MunaZaldrizoti

Ioanna Kortrevich took the news with immense worry, considering the aged Queen had become a motherly figure she had truly never had before. With insistent words paid to her husband, the lady would ensure she spent more than enough time with the ailing Amaya in the hope she might soon recover. The Rhenyari dared not imagine an alternative, lest she be lost to premature grief.

D'ARKENT-KORTREVICH RECRUITMENT - SEEKING CHILD PLAYER Information LADY AMAYA CASIMIRA D'ARKENT-KORTREVICH Born: 10th of the Amber Cold, 169 SA | 10th of Msitza ag Dargund, 518 E.S. Lady Amaya Casimira is the secondborn child and only daughter of Sir Leonid d'Arkent-Kortrevich and his wife, Lady Ioanna d'Arkent-Kortrevich. She is also one of a triplet set, with an older and younger brother. Born into a gentry branch of House Kortrevich, she lives a comfortable life thanks to the efforts of her parents, with Leonid serving as Lord Marshal of Hanseti-Ruska and Ioanna acting as a Diplomat of Hanseti-Ruska respectively. She likewise has many cousins in the houses of Kortrevich, d'Arkent, and Weiss with whom she can grow-up alongside and interact with. She will be playable on March 31st, 2024. The parents are played by erictafoya11 (Leonid) and myself, MunaZaldrizoti (Ioanna). The character's siblings will be played by Rusty_Derringer (Viktor Otto) and ___Helios___ (Rickard Adrian). They're of mixed heritage, being Haeseni on their father's side and Rhenyari on their mother's side. They would likely be raised to speak a mixture of Common, New Marian, and Rhenyari. Some additional info about House Kortrevich can be found be found here. Genetics, such as eye and hair color, can be discussed once a player is chosen. I am also more than happy to help pay for a starting skin for the character! Additional information regarding the persona, such as more history behind her father and mother's own background, will be given once a player is chosen. We're very much open to any and all players interested, be it those who commonly play human characters or those who don't but wish to have a good starting point within Haense. Please give us some time after speaking with you, for us to let you know about our decision on who will take up the persona. Feel free to contact us at either erictafoya or munazaldrizotii on Discord if you're interested! We hope to get the character settled and claimed by March 31st!

Milena vas Ruthern had every intention of attending, if not just to show her superior intellect to those of her own age and certainly in spite of her eldest sister playing host. A future Palatine must have a mind for politics, as Analiesa always reminded that serious little youth.

Ioanna Kortrevich looked upon her copy of that treaty with immense pride, glad for her efforts in ensuring the agreement was finally put to parchment. Her first year of diplomacy was proving quite fruitful, it seemed.

The eyes of Milena vas Ruthern were held tightly shut, focused upon nothing but the sound of her own breath. For two days since her encounter with Sir Mikolaj, she had spent hours of her time locked away within the Weeping Tower of Morteskvan, attempting to divine the future as he had instructed. For the youngest grandchild of Duke Viktor, achieving this was imperative to her future success. She held herself to a higher standard, failure was no option even at such a tender age. As a chilly wind whistled through the stone-carved windows lining her bedchamber, she thought of nothing but conjuring forth some sort of image. A sign or portent of things to come. Inhale, Exhale. Inhale, Exhale. Inhale…Exhale. Her nose wrinkled in frustration. Nothing but darkness was beheld behind those closed eyelids. Her fingers curled into fists atop her lap, jaw tensing. Her will would command that vision to reveal itself. Inhale, Exhale. Inhale, Exhale. Inhale… ◆ ◆ ◆ An eruption of images blurred that darkness, breaking that induced silence and filling her mind’s eye. Flashes of red and gold, black and gray A castle shrouded in snow, looming tall against the backdrop of the mountainside. Soldiers, garbed in chainmail and helms, stomped through several courtyards, muddied and battered. A great hall, glowing under the light of torches and sconces lining the walls. Despite that warmth, a chill still persisted. Milena observed from one end of that chamber a man, wounded and kneeling before the great dais ahead. Atop it, a blackened seat wrought from that same rock comprising the foundation of that mighty fortress. Her lips parted, to call out to him, to ask what was going on…but no words broke through that veil. She was beyond him, a witness. A looming figure emerged, a woman whose face was obscured in shadow. She was richly garbed in red and black, proud in her gait as she stepped before that intimidating throne. Slowly she descended, step by step, until she arrived before the kneeling man. He lifted his head…but seemed not to fear her. Milena could not see his face either. Shrrrrrrk! The sound of steel rang out, the fastest movement Milena had seen, as it emerged from within the woman’s sleeve. The squelch of blood made her breath catch in her throat, drops of the man’s ichor falling to the floor like hastened snowflakes. He gurgled and choked…and died there, before his killer. The woman’s bodice was stained now, a reminder of her deed, but she seemed little bothered. The red lady stepped over his corpse…and seemed to look at her audience, that lone viewer intruding within her hall. That hidden blade was lifted…pointed directly at Milena. ◆ ◆ ◆ The youth was jolted back to her reality, as if waking from a nightmare. She gasped for what air she could find, a pale palm splaying against her chest. With the belief this would be some form of mystical experience, it was nothing less than a distant, but potential reality. The image of that slaying was imprinted in her mind. The Oracle would know of this divination. Milena knew it would not be her last.

