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About MunaZaldrizoti

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    The Moost Happi
  • Birthday 02/17/2000

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    Writing, RPing, and watching Game of Thrones episodes over and over!

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  • Character Name
    Ioanna | Milena Ruthern
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  1. 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.
  2. Anybody know how to make CoA in the style of this post:

    Wasn't sure if GoodGuyMatt was still around or not.
    I can pay some small amount for one, if need be, with USD or mina!

    1. monkeypoacher


      https://wappenwiki.org and a vector graphics editor like inkscape

    2. marikandaperc


      https://heraldicon.org/ this site is pretty good but might not have the versatility inkscape has

  3. 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.
  4. 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.
  5. 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
  6. 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.
  7. 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?
  8. 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.
  9. 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.
  10. Not sure if you're still around, but I miss you and hope you're doing well! ❤️

  11. 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.
  12. 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?
  13. 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.
  14. - 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.
  15. 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".
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