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TO UPLIFT THE SILENT MAJORITY: THE BILL THAT ALTERED ORENIAN SUCCESSION A DETAILED ACCOUNT OF THE INCEPTION, MOVEMENT AND LEGACY OF THE ROSEMOOR CONVENTION CHAPTERS V & VI The Passage & The Aftermath A THESIS STUDY FROM THE UNIVERSITY PRESS OF VARBRAND ACADEMY BY MS. PROVENTIA DE TALLEYRAND-PERIGOLD ADJUNCT PROFESSOR OF ROSEMOORIST AND WOMEN’S STUDIES VARBRAND ACADEMY CHAPTERS I-IV “I wish you knew what I have tried to build from the foundations you laid - how much of it is owed to watching you govern with patience rather than spectacle, with endurance rather than indulgence. Rosemoor is no great conquest, no spectacle. It is built from the principles I learned from you. It is slow, deliberate, and is the kind of work that will outlast long after the victories fade.” A LETTER TO DAUGHTERS An excerpt of private correspondence from Princess Elizabeth Anne, dated 1829. Published by Madame Sibylla Ashford de Anjou “Women of Tradition” depicting three key Rosemoorists: Claude de Savoie, Helena Basrid and Victoria Kaphro, by Thomas Victor Cardinham (c. 1831). Foreword When I first undertook this work, I did not imagine it would escape the quiet company of scholars, NGS archivists, and the occasional age-old devoted Rosemoorist. The early chapters were written as an act of preservation - an attempt to rescue from obscurity a moment in our history that had been flattened, simplified, or willfully forgotten. Yet history, it seems, has a habit of listening when we speak honestly of it. Therefore, I am pleased to offer the next chapters of this historical thesis study, detailing the fallout of Princess Elizabeth’s death, the passage of Rosemoor, and the philosophy’s persistence under subsequent Orenian rulers. This work is not instruction, nor is it advocacy; it is quiet reflection for those who find themselves interested enough to listen. — Prof. Proventia de Talleyrand-Perigold CHAPTER V: THE ROSEMOOR CONVENTION The Passage “Thus, we must not forsake or push off women's efforts to achieve this idea should it be the will of God to allow them to take it. Women who lack the more fragile femininity that is expected of them should be encouraged that their path was carved out first by St. Emma Vladov and that they should never stray from it if they are on it.” ON PARADOXICAL WOMANHOOD, 1847 An excerpt of an essay by Acolyte Ioannes Novellen, grandson to Princess Elizabeth by way of her daughter Helena Augusta. THE SHADOW OF ELIZABETH The years immediately following the death of Princess Elizabeth were marked not by resolution, but by a deep and unsettled fracture throughout Orenian society. With her passing in 1831, the Rosemoor Bill ceased to be merely a legislative proposal and became something far more enduring. Though no formal debates were scheduled and no motions advanced for some years, the question Rosemoor posed only grew more urgent. What had once been contested policy hardened into principle, and the Princess Imperial had become a martyr of the Rosemoor cause. Elizabeth’s absence did not diminish the movement she had championed. On the contrary, her public humiliation and subsequent death gave Rosemoor a greater moral gravity - to many across the Empire, the bill’s failure was no longer a matter of parliamentary disagreement but now one of institutional cruelty. Pamphleteers, protestors, and even moderate conservatives increasingly spoke not of reform, but of shame. Rosemoor lived on as an accusation, inseparable from Elizabeth’s memory. The failure of Rosemoor itself also intensified public unrest. Protests intensified across the capital; pamphlets multiplied, vigils were held, and blue lotus insignia, once marks of defiance, were worn openly in mourning and remembrance. Common women and noblewomen alike - joined at times by sympathetic men - published open letters, essays, and petitions in support of Rosemoor, many of which named Philip Augustus directly, holding him personally accountable for both the bill’s defeat and the silencing of Princess Elizabeth. For Emperor John VIII, the loss of his sister was devastating. Contemporary accounts describe a ruler consumed by grief and fury in equal measure, haunted by Elizabeth’s treatment at the hands of the House of Lords. Her death left him deeply at odds with the political establishment, particularly his brother Prince Philip Augustus, and this bitterness was soon matched by a growing withdrawal from public life. In the years that followed, John sank into a prolonged depression, becoming increasingly absent from court and governance - a decline that continued unbroken until his death in 1837. Politically, the fallout proved destabilizing. Prince Philip Augustus, whose opposition to Rosemoor (and by extension the beloved Elizabeth) had been among the most visible, found himself increasingly isolated in the public eye. Wider opinion turned sharply against him, and he was forced into a reactive posture, scrambling to recover legitimacy in the eyes of both the populace and the court. His efforts to temper his image were largely unsuccessful; the stain of Elizabeth’s death and Rosemoor’s failure would follow him throughout his rise. Thus, in the immediate aftermath of the Princess Imperial’s death, the Empire entered a period of moral reckoning. The court fractured, the Emperor withdrew, public trust eroded, and Rosemoor - though defeated - refused to die. What followed would not be a quiet return to order, but a slow accumulation of pressure that would reshape the Empire in ways few could yet foresee. "The Rosemoor Debate: A Chamber of Men Decide the Fate of Women” by Rosemoor extremist and artist Mathilde von Braune (c. 1832). Many critics of the time pointed out the absurdity of the House of Lords chamber consisting solely of men, yet responsible for debating and determining the validity of Rosemoor succession. THE PASSAGE OF ROSEMOOR Though Elizabeth Anne had passed and the Emperor had withdrawn, the question of Rosemoor refused to disappear. On the contrary, it hardened. What had once been debated as reform now lingered as reckoning, and the intensity of the political atmosphere in Providence prompted a return to the floor of the House of Lords. In the immediate aftermath of Elizabeth’s death in 1831, an enraged John VIII dissolved the Twenty-Fifth Imperial Diet. Though the dissolution was publicly framed as an administrative necessity, few doubted its political intent. Over the following years, the Emperor worked deliberately but quietly to reshape the House in Rosemoor’s favour. He appointed two known sympathizers: the