LithiumSedai

Hit me.

Just a note: one of the central Atlas roads leading to Carolustadt was actually player-made, and laid out late in the map: With that being said, there certainly is a conclusion to be drawn from the screenshots - it's a shame that so many places were all but inaccessible from anywhere but the hubs early in this map...

Sister Calliope sighed. "Again with the sensationalism?" She went to wave the missive in front of her brother's eyes. "Verily, Mathilda can do all she likes- serve de Joannes as a general-dame, a wife, a governess, but she's not the patriarch. They'd do well to leave Corwinsburg out of their political games with Acre, for we honor our agreements both administrative and military." @Fireheart

"Since you like our culture and language so much, you can read about it here," said Sister Calliope, a Waldenian nun, delivering to the bride an early wedding gift.

The missive weighed heavily on Sister Calliope's mind as she observed Grodno from Saint Ottomar's Hill, hoping to catch sight of Maciej himself in their preparations for their exodus. "We all have our debts to pay, Matthias. I have paid mine, and my brother paid his - now it falls upon you and your people to brave your final test," she uttered to the wind, signing the Lorraine. She hoped she would see the Jazlovieckis again, in a happier time.

Sister Calliope eyed the missive with some concern, fidgeting with the parchment. "I do not think our brother was consulted regarding Corwinsburg's allegiance, which should lie with his Waldenian allies... Verily, whatever plot this is should not involve Alstreim."

Martin brings a Paint Thinner to Stanimar so they can kill time and brain cells together while they wait.

"Classic elves." Marty B. shrugged in response, sliding the missive across the table with a wary sweep of his finger, fearful of any lingering traces of elfen malaria. "I reckon it'd have taken them years to find their way to the frontlines anyway, feeble-minded as they are."

Regardless of what your opinion on Frill is, or anything he might or might not have done following his ban, the indisputable fact remains that his initial ban was shamelessly administered (and then arbitrarily doubled) for spreading a document exposing a well-known creep. The person in question remained without punishment for over a year until that very same document resurfaced on the forums. It leaves one wondering what changed in the meantime- oh, the person became an incredibly unpopular NL as opposed to having been in an entrenched line of succession protected by his nation's council consisting of entirely admins and mod managers? Alright. For those who remember 2018, Dewper's initial ban was mandated for a similar reason (and never amended even when the person he exposed got banned).

Martin Barclay, the famous Banardian entrepreneur, rushed to enlist. Full Name: Martin Barclay Age: Born 1852 Gender: Man Race: Man [Username: LithiumSedai] [Discord: LithiumSedai#2394]

Were Ulrich Lothar still alive, he would have welcomed his nephew's historical publication. Were he alive, he would have been overjoyed to engage in debate with him, historian-to-historian, regarding some of the more... questionable facts presented. Were he alive... He'd have informed him that Almarian months had only twenty-four days.

Basilica of the Intercession of Saint Ottomar in Fausten, 1870 ((Beauvais Cathedral, Colin Campbell Cooper)) [!] A letter bearing the Alstreim seal, from one Calliope Renata, is delivered to a fellow academic of the Royal Salvian Academy of Saint Ottomar, Fr. Leopold of Reinmar, via the Salvian Fleet. A copy of the letter soon finds its way to Almarian Reinmar, as well. @kipps To the Reverend Father Leopold of Reinmar, greetings; Calliope the Maiden, in service to the King of Kings and His Prophet Horen, our Father, informs you of her good tidings in the Realm of Almaris and of the ardent continuation of her holy mission to interpret and translate the numerous tracts and parables of the Rex Perpetuus. Provided alongside this note for the consideration of the Royal Academy is a sanctioned Common translation of the known parable of Virvyn’s wager, detailing a presumably truthful exchange between the Governor-and-Syndic of Atheran Salvus, Virvyn Verethi, and Saint Ottomar in his mortal tenure, assumed to have taken place in the 1788th Year of our Lord. I have taken the liberty of preserving its original intent and meaning in Waldenian through a thirteen-syllable poem. I commend you to God so that He may watch over you, if it so pleases Him. Virvyn’s Wager The Salvian lord rushed to meet the wizened Child-Prince, “Alas, Your Highness, we are lost!” he cried to convince: “The brain-rot has claimed your minister of coin, I fear, He screams like an ape and beats his chest for all to hear.” Hearing this, Prince Ottomar said: “Fear not. I’ve a cure: It will take but a minute - I bet ten florins pure.” Yet unconvinced, and eager to earn some easy gold, The governor showed his Prince that minister as told. The Prince came to speak quietly with the would-be ape: In a second his screeching ceased, his mouth left agape. The governor cried: “Fie! I’ve lost ten gold coins. I know Not how he was cured. Was his affliction just for show?” “It was indeed, good governor.” The Prince waved his hand. “I spoke in Raev, the apes’ tongue - he could not understand!”

