LithiumSedai

I will activate the Alstreim killswitch

In Adelburg, if I recall correctly! Your character refused to speak Common, and greatly frustrated both of my chars who had interacted with her. Alstreim's company doctor, the plague mask-wearing Adunian, however took a liking to her. The strangest thing is that a very similar situation played out in Sutica roughly a year later, with an entirely different person.

to make Tythus Ltd. rich, next question Two occasions that weren't your usual "admin resigns after ERP logs exposed" situations stand out to me. The first is the Operation Kaboom staff chat leak, which occurred in mid-2018, and aside from exposing the secret admin agreement to stonewall Renatian aggression against Haense, which was the prime RP and OOC political issue at the time, it provided an interesting insight into how the higher-up staff viewed certain RP groups and controversial community figures of that era of LotC. It was an apt reminder that everyone on this server is a human being, for all their flaws and virtues. The second is the AIS exposé of Orenian staff abuse at the height of the Rubern War in late 2019. Though it had been thoroughly damning, the admins chose to ignore its conclusions (partly due to some of the proof having been provided by banned players) and set the server on a stifling path we've only barely been freed from this year. Despite all of the perpetrators having been removed from their positions since, or banned for the very same transgressions exposed, no formal acknowledgement of this report beyond painting it as wartime harassment has ever been spared. - My biggest regret on the server is utterly mishandling the post-2emps fallout. In retrospect, I could have leveraged my position a lot better, or opted for a path that did not eventually loop back to certain reprehensible individuals seizing control over Oren and avenging their wartime woes at the expense of my friends and myself. - Renna Talraen was my first LotC character. She was an OC whose backstory and characteristics I had tailored prior to joining LotC, for the express purpose of doing so alongside a gathering of already established friends: all of them played petty criminals, and my intention was to up the ante with a serial killer character. My vision of LotC at the time differed significantly from the reality of the server - I expected a hardcore, DnD-lite, low-fantasy environment where such a character would have thrived. Nonetheless, her run was fairly successful, and though I had expected to be caught and summarily executed at any point, and resolved to PK at such an opportunity, her death was dealt in an ST event and her story continued through a morbid resurrection at the hands of a notorious necromancer. I wish he was real I am very fond of the idea of their existence, though the ramifications of it and the statistical improbability of coming across them limit my considerations to memery - I live my life in doomer mode, but LotC-wise I believe we have a refreshing perspective and it's always cool meeting a fellow B*lkanoid with whom such a perspective could be shared. - The meaning is two-fold: Along with my primary school classmates, I picked a username off the periodic table of elements after a brief spell of immense interest in chemistry. I liked Lithium the most, and my friends took Carbon, Nitrogen, and Sulfur respectively. Sedai is an honorific taken from Robert Jordan's The Wheel of Time, one of my favorite fantasy book series. Entirely pragmatically, I would opt for the period immediately following the Sedan Rebellion in Oren. For a person used to modern amenities and relative stability, the golden years of the Novellen Empire would have provided me with enough familiarity and a low degree of lethality, barring the occasional Ferrymen raid. Clean, well-lit streets and spacious housing, social events, bookstores, bistros and theaters, and plenty of opportunities to make a coin as a middling bureaucrat would have suited me well, even though I'm not fond of that historical period narrative-wise. But if I were an enlightened isekai enjoyer, I'd have picked either the peak of the Johannian Empire in Vailor, or the Pertinaxi Empire in mid-Atlas. Both nations were at their greatest then, enabling relative prosperity for their citizenry, and numerous chances for the combat-inclined to write their names into the annals of history by beheading assorted pagans and non-humans with extreme prejudice. LotC aside, I would have spent my pre-pandemic time a lot wiser and a lot more focused on my studies (in person) and my social life (also in person). I would have traveled more, partied with friends more, spent my money without it being wiped away by inflation. As a graduate with a stable job, I can't say things have ended