Duke of Sunholdt, a personal friend of Elizabeth’s, and the Count of Temesch, her son-in-law, carefully assembling a narrow but viable majority. Between 1833 and 1836, John employed every means available to him short of direct decree. He privately pressured wavering lords, reminded them pointedly of the constitutional irregularities of the previous censure, and made clear that the moral failure of the debate had not been forgotten by the crown. Though it is tempting to interpret John VIII’s sudden and deliberate pursuit of Rosemoor as an act of vengeance for his late sister, it would be imprudent to ignore the political necessity that underpinned the move. By the mid-1830s, the imperial court itself was faltering. Princess Elizabeth was dead, and with her passed one of the court’s principal architects. Shortly thereafter, the court suffered a second destabilizing loss with the death of Princess Amadea in 1834, the wife of the third-in-line to the throne, whose beloved reputation and influence had further sustained the palace’s internal cohesion. In the wake of these losses, the women of the Empire reacted not with grief alone, but with withdrawal. Outraged by Elizabeth’s censure and the failure of Rosemoor, many noblewomen refused to host events, oversee social seasons, or perform the informal yet essential labor that animated court life. Several noble wives abandoned their ceremonial and administrative duties altogether, returning to their estates in protest or retreating into deliberate silence. The palace, once celebrated for its vitality and cohesion under John VIII’s stewardship, grew conspicuously stagnant. Receptions were sparsely attended, correspondence slowed, and the intricate social machinery upon which imperial governance relied began to falter. Rosemoor’s support, however, was not confined to the palace walls. In Providence, public demonstrations continued unabated, their persistence signaling that the Convention had outgrown its origins as a noble initiative. Influential city metropolitans, prominent leaders, and several statesmen openly voiced their support for renewed debate, framing Rosemoor not as radical reform but as a civic necessity. The House of Commons had already voted in favor of the bill, lending it democratic legitimacy even in the absence of imperial authority. By 1835, the reality was unavoidable: the Empire wanted Rosemoor. This placed unprecedented pressure upon John VIII, who found himself besieged on two fronts; a court rendered immobile through protest and absence, and a capital increasingly unified in its demands. In 1836, prompted by the reconvening of the imperial diet, the Rosemoor Bill returned to the floor of the House of Lords. The streets of Providence were volatile; crowds gathered outside the chamber, waiting for news, while young noblewomen reportedly sat along the corridor with their ears pressed to the doors, straining to hear the debate within. Unlike the outward tension that had defined the earlier proceedings, the atmosphere this time was notably restrained. From the outset, it was clear that Azor, Temesch, and Kositz stood firmly in favor of the bill, delivering measured speeches that framed Rosemoor not as radical upheaval but as moral correction. Once the matrilineal marriage provisions were clarified, the Duke of Sunholdt declared his unwavering support. Equally striking was the silence of Prince Philip Augustus, the Duke of Crestfall. Philip, once among Rosemoor’s most vocal opponents, spoke scarcely a word during the debate. Contemporary accounts agree that this silence was neither accidental nor reflective. In the weeks preceding the vote, John VIII is said to have confronted his brother privately and with uncharacteristic severity. Sources claim the Emperor made it plain that continued opposition to Rosemoor would cost Philip imperial favor altogether, including most pointedly John’s support for Philip’s succession. The threat was unmistakable. Whether out of fear, calculation, or resentment, Philip did not rise against the bill. He neither defended his earlier objections nor rallied opposition, and when the vote was called, he cast his support in favor. Only two voices dissented. Cardinal Proventia objected on doctrinal grounds, arguing that Church teaching stood in opposition to Rosemoor’s principles. His protest, however, was swiftly dismantled by Temesch, who challenged both the Cardinal’s authority and his interpretation of scripture, leaving the Cardinal isolated and largely ignored. The Duke of Cathalon, by contrast, remained unyielding. A hardline opponent, Cathalon delivered a tirade marked by extremism rather than persuasion, at one point claiming that Rosemoor would lead lords to smother their firstborn daughters. The Duke of Sunholdt responded with cutting restraint, asking simply, “Would you smother your daughter, Lord Helvets?” The remark drew an audible reaction from the chamber. During the recess before the vote, the depth of public investment in the outcome became unmistakable. Cathalon, exiting the chamber briefly, was confronted by a group of Rosemoorist protestors who attempted to bar his return, pressing against the doors and shouting accusations of cruelty and cowardice. Though the effort ultimately failed and Cathalon forced his way back inside, the incident revealed how much the bill’s fate mattered beyond the chamber walls. Rosemoor was no longer merely a matter for lords and procedure; it had become a public reckoning, watched and contested by the city itself. When the vote was finally called, the tension inside Providence was palpable. Rosemoor passed five votes to two. Only Cathalon and Cardinal Proventia voted against. On the 20th of Horen's Calling, 1836, Rosemoor became law. The reaction was immediate and overwhelming. Bells rang across the city, crowds surged through the streets, and blue lotus symbols - once worn in mourning - were displayed openly in celebration. Elizabeth’s name was spoken as often as the law itself; her identity was tied to the Rosemoor philosophy indefinitely, culminating in the naming of the bill as the Elizabeth Rosemoore Succession Bill. What had begun as a proposal, and endured as a grievance, finally emerged as statute. Rosemoor was not merely legislative success. It was an act of delayed justice - imperfect, hard-won, and inseparable from loss. That it passed at all, after years of humiliation, grief, and resistance, stands as one of the Empire’s crowning moments in innovation and progress. John VIII died less than a year after Rosemoor’s passage, and it is popular belief that seeing the bill pass