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About Axelu

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  1. @LithiumSedai To Papa, Receiving a reply so soon has elated me. I know naught of your location nor your livelihood and wellbeing. I can only hope you are doing well. The Aeldinic dragon remains in me still, its influence unwavering; its bright flame fueling my path. I implore you, however, to tell me how to heed its call. I am torn, papa, for I debate on whether being a child or statesman should take priority in my heart. I do not wish to undertake my duties so prematurely if I am not ready. How can one be truly sure? Our grand progenitor, John the first, had ambition, as I do, yet he was bred for his destiny by his prince-father. He had a goal. How can I cultivate a path likened to His Majesty’s in a time of so much uncertainty? For now, I remain limited by my mortal foibles, confined to frailty and naivety. My scales are yet to harden and the weight of the princely crown unexpected may rupture my resolve yet. IN NOMINE DEI Henrie
  2. Milena holds back Mariya’s hair as she vomits in the seven skies. ”Now what did I tell you about doing somersaults, Marelika?”
  3. reminder that ur fat, ch-

  4. i hate u ur g-

  5. UR so hot everything – [insert desired amount]
  6. WHAT IS LIFE, AFTER ALL, WITHOUT A DREAM? In the Palace of Novellen, Henrietta, the Duchess of Furnestock, reclined against the bay window within Simon Basrid’s office. Young and with pallor, the girl drummed her limber fingertips against the pages of her journal, her alternate palm wielding a plainly ornate quill. She was but a child -- one endowed with the future of her line and the toils that would eventually come with it. Yet, she was a child with ideas. Swiftly, she lowered the instrument into the inkwell, submerging it in the onyx substance for some time. Once she was certain, she hefted it and brushed it across, nesciently permitting for a blotch of ink to serve as her introduction to the entry. “Dear Papa, I’ve decided to write today. For very long, it seems, has the Archchancellor been urging me to do so. He says it will perhaps fuel my mind and spirit; that I shall need to refine my wit to reach a similar caliber to that of my ancestors. Wardship beneath him has been enriching, if not overwhelming. He has ambition for me, I’m certain. To some degree, papa, he has taken your place. Perhaps it is cruel of me to say so, or brazen, but it is only veritable. He has been there for me, perhaps as a colder, more professional presence, but here regardless. I desire to see you, my papa. I care not if the Emperor holds contempt for you, or otherwise, for you are my papa and I miss you! You once told me that a dragon cannot be at its strongest without another at her flank. Your words ring through my mind daily. I appreciate what the Archchancellor has done for me, and my liege-uncle’s cordiality, but there are things I cannot learn via perfectly instrumented lessons. I have learned the origins of the Johannian line: our purpose, our values and why they led to our downfall. And yet, without you, I have not learned how to love. The war wages on still, after so many years. My childhood has been reached from its britches and devoured by the news of bloodshed and mindless deaths. Only recently, I heard of the death of a princess, killed by rabid mercenaries! Of course, this is what the servantry has offered me. I know naught if their word is wholly veritable, but I’m inclined to trust them. I need my home to return. This is not a physical world that I speak of, but instead one I have fabricated in my head, for you see, I greatly dislike this one inhabited by men lusting for battle and women sitting subserviently by. I yearn for a united humanity, no longer laden with the fruits of mortal greed and hatred. I yearn for a humanity with a desire to succeed and thrive. I yearn for a humanity that does not collapse in on itself; one with a dream. What is life, after all, without a dream? The dragon shall prevail. IN NOMINE DEI Your daughter and heir, Henrie Suddenly, she’d tear the letter from its binding to her notebook, its leftmost margins now jagged. Nevertheless, the solemn girl beckoned an idle handmaiden forward, proffering the letter to her. ”Assure this reaches the public.” ”But, my lady, this seems to be a--“ resisted the adolescent maid, only falling silent and agape as Henrietta’s hand strikes her supple cheek. ”I did not stutter, did I? Now go, miss, and do as you are told.” As the recoiling girl departed, Henrietta rose, beginning to nonchalantly pace about the room as she recited, ”Manners and respect won’t ever go out of fashion.”
  7. “Let us meet for tea soon, my lady?” ”Indeed, Your Majesty. Let’s,” Milena of Adria once recalled the Devereux woman to have said. They had known each other since Ester’s marriage ceremony, in which the young Queen consort attended at Rubern. Instantly, Milena recognized the strength in the eyes of the Princess Royal. They strolled together, and spoke briefly. They never had that tea – in life, anyhow. Now, in death, they had all the time in the world to reacquaint themselves. ”Won’t you join me, Your Majesty?” comments Ester Devereux. ”Let’s, Your Majesty,” Milena would curtly reply. ”Join us, young Anabel and Alexandria.” And so, the two Queens and their daughters, taken so soon, were together at last.
  8. Axelu