up terrible, but in hindsight, and I've no doubt many people would agree, the Covid outbreak did ruin many plans which could have been committed to earlier. - Strangely enough, my dad is not a cop (I might have mentioned it earlier). If it makes you feel any better, he was military police in the army. - I'm very fond of the stories I've got going on, and the chance to see them continued through both cooperative and dynamic RP with friends and other community members alike is a thrill seldom provided anywhere other than LotC. It goes without saying that my forte is human RP, but I'm primarily drawn to knightly/chivalry RP and cooperative cultural development, such as roleplaying Waldenian and Daelish lore and aesthetics, and contributing to them through forum posts and histories, builds, skins and RP and OOC associations. - In my humble opinion, LotC would be a better place if everyone was able to cooperate on a shared, cohesive narrative. It should absolutely be the priority of both every player and every community figure (NLs, settlement and vassal leaders, staff) to facilitate this through earnest effort, good faith, and working together. Without a doubt, Jan/Corwin von Alstreim. Aside from the fact that I've played him for over two hundred years (!!!), the sights he saw and the insane character development he was subject to thanks to dynamic RP, and in turn the enjoyment I got, were downright incredible. The journey from an insignificant, bitter mercenary who was meant to be a passing character to be PKed upon a quick death, to a wise, royal figure of great fame (or infamy, depending on your viewpoint), who cheated death and trod across lost continents alongside his spouse and lifelong companion has to be one of the greatest stories I've witnessed. I say this without any intention to brag about my writing and RPing capabilities (of which I am ever critical and wish I could greatly improve upon), as I credit most of these developments to others who have enabled them and made them possible through memorable RP, namely @Areln and @Urahra and @Crescendo @Viltaren @Skyrunner @Safryie (and many others!) The most realistic goal of all was survival, and at the time I spared very little time dwelling on hypotheticals, forewarned by my experience with the Rubern War - I was eventually proven true. However, the response I envisioned had we by some miracle attained total victory was as follows: With Sigismund II's death in mind, Corwin would have aimed to become the provisional Lord Protector of Oren himself, in an ironic echo of Adrian Sarkozic's seizure of power. Haense would have been afforded autonomy or full independence, the Coalition would have been granted war reparations, and Corwin would have stripped the Novellens and their raised peerage of nobility and offered bounties on their heads, outlawed the Josephite Party and all Josephite symbols of Oren, restored land to the exiled Renatian nobility, and made provisions for the restoration of a Horenic monarch, upon which the occupation force would have withdrawn. Corwin's choice would have been an Alstion, but it's very likely it would have been Mick's char, who claimed parentage from Persus Helane. I was fairly Horenpilled when I joined the server, having been awestruck at the notion of a centuries-long universal monarchy perpetrated by, in my eyes, mythical player characters, without any direct staff intervention (such as invisible NPC monarchs controlled by the server admins, which I'd been told was the case with other servers and a common trope). Though some of the excitement certainly faded with the failures of the Sixth Empire, I considered myself a Horen loyalist. Before 2emps, the political reality had not yet necessitated a split of the Horenic branches, and though I followed Mog and his Pertinaxi after the fall of Oren and Marna, I respected the Johannians' seniority and their involvement in the Empire of Man as the kin of Aurelius. Frustrated at the post-2emps attempt to have the Orenian throne seized by a non-Horen after it had been promised to me, I initiated a (mostly OOC) coup: though my intention was to rule as Regent on Charles Talraen and install a Horenic claimant, there was a lack of willing personas. It was then that the Alstions reached out to me (through DWPH, I admit) and offered for me to push their claim on an Alstion character played by myself. I accepted, and at the time it seemed my attempt would have been successful: I built a Stuart Restoration-like narrative around the endeavor, and with its eventual failure and the ostracism directed towards Alstion for opposing the New World Order™️ (ironically, we were forced into a Jacobite LARP), my loyalties were entrenched in reaction. 🐶 I hate you No, but I've had worse breakfast food, so I can't judge