and his dearest sister’s work immortalised was his final, ailing wish. Yet, Rosemoor’s passage did not quite usher in stability. If anything, it clarified fault lines already present within the imperial family and the court. The law’s success came at a cost: it deepened John VIII’s estrangement from his brother and exposed the fragility of Philip Augustus’ position as heir. Rosemoor passed as a moral vindication, but it left behind a court divided, a succession unsettled, and an Emperor nearing the end of his reign. In retrospect, Rosemoor marked not only the fulfillment of the late Princess Imperial’s legacy, but the beginning of a far more turbulent chapter. For Prince Philip Augustus, who would be crowned as Philip II in 1837, it would prove to be a defining moment from which his decline became unavoidable. CHAPTER VI: THE ROSEMOOR CONVENTION The Aftermath “Let GOD decide the fate of the Rosemoor bill but do not forget, our lords, that a nation is only as close to GOD and glory as the men who encompass it and, for better or worse, Oren's men seek to break the shackles of tradition. Its nobility must follow suit should it wish to survive modernity.” UNITY ABOVE ALL ELSE, 1831 An excerpt of a public letter in support of Rosemoor penned by Elizabeth’s daughter Helena Augusta, and her niece Victoria Kaphro “Awaiting the Blue Lotus” depicting three women observing the House of Lords chamber from their window, by Mathilde von Braune (c. 1836). It is alleged that noblewomen were hanging from balconies and windows in Providence, barred from standing in the streets, but straining to observe the proceedings of the second Rosemoor debate nonetheless. THE REIGN THAT ROSEMOOR UNDERMINED: PHILIP II Rosemoor’s passage marked not the consolidation of Philip II’s authority, but the beginning of its steady collapse. In retrospect, much of his downfall can be traced to the moment he publicly opposed the bill. Where his sister had framed succession reform as an act of moral continuity, Philip II treated it as a concession wrested from an Empire already slipping beyond his control. Though Rosemoor entered the statute books, its success deepened his isolation and ensured that his brief and widely despised reign would be defined not by achievement, but by repression, suspicion, and the gradual erosion of imperial legitimacy. The law’s passage drove a lasting wedge between Philip and John VIII during the latter’s final years. Outraged by Philip’s conduct and disillusioned by the House that had humiliated Elizabeth, John withdrew both personal support and political guidance. He made no effort to prepare Philip for rule, and offered little advocacy on his behalf. Though Philip’s concession to vote in favour of the bill earned him imperial support for his succession, this was on paper only; when John VIII died, Philip inherited not a stable throne, but a court and city that already despised him. Philip II was deeply unpopular, and this unpopularity was neither subtle nor contained. Accounts describe a ruler spoken of with open disdain in public forums, the court, and literary circles. Liberal statesmen refused to support him, and many imperial women and sympathetic noblemen - still disenfranchised by his opposition to the bill - withdrew from courtly responsibilities or departed the empire altogether. Rosemoor had inflicted a wound upon Philip II’s reputation from which he never recovered. His role in resisting the convention, and the treatment of Elizabeth that preceded it, became inseparable from his public image - an emblem of rigidity, resentment, and oppression. Though he later softened his public stance and voted in favour, this shift was driven by outrage, necessity, and force from John VIII rather than genuine ideological change. His position weakened further when his grandson Prince Philip Amadeus and his wife Anastasia disappeared from the Empire in 1836, removing both a political counterweight and a stabilizing presence within the succession. The irony is not lost on this author that Philip II’s fragile reign was held together by Princess Imperial Josephine Augusta, his own daughter. As imperial archchancellor, she navigated court intrigue, tempered factional conflict, and preserved the machinery of government with a competence her father conspicuously lacked. Elizabeth had confided in Josephine prior to the Rosemoor bill’s publication and found in her an ally; in the years that followed, Josephine grew into a formidable intellectual presence, publishing essays that articulated qualities of merit, equality, and in institutional reform that echoed Rosemoorist philosophies without invoking it directly. Her tenure as archchancellor was marked by a notably liberal disposition, far from the rigid traditionalism of her father, where she sought consensus over coercion and adaptation over repression. That the Emperor who had so vehemently opposed Rosemoor depended upon a woman - Elizabeth’s successor as Princess Imperial and a quiet supporter of the reform that had undone him - is among the sharpest paradoxes of the period. Josephine excelled far beyond her father and brothers: the fracture of succession that led to the Aster Revolution may very well have played out far differently should she have been the legal successor to Philip II. Like Elizabeth before her, Josephine emerges in history as an Empress who never was; brilliant, perceptive, and capable beyond most of her contemporaries, yet constrained by gender to shape the fate of the Empire from behind the curtain rather than from its throne. “Setting Sail for Freedom” depicting the vessel that carried Philip Amadeus and Anastasia away from Oren to the Free City of Ulyssa, aptly named the ‘Princess Elizabeth’ in honor of the late Princess Imperial, by Swanhilda de Owynsburg (c. 1845). The Princess Elizabeth was a metaphoric masterpiece: with this ship’s departure from Oren, so too did the popularity of Philip and Anastasia’s reformist ideals. AN ERA OF PROSPERITY: PHILIP III AND ANASTASIA I In the wake of Philip II’s faltering reign, Prince Philip Amadeus and his wife Anastasia Ruthern returned to the Empire in 1848 with sudden and decisive intent. His sudden re-appearance was neither cautious nor ceremonial; it was a declaration of action. He launched what would become known as the Aster Revolution, rallying prominent nobles, disaffected administrators, and a public still embittered by Philip II’s failures. The movement’s rapid success was fueled not only by strategic alliances but also by the lingering influence of Rosemoor itself, which Philip Amadeus’ support had long-since