If you had the chance to play Johanna all over again, what would you do differently this time? As an Orenian royal, what are your thoughts on Alstreim returning to Oren? When are we going to get married (in Minecraft)?

Calliope Renata made preparations to travel north to ensure that her brother's wedding reception remained holy.

After a night of prayer and reflection, Calliope Renata dictated her response to a scribe before breaking her fast. The woman still had a tenuous grasp of the Common tongue, and had her words roughly interpreted from Waldenian. @GMRO Great and formidable King of Haense, Fidei Defensor, Calliope the Maiden receives your reply in good spirit and delivers to you Saint Ottomar's blessings in turn. It is the duty of all faithful Sons and Daughters of Horen to support one another; and the fortress of Merryweather shall open its gates by your command to the knights of the Vandalore, and I shall ride out to meet my dear and good Waldenian friends so that they might judge the state of things in the South. I commend you to God, so that He may protect you.

Knights of the Canonist League storming the Uialbenite lines at the Rhein, 1834 ((The Turmoil of Conflict, Louis Maurice Boutet de Monvel)) [!] A letter bearing the Alstreim seal, from one Calliope Renata, is delivered to various Canonist leaders, monarchs and commanders, and presumably made public soon after. @Ramon @Lionhz @GMRO @Frymark @argonian To the most Holy Father, and to those loyal servants of God, the great Canonist Kings of Oren and of Hanseti-Ruska, the Lord Vandalore of the Waldenian People, and Admiral of the Salvian Force, greetings; Calliope the Maiden, in service to the King of Kings and His Prophet Horen, our Father, humbly requests and prays for your earnest assistance in the Southern matter which is the protection of Southern churches and reliquaries, and the defense of our Hyspian brothers and sisters in God. It has been made clear to me that the holy sites of our Faith and the resting places of my royal kin in the South, that which was defended so by those pious monarchs of Sutica and Savoy, are now beset by a certain tribe of pagan superstition; and I tell you that they have made disgraceful plans to frustrate Hyspian pilgrims, who had raised these sites alongside my royal kin, and Canonist settlers. And I beg and request of you, for the wellbeing of our Faith, that you will give this matter your attention, and that this vile superstition is by your reaction contained beyond the Southern mainland; and if it should so happen that they still seek to continue their persecution, that you will raise the Cross and enter the Southern towns of Myrine and Niseep, and the fortress of Merryweather where the Canonist flag is still flown, and remove from their isle and the South this heathen host. I commend you all to God; may He watch over you, if it so pleases Him.

Calliope Renata laughs at the Southern pagans with her Waldenian kin and Hyspian comrades, the true owners of the South.

In the chapel of Merryweather, Roy Mor lit a candle for his friend, the late Marshal, now reunited with his comrades of old; one of whom had been the lord of the castle he resided in. He pondered upon the ephemeral nature of human life.

please guys my dad is NOT a cop

The radiant soul of Holy Sir Armand stirred in its final resting place, moved by the piety and resolve of his old squire. He sought ways to manifest and bestow his favor upon the valiant defenders of the Church.

"Raevir peasants in the Outlands are getting uppity," Sir Daris Verethi explained to the Salvian sailors and the Whalers upon the Victory of Ceru, moored off the coast of Almaris on their latest intercontinental patrol - the men were fond of Outlander drama, particularly the latest missive, as Fausten utterly lacked such a type of petty excitement, owing to its lack of Ruskan serfs. He exchanged an amused glance with his compatriot and captain, Sir Helsuren. Both, as elves, were old enough to remember that the Haeseni kingdom of the Outlands partially owed its independence to the Sutican Motherland, whose Waldenian, Alstreim king led a coalition that weakened the Sarkozic empire the Rutherns had been subservient to. Another Waldenian king, in his saintly glory, had also interceded on the famed Ruthern marshal's behalf to ensure a Canonist victory at the Rhein. Daris had fought there, in any case. "Wouldn't it be funny if the Incorruptible King manifested again?" @argonian

What are some of your fondest RP experiences on the server? If you could be the NL of any existing LotC polity, past or present, which one would it be and why? Do you have a favorite LotC military uniform skin, and which one is it? On a scale of 1 to 10, how much do you miss Corwin and why is it 10? What are your thoughts on the current state of conflict on LotC?