Didn't do one for my 5th anniversary, reckon now's a good time as any - I'll reply tomorrow after work I guess. My dad is not a cop.

1902 Cairtaigh Dictated by James Leopold Approved for General Publication Shall I worship the strong man? Shall you worship the tallest among you? No, for the glory of God is not in mere magnitude, but in His fullness and His perfection. (Spirit 1:15-17) THE CHARTER OF THE CROWNLANDS Preamble These Crownlands have long been the inheritance of a class that did not care for nor develop them, who destroyed the commonage and enclosed it as their personal property to the disadvantage of Heartlanders. Those times of tyranny and servitude are over, and will always be so. As the Royal House of Alstion returns to its natural state, so too should the government of the Crownlands. The ultimate end of government is to secure the natural rights, the happiness, the longevity, and security of those in its society. Therefore, We, the concerned people of the Crownlands, enter into a compact with each other to form an administration for the prosperity of these lands. Chapter I: The Crownlands Authority Article I: The Crownlands Authority extends north from the Borderpost Aurelian to the furthest reaches of Acre, but moves no further west than the River Petra; it holds no relation to the Crown Estate, unappropriated land which is administered directly by the Sovereign of the United Kingdom. Article II: Whilst government is temporal, and shifts to the whims of its people, there are and will be no other rulers of the Crownlands than the Royal House of Alstion. Article III: The Crownlands Authority is the sum of its people in a voluntary union of government, and any constituent may elect for direct rule from the Crown. Chapter II: The Rights of the Inhabitants of the Crownlands Article I: All men are born into the world free and equal in the grace of God, and have natural rights that are incontestable and unalienable: therefore, they will not be aggressed upon contrary to these rights in society. These rights are clear: I. To change their government from time to time in a manner of their choosing; II. To assemble under breadth of the law in a place of their choosing; III. To roam in the society by a path of their choosing; IV. To be be free from slavery, servitude, or personal tenure; Article II: Earthly power resides in the people and derives from them; consequently, officers of government are accountable to them in all manners and at all times. Article III: No man may be forced to employment that does not pay him in minas or in kind. Article IV: No man will be forejudged by life or limb; their right to judgement by their peers is unalienable, and no officer of government may aggress them of those rights which are natural to them. Article V: The right to a homestead is as fundamental of a right as those of life and liberty, as it is the property of the individual that these emanate from; consequently, any yeomen of majority who is a sworn citizen of the United Kingdom, and who has never raised his arms against the Kingdom or abetted an enemy who has, will have the uncontested right to buy public land without designation for a price of two-hundred minas a half-acreage. A deed tenable to him, and his heirs if he has settled or cultivated the land for the five consecutive years before his death, will be made to the fee of fifty minas. Article VI: No woman may be forced into a match not of their express choosing, nor are they beholden to any man but Crown, God, and this Charter. Chapter III: Executive Government Article I: The Crownlands authority is governed by His Excellency the Chancellor of the Crownlands, who is the Seneschal of the United Kingdom of Aaun and the deputy of the Sovereign whilst in any other territory. Article II: The Chancellor of the Crownlands has the authority to summon a council of the authority at his discretion, to be made up of no less than five counsellors, who will direct the affairs of government alongside him. Article III: The Chancellor has the right to govern in any way, to establish and disestablish, to direct or relinquish, in the manner and limits of this Charter. Chapter IV: The Legislature Article I: Yeomen of the Crownlands may, from time to time, deliberate in congress on matters relevant to the government of their society. Article II: The Yeomen in congress have the right to legislate on behalf of the Chancellor of the Crownlands, on a topic of their choosing, and that bill will become law should it not go against the manner and spirit of this Charter and that of the United Kingdom. Article III: The legislature may direct its own affairs as it sees fit to do so, and may chair themselves from time to time unless they request a relevant officer of the authority to substitute. Definitions: Yeoman - a man who is head of a household, owns an acre of land in the Crownlands, but is not entitled to bear arms and is free from tenure to the state; Land without designation - an area of unappropriated public land with no existing ownership; Any mention of ‘man’ in this document, unless otherwise specified, applies to women. THE FIRST EDICT OF THE CROWNLANDS WHEREAS Our Crownlands have suffered great decay since the rule of our predecessors, and noting the decreased output of Crownlands industry in favour of the provincial nobility; I. We declare any existing Crownlands institutions dissolved; II. That We hereby bring into existence the Crownlands Authority, to initially consist - but not limited to - these roles; A. The Chancellor of the Crownlands, His Excellency JAMES LEOPOLD ALSTION; B. The Vice Chancellor of the Crownlands, His Excellency IAIN GROMACH; C. The Steward of the Crownlands, Her Excellency ELEANOR PRUVIA; D. The Captain of the Levy, His Excellency JOHANN VON BARCLAY; E. The Magistracy, VACANT IN THE NAME OF THE KING, His Excellency the Chancellor of the Crownlands, HRH James Alstion the Lord of Alba.

only one of these lost a war to sutica

Crown Prince James of Aaun dictated a concise, yet earnest and pious expression of condolence and sent it off to be delivered to the South, where he had spent his youth.

Do you think the ultimate conclusion of your reign would have been different had there been no schism/war and had Savoy's accession to the Empire been completed, considering most Savoyards ended up migrating to post-war Oren anyway and that the civil war would have been set up in both scenarios? Was there ever an Orenian bounty on Ulrich's head? How fat is Adolphus actually? What are your thoughts on the Sutican War? What are your thoughts on Carolustadt?