positioned him as a popular symbol of reform against Philip II’s rigidity. His wife, Anastasia Ruthern, had also gathered influence as a hardline Rosemoor supporter: she was an instrumental actor in the early movement, and vocally condemned the House of Lords censure with an ‘Open Letter to Prince Philip Augustus’ in 1831. Philip Amadeus and Anastasia’s return was perceived less as a restoration and more as an upheaval: a correction to years of mismanagement, stagnation, and unpopular rule. With remarkable speed, the pair consolidated support, marshaled resources, and seized the levers of power, demonstrating a political acumen that contrasted sharply with Philip II’s ineffectual tenure. In the eyes of contemporaries, the Aster Revolution marked both the culmination of Rosemoor’s transformative legacy and the opening of a new chapter in the Empire’s enduring struggle between tradition and reform. In 1849, following the death of Philip II amid the turmoil of the revolution, Philip Amadeus was crowned Emperor Philip III. Four years later, in 1853, he issued the Edict of Kositz, elevating his wife as Empress Anastasia I and formalizing their rule as a co-sovereignty. To many observers, the decision carried deliberate historical resonance: it echoed the earlier dual reign of Joseph II and Anne I. As under Anne and Joseph, governance once again reflected balance rather than dominance, partnership rather than isolation - an arrangement that seemed to affirm, at last, the philosophical inheritance of Rosemoor woven into the fabric of imperial power itself. Under Philip III and Anastasia I, Rosemoor philosophy did not merely survive; it was solidified as a central tenet of imperial policy. The new Emperor and Empress, mindful of the support they owed to Rosemoorist factions, ensured that its principles were reflected in legislation, court appointments, and administrative reforms. Perhaps most notably, the period saw the emergence of a myriad of influential female peers and courtiers who leveraged the political and social openings created by the law. Women throughout Oren served in positions of unprecedented power, advising, mediating, and occasionally directing the course of the Empire. Notable women of the period include Princess Amelia Margaret, Philip III’s sister and an extremely influential advisor to his reign, Mariya Amador, who served as the foreign secretary to Haense, and Princess Anne Caroline (ironically another daughter of Philip II) who managed the imperial treasury and raised much needed funds for Philip III’s reign. Another instrumental figure of the time was Claude de Savoie, a founder of the original Rosemoor movement and author of the first ‘Petit Potins’ article, who directed the department of civil affairs and consolidated Philip III and Anastasia I’s popular image. When the imperial rulers were made to walk for penance following 1849 Michaelite Schism, it was Claude de Savoie who walked beside them. Once confined to ceremonial or secondary roles, Imperial women increasingly found themselves peers of the realm, afforded genuine authority in governance, diplomacy, and estate management.. In many respects, this was another ‘Golden Age’ for women, not only advancing Rosemoorist ideals but also reshaping the very architecture of power within the Empire. Yet, as is often the case in history, periods of promise and stability prove fragile. Despite the strength of Rosemoor and the influence of empowered female peers and stateswomen, underlying tensions simmered within the imperial family. Philip III, for all his successes, failed to clearly secure the line of succession. Following his death, a controversial “will” emerged, upending established expectations: the Empire was formally dissolved, and the Kingdom of Oren was granted to his younger son, Frederick, as opposed to the firstborn son and heir Prince Peter. The publication of this decree ignited a bitter conflict between the two brothers, setting the stage for what would come to be remembered as the Brother’s War. The delicate progress made under Philip and Anastasia, particularly for Rosemoor and the emerging role of imperial women, now faced unprecedented jeopardy. Amid the bitterness of the Brothers’ War, history once again presents us with the figure of an Empress who never was. Princess Imperial Catherine, the elder sister of Frederick and Peter. Catherine was raised in a manner more akin to an imperial heir than a ceremonial princess. While her brothers were granted provincial lands beyond Providence to govern, she remained at the heart of the Empire’s administration, intimately involved in matters of state and later serving as vice-chancellor under Philip III and Empress Anastasia I in their final years. Contemporary accounts suggest that Philip and Anastasia also briefly entertained the possibility of altering the imperial succession - an institution Rosemoor itself had never touched - to pass the crown to Catherine upon their death. However, the idea was ultimately abandoned, leaving yet another capable woman positioned beside power rather than within it. In contrast to her quarrelsome siblings, Catherine’s level-headed nature might have offered a path to unify the fractious Orenian Empire, had she been allowed to inherit. Instead, the succession fell along male lines, and the Empire’s future was left in the hands of her volatile brothers. History has a habit of repeating itself, and in the cases of Elizabeth, Josephine, and Catherine - all successive Princess Imperials - it remains one of the Petrine Empire’s quiet tragedies that its course might have been profoundly different had these women held the reins in place of their imperial brothers. “Ave, Ave, The Emperor is Dead!” depicting the streets of New Providence erupting in jubilation following the death of Philip II and the seizure of power by Philip III in the Aster Revolution, by Swanhilda de Owynsburg (c. 1850). Frederick I’s victory in the Brother’s War marked the end of the Petrine Empire. What decades of reform, compromise, and cautious innovation had sustained could not survive the final fracture of dynastic legitimacy and fraternal conflict. With the collapse of Oren, the standing world order that had first given rise to Rosemoor passed into history; yet, Rosemoor itself did not end there. This chapter closes at the Empire’s dissolution, not because the idea had run its course, but because it had outgrown its point of origin. The next edition will trace parallel movements that emerged in Haense and the Church of the Canon, where Rosemoor continued to evolve long after the Empire had fallen.