    Milena of Adria smiles from above, content in knowing the legacy of her parentage is being preserved by her cousins, the rebranded descendants of Carrion-Tuvyic: Ratispora and Ostroborovich, alongside the dignified Sarkozy.
  9. what if we kissed at ur local McDonald's parking lot? 😋😘


    1. Show previous comments  4 more
    2. SquakHawk
    3. YPJgamer1999



































      … unless?


    4. Eryane



  10. Axelu


    @Ivorey Milena Ekaterina ushers her daughter into her embrace, affectionately bussing her forehead. Together, they’d revel in the pure light of the Seven Skies. “Too soon, my dove.. too soon you were ripped from the world by such frivolity and war. Now come, let us read the letters we wrote not too long ago.”
  11. u have smth on ur face

    1. Axelu


      quit sittin on my face

    2. Trinn
  12. Milena of Adria says nothing from above, merely enjoying a beverage alongside Mariya Barbanov and Adeline Horen. ”Tea,” She’d comment with a resolute nod, resuming her golfing in the Seven. Somehow, Charles Elliot wormed his way in there too.
  13. BE THAT OF QUEENS The Queen of Hanseti-Ruska, 1741 “My dear Tsarina, come. Sit on your papej’s lap,” Her father poised, peering at his daughter from across the room. She was limber, if not incredibly lanky, for a girl of twelve. Her limbs were willowy, almost to the point of emaciation. Yet, despite the uncomeliness that came with her frame, her eyes met her father’s with matched fervor; the fervor that blossomed innately in those of her exalted line – that of the proud Carrions. He once claimed her eyes were a gift; the eyes of champions; the eyes of a Queen. Perhaps, she believed him and the others at the court of Nova Horos, the Capital of the Aeldinic Heartlands. She resigned to sit on his lap, his supple arms embosoming her as they peered into the kindling within their hearth. “Tomorrow, we leave for Reza, Kochy,” Fyodor noted, caressing his daughter’s chestnut tresses, bussing the crown of her head gently. “Will the King like me, papej?” “Da, my daughter, for vy will be his queen.” “Your Majesty,” A servant beckons, bowing steeply before the Carrion in her passing. She’d reciprocate his greeting in kind with a nod, maneuvering her way through the halls of the Palace Ekaterinburg with swiftness. Halting at a door, she inspires, promenading through its threshold. “Mama!” exclaim the twins in unison, bounding forward to embrace the aging woman. Grinning and mirthful, Milena furled her arms around them, muttering her salutations to either Barbanov. “Now come sweetlings. Let us find your siblings.” Milena Ekaterina, 1722, by Anaïs of Poiteaux Disembarking from the yacht, Milena inspires breathily, her smile ever-growing. She surveyed the desolate shores of the unnamed lake, fingertips brushing idly over her center. Starting forward, she’d hail the twenty-nine-year-old Adrian de Sarkozy. They’d lock eyes, grinning whilst clasping hands. She’d do the same with his younger sibling, Henry, soon thereafter retiring to the latter’s flank. “You’ve arrived just in time for court, cousin,” Duke Adrian comments with a flourish of his hand, eyeing the teenaged youth. “Henrik shall escort you. Do make us proud, young Carrion.” The trek to Reza was a curt one, yet arduous; the landscape taking its toll on any other. Yet, Milena was determined and so, she arrived to the city’s gates alongside her cousin in a quarter hour’s time. Immediately, the girl garnered glances from the peasantry. After all, she did not fit in, donning Aeldinic fabrics and utilizing a gait emulating a sort of pretension. Soon thereafter her arrival to the Palace Prikaz, court began, and all present rose for King Andrew. The proceedings ensued, and suddenly, a herald announced: “All petitioners of His Majesty’s Court, make your way before the dais.” Everything was still, the present courtiers not prompted by the beckoning. However, Milena resolutely looked to the Lord Henry, and sashayed forward, softing anterior to the throne. She was surprised by what was before her -- a boy, of onyx hair, and unmistakable karovic blue eyes. He was limber, presumably just flowering into adolescence, yet rapped his fingers against the throne in a manner that could be likened to an aged monarch on his last limbs. And so she knew, through her training to be vulpine, effortlessly graceful, it would