Calliope signed the missive, thus concluding her own regency. To her nephew, the new Prince and the future of the House, she wished good fortune before secluding herself in continued mourning. On gloomy days, she wished she could join her brother.

James Leopold paced up and down the meeting hall of Corwinsburg, shaking the rolled-up missive in his hand as he monologued, in a vain attempt to clear his mind. "This is how they repay my Father and Grandfather- for our service and suffering against the Anathema alongside the Haeseni, the deaths of William and the whole of Nauzica at the Hero-City of Haverlock? For their assistance to Prince Peter and his uncle in opposing Frederick the Usurper, and in their misfortune flight to Balian?" He could not shake the one same thought recurring over and over. They will never leave you be.

The Ordained Path The streets of Atrus, c. 1890 ((David Street, Jerusalem, Gustav Bauernfeind)) 8th of Harren’s Folly, 1892. “Full house!” A thunderous crack of laughter, cheering and shouting broke through the tavern, deafening the stubborn complaints of the unlucky. The fair-haired princeling’s luck and unrestrained generosity seemed to endear him to most established patrons and spectators, and many sought to shake his hand in congratulations, drawing back with a gifted tip - sometimes in gold, sometimes in silver - if gentlemanly friends, or with a southern rose conjured by sleight of hand, should it have been earned by a maidenly charm. The audacious cavalier, comfortably seated, rattled his dice cup and swept it away, embracing a Farfolk maid - although not before offering his opponent, now several hundred old Orenian marks poorer, a carefully-crafted apologetic grin. As loaded as the dice, James thought of his coin pouch, praising the naivety of these Southerners in wise silence. He considered his own resilience admirable; many hours past dusk and after many tankards of cheap Balianer ale, twenty rounds of dice poker in, the drunken stupor has only just begun to settle in, and the night yet offered many opportunities. He dandled his Farfolk companion upon his knee, undid the top lace of his silken shirt to ward off the heat, and watched the assortment of guests gathered by the table. He was quick to join the celebration, and asked nothing of its cause; through the fog he recalled some sort of trouble in the north which benefited his hosts in the reaches of Atrus, and so he offered no complaint, eager to revel and secure for himself another assortment of drinks, bets, and fine company. The lights of the lanterns danced before his eyes as murky flames. The Balianers continued the game of dice poker without him. His former opponent, a hardened cataphract of the King’s guard, now desperately sought to reverse his fortunes against a Petran merchant, plump and rounded and considerably lucky. A vague retelling of the newest story of the north played in James’s mind - he knew it had to do with his father, somehow. “The old man doesn’t need me,” he mumbled, drawing a confused hum from his companion; he shushed her. He was content to waste away here in the south, far from the reach of his overbearing family - though his titles, empty or not, drew much attention from the tavern wenches, to whom he had no qualms invoking his name. “Tough luck,” James offered to the soldier, now relieved of his entire salary, slurring his words heavily through the excitement of the crowd. “Have- I haven’t seen such an upset since Eastfleet,” the princeling teased, unable to restrain an ugly snort, thinking the off-handed remark would elicit much laughter among his friends. It took him a fair few moments to notice the abrupt change in the mood, the sudden tension permeating the air. A tangible chill in the arid southern night surrounded his table; an expanding wave of silence overtook his surroundings. It was not his stupor that deafened him: with growing embarrassment and alarm, James noticed all eyes laid on him in stillness. A sobering glance put the soldier’s scars, obtained at Haverlock, into his view; he saw the sneering innkeep, stood before the backdrop of Philip the Fiddler’s grandiose portrait, fondle the hilt of his curved dagger; the Petran trader watched him in disdain, and his fair-weather company slipped underneath his arm into the kitchens. James cursed his stupidity, his recklessness, as frantic thoughts of escape flooded his mind. They have always hated your kind, he recalled, far too late. Your coin, your attention matters not to them. Orenians. Novellens. Never will a hand of reconciliation be offered - to suffer an Alstion to live? Already he knew he faced a dishonourable death. The merchant’s guards, rowdy men bearing tailed helms of the former State Army, intently watched James’ blade in its scabbard. The silence dragged on and weighed upon his eardrums; he inched forward in his chair… Naive? How foolish. The doors swung open with a loud crash - suddenly the revellers’ gaze settled on the intruders, and the subject of much tension was replaced with another: five armed and belted Daelishmen pushed through the threshold, at their helm a ginger lad of eighteen. He fixed the fit of his green-and-orange plaid, and waved his bonnet towards James. Their claymores gleamed underneath the lanterns; the Balianers discreetly and hastily resumed their game of dice. To have another diplomatic breach fortuitous to Atrus was less so to the victims whose blood was to be spilled - Galbraith, at the very least, was alive. “Gude God, Jamie- let’s awa’,” Iain Gromach, his Daelish friend, cried out to James. Sobered, humbled and humiliated, the Alstion slipped past the table with a sneer, his cup abandoned upon the floorboards. Not one person looked at him as he departed with his guards. He owed his fortune to more than loaded dice. Saint Ottomar’s Hill, c. 1890 ((Saint-Cirq-Lapopie in Evening, Henri Martin)) 6th of Harren’s Folly, 1896. “Ye canna keep this up.” The bell of the chapel chimed, carrying the ringing far past the Arentanian hills. He tugged on the rope endlessly, toiling away in his penance, and pretended that the chime drowned his friend’s words. Oh, his regret was genuine; his liberation, so close to his father’s wartime residence, was not. James isolated himself within Saint Ottomar’s chapel, yet his attempts at seclusion were often frustrated by Iain, who carried to him unwanted reminders of reality, both from neighbouring Corwinsburg and the rest of Aaun. “Says who?” He obliged Iain with an answer after a long few moments, bordering on disrespect. The Daelishman raised a thick brow. “I dinna ken they taugh’ deacons tae be bauld an’ rude,” he retorted, rolling his Rs as keenly and as deeply