Elizabeth Anne had wrote lots, and wrote often. On the eve of her Mother’s death, she’d heard the cries erupt through the city of Providence. The Empress is dead. Long live the Emperor. In her journal, she wrote: “…the cries reach my window before the weight of my Mother’s death is allowed to settle in my chest. I do not resent the crown that passes me by; I simply feel the absence of what could have been. Grief, I learn tonight, is not only for the dead, but equally so for the futures that die with them.”

Miss Talleyrand-Perigold, the professor of Rosemoorist and Women's Studies at Varbrand Academy, hides beneath her wooden desk.

30th of Godfrey’s Triumph, 633 AA An open letter would be circulated throughout the lands of the Empire of Man. It bore no illustration nor fanfare, simply these printed words: To the citizens of the Empire of Man, and to those who presently sit beneath its banners of authority, It is a curious thing to watch a debate return from the dead. In recent months, the Empire has found itself once again entangled in questions of succession, inheritance, and the place of women beneath the law. I write not as a peer, nor as a claimant, but as a citizen who has spent long years studying what happens when such questions are deferred, diluted, or dismissed outright. We have been here before, do not forget. Over two centuries ago, the Orenian Empire stood at an almost identical crossroads. Its institutions were confident, its traditions secure, and its rulers convinced that the old order could endure with only superficial adjustment. When Rosemoor was first proposed, its opponents did not call themselves enemies of equality. They spoke instead of stability, continuity, and the dangers of moving too quickly. They urged patience. They warned of fracture. They were wrong. What fractured Oren was not reform, but resistance to it. What weakened the crown was not equality, but the insistence that it could wait. Rosemoor did not undermine the Empire; it revealed the anxieties already embedded within it - a fear of change, an insecurity in authority, and a refusal to trust women with the rights they had already earned in practice. Today, I hear those same arguments again, spoken with fresh confidence and familiar assumptions. I hear that succession law is symbolic, that it addresses no “real” problems, that women are equal already in practice, and that there are more urgent matters demanding attention. These were precisely the words once used to dismiss Elizabeth Anne of Rosemoor. History records the consequences of that dismissal with unforgiving clarity. Succession is never merely symbolic. It is the clearest declaration a state makes about who it believes capable of inheriting its future. To deny equal succession is to state, in law, that merit is secondary to gender, and that ability is an accident when found in a woman. No empire has ever made that claim without eventually paying its price. I am particularly struck by how often we are told that reform must wait for the right moment. Rosemoor teaches us that the right moment never arrives politely. It must be taken - often amid resistance, often imperfectly, and often at personal cost. Princess Elizabeth paid that cost in reputation, in isolation, and ultimately in her life. The Empire that followed paid it in unrest, instability, and revolution. And yet Rosemoor endured. That, perhaps, is the greatest lesson worth holding onto. Laws rooted in justice have a longer life than the men who oppose them. Institutions that learn to bend will survive where rigid tradition breaks. The women who inherited under Rosemoor did not unmake Oren; they strengthened it - governing estates, commanding loyalty, and disproving, time and again, the fears once used to exclude them. And those women who did not succeed, those who led with anger, brashness, foolishness or simply unfortunate luck, are cases not dissimilar to those across history committed by men. Competence is not defined by gender; there will always be failures in both men and women alike. Men have lost wars. Men have lost empires. If the actions of men throughout history were to define their grounds for inheritance, no man would ever wear a crown again. To single out women for failures so overwhelmingly committed by men is not historical caution - it is selective amnesia. If this present debate feels unsettling, it should. It means the past has returned to ask whether we have learned anything at all. The question before the Empire of Man is not whether change will come, but whether it will be shaped deliberately - or imposed by consequence, as it was before. History is patient. It does not punish hesitation immediately. It waits. Then it remembers. We already know how this story unfolds. What remains uncertain is whether we choose to repeat it. — Lady Cassia Mareno

TO UPLIFT THE SILENT MAJORITY: THE BILL THAT ALTERED ORENIAN SUCCESSION A DETAILED ACCOUNT OF THE INCEPTION, MOVEMENT AND LEGACY OF THE ROSEMOOR CONVENTION CHAPTERS I-IV The Inception, The Plight, The Movement & The Betrayal FROM THE UNIVERSITY PRESS OF VARBRAND ACADEMY BY MS. PROVENTIA DE TALLEYRAND-PERIGOLD ADJUNCT PROFESSOR OF ROSEMOORIST AND WOMEN’S STUDIES VARBRAND ACADEMY “Someday, and be it someday soon, I hope that I may be able to look upon my own great-granddaughter and tell her that beneath Our law she possesses the same right to inheritance as her brother. I wish to tell her that she is free, that she is equal, and that God blesses her devout service; it was he who granted her the wit and dutiful spirit she carries.” THE ROSEMOOR CONVENTION, 1828 An excerpt of the publicized preamble to the ‘Rosemoor Convention’ by HIH The Princess Imperial Her Imperial Highness the Princess Imperial, Countess of Rosemoor and Susa HIH Elizabeth Anne, La Sciaallissima (By Thomas Victor Cardinham, c. 1800) FOREWORD I write these words upon unfamiliar lands, under banners whose heraldry I recognise and yet do not. Having recently arrived upon the shores of Azuras, the Empire that greets me calls itself new, but the laws that govern it are painfully old. In the weeks since my arrival, I have learned that the Rosemoorist Philosopy, once debated, written into law, contested, and finally woven into the legal and moral fabric of the old Empire of Oren, has been erased into history. Male-preference succession reigns once more among the imperial and noble houses. History, it seems, has chosen not merely to turn, but to retreat. This paper is written in an age that speaks readily of progress, even as it retreats from it. Rosemoor’s establishment of absolute primogeniture was neither inevitable nor lightly won, but the product of deliberate reform and a conviction that inheritance ought to follow birth rather than gender. Its passage marked a moment when tradition was amended, not abandoned. To examine Rosemoor today is therefore not mere historical inquiry, but