Sir Daris Verethi penned his signature upon the treaty, warding off the evil spirits with a quick hand sign before crossing the Lorraine. "God save our Incorruptible King."

A depiction of Sir Daris Verethi, the Salvian envoy to the Waldenic Diet ((Golden Knight by JasonTN)) [!] A peculiar overseas missive is delivered to the Electors of the Waldenic Diet of Almaris, providing some context to the diplomatic dealings of the First Session. ((Please do not metagame and RP the contents of this letter unless they are shared by the recipients.)) SALVIANS OF FAUSTEN! For one glorious century have the Salvian laborers persevered in the restored lands of our fathers, brought back from decay and made anew by the unending struggle of our reclamation. It does befit the Salvian worker to master his own fate free from interference of outlanders: usurpers and opportunists feud with the Dynastic Union over the Motherland’s Crown while Fausten bleeds. It has been made evident to our People that, with the second collapse of Royal authority three decades ago, the Sutican Motherland once more exists in name only. And while the Dynastic Union still remains the safeguard of the Motherland’s Crown, any and all presence of outlander rule in Fausten also exists only in pretense. Therefore does the elected Syndic, with the certain dissolution of the defunct Governor’s Council in mind, and also the final fulfillment of Fausten’s sacred oath of service to the Dynastic Union, resolutely decree: THE SALVIAN SYNDICATE OF FAUSTEN KNOWS NO OUTLANDER OVERLORD. For the purpose of preserving the dignity of the Salvian Crown, bestowed by the Grace of GOD and the Will of the Salvian People, separated from the Sutican Crown and to which no living outlander may aspire any further, the elected Syndic does further decree: THE CROWN OF ATHERAN SALVUS BELONGS IN PERPETUITY TO SAINT OTTOMAR OF MERRYWEATHER. All residents of Fausten are hereby invited to witness the coronation of the Venerable King this Saint’s Month. GOD SAVE OUR ETERNAL AND INCORRUPTIBLE KING!

((Goblin Art by Caio Monteiro)) Burk’s Last Meal If, for any reason, anyone ever inquired among the many scattered friends of the traits of one peculiar goblin, the single fact all of them would agree on is that Burk loved food. If, for any reason, anyone ever called Burk’s appearance to memory, they would deem this fact an understatement. This particular kin of Krug, ever since his mysterious upbringing upon the realm of Atlas, cared and lived only for his next meal: his disposition was made evident by his grotesque, almost comical accumulation of body fat, layer upon layer of flabs wobbling and jiggling with Burk’s every step. This miraculous feat, having in mind the hastened metabolism of the goblin race, enhanced the reputation of Burk’s enormous appetite; truly, the goblin was ardent in his obliteration of anything a Descendant could rightly call a meal, devouring culinary masterpieces and stale bread alike and at every opportunity. On occasion, even objects made of cloth and wood found themselves crushed by Burk’s yellow-stained, orcish teeth, making for a hearty snack; he never shied away from carefully biting at metal bars and blocks of stone, testing their resolve. Any other accounts of Burk’s virtues and vices paled in comparison, and remained irrelevant to most others. Perhaps the goblin was peaceful, known for his carefree demeanor and wandering gaze - though some elder Suticans could recall him winning honor duels against dwarves, and partaking in the defense of Sutica at Hangman’s Keep and in the Whispering Woods despite his odd physique. Perhaps the goblin’s sense of fashion was peculiar, known for a strange affinity towards tropical clothing; perhaps the goblin was, for the greater part of his life, a whitewash trader and wanderer. He appreciated friends and his companion animals, conversed with kings and emperors, peddled goods mystical and mundane. Above all, still, he valued food and each and every fortunate chance to sate his hunger. The Spirits factored into his life nearly as much as any other orc’s - but if the Creator’s gaze still rested upon Terra, Burk would have no doubt been rightfully crowned the embodiment of earthly gluttony. It was even when the Oyashiman samurai forced him, subdued, to kneel beneath their master’s blade that Burk thought of food. The Haeseni retinue had rudely abandoned him in his slumber, taking with them their delicious rations. The timber lining their ship’s deck, the sturdy planks underneath his maw seemed inviting enough, begging for his stained chompers to brave a bite. His maw unhinged, disturbing his many chins, as the katana rose above his neck, and he dug his teeth into the plank as the blade swept downwards. His final thoughts were of his last meal.