as any one of these new-age Daelishmen. “That maun be a prince’s ain privilege.” James sighed in frustration. Earlier that day, news of Aaun’s triumph over the rebellious Acre was brought to him. Certainly, he never wished for his friends, or his father, to fall in battle; yet the news brought with it an inevitability he had been hoping to postpone. For years now he had been maintaining the quaint chapel, evading Charles’ Nauzicans - and Charles himself - and his responsibilities both; he found penance in menial work, and quickly any desire to sin escaped him. James frowned, however: the Salvian elf who had taken it upon himself to be his visiting mentor would have, rightly so, classed his evasion as irresponsible, and sinful in itself: proud and in equal part cowardly. Horen’s teachings appealed to him and his royal blood, he had admitted in the long evenings of studying the nature of the Scrolls, generously given to him from Corwinsburg, by candlelight. So Horen went into the east, and followed the path ordained for him, he quoted hesitantly to himself - Horen’s scriptures were ingrained in his memory, although each time he recalled them he was so aptly reminded of his name and calling. He concurred that to free himself of his desires of vice was a path ordained for him; he no longer wished for ale and dice and cheap thrills; his health and complexion improved, and through God’s grace he once again enjoyed the good form of his royal ancestors. He would not be the first abstinent to admit, however, that he had enjoyed it. Coming of age as the heir to an ancient princedom was not without its challenges, and the temptation of indulgence in his earlier days was often too difficult to resist. But he was now six and twenty years old, and, as he was all-too-often reminded by his friend Iain, rapidly approaching his third decade in this world. Too many times had the frivolities of youthful indulgence gone on to destroy a man, and James knew this well. He had seen it before in the old drunken sops that the tavern master liked to keep close to his bar. It was why he was here in the austere periphery of the Heartlands, and it was also why he feared to leave. And as he often read the gospel of Horen - his alleged progenitor in an unbroken chain of Emperors, Kings, Princes, and Dukes - he knew that destiny maketh, and consequently might undo, the man. But that did not mean he was in a hurry to find out which side of the coin he might fall on. “Leave me be,” James mumbled through his teeth, releasing the rope to battle a sudden itch upon his back. Good Horen, the habit was uncomfortable. “Leave ye be?!” The Daelishman protested, throwing his arms up. “Ye maun ken weel, man, they wadna e’er leave ye be. No at Corwinsburg, in Atrus or Lurin, or Salvus, or anither place, de’il ta’e ye.” That much was true, James bitterly conceded to himself. His gaze strayed towards the nearest window of stained glass. The lands of Aaun lay beyond the Arentanian Alps - filled with men and women who had placed their trust in his father after decades of darkness, and who repaid it in kind with one victory; without effort, work, responsibility, there would not be another. His royal house was beset by enemies on all sides, and no matter how far he escaped, he would never live down the shame of abandoning those loyal few who had trusted them. “Starin’ at that bonnie blue circle o’ yours, the books an’ the scrolls, tae speir the auld Elf a faith, hae ye learnit ane thing?” Though Iain meant well, James knew his question was genuine. In a moment of clarity, akin to the one he had experienced four years earlier on death’s doorstep in Balian, the plague of uncertainty upon his mind dissipated: like Horen, he resolved to follow the path that was ordained for him. Nobody else would. “Just one.” 9th of Horen’s Calling, 1897. TO THE PEOPLE OF AAUN, God's peace and blessings upon you. Almost forty years ago my late uncle William, the Lord of Alba, fell in battle at the siege of Haverlock. He was the first Alstion to do so since John VI, the child Emperor slain by Pertinaxi usurpers. He died alongside Nauzican, Haeseni, and Sedanian comrades against the forces of an excommunicant. William Alstion believed that the right to rule was not something inherent in birthright, rather something to be earned and then tempered by an adherence to the social contract of men. Kings, he believed, had no right to impede on the Sovereign Individual but by that which they are granted as the will of the majority. For too long the powerful and wealthy had trampled on people they saw as lesser, and had rigged the levers of state to their own undue advantage. My uncle believed in restraint, actions derived from study of scripture, and a fair and just society. He is now remembered as a martyr for the cause of good, and he lies amongst the righteous dead. Born to ruin and dead to one; his legacy are the pillars of piety which we will hoist up that we might observe creation. I kneel to my duty as my uncle’s successor to the vacant Lordship of Alba, and as a consequence the heir to the Principality of Alstion and the United Kingdom of Aaun. In this, I swear allegiance to His Majesty the Sovereign, to the traditions of our many peoples, and to the social contract upon which our nobility are cast. I will live as my uncle lived, and one day rule as my father does. I make a covenant to you all upon risk of damnation that I will respect the word of the law. I will bear our Gospel with austerity; I will serve in the interests of solidarity between our peoples, and I will serve His Majesty as his liege man of life and limb. THEREFORE, Content as the Lord of Alba and happy heir to the Realm; AWARE of my long absence from the country, having tended to my faith in private piety; NOTING that the nobility of the Heartlands does live in prosperity as the authors of their own destinies; CONVINCED that the longevity of our nation state depends on the able advice of our leal councillors; CONSCIOUS that only our utmost sacrifice of duty to the realm will we create solidarity in these Heartlands; FEARING God and faithful to the High Pontiff as His Vicar; DESIROUS of a happy union and the smooth succession of the Crown undaunted by the anxieties and hardships of war and strife; DECLARES the Right to Life, Liberty, and Trial will always continue as the fundamental basis of the Realm; REAFFIRMS that the long friendship and commonwealth of Canonist realms will forever be my priority; PROCLAIMS to my future subjects that my whole life, however short or long it may be, will be dedicated to the ministrations of the United Kingdom and the happiness of its people. James Leopold Alstion, Lord of Alba