an act of record. The arguments that cultivated and sustained the Convention, and the society that emerged under it, remain instructive in an age that has chosen reversal over refinement. If these pages seem to speak beyond their period, it is because progress, once undone, has a way of demanding remembrance. May this work stand as quiet testimony that an Empire once chose differently - and that those choices need not belong solely to the past. ON THE 20TH OF HOREN’S CALLING, 1836, Orenian society was forever altered by the passage of the Elizabeth Rosemoore Succession Bill. A radically liberal measure, the Rosemoore Bill mandated the adoption of equal succession rights among the sons and daughters of the Empire’s peers. This act brought to an end to the centuries of systemic discrimination that had excluded women from inheritance of noble titles. With its passage the women of Oren were for the first time deemed—at least in law—equal to their male counterparts. The story of Rosemoore is one of political intrigue, passion, betrayal, and remarkable resilience in the face of profound adversity. It stands as a compelling example of the mobilisation of a social movement, innovating age-old traditions long preserved by empires fallen. This piece traces the origins, development and movement of what came to be known as the Rosemoor Convention up until the death of Princess Elizabeth in 1831. The later political fallout and eventual passage of the bill will be addressed in a further publication. CHAPTER I: THE ROSEMOOR CONVENTION The Inception “No, for it is only now that we are realizing that we are finally out of so-called oppression. Now, we seek to take advantage of our freedoms to finally propose the equality of the genders in the succession, as the first of many motions, a bold opening to an emboldening. For we have had a past of a severe lack of alarm for our own persecution, but now, in this time, under John VIII, after Anne I, do we have every freedom to reach out for what we want.” WOMEN OF TRADITION, 1830 An excerpt of an essay by Claude de Savoie, one of the most prominent women accredited to the establishment of the Rosemoor Convention. THE GOLDEN AGE OF THE FAIRER SEX It is important to note that liberal sentiment regarding the political participation of women within noble society had steadily increased throughout the eighteenth century, foreshadowing the developments of the 1828–1836 Rosemoor Movement. Prior to the rise of the Petrine Empire—particularly during the rule of the Pertinaxi dynasty—women’s involvement in the political and legal spheres of the Empire was limited to rare and exceptional cases. The prevailing expectation for women of both noble and common birth was to fulfill the roles of wife, mother, and homemaker within a traditional family structure. Early marriage was not uncommon, especially among those of royal blood. As seen in the cases of Anabel of Curonia and Adeline of Alstion, both of whom were married to their princely imperial husbands at the age of fifteen, gender roles were firmly established from a young age. Female representation in high-ranking councils or military positions was exceedingly rare, and generations of women consequently internalized and accepted the long-standing patriarchal traditions of the Empire. This is not to suggest that strong feminine minds were entirely absent in previous Imperial reigns. Figures such as Princess Amelia Philippa, who served as Lady Privy Seal under Antonius I, Empress Helen of Man and Empress Adeline of Man stood as pioneers of the fairer sex, demonstrating active involvement in governmental affairs. Yet it should be noted that prior to the Petrine period, such influential women were almost exclusively confined to the highest echelons of royalty - typically consorts or daughters of sovereigns. The average Imperial noblewoman had little to no opportunity beyond the roles of wife and mother. As Claude de Savoie observed, these exceptional cases were only “of a celebrated sovereign woman…bound to greatness through marriage, or by an accident of being born when there were no brothers to take her place” (Savoie, 1830). Attitudes began to shift only after Peter III ascended the Imperial throne in 1737. Critically, his legal heir was not a son but a daughter, Anne Augusta. At only two years old, she became Crown-Princess of the Orenian Empire—a title many regarded as a temporary placeholder until Empress Lorena might produce a male heir. This, however, never occurred. In 1738 Peter III’s only other child was born, another daughter. Throughout the 1740s, Orenian society was forced to confront a concept long foreign to it: the possibility of a female-led Empire. Anne’s claim was formally secured in 1759 through the Edict of Succession, which confirmed that upon Peter III’s death, Oren would be ruled by its first Empress-Regnant. The Edict of Succession, though revolutionary in allowing a woman to inherit the Empire, was not the feminist triumph that it might at first appear. Anne’s inheritance was permitted for several pragmatic reasons. Foremost, the Orenian Empire was newly established following a period of tumultuous succession crises known as ‘the Troubles.’ Peter III had no brothers who survived into adulthood or actively participated in governance, leaving a direct female heir as the most viable solution. Moreover, Anne was married to Joseph Sarkozic, son of the late Lord Protector of Oren, providing a stable and politically advantageous union; together, they were crowned Anne I and Joseph II, co-rulers of the Empire. In effect, the Empire altered its succession laws not from principle but from necessity; without Anne’s inheritance, the Empire faced serious instability. While the Edict of Succession represented a step toward gender equality in law, it did little to advance the philosophy that would later underpin the Rosemoor Movement. The male rulers of Oren had no desire for a female sovereign—Anne’s accession was a practical compromise. Yet the public reaction to the Edict and Anne I’s rule provided the spark for the cultural and political shifts that would culminate in the Rosemoor Convention. In the decades preceding Anne I’s reign (1740–1770s), several prominent women established themselves within the spheres of Imperial leadership. In 1740, Vivaca Rutledge became the first woman to serve in the Imperial Diet, marking the beginning of a gradual but steady increase in women’s political participation. Others followed her example, including Jeanne Vladov in 1756, Mary d’Arkent in 1764, and Angelika Bykov in 1769. This trend was not confined to only the Diet; Franziska Kortrevich achieved distinction in the Imperial State Army and ultimately rose to the cabinet position of Minister of Civil Affairs. Orenian women also experienced notable economic success during this period. Female-owned businesses flourished in the imperial