Axelu

The Secretariat Emerita, Anabel, sent her most devout prayers to the heavens from the Cathedral of Providence, pleading to GOD for guidance and safety in light of this most August election to the sanctified throne.

"These are times of Mourning," The Secretariat of the Holy Mother Church had rasped to some bystanding acolyte, rapping the cane which habitually bolstered her towering, thin figure against the ground. For once, she untensed in the pew overlooking the gardens of the Cathedral and cast her gaze, weathered and wretched by life and its mysteries, toward the cerulean heavens. "Do what you must in the pursuit of TRUTH and of devotion, like these humble men," she voiced airily, her voice bereft of fervor. It had grown quiet, the wind's melodies carrying the vestiges of her sentiments.

Sister Anabel had offered His Holiness her prayers and chaplet prior to his departure. Despite this final encounter, his August and holy presence was indubitably yearned for - by she and the Canonist flock. “You will be among the best of us,” she told him with confidence, despite her somber disposition, that fateful day - a notion that was, without a doubt, the very picture of reality.

"Look how enterprising your aunt Irena is," clucked the Baroness Woldzmir, Elizaveta of Metterden, as she lectured her grandchildren who found amusement in building blocks and plush-toys. "You should be more like her, and I."

"I never met him but, from the sound of things, he seemed a mighty fine man - of reliable personage who was able to get things done," decreed Elizaveta of Metterden, fluttering her gaze over the Amador's obituary before resuming her ritualistic perusal of the news. "GOD rest the fallen. The likes of my papej and mamej, alongside the rest of your kith, will greet you as you claim your place among the blessed deceased," she decreed with fervor, her bosom swelling. Her toddling grand-daughter, her namesake Elisabeth Leopoldine, peered at her ancestress with wide, empty eyes. "...What, did I say something?" Elisabeth teased, succumbing to animate laughter.

facts

Accompanied by Aymer in the realm of frosted oceans and icy Tundras, Lydienne, daughter of Aelthir the Second, smiled, recalling what once was; inspired by what will be.

The Secretariat of the Mother Church, upon being informed of the outcry from neighboring Suticans to the adoption of Canonism in the state of Hyspia, expulsed but a mere guffaw. "To think," she drawled to a younger nun, after having suffered a brief spell of incoherent, frustrated delusion, "those who practice idolatry and debauchery, and seem to so fervently deny the truth of GOD, shun it in a state that is not even theirs."

A WANING FIRE The Dragon of Alban HRH Princess Tatiana, the Duchess consort of Sunholdt Plunk, Plunk. What a familiar sound, that of a leather boot plummeting into viscous mud. Despite the ever changing realms, there were still worldly consistencies she regularly observed - the expansive oceans of opal now crusted with ice, the high-ridged mountains, and populated havens of civilisation. To any other, it would be a susurration that would fester annoyance within one; not for Valignatir. She had become accustomed to the sights, sounds, and sensations endowed on her by the various earths as she had the sanctified bastions, citadels, and sights habitually seen by dragonborns. She swaggered onward, sending the remnants of moistened soil slinging to her boot off of it with a mere flick of her ankle. The bare trees drooped barely above her imposing stature and she sought to grasp for one of its lone fruits, an apple - unblemished by the frigid environment. Assessing it, she smiled and soon therein sunk her teeth into it. Chhnk…. “Tatiana, won’t you join me?” cooed the honeyed voice of a familiar woman, of a bygone time. She donned an aureate coronet upon her head of onyx tresses; all aspects of her personage, ranging from her fur-laden attire and blazing blue eyes, indicated her station as the Bihari Queen Maya. Tatiana had been skittering through the halls, exploring each nook and cranny of the Palace Ekaterinburg to distract herself from the homesickness she had acquired since leaving her mother, the Dowager Duchess of Alban, in their estate within the territory of Aeldinic Venerra. The maiden princess sloped shallowly in obeisance before her matriarch, her knees wobbling as she clenched an apple between her set of teeth. Young Maya let out an amused laugh, commanding the girl forward. “How have you found New Reza? It’s surely different than Glythen..” the Queen began warmly, her eyes in constant scrutiny of the girl’s responses. “Oh, yes, it’s very different. However, I think I like it more - the landscape, the city; there’s an entire new world to explore, Your Majesty.” The Queen but smiled, uttering the words, “And so you shall explore, Princess Tatiana. I am certain we will be great friends.” And so they would, speaking for an hour or two on end; Tatiana would even serve as her Grand Lady for eight years - nearly a decade. The memory swept through her mind like a hot flash, scalding and enduring. The apple was slackened from in between her fingers, meeting the ground below in a few seconds’ time. The being grunted, vying to carry herself onward. A heaviness overcame her, but still she persevered; that was the way of the Titan, strength and devotion, one she wouldn’t dare forgo. Clink, Clank. A rush coursed through the figure of the princess, fully grown and statured. Sweat dotted her brows and reddened her cheeks as the foul swamp creature she had been tasked to fight by her mentor, the Elder Favnir. From beyond, sat upon a rock, he observed each movement of hers with anticipation; each exchange in the wretched waltz between Tatiana and the beast. She recalled muttering, sending a prayer to the heavens - to her Titan and liege. Therein, as the mighty creature bore its jagged maw toward the grass, she lept from atop a mound and thrust her blade into its back, rendering it to stir in anguish and fling her off of it. Tumbling to the moist ground beside it, she reached for her blade - plunged into the writhing creature’s back. Favnir stared from beyond with glee, hands interlocked over her knees. He was rather imposing in stature and build too, she remembered - as were all of her kith. She wasn’t, yet, but still managed to slay the large beast after a lengthy exchange. It was then that she completed her set of trials, was doused in righteous flame, and was made anew. A flame was snuffed; sudden and ever altering. Sensations and memories she had not experienced since her transcendence surged through her like an ironic scourge of wildfire and soon therein, she fell prostrate. Something had changed; a great loss. The very essence that coursed through her seemed foreign now and bereaved her of strength. Lost, forlorn, and without identity. … Peter d’Arkent … Eleanor, Theresa, Alexander … Avaeramos .... Eveth … To think, she thought she would outlive them all. Was she no longer meant for greatness, to bring glory? It did not take long for silence to consume her, the blistering cold stilling her mortal self. It was her only respite. ((PK POST. Felt stunted with the character's development and i thought, in light of recent wipes, this would be a good place to end her story 🙂 thanks so much for rp))