Though she never admitted it to him, Calliope had always looked up to Heinrich; during the long days of her training in Fausten, and then her former duties as a nun of the sisterhood, she admired her eldest brother's resolute bravery in the face of immense personal tragedy. Dull and uninterested as he might have appeared to the general public, she knew of his resilience and his intelligence, and aided in his efforts to steer the course of their royal House towards survival, then prosperity, during the Century of Humiliation. Heinrich was now gone, and along with Mathilda's passing, left a gaping void in her heart that no prayer nor the call to regency could mend.

Calliope Renata unfurled the ancient Alstreim war banner atop Corwinsburg, prepared to give her life, released from servitude, in employ of the Black Dragon. She donned her Salvian uniform and prepared to join the Aaunic levies alongside her kin.

Sister Calliope shuddered dangerously, the missive sliding out of her hands. All the Alstreim could spare in her grief other than a handful of tears was a set of frantic, quiet prayers, spoken in a hushed tone as if she did not truly believe one of her sisters by blood was now gone forever.

Sister Calliope peered over her nephew's shoulder so she might also read the missive, and resolved the same!

Sister Calliope wiped yet another tear off her cheek as she reviewed the missive, mailed to Corwinsburg minutes after its inception. "Let it be known that our father's sacrifice, and that of his Nauzican comrades, was not in vain- and that Alstreim's ancient oath was fulfilled."

