.
  12. They had been sailing for a week now, the winds having favored their journey as they made their way across the open sea. Francesca had spent most of that time in her cabin, reading the few books she had brought with her or practicing her writing in private. When she could no longer stand the stale bread and beef stew that had made up most of her meals, the youth would opt to sit upon the deck as her father’s crewman milled about. She would watch the sailors tie down ropes, inspect the sails, and aid their captain in maintaining their expected course. The idea of a nautical life intrigued her, as most things did regardless, though she knew she would never be able to aspire to such a profession herself. Today, the sun was slightly hidden behind the wispy clouds of the morning, a reflection of her mood as the coast of Arcas came into view. She had left her mother in Khalestine, though the circumstances had been unnerving to her and caused her much grief during her travels. The wife of Joseph Marna had bid her daughter farewell as a slow and heavy rain fell around them, telling her daughter that her father had need of one of his children, to be by his side during his foreign conflict. The young Francesca never questioned her mother, doing as she was told more often than naught, but she had wondered afterward why her mother still refused to join her lord father herself. A cascading range of cliffs shielded their arrival, the ship docking upon the shore with the aid of awaiting soldiers. The girl awaited the cue of the captain himself before disembarking, the solemn faces of the men awaiting them being enough to inform her on the circumstances she would face after reuniting with her father. Her grey visage lifted to the cliffs above, the air smelling of sea spray and salt. A grouping of horses was brought around sometime later, carts laid heavy with crates and trunks that would be carried to Reza. The young lady would be assisted as she mounted a grey palfrey, the steed slowly treading behind a small retinue of guards who had been sent to escort her own person, along with their cargo. Whatever the reason was for her arrival in this strange land, Francesca felt as if she would not be returning to her childhood home anytime soon.
  13. A Letter to Father | 1716 @yopplwasupxxx [!] This letter would only be viewed by those within the House of Marna. To my most loving and Imperial Father, It has been many years now since we last saw you, but Casa de Rafal is never without news of your movements and successes in your foreign land of Arcas. Every time a victory is had, or a new letter is circulated, we hold a great feast with all of our cousins and kin, toasting to your name and your health. Mother has grown rather sullen lately, I heard her telling Auntie Ernesta of the stress she faces when she thinks of possible misfortunes that might befall you. She has made me take her letters now, asking me to decide if they’re worth reading depending on the subject or sender. The servants refer to her as an Empress in private, though she has told us never to mention it outside of the estate for our own safety. Sometimes she even holds a small court, mainly with our cousins, and she seems much happier when she is helping them with whatever they require. Auntie Ernesta has asked me to put a note in for Helton, to tell him that she misses him. She has asked that he put aside a few bottles of the wine you’ve spoken of, the kind that grandmother’s family makes, for when the war is done. She also says that she hopes he has found a nice young lady that he can settle down with. I don’t know what she means. Joseph is doing well. He takes as much pride in you as I do, bragging to the pages and servants about your achievements thus far, and how he will be an heir that you can be proud of. Catherine does some of the same, though she is often preoccupied with her two ladies and is always out in the city, paying for trinkets and dresses. Margarita has taken a liking to the doves that we keep, for delivering notes and messages. She is sweet to me, though she clings to Mother more often than not. Josephine is also always with Mother, but she is a baby, so I cannot fault her for that. I, myself, pray daily for your victory and your health. Our chapel is naught long without me in it, pious before the mural of Saint Julia that you had commissioned in honor of my birth. I miss you, Father, and I hope you will send for us when your war is won. I never forget that, no matter what, you’re my father and no title will make me love you less or more than I do already. GOD himself will look down upon us when we meet again, and I will know that it was his will that brought good fortune back to our family. With love and many prayers, Francesca
  14. Francesca Pietia is delivered a copy of the document presented by her father, the young girl now taking on the responsibility of acting as her mother’s personal secretary whilst she coped with the stresses of her husband’s war. As her grey gaze trailed over each sentence, a certain sense of pride welled within her at the detail and eloquence so clearly shown in her father’s writings. Though not intended to be a direct response to this parchment, the young Marna decided it was time to pen a letter of her own to Joseph.
  15. “This girl will only contribute tea parties and dresses to this conflict, I fear,” Jeanne de Valois would remark to Helton Helvets, a glass of wine grasped in her hand. “A queen of frivolity, I say!” She’d let free a mocking guffaw, taking a drink from within the confines of her son’s county.
  16. Francesca Pietia would hear the hurried feet of a courier as she left the Chapel of St. Julia, tucked within a corner of the grounds that made up Casa de Rafal. The pious and gentle child was left to wonder why her mother didn’t come to eat dinner with them that same night, the door to her bedchamber shut to all others.
  17. Within the region of Khalestine and Casa de Rafal, a young Francesca Pietia Marna would hear word of her father’s progress, sitting among her siblings as their mother, the Empress Annunziata, read the fourth Circular Letter aloud to them as they lounged within the manor’s vast gardens. “Father will surely succeed,” She’d muse, crossing the lorraine over her chest. “GOD wills it, so it must be done.”
  18. Jeanne de Valois, mother to the Count of Leuven, would be seated within her tent as a servant entered with a letter. Taking a sip from her cup of wine, her pale green eyes would shift over the words. For the rest of the evening, those whom passed the tent of the de Falstaff women would hear shrieks of grief and gasps of pain, the song of a sorrowful mother.
  19. Jeanne de Valois would frown. “Such a shame...the pair of Owynist folk I met the other evening were so pleasant. How easily people can mask their true intentions.”
  20. Celia Aldirar would smirk, impressed with Kaius’ action.
  21. Celia Aldirar, a freshly-made Princess of Alderyn, would stand at her window as her violet gaze trailed over the horizon. “A great day for my people...I wonder what Kalalian would think now, of the woman he so scorned.” She’d smirk at the thought, watching the clouds roll past the city walls.
  22. Jeanne de Valois would solemnly read over the section regarding her husband, feeling sorrow for the great burdens that had been left upon his person. She drank from the refilled glass she had been drinking from when hearing word of the Emperor’s regency, taking a long swallow of the rich liquid as she pondered upon the success of her own children. Somewhere in the wilderness, an old queen would acknowledge her brief shoutout, bitter though the memory may still be.
  23. Jeanne Valois would chortle, greedily sipping at a glass of wine as her daughter relayed the news to her. “They can change their name, but they can never change their intentions. The Emperor has made a fatal error.”
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