Milena vas Ruthern sat in her drafty tower, having heard her sister's plans shouted from the halls above. The dreary girl recalled the words of Lady Maristela and bid away her discontent for the idea of yet another festivity, though the thought did make her stomach turn. A look was cast, towards a figure looming just over her shoulder and unseen to all others. "Ea must make friends, da? Ea will partake in this murder!" Her maid excused herself for the rest of the afternoon after hearing that child's declaration.

Lady Ioanna Kortrevich was glad for the busywork amidst these finals month of pregnancy, preparing letters to be sent to those interested merchants and her own contacts across the seas in Ba'as.

Lady Ioanna Kortrevich, seeing an opportunity to further serve her adoptive kingdom, swiftly penned a letter to the Lord Emissary. The Rhenyari was keen on putting her education to better use, after spending so much of the last few saint's weeks toiling with taxes.

Lady Ioanna Kortrevich sends word to the Esrova Prikaz, speaking of her desire to participate in the great hunt once her child was born.

A dreary toddler was prepared for the festivities against her own will, maids seeking out suitable attire for the child at the behest--or orders of her elder sisters. Her pudgy little hands outstretched towards the corner of her nursery as she awaited the next round of costuming, hoping one of the shadowy figures huddled there might rescue her from this plight. Alas, they only continued in their wailing. Useless.

From high above, in the Weeping Tower of Castle Morteskvan, a dreary toddler seemed to see a lull in her tears and wails. For one night, the girl had reprieve from those wayward souls, both friend and foe, who had lost their lives in the time since the siege had begun. "Dravi, Tyr!" The youth would hum, leaving her nursemaid ill-at-ease.

A toddler languishing within the keep of the Duke Ruthern did further wail at yet another vision, seemingly unable to find much rest these last few saint's hours. Woe unto all who also resided there, it seemed the late heiress' final child was truly plagued by great sorrow. And yet, her infantile mind seemed to quicken with intrigue. She slowly found these nightmarish dreams...entertaining.

A MARTIAL UNION The Union of Sir Leonid d’Arkent-Kortrevich & Ioanna of Ba’as 5th of Msitza & Dargund, 516 E.S. In the year 516 E.S of the Sigmundic Calendar, it is with great jubilation that the House Kortrevich announces the betrothal and impending union of: Sir Leonid d’Arkent-Kortrevich & Ioanna of Ba’as The tale of their meeting began upon the battlefield, happening upon one another as they sought to defend the capital city of Valdev from the onslaught of the Raiders of Ailmere. The Lord Marshal took an arrow in the shoulder, shielding the Rhenyari lady from potential harm and saving her life in the process. In her gratitude, she took to attending to his care & recovery, which sparked a natural and warm comradery. Their easy companionship grew into greater affection, resulting in a year-long courtship and the Lord’s eventual proposal. The union shall be celebrated within The Everardian Basilica and shall be officiated by Villorik, Bishop Westerwald, as chosen by the bride in admiration of his diligent holy service. Thereafter, those who wish to join the couple in celebration will be invited to attend the Bards and Bottles Tavern, where merriment among friends will hopefully last long into the evening. All citizens of Valdev are extended an invitation, as well as the greater-peoples of Hanseti-Ruska. Her Ladyship, Irena Stefaniya Kortrevich, Baroness of Koravia His Excellency, Sir Leonid Marco d’Arkent-Kortrevich, Lord Marshal of Hanseti-Ruska, Patron of All Art, Knight of The Order of the Crow, “Orcbani”. “The Poet Marshal”, War Poet Ioanna of Ba’as

Through the blackened night, within her drafty nursery tucked away inside of Castle Morteskvan, a babe no less than two begins to shriek and wail in her uneasy slumber, terrified by some unseen nightmare. Even those raiders encamped just down the mountain would hear the eerie tears of the child, chilling and knowing of things they could not fathom. But truly, she could not comprehend a word of it. Barely having entered childhood, how could she? But she did see...and she did remember. A first vision, to haunt the youth for years to come.

Ioanna of Ba'as, amidst her business with the White Comet Tribunal and words of comfort to Queen Amaya, seemed genuinely surprised as those returning outriders brought the lost King home to Valdev. A quiet prayer was uttered, for the Rhenyari wondered what the monarch's return could mean. Would this be to the kingdom's benefit, or would it only leave the Crown more vulnerable to attack?