The Witch, as Blair Fester was known in the Canonist school of Sutican historiography, was not forgotten - her fate and motives were the frequent subject of the most serious of debates between respected scholars. "The historical fact was, of course, that the Blair Witch was deeply and passionately in love with King Corwin, and that her attempts to seize the crown of Sutica stemmed from this unrequited advance, as the King loved only Waldenian lager, his wife Adelheid, and God, in that order," said Sir Daris Verethi to his Salvian crewmates amidst a very deep conversation aboard the Victory of Ceru. The sailors rolled another hand of dice poker.

Postcard depicting the Royal Salvian Academy of Saint Ottomar in Fausten, 1890 ((Leuven Town Hall, Samuel Prout)) [!] An exotic postcard signed by one Reinmaren pilgrim known as Martin Barclay is delivered to the Almarian County of Minitz, addressed to his kinsmen Leon and Stanimar Barclay, via the Salvian Fleet. ((Please do not metagame and RP the contents of this letter unless they are shared by the recipients.)) @GoodGuyMatt @argonian Dear Leon and Stanimar, I am well and I have arrived safely in Fausten. I’ll not waste any paper on describing the discomforts of my trip; by the time this postcard reaches you, it’ll have been almost a year of my stay! Please send my regards to Orion and Petsch, and to whoever supplied me with a barrel of pickled beets for the journey (my gratitude can’t be overstated, really). I am writing this note a day into my so far successful pilgrimage, from my quarters in a quaint little inn in Neustadt, close to the docks and friendly to outlander pilgrims - they call it Sunny Salvus, and the name’s been fitting thus far, for the heat is incomparable to Minitz. The prices are equally unbearable, reminding me daily of my outlander origins, but they have a fund for us royal Waldenians, Alstreims and the sort, so I’ve managed - I’ll write about it in detail another time. To my own surprise, I’ve managed to get two whole florins for my haul, and the yearly lease costs me one florin, but thankfully I’ve received five more from the royal foundation. It’s a shame I can’t bring them back! On the account of the foundation they’ve assigned me a tour guide from the royal knights, though I suspect he’s in equal part a bodyguard and a chaperone, not the least that he was assigned to me immediately following the transit inspection. I can’t name him in this letter - Salvians think it brings bad luck. The sights and beauties of Fausten are too many and vast to name. The view off the deck upon the last hours of the journey was so captivating it will forever remain ingrained in my memory: the grand Salvian Citadel’s sprawl upon the eastern cliffs and the Whaler wharfs and factories lined to the west, Neustadt nestled in between them, and above it rising the plateau of Old Fausten. After arranging my lease and inquiring with the tour guide, we set off towards the old city core on foot. Never before have I seen a city as grand as Fausten: the bustle and prosperity of the avenues of Neustadt, orderly, clean, well-lit and paved, lined with palm trees, flags, decorative banners and lamps. The Salvians, humans and dark elves both, mingled in between pillars and upon the squares and traversed the streets in their fine, rich garments without another care in the world. On our way we saw Lilith’s Landing, the point where the Sutican expedition had first made landfall a century and a half ago, and visited and paid our respects at the Cathedral of Blessed Laura, one of Fausten’s own Salvian matrons and benefactors; and once we crossed the Vanguard into Old Fausten and began our ascent, it pained me greatly that Almaris would never see such peace and progress, the least of all our Waldenian people, unless we made a concerted effort to change our destructive ways. That being said, in Fausten they have no Raevir. The serenity of the Old Town differed from Neustadt below, though its stone houses and marble palaces were just as impressive. Where they did not inhibit the structures or passages, vines and trees were allowed to grow freely. Here its Atheran history weighed upon us vividly: the Syndicate Assembly, the old Salvian palace rebuilt, was a sight to behold, and so was the Royal Academy - I ought to visit Father Leopold there. At the royal foundation nearby I was told the Syndic would receive me for an audience next month, as a Barclay! We also saw Corwin’s Arch, which Salvians call Fausten’s Gate of Oblivion - I’m not certain what its story is, other than the fact that it obviously wasn’t built by King Corwin, but knightly patrols treat the otherworldly structure with great reverence (always from a distance). The crown jewel and the purpose of my pilgrimage was, of course, the Basilica of Saint Ottomar, a monolith larger than many Almarian towns: a fitting resting place for the Martyr King’s relics. We were turned away from entering at the time, however, since the Regiment began preparing its security measures for the hundredth anniversary of Saint Ottomar’s death, though they were willing to pose with us for a quick painting. I’ve attached it to the letter below, and I’ll write about the Basilica in detail once I manage to enter. [!] A street artist’s painting of Martin and his official tour guide, posing before the Basilica of the Intercession of Saint Ottomar and its honor guard of the Royal Salvian Regiment. ((Classic Cathedral, Bixx @ PMC)) On our way back to the Sunny Salvus, the tour guide brought me to a traditional Salvian guild festival: the fisheries were celebrating the Saint’s Week’s haul with a public feast. I was free to take part despite not being a citizen, and a Farfolk maid taught me one of their dances, which we practiced together until sundown. I’ve been thinking, Stanimar, that I might stay for a while longer, for as long as I can afford to. The townsfolk have been nothing but friendly, and I believe I’ve much more to learn from the Salvians. I hope you’ve been well and that Minitz hasn’t helped topple another kingdom in my absence - stay safe, or as the Salvians say in parting: Wealth beyond measure, [!] A stamp was additionally affixed to the postcard: PASSED BY R. S. R. CENSOR. GOD SAVE OUR INCORRUPTIBLE KING