The aged and reclusive Secretariat, Sister Anabel, made passage into the chambers, at long last dispelling any rumors of retirement. Clinging fervently to one wooden cross, the monastic sat amongst her comrades to silently contemplate the amendments.

An estranged woman of Haeseni birth read over the notice, insensitively lamenting on how she always manages to miss anything fun and worthwhile.

The Baroness of Woldzmir, while snooping through her daughter's chambers - or, as she would politely put it: reorganizing - skimmed briskly through the diary's pages, her face growing ever so mirthful.

The Baroness of Woldzmir cast an indiscriminate eye on the missive, drawling to her eldest son, Sigismund ( @Nectorist ), "It's such a shame, really. The d'Emyths are friends of your father's. Pray tell, do you think there is anything to be done?"

Sister Anabel Vladimirovna recalls her childhood with the Queen Maya - a beloved figure of her life, even if they were bereaved of each other in youth. In her memory, the Secretariat but signed the lorraine over her bosom. Above, a Queen did smile knowingly. "And look what became of you, beloved crow, because of my prodding. I once told you, in the life of a consort, tragedy and scrutiny go hand in hand. It is her composure, despite it all, that determines her esteem..." Milena Ekaterina paced in the corridors of a bygone bastion, tresses of carmine lagging against the marble flooring. "My beloved Mariya once told me she thought me the greatest. Yet, when looking at you, Maya, I realize how utterly wrong she was." A simper crimped the deceased Carrion's lips shut and her eyes lilted from wherever they lurked to the one that stood before her. "It was you, all along."

im gay and roleplay a conservative nun its chill if you have an in-character basis for that resentment/antiquated ideals such as culture or certain trauma.. what isn’t okay is projecting irl hatred unto others; there’s a discernable difference and very fine line

LETS GOOOOO

based and very much redpilled

keep working at it! you seem to be a creative individual; keep yourself informed and educated as to the lore, as others before me have mentioned, and soon enough, you’ll be a proficient lore writer with awesome pieces (I just know it)! My suggestion is looking at accepted lore and taking note of their styles, the systems they use, and so forth while maintaining the authenticity of your own writing – we learn by observation, after all.

Elizaveta donned an elated grin, her crimped brows leveled on the lengthy issue lain on the desk before her. ”Such a magnificent work by a magnificent mind! I cannot wait to see what else she has in store..”

In the blessed expanses of the Seven Skies, or perhaps the inferno that was the Netherworld, Queen Milena Ekaterina partook in a lengthy inspiration inward, a bitter-sweet smile overtaking one imperious visage. With each movement she took, the tresses of her vermilion gown followed in suit, grazing against the ground she traversed. ”Perhaps, mmh.. I did in fact warrant the moniker of Vulpine. I was a most calculated girl in my youth – one prone to err, as any of mortal mind is, you see, but nevertheless devoted and utterly in love with my people. I praise this Anya Petrovic and Father Otto, who so eloquently shed light on the truth to the best of their GOD-given ability.” Promptly, she discarded of the informative missive, ironing it over with spindly fingers, bereft of rings and insignia. ”Isn’t it so,” cooed the woman past her shoulder, chin piqued slightly. “dear Queen?”

who’s been your favorite, most controversial (but ultimately loving...), rp mother 😳 also, do you play any instruments?!

thx for vibing w me in markev when i was a new player!! you’re a v chill person and im glad to have u around

excited for a samurai larp session w the homies

what if i’m irrevocably broke. do u take credit?