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TheIchorDruid

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    Rae#3015
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    TheIchorDruid

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    Female

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  • Character Name
    Quillian Csarathaire ~ Winnifred Alimar ~ Ceres Welier'siol ~
  • Character Race
    Wood Elf ~ Human ~ Dark Elf ~

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  1. To the abandoning, Kazimir var Ruthern. Not often is it that I bring myself to the public light or play the theatrics of petty noble quarrels. For I was raised better, taught to humble myself and these temporary afflictions of ill-intent or distaste, until this hour. For it is within this hour you have provoked my ire and such is not something so easily achieved as I grow older. Ruthern blood courses through my veins, it is this blood that impels me to address your pathetic retorts with the fire of resentment. Often it is spoken that blood is thicker than the frozen ices of the North, that the bonds of the Hammerhead are unbreakable, yet your absence has torn the very fabric of our familial relations asunder. You dare parade yourself akin a peacock, grant yourself the titleage of guardian of this lineage, invoking admiration for my father, your own brother, whose demise was not truly granted at the steel of my brother, the Lord of Vidaus, but at the deterioration of his own mind. How convenient it must seem to craft such a narrative of blame, when you yourself carry just as much. Absolving yourself, in the name of the Exalted Owyn, of any culpability. To reiterate what I pen, as you flourish an inadeptness at understanding the confines of my brother’s address, my father did not meet his end at the blade of my brother as you so vehemently insist. No, his demise was the consequence of a different ahversary altogether - the demons of his own mind, a descent into madness that followed the wake of my mother’s, Analiesa’s, passing. An action my brother drew in mere self-defence. Not just of himself, but the defence of his children, of this house and of Ruthern’s sanctity. Ah, but you, ensconced within your distant wanderings, could not possibly have been aware of these afflictions in which befell my family, could you? This is simply a matter of observation, the fact that your wanderlust severed your connection with us long before the birth of your nieces and nephews. You speak so profoundly of the former Lord, my father, lamenting his “wretchedness”, stating you would not stoop as low as my brother but it was you that attributed to the poison of my father’s mind. You, his brother. You revoked any support, you abandoned your bonds. I ask of you, where were you within the darkest hours of our house, during the anguished cries echoed through our ancestral halls? You, who claim reverence for our lineage, an unspoken love for our family, yet where were you to defend us when it mattered? When the titleage of heir was thrust upon our Lord at the ripe age of ten, when Analiesa left us - where was this comfort then? Your presence was conspicuously absent. We do not know you, my siblings and I; our memories of you are but fragments of distant recollections. You Kazimir, are but a whisper. And now you attempt to speak for us, to imprint your influence on actions you did not see. Though your actions speak a contradictory story. Our cousin, your own son, raised beneath the auspices of my father and mother - may their souls rest in peace - knows you only as a figure in which abandoned him, a father whom was more phantom than presence. Thus I will excuse your slander, for you know not what it takes to be a father. You do not understand the fierce protection of one, especially when the welfare of your young is threatened. For in truth, you have never been a father. Thus, before you continue to spout tales of cravens and kinship, I beseech you to reckon with your own past, to recognize the echoes of betrayal at your hand in which reverberates throughout our family’s history. Your words ring hollow in the ears of those who have truly borne witness to the trials and tribulations that have befallen us. Furthermore, let it be known, dear uncle, that should you continue to tread the treacherous path of half-truths and false claims, if you dare harbour any built intentions of drawing steel against the very blood of my own, it will not be the blade of my brother in which severs the ties that binds us. No, it shall be the blade of my own that will separate your head from your shoulders, should it come to such dire confrontations. You may have strayed from the path of our family, but I Stefaniya of Vidaus, remain steadfast, a true guardian of our history and torchbearer of honour. My resolve is unshakable, my persistence resolute. If you truly value your own blood, if you wish to honour our former Lord of Vidaus, then cease your deceitful proclamations and rejoin our halls in full. May this letter serve as both a warning and opportunity of redemption. The choice is yours, uncle, and the consequence of your decisions shall be borne upon your shoulders alone. Your dearest niece, Lady Stefaniya Ipera vas Ruthern
  2. From afar, a gaunt, sickly thing would assess the advertisement, a brow arched. "A warming thing, to see such care taken for our departed." She hummed, soon pocketing the crumpled paper and going on about her day.
  3. Looking to get in some more practice with heads! If you're a new player wanting a new head, send me a dm on discord. Rae#3015