capital, and two of the empire’s wealthiest individuals were women. Julietta Varoche, the dowager Duchess of Vilachia, was rumored to possess one of the largest jewel collections in Oren, rivaling even that of the imperial family. She was known to outbid the wealthiest peers at art and clothing auctions, raising questions about the sources of her substantial fortune. Mary d’Arkent, who had also served as Deputy Secretary of the Imperial Treasury, became the wealthiest individual in Oren through her highly profitable dressmaking empire, which reportedly generated hundreds of thousands of minae—surpassing the revenues of the Imperial Treasury itself. Her subsequent marriage to Green Carrington, the richest man in Oren, further amplified her influence and granted her considerable power in influencing imperial affairs. In the later years of Peter III’s reign, young women began to regard their future Empress with enthusiasm, and, coupled with the influx of liberal Vessnian philosophies, perceptions of femininity began to shift dramatically. Traditional practices such as early and arranged marriage were increasingly challenged by scholars, prompting commentary on “the disappointment [that] some people insist on clinging to the barbarisms of the past” and a “call for those old ways to be tossed aside and relegated to the dust bin of history where they belong” (Vursur, 1770). As the firstborn daughter of Empress Anne I, born in 1755, Princess Elizabeth grew up amid these rising radical sentiments regarding a woman’s role—a period scholar Elisabeth Ruthern termed the “Golden Age of the Fairer Sex.” Ruthern described a “turn from the seventeenth century,” in which women were no longer celebrated solely for “deeds outside of governmental influence or refined to events and palatial duties” (Ruthern, 1779). From the outset, Princess Elizabeth’s life was shaped by an appreciation of the skills, contributions, and influence of the modern imperial woman, setting the stage for the development of her Rosemoor ideals. Elisabeth Ruthern, pioneer of the ‘Golden Age of the Fairer Sex’ (artist unknown). THE PRINCESS IMPERIAL To understand the origins of the ideas that would later underpin the Rosemoor Bill, it is necessary to consider not only the zeitgeist of Orenian social progress but also the character and upbringing of Princess Elizabeth herself. Elizabeth Anne was closely raised by her mother, Princess Anne Augusta, who would ascend to the Imperial throne as Anne I in 1784. As the first contemporary example of an imperial female heir, it is important to note that Anne’s right to inheritance was contingent upon the absence of male heirs, rather than her own birth or station. As later recounted by her husband, Iskander Basrid, Elizabeth frequently expressed disdain for this circumstance during her adolescence, asserting that her mother’s inheritance was framed as a consequence of deficiency rather than merit—her womanhood marked her as a negative presence, permitting succession only because no male heir was available. This sentiment appears to have deeply influenced Elizabeth’s formative years. Anne herself reflected on it at the end of her life, writing of a “hatred of [herself]; the hatred of who [she] was, and who [she] could never be” (Novellen, 1800). In light of these factors, it is unsurprising that the Princess Imperial may have regarded the succession laws with disapproval from a young age. It must also be noted that Elizabeth was the firstborn child of Joseph and Anne. Though she never technically held the title of Crown-Princess, for the two years prior to the birth of Prince John, Elizabeth was legally the heir to her parents’ future reign. This position, however, was nullified by the subsequent births of John in 1757 and of Philip, Peter, and Joseph in 1759, 1762, and 1765 respectively. With each additional Imperial prince, Elizabeth was pushed further down the line of succession, despite the only distinguishing factor between her and her brothers being their gender. It is important to clarify that Elizabeth Anne was not, at least publicly, resentful of her own diminished succession rights. Throughout her life, the princess was a staunch advocate for the divine right of her brothers’ rule. She was a devoted supporter of John VIII, acting as his closest confidante and most active sibling in service to the Empire. Elizabeth organized his courts, arranged his various jubilees, and consistently expressed her firm belief in the God-ordained legitimacy of his emperorship. Yet it is reasonable to speculate that the Princess Imperial may have privately contemplated the fate she never attained. An Empress who could have been; an elder sister who cared so deeply for her siblings, though in the same mourned for the alternative fate she may have had if she were to have been born a man. THE FIRST SOCIAL SEASON Elizabeth’s establishment of the Social Season can be seen as the Princess’ first significant effort to advance the position of women within the Petrine Empire. In 1810, together with the Governess of the Palace, Anna Henrietta, the Princess Imperial inaugurated the first Orenian Social Season - a gesture intended to empower the court’s noblewomen as formal representatives of their families. Recognizing the symbolic importance of her role as the leading voice of Imperial femininity, Elizabeth shaped her courtly initiatives to elevate the visibility and influence of women throughout the Empire. The Social Season was designed to challenge the prevailing notion that “a noblewoman's life was terribly short and often dreadful… so much so that they see their individual debuts as necessary to find happiness at all” (Novellen, 1809). As the first generation of young women made their debuts in early 1810, displaying both grace and poise before the entire court, Elizabeth observed her efforts with pride. In a speech of the time, she expressed her “aspirations for the next generation of this court.. the hope that [she] not only look[s] upon Oren’s future wives and mothers, but her future scholars, judges and ministers” (Novellen, 1810). Despite its initial success, the Social Season rapidly devolved into courtly chaos. While it was originally conceived as a mechanism for noblewomen to act as official representatives of their households rather than merely as instruments of marriage, the season increasingly fostered an environment of malicious gossip and slander. Women of Oren began to turn against one another in a competitive pursuit of the favor of higher-ranking noblemen. The prestige that Princess Elizabeth had envisaged dissipated, leaving in its place the prevailing perception of Imperial women as pompous, extravagant, and theatrically ambitious. Elizabeth’s disillusionment reached its peak in the aftermath of the attempted poisoning of her daughter, Helena Augusta, in late 1810, perpetrated by a fellow debutante allegedly motivated