Amidst the haze of suspicion and uncertainty that hung over Valdev like a cloak, the diligent steward Ioanna did appreciate this anonymous author's praise of her work within the northern kingdom. The Rhenyari returned to preparing herself to meet with the Queen-consort.

Ioanna read this missive the same as she had the various others, with a motionless visage and lack of enthusiasm. It seemed suddenly this strange continent she now called home was the birthplace of many an author and poet, who leapt at the opportunity to speak on these things which were yet to be investigated and proven by the Church itself. Why do these righteous men not take to the streets, come before the Barbovic throne and dislodge the King and his consort from their seats? Why do they sit idle and mean only to put quill to paper, when such religious fervor burns within them and bids them to take action? Is the pen truly mightier than the sword? A passing patron of the city's tavern peered over her shoulder, remarking upon the signature. "Westmark? Not another damned Veleztian..." It seemed she had been given her answer.

Somewhere off in the lands of Ba'as, an aged princess wonders how her elder sister was faring, ruling their niece's kingdom. Her husband, the Prince Ambros Rostampur, had always been adamant that they not return to Balian for the disrespect paid to his sister, Andromeda, during her tenure as Hadrian's queen & consort. But oh, how she missed her dearest Leni.

Ioanna peered upwards, observing the moon that looked down upon that northern capital through a snowflake-filled sky. What she knew, she could never share, as she had sworn and promised to keep the confidence of both a matriarch and her child. But the Rhenyari pondered upon the intentions of a King who wished to conquer even the heavens above. Was it a sign of unbridled ambition, madness, or both?

Within her residence, Ioanna looked over the poem-bearing parchment and its accompanying box. Her previous dream still haunted her, in conflict with her desires for a family after such a lengthy time alone. For now, the Lord Marshal received no reply.

- THE TIME COMES - The great ordeals of the last saint's day had weighed heavily upon Ioanna's mind as she laid upon her bed, studying those oaken beams that held up the roofing high above her head. Valdev had only recently been relieved of it's snowfall, yet the air still seemed chilled and unnerving. So unlike her homeland in Ba'as, she often was heard to remark, but she truly felt it now. It was enough to keep her awake all through the night, yet she felt the heaviness of her eyelids more and more. The Rhenyari pictured the realm upon the moon, spoken about in a frenzy by a solemn princess, seeing glinting spires of marble and lights as bright as the stars they were made to rival. Her mind's eye drifted off, spiraling into imagination... When her eyes opened again, she was alone still, but in another place entirely. A darkened hall, one she had not seen in her dreams since she was a child. The dreams of another child, from a past life she no longer dared to acknowledge. It was lined with statues and portraits, bearing the faces of stern men and severe women. Patriarchs and matriarchs long since dead, but kept alive in this secret place. Footfalls called her gaze forth, the figure of man slowly approaching her from the shadows. His hair was dark and cropped at the neck, with blue-grey eyes that looked both lively and sad all at once. A slim crown sat upon his head, matching his white-gold robes. "You have much more to do, my ven. You dishonor yourself by allowing these others to hold you back. To dishonor you..." The man's voice echoed around her, vibrating in her eardrums. A woman met him at his right side. She was crooked of nose, with a great plumed hat and a stiffened crimson coat. This fearsome lady met Ioanna with more contempt. "You will amount to nothing if you don't break free of these shackles you place upon yourself. These ridiculous notions of true love and family. You have a family already...or do you forget that as you forgot everything else?" Those statues that seemed to stretch endlessly behind them turned their stone-carved heads, cracking and splitting in their haste to observe Ioanna. All at once, they began to jeer and mock her, laughing and chuckling. Finally, looming over that first pair of critics, a shadowy figure stood tall and mighty. All Ioanna could make out was a singular eye, red and menacing. "GOD himself heralded your birth, child. You would have him be wrong? You would disgrace his gift, your blood?" The hall itself began to quake. "THE TIME COMES. YOU MUST MEET YOUR DESTINY!" Her ancestors all wailed with horror and amusement and frustration, leaving Ioanna to scream herself amidst the tangle. The woman jolted awake in her bed, a sheen of sweat atop her pallid brow. It took a moment for her to steady her breath, to cease her hands from shaking. Ioanna did not sleep through the rest of the night that followed. In the morning, as the sunrise crept over the horizon and touched the city walls with its first glimpses of light, a small box was delivered to the barracks that belonged to the Brotherhood of Saint Karl. A simple note, clearly written, labeled the name of its intended recipient: "TO THE LORD MARSHAL" Ioanna steeled herself. She would be no man's fool. Her fate and destiny were still yet to be written. It was all within her to see it to fruition.

Ioanna attended to the tavern, as always, when news of the regency reached her ears. Having met the Grand Princess, she thought the woman atleast held the manner of one who might need to rule when others could not. She only worried now for the rest of the royal family, who had returned to Valdev in dire straits following what was being called the King's "Great Sickness".