"Why, Matthias?" Sister Calliope asked the missive quietly, content to dwell on her anger and sorrow in the resulting silence. Tears streamed down her visage, but her mien was stoic and motionless as always. Thoughts of unholy rituals and plots swarmed her mind, that her friend had doomed his family and himself to eternal suffering, and she wondered if coming back from Fausten to these wretched lands was worth it.

Sister Calliope wondered if the old sailors of her ship she had bequeathed to them found employ in Haeseni service, and prayed for their endeavors to be righteous and noble so they might receive a heavenly reward in kind.

"If God is dead, how come we'll easily wreck you in this crusade with His guidance? Checkmate Xionist," said Sister Calliope to the paper, destroying the author with facts and logic before preparing to destroy Serheim with fire and sword.

"A wonderful publication on Empress Anne Jrent, the illegitimate yet beloved daughter of Emperor Charles," said a Salvian enjoyer of outlander history known as Sir Daris Verethi, delivering this well-known historical fact to his fellow crewmates of the Task Force along with the missive, in between rounds of Waldenian dice poker.

On the Matter of Daelish Succession LET IT BE KNOWN to all free Highlanders of the Daelish clans, and any Lowlanders whom it may concern: I, Roy Mor Charleson, Chief of Clan Gromach and Warden and Protector of the Daelish Crown, which has duly been reclaimed for the faithful among our People in the Daelish Treaty of Vistulia after decades of abuse and misrule by false Daelishmen, have through Divine grace and favor and clerical counsel set to resolve the matter of its inheritance; thus I do decree, after lengthy deliberation: I. That the Daelish Crown is to be deemed abeyant, and that the Clan of Gromach is to remain its safeguard and protector following my passing. II. That none shall be bestowed the restored Daelish Crown and the right of lordship over the Highland clans but one chosen by the Daelish Kingsmoot of the faithful clan chiefs, at a time when such a Kingsmoot is capable of convening in numbers. III. That those faithful clan chiefs shall be deemed the Canonist leaders of the historic Clans of Gromach, Ferguson, Guthrie and Drummond, and that the right of election also be granted to any other Canonist clan which can field fifty men-at-arms. IV. That no Lowlander, pagan, or nonhuman shall ever be considered viable for the restored Daelish Crown, and that the candidates shall be Daelish men of sound mind and good repute and health, capable of wielding a Daelish claymore and carrying a lifting stone, who profess the one true Canonist faith and discard the Cantyrist belief. V. That the Oath of Saint Malcolm be sworn by the elect at the holy site at Alba or another suitable holy site of the Daelish, and that he be crowned by the Holy Mother Church. VI. That the Holy Mother Church, and friends of the Daelish clans, the Lord of Alba, the Margrave of Grodno and the Prince of Merryweather, be considered foreign guarantors of the Daelish succession, and that the Piast of Vistulia be a welcome observer to the Kingsmoot. VII. That the Clan of Gromach shall uphold this act of succession and defend it from any Lowlander interference until a time the Daelish king can be chosen. By God, the Creator of all things, His Exalted, and Saint Malcolm, our holy patron, I do so swear. Concluded upon the holy site at Alba on the 2nd of Godfrey’s Triumph, 1890. Roy Mor Charleson, Chief of Clan Gromach, Warden and Protector of the Daelish Crown

"Gie it back, ye villains!" cried the last Daelishman known as Roy Mor, already brandishing his claymore in the event any Novellen whelps needed to be shortened for a head...