by jealousy of Helena’s suitor, Prince Robert Crestfall. In response, the Princess Imperial issued a public letter to the season’s debutantes, expressing her profound disappointment and asserting that they “shame the name of each who have stood before them, and have tarnished the name of each who will stand after them” (Novellen, 1810). Subsequent social seasons were marked by similar disorderly and vulturous scandals, and the event soon became more about romance, drama, and sabotage than any respectable purpose. Evidently, as Elizabeth observed the Social Season she intended as a demonstration of feminine unity degenerate into a period of defamation and betrayal, she redirected her efforts toward a different form of reform. Whereas the Social Season appeared to embody a self-directed cultural shift aimed at empowering women and advancing the ideals of the Golden Age of the Fairer Sex, the subsequent Rosemoor Bill pursued the same objective through an alternative mechanism. Rather than relying on a broad and vulnerable cultural transformation, it instituted a concrete and enforceable legal change, one that could not be undone by the whims or actions of individuals. “Chaos of the Social Season” (c. 1811) by renowned debutante portraitist Jeanne Bennett. CHAPTER II: THE ROSEMOOR CONVENTION The Plight “I think it's simply just about time. Women of the Empire have fought, bled, and died upon foreign soil in defense of the realm. They serve within the commons as my own sister does and give so much. Is it not merely fair that they be offered the same succession right as all?” MEN FOR ROSEMOOR BILL, 1828 An excerpt of an interview with the Secretary of War at the time, Joseph d’Azor, on his support for the Rosemoor Bill. Conducted by Maude Fitzpeter. ON FEMALE REPRESENTATION In 1822, Princess Elizabeth received a missive published by the renowned stateswoman Vivaca Rutledge shortly before her death. The publication articulated Rutledge’s desire for “more women [to] get involved in politics, so that they may transform society for the better…for inclusivity, and [to] motivate several of [their] male compatriots to espouse a more tranquil, inclusive and delicate way of life” (Rutledge, 1822). Having been appointed as the first female representative of the House of Lords in 1810, Elizabeth’s alignment with these ideals inspired her to leverage her unique position to translate Rutledge’s vision into tangible, enduring reform. Accordingly, in 1823, the Princess Imperial quietly initiated her campaign to transform the nature of the peerage, producing the first known draft of what would become the Rosemoor Bill. Rather than following the conventional trajectory in which social movements precipitate legislative change, the so-called ‘Rosemoor Convention’ emerged only after the bill had been drafted. At least initially, the process was a nearly silent endeavor, emphasizing strategic, deliberate planning over public spectacle. The provisions of the Rosemoor Bill were deceptively straightforward. The legislation entailed renaming Chapter 306 of the Orenian Revised Code from “On Patrimony” to “On Succession,” repealing Sections 306.1C and 306.1D, and introducing two new clauses: “The obligatory heirs are the children and the children’s descendants of the given peer” and “Inheritance of peerages shall be followed in absolute primogeniture succession” (Rosemoor, 1828). These revisions established equal succession rights for sons and daughters of the next generation of Orenian peers, ensuring that the firstborn child, regardless of gender, would be the legal heir. Crucially, the bill included a grandfather clause, preserving existing lines of succession and applying only to individuals born after its enactment. Prior to Rosemoor, Oren had never codified succession based on absolute primogeniture, nor had it extended such a legal framework to the nobility. The bill was therefore revolutionary in its potential to expand the proportion of women among the title-holding peerage. By removing gender as a determining factor in inheritance, it transferred the question of succession from human control to the impartiality of fate: no individual could influence the gender of a firstborn, rendering the system both equitable and unpredictable. Completed between 1823 and 1824, Elizabeth’s draft of the Rosemoor Bill was intended for presentation to the House of Lords within the following four years. The Princess faced a complex political landscape, composed of both conservative and moderate peers. To secure passage, the bill required a minimum 4–3 majority within the House, which at the time comprised the Princess Imperial herself, the Duke of Crestfall, the Count of Azor, the Duke of Cathalon, the Count of Kositz, the Metropolitan of Proventia, and the Duke of Sunholdt. GATHERING ALLIES To navigate what she anticipated would be an exceptionally difficult vote, Princess Elizabeth met privately with two members of the House of Lords to personally advocate for the Rosemoor Bill. Her first and boldest approach was to the bill’s most staunch ideological opponent: her brother, the Duke of Crestfall, Philip Augustus. This was a calculated risk, as Elizabeth hoped to appeal both to Philip’s respect for their mother’s legacy and to his potential inclination to support his sister’s initiatives. They met in mid-1824, yet the Princess Imperial’s efforts proved futile. Rather than offering any support, Philip voiced immediate and unwavering opposition, grounding his objections in both religious and conservative political reasoning. He argued extensively against the concept of female succession, maintaining that women were inherently unfit to hold such positions. Records indicate that the siblings debated for weeks without reaching agreement on any point, a confrontation that ultimately drove a lasting wedge between them and that would later erupt publicly within the chamber. The second member of the House of Lords approached was the Imperial Archchancellor, Count Ledicort d’Azor. As a central figure in government and a fellow peer, securing his support would provide the Rosemoor Bill with a considerable advantage within the chamber. The Princess Imperial recognized that an influential figure such as the Archchancellor represented her best opportunity to sway other members of the House. Elizabeth first approached the Count in early 1825, shortly before the dissolution of the 24th Imperial Diet. The Count had been a trusted friend of the Princess for decades; they had served together during Elizabeth’s early military career and developed a close acquaintance through their respective governmental tenures. Unsurprisingly, Ledicort offered immediate and enthusiastic support. Their collaboration continued through a series of correspondence following the establishment of the 25th Diet in 1826, with the Archchancellor pledging to advocate for the bill and to reach