  4. Someone, somewhere, wept for the loss of the once Maor.
  5. K N O W T H Y P A T H The winds blew cold this day, even as the promise of Spring arrived against the horizon. The woman still felt the chill. Announced by goosebumps against her dirt-covered flesh. This day, the woman contemplated all that had come to pass and yet to be. There was no joy against her complexion, no contentment. How could someone with still so much left to accomplish be satisfied with their fate? A fate at the end of a ledge, a watery grave the only thing promised to her as she stared into their bitter depths. Even whilst the northern winds tore at her ivory mane, she did not flinch. For it was not death that troubled her mind, it was regret. Sorrow. She thought of all those she had come to know. The many were a lengthened river of candlelight within a darkened realm. Here she found herself smiling, chin raised to the setting sun over the ocean planes. How a flaxen-haired mali’aheral drowned shared sadness at the bottom of a porcelain cup. A lively boy in the midst of panic grew to be a promising man. Or an eccentric oddity that drew the wool from her blinded eyes, bringing truth to all she believed to know. There were many pillars that supported the treacherous lifestyle of hers. Bonds that no matter how their end was fated, were regarded with care still. The regret she finally addressed, came to be provoked by her stagnancy. Her reluctance. And in this final moment, she had learned how foolish she had been. Pride marring each action she had drawn. The woman soon lost her smile, engulfed by her thoughts. How hard she had tried to keep things afloat, to satiate the near-impossible demands made of her. Though try as she had, she understood that a cycle designed to tear itself apart could never be mended. She could never mend it. And so, as her bare feet inched closer to the edge. The maiden bid herself to the water’s depths. These letters are not RP knowledge and the information in each are suited for the addressed person only. To Ayako [ @Lockages ] To Elarhil [ @riorr ] To Lesley, [ @Saun_399 ] To Melandrach, [ @christman ] To Todd, [ @Toddbringer] To Manon, [ @esotericas ] To Adam, [ @Benleft ] To Lorien, [ @BonesOfTheEarth ] To Roland, [ @GamblersPalm ] To Astark, [ @White_Wolf ] To Castiel, [ @Unwillingly ] To Akemi, [ @Moonish_Imp]
  6. ╔═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗ ╚═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝ It is no easy thing for any no matter the age, for an individual to bid farewell to one they hold so dear. No book, words or preparation can ever bring the unimaginable grief that follows any ease. As the House of Ruthern announce the loss of our beloved Elizaveta, it was only seen as just to publish the young Stefaniya's writing. A poem designed to commemorate the memory of our departed and ease the sorrow that many feel stricken within their hearts. Elizaveta was a remarkable young girl that left her impression on many and through those memories we wholeheartedly know that her legacy will continue to live through us. We thank all who have sent their well wishes and condolences, without such unrelenting support we know our unrelenting sorrow would not be eased. T H E C O M E T R E T U R N E D A comet streaked across the sky, her parents gazed in awe and love. As a little girl took her first cry, their little angel fallen from above. She grew up full of might, her smile apparent in every room. A star that shone through every night, and her laughter dispelled any gloom. But fate had other plans in store, the comet returned with a solemn grace. And soon she was ill, weak, and sore, as the little girl prepared to leave this place. Her time was short, but oh so sweet, her memory will shine on forevermore. A life that touched so many hearts and streets, even as she returns to heaven's door. Though tears may fall, and hearts may break, in the arms of God, she'll rest and play. We know that she is now awake, until we meet again someday. So let her memory be a guiding light, and in our hearts, she'll forever stay. A star that shines so pure and bright, our little comet that lighting up our way. Written by Lady Stefaniya vas Ruthern, 18th of Snow’s Maiden, 121 SA.
  7. Stefaniya remained at her sister's bedside, eyes widened with horror and the events her young little mind thought impossible "Vy were meant to teach mea to be like vy, sestra. ." She cried out, affixed to Elizaveta's bedside hours after the announcement. Servants and family alike having failed at seeing the youngest removed. "Et was never meant to be vy. . Vyr our comet, vy were meant for so much more. ."
  8. IGN: TheIchorDruid IC NAME: Stefaniya vas Ruthern AGE (What division are you competing in?): 5 - Junior SUPERVISOR: Uh-.. TBD
  9. THE BALLOT ((MC Name: )) Name: Ellandria'ahern Vote 1: Luthrien Maeyr'onn Vote 2: Luthrien Maeyr'onn
