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.

“Atta boy, love,” Margot would utter in concurrence to herself as she puffed away at a cigarette, the Count’s missive in hand. “A bloody shame…”

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.

[!] A flier appears to have been posted around Providence with a sign-up sheet attached. ALL INVITED HOSTED AT THE IVY HOUSE ((Friday 26th 5pm EST)) BACHELORS, BACHELORETTES AND WIDOWS OF PROVIDENCE are all invited to spend a glorious night indulging in good music, good drinks and good company at the Ivy House. No membership? No problem. Simply sign your full name and age and show up with 5 mina and your Sunday best. WHAT WE HAVE IN STORE... DANCING All those in attendance shall be hand-selected a dance partner whom Madam Ivy believes is the best fit (though there are no restrictions on this). A notice will be available prior to the evening that will list all of the pairs. HUBERTA’S PERFORMANCE The gorgeous and beautifully talented bard, Huberta DaVeney, shall grace us with her musical prowess (Keep your partner close! This one will steal your heart.) BLACKJACK What would an Ivy House event be without a little blackjack? Tables manned with a servicer shall be open for all guests to use! Take a risk and flash your cash. GRAND GESTURES Feeling brave? Find a staff member to request a song, make an announcement, or anonymously give a guest a gift or letter. Roses and paper will be available by the door. The Ivy House is located upstairs from the Novellen Tavern. It promises to be a spectacular night. I can't wait to see you there.

Margot Beckham would read over the invitation laid out upon her stall counter, leaning forward onto such with a lit Beckham Black cigarette in hand. “Finally a party worth attending,” she’d muse with an eager grin, taking a lengthy drag. She’d then pin up the invitation to the front of her stall before seeing to deciding what outfit to wear to such an occasion...

“Opposites, huh?” Lorena would mumble to herself, looking down at her attire as she debated her attendance...

hey u legend, what pokemon am i?

This is sorta ridiculous. Muffins, literally every interaction I’ve had with you, you were either rude or dismissive and I’m willing to bet you don’t even know who I am. One case in particular involved issues with the tavern in Helena. Prior to the huge renovation that added rooms for rent to the tavern, @MANGQ and I ran his Illatian Restaurant “Nonna’s” on the second floor. Not only were we kicked out with little to no warning, but we made meticulous effort to make sure any and every change we had made to the building had been undone because we did not want Mango’s build to be copied. Especially since we were planning to move the business elsewhere and didn’t want anyone thinking we had ripped off someone else’s build. Once we had removed all of our decorations (including but not limited to, grape vines and leaves, changes to the staircase, arches in the room on the ceiling, balcony railing, kitchen counter and floor design, chairs and tables placement, dangling pendant light made with iron bars and andesite walls), we came back online to find that a bunch of those decorations returned to their exact locations and placements. (I have screenshots if you’d like them but that’s not the point of this comment). Obv mango and I didn’t *invent* these designs and ideas but the blocks were placed literally exactly the same way. Myself and Mango asked 2 different people who we needed to contact regarding issues with our build being copied and both people said to talk to you. We BOTH messaged you and we BOTH got completely brushed off. You didn’t even bother to clarify or have a conversation with us. You’re literally a staff member and not only did you completely (and rather rudely) brush us off but you didn’t even refer us to someone we could sort the issue out with. I ended up asking a friend who has been on lotc far longer than I have to ask if this was regular behaviour coming from you and this was his response: I’m sure his reply is rather telling. While I’m sure you love your role and have good intentions, I really don’t think a staff position is appropriate for you 😕

Lorena would feel tears pool in her eyes and a nauseating tug in her gut as she read the missive posted within Oren, the sight of her father’s name wrenching a loud sob from the girl as she tore the paper down from where it had been hung and fled with it from the city.

Adrianna would rush up the stone stairs of Reinmar at hearing the sounds of her husband upstairs, pressing her ear to the bedroom door to listen. Then, at hearing what sounded to be fists upon wood, worry would rush over her like a wave. Upon entering, she’d see the balcony door open to her left and a letter laid upon the bed to her right. Sighing softly, she’d hurry to the bedside and inspect the letter, sorrow brewing with each word she read. ”Oh Brandt...” She’d mumble, setting the letter back down and hurrying over to the balcony where he sat in prayer. Without a word, she’d slide her back down the wall to sit beside him, gently reaching to take his bruised and bloodied hands within hers as she too let her head fall in prayer for Sacul, wishing she had known him better, and hoping his passing was quick.

Adrianna would gaze upon her husband’s new forge, delighted and adorning a proud smile, “Che uomo,” she’d hum to herself merrily.

Adrianna Barclay would look over the invitation, bouncing her young boy upon her hip. At reading her own name written alongside her husband’s, her eyes would widen and she’d let out a merry laugh in surprise. ”Ah! Dio vi benedica,” She’d cheer, still quite unused to the prestige that came with her new last name. Young Cedric would then let out a babbling laugh at his mother’s joy, a toothless and goofy grin upon his wee face.

Adrianna would sigh as she set the missive down upon a countertop, her hands already worn and tired from her ceaseless cooking to feed the soldiers of the honourable ISA. Turning her attention into the kitchen, she’d tie her hair back and tighten the apron around her waist, the words of the minister and mayor providing her a new enthusiasm. ”Dio ci aiuti,” she’d uttter to herself as she got to work preparing food once more!