MildStatic

R

Margot of Reinmar stirred from her meditation upon the approach of a messenger, an aged but beaming smile dimpling the sorceress' cheeks as she was handed the invitation - soon scurrying off as she sought out her plus one... @zuziee

Margot of Reinmar eyed the company of signatures under the document with a grin that dimpled her cheeks, impressed by the Grandmaster Hexer's efforts. "Well done, my love," the sorceress uttered to herself through a sigh and with a nod of her head - promptly scurrying up the towering steps of the Hexer keep, Dún an Éin, to offer her congratulations and agreeance to the man.

You fuckin champions

Clarisse Barclay would sit high up within the eagle’s nest of her ship after having heard of her beloved Aunty Maya’s passing. Scanning the missive she held tightly and scrunched within her hands, she’d begin to fill out the application with haste and determination. “For du, tante Maya.” NAME: Clarisse Barclay AGE: 21 POSITION APPLIED: Sailor RESIDENCE: Duchy of Reinmar

"Nein," uttered an unruly-haired Barclay lass as she read the note addressed to her. "Nein!" she'd repeat, then again, and again, and over and over, the note within her hands crumpling as her hands clenched about the feeble piece of paper. Tears stung her eyes of soulful viridian, bright and curious eyes that had always looked up to the valiant piratess since they first landed upon her - the older sister figure that opened the doors to just about every facet of Clarisse Barclay's life. Sailing, adventure, swordsmanship, family. Immediately did she run through the Reinmaren courtyard to that tiny room that Maya had taken up residence in as if to see her lazed about on the couch as she had done so many times before - only to feel the tears spill over her cheeks as she eyed Maya's pet monkey absent-mindedly nibbling at a bowl of fruit left to go bad in the dusty room. The wee creature would stare back at her with beady brown eyes, intelligent but oblivious. "Maya," she cried in a whisper, barely audible as she collapsed herself onto the couch, hugging that letter desperately to her chest.

The man-in-question’s twin sister, Clarisse Barclay, would cast her head upwards to her Gott as she received word of Emil’s safe return. “Blood for Barclay,” she’d hiss, the girl’s tone vengeful, then would utter a prayer in thanks and sign the lorraine before scurrying off to find her brother.

"Thank Gott," one Margot Barclay would chuckle.

Margot Barclay would rise to her feet, erupting into joyous laughter as she read of the news from the confines of her southern home. “Oh darling,” she’d hum merrily, hugging the missive to her chest as she looked upward in prayer, “He’s done it. Our boy has done it!” She’d tell up to her late husband, Erich Barclay, blowing a kiss to the seven skies before packing a bag to make a trip back home… Likewise, a young Clarisse Barclay would sprint up and down the halls of Reinmar and out onto the golden fields, “Glory to the Duchy of Reinmar!” she’d cheer over and over, a radiant and beaming smile of pride on the teen’s face.

Clarisse Barclay, urged on by the valour and camaraderie of her father and family, likewise would don her newly forged breastplate and fighting garb at hearing of the scandal. “Holy and righteous Gott, relieve mein family who are nothing but faithful to du, of this embarrassment,” she’d utter upwards in silent prayer before hurrying off to find her father.

Clarisse Barclay, having only just felt like the situation was settled, tears the crude drawing down from its place upon a wall. “Where are du, Bug Brows?” She’d huff under her breath, setting off on a mission to find the Amador boy.

“That’s mein vater!” Clarisse Barclay would exclaim with a beaming smile that dimpled her cheeks, holding up the missive at anyone nearby and pointing at her father’s name on the page.

Old Adrianna, who at that moment had been enthusiastically whisking together some ingredients in a bowl with her aged hands in the Reinmaren kitchens, would turn as some of the maids called for her attention. “What’a is it now?” The resident Barclay nonna would say in a huff, brushing grey hair away from her face with the back of her flour-covered hand. Then, as the servants rather apprehensively shared the utterly grim news, an awful crash could be heard as the bowl and its contents fell to the floor, followed by a heart-wrenching wailing that echoed through the grand halls of Reinmar. There is nothing worse than losing a child - which she now knew as she wept on the kitchen floor, utterly and entirely shattered. Her husband and now her first-born gone. “Figlio mio!” She’d cry toward the ceiling and beyond, “Tesoro mio!” She’d wail, followed by some unintelligible curses and profanities, in Common and Illatian. Through tears, she’d quietly hope that her son had found his father in the seven skies, and prayed desperately to join them soon.

Adrianna would hastily take a seat upon a garden bench, shooing the maid away who’d delivered the letter to her as she tore into the envelope and anxiously read through its contents. Her heart sunk. “L'uomo che ha portato la pioggia…” Adrianna would utter as tears pooled in her eyes and spilled down her aging cheeks onto the letter within her hands, “You have’a done it again,” she’d inhale sharply as though she was trying her best to maintain her composure. “Idiot’a!” the bella would shout, that fiery Illatian presence melting away as sobs escaped her, her hands clutching her letter fervently to her chest as she doubled over where she sat. Done it again he had - for no rainy day she had endured with him could compare to the storm that wreaked havoc on her heart now. There, she wept, a physical ache clenching its awful fist around her as she read and reread those words over and over again, as if hoping - this time he’d appear behind her and envelope her in those familiar, safe, and loving arms, embellished with scars and stories, and stick his nose into whatever she was reading that troubled her so. Those arms that held her as they floated down the Oren canal in their youth, those arms that carried her home when she’d indulged too much (and just to show off that he could), those arms that carried each of their five their children, those arms that brandished polearm, sword and shield to defend the family and home he cherished so dearly. “Ti amo. . .” she’d whisper, clutching herself tightly as those tragic realisations of the impermanence of life crashed upon her like a furious tide, sobs shaking the elder Barclay’s body. She’d never hold him again, she’d never hear his voice again, never wake up beside him again. Her God-given gift - the man who was her entirety, her pride, her bliss. Not in this life, anyway. “Ci rivedrò, amore mio!” she’d shout up to the cloudy Reinmaren sky, loud enough for Godan and all the heavens to hear.

hey u legend, what pokemon am i?