  10. [!] A parchment would be delivered to His Excellency, delivered by a curious little beast in which adorned the features of an owl though peculiarly the body of a feline.
  11. C E R T A I N T Y I S R U I N “K N O W T H Y S E L F” And so it began, with flashes of fire and screams filling the air.. “My chera. I will give you the world, its treasures and more..” Whilst smoke broiled, wood splintered and lungs began their demise. That Hawk did not fear, instead it was an odd bliss that came about her tired frame as feet staggered through the crackling wood beneath her feet.. finding the ledge of that ablaze tower of Dun an Ein. The voice of her mother reassuring Darya, flashes of imagery arose.. As the flames clawed higher, the struggling group of Dun an Ein scrambled with what little energy they had left. Hacking.. Slicing. Door after door.. Struggle after struggle. “Sestra! Please.. Jump to us!” Bellowed the voice of Angelika of Vidaus, though the voice of hers would soon be lost beneath the noise of roaring flames.. She of Caermad would not hear. “Blood spilt, I care not if it means the safety of you.” Then accompanied another voice, warmth licked against her flesh as those eyes found themselves looking between the immense drop of below and each face of her creed she had come to love. Angelika.. Solun.. Verres.. Masuo.. Though that voice beckoned her attention, Joseph’s form stood beside her with a softened smile. Higher and higher those flames swarmed, ash spiraling like that of flies.. The form of Darya remained unmoving, peripheral leaving her comrades and instead viewed that drop once more. “It is by the decree of this Imperial Crown, that Darya d’Azor shalt serve these Hexers in place of my daughter..” The chin of Empress Anastasia lofted, yet another form coming to appear behind the burning body of that Hexer. The sternness within the Imperial monarch’s voice remained, offering all but a singular nod. The floors began to cave within themselves, the body of Kolette of Rolin long since engulfed by the carnage. Though still Darya did not come to move, riddled with an agonizing conflict. “Must you leave me? Will I ever see you again?” It was the voice of Gino d’Falcone then, the illusion of how Darya once saw him within her youth. His steps were drawn forth, coming to stand beside that dying Hawk and staring off into the horizon ahead. Once again did the voice of Angelika erupt, yet this time did the sheer terror of such scream that bring Darya to her senses. To a brief fleeting clarity “No! You have just returned to us. Please.. jump to us! Think of Will!” W I L L O F B L A C K V A L E The remaining breath in those tarnished lungs hitched.. realization of who she would leave behind.. And so did Darya jump to she of Vidaus, eyes squeezing tightly closed. “N O T H I N G I N E X C E S S ” It was not arms that caught the fall of the Hawk. Instead she began to feel the flooding of air swarming beneath her frame. “Trust not that which lurks unseen in the clothing of sheep whose faces you haven't known. A hawk's gaze must penetrate that which seeks to deceive, and discern that which bears truth..” As that fall ensued the very world around Darya began to slow, an aged form molding within the very air beside her. The head of Edmond of Sava came to acknowledge her with a solemn frown. Those eyes of hers came to stare above, looking to the crumbling stronghold of the Hawks. Pieces of slate and wood caving within itself. “You were a thorn in my side. But the greatest pride I could have hoped for. My fated child..” As that body of hers continued to fall, another stature appeared.. falling, falling.. Arthur of Caermad’s palm intertwined betwixt the digits of Darya’s own -- gripping tightly. “C E R T A I N T Y I S R U I N” With a horrific thud did the being of Darya’s collide against the earth below, impacting all vitals. With a sharp splutter did an eruption of ichor come to don the chin of that deteriorating hawk. Those above witnessing the plummet of the Caermad. Angelika’s voice shortly came to shrill in disbelief. “DARYA!” It was a distant shock as that spotted peripheral stared upwardly, acknowledging the panicked expression of each of her comrades. “Ever unto the creed, sestra..” Did Solun of Esbec’s voice then call, eyes fixated beneath him. Such would be the last living words Darya of Caermad would come to hear before those eyes drifted to Arthur.. “Are you ready, my child?” “Ai.. Papu..” It was then darkness in which came to warm that Hawk’s peripheral. Darya of Caermad, one who lived and died by the creed, was no more. D A R Y A O F C A E R M A D 1844 - 1896
  12. You have been an absolute pleasure to know Jen and I could not be more thankful for the memories we got to share together. Cannot lie, its going to be hard to see you go but I wish you the best of luck within life and am proud to have seen the growth of you and your accomplishments over the years. (Also I hope you stub your toe.) Make sure to send me plenty of wedding photos.
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