be easy to deceive this boy. She had done so in the past, of course: plastering on her visage the semblance of confidence, of charisma; if only they knew, that on the inside, this was but the mere ploy of a child grasping for her father’s approval. Traipsing into her room, the woman bellowed out an exhausted breath, squaring her shoulders. Brushing her fingertips against the furred fabrics draping over her bed-frame, she frowned. The room had always been empty. She hadn’t seen her husband in years, it seemed. The war had kept him preoccupied, and her jaded. She was understanding however; Such is a king’s duty, she told herself. Letting her mind not succumb to revelry further, Milena clicked her tongue, fingertips that had been gripping at the bear’s hide abruptly rising from the surface. Louring, she breached her balcony’s entrance, finding solace in the sunlit humidity arising from the lake, her own namesake. What had her actions done, she wondered, to warrant the admiration of her people -- to have her family’s homestead and residing lake, a pillar of Haeseni resilience, named in her honor? She had only done her GOD-given duty; what was demanded of a Royal Consort; what had been taught to her from an early age. She was not given much time to contemplate on the thought. Hands, brash and ruthless, furled around her throat, carelessly thrusting her frame, nearly buxom after three pregnancies, against the stone baluster. The court was solemn with her entry. Her husband had taken absense, and she, now mother to the Crown Prince, aspired to pursue a more active role in her husband’s court. To her surprise, however, the Lord Palatine -- Konrad Stafyr -- sat on her husband’s throne, hailing the Kingdom’s subjects as though they were his own. She frowned, simultaneously reclining into the chair beside him. Overlooked, perhaps forgotten, but most certainly ignored. “Such is my fate,” she thought, “and I shall not endure it without rebellion.” Milena gagged, clutching at her throat. She looked to the person blankly, lilting her chin. “Do it, then. I’d rather die a Queen than a dowager. Such is a fate much too dull for me, and even at my age, one does require some excitement,” She quipped with sardony, guffawing incredulously. The blade her assailant carried was shallow, at first, and a burgeoning pain seared through her. Periodically, it continued -- each merciless thrust distancing her further as carmine seeped into her dress thoroughly, leaving but the vestiges of its former craftsmanship. She thought not of her children, nor Maya -- her protige; she thought not of her people, nor Arianne of Kaedrin (who she relentlessly tried to be rid of, perhaps out of fear of being her better). Not even the war that poised a threat of the livelihood of Haensemen. At this time, the woman who had devoted nearly sixteen years of her life to her people, thought of herself. Her near-lifeless body knew little pain at the end. The fall from her tower was swift and instantaneous; graceful, even, in a manner pertinent to a Queen. “Yet if I’ve learnt anything from my time in the capital, it is that we must cherish the moments we can. I cherish that moment, even if I must return to a grimmer reality moments later. I advise you to do the same, Queen Milena. We cannot pour our hearts into each waking hour, for they will only fall subject to the pains of rulership.” - Duchess Mariya Barbanov to Queen Milena posthumously, 1736 BE THAT OF QUEENS. 1710-1742 Milena Ekaterina Fyodorovna Queen consort of Hanseti Ruska OOC: So, here it is! My PK post. I just want to thank everyone who made Milena such an incredible character to play. Her development has been insane, in my opinion, and that was only furthered by the incredible community I’ve had the pleasure of knowing and serving. That being said, I do want to take a step back from everything, and focus on myself for a little while. It wouldn’t be fair to leave a character so dear to me in the air, so I gave her a fitting end, and hopefully, a fitting ode to her life. peace x
  14. Anabel, the young Ruberni Princess in purposeful exile, peruses the missive keenly within the apartments in her mother Ester’s homestead. She’d smile, keeping the text to her bosom. ”Perhaps if Marius reads this, he’ll come to his senses..”
  15. ((i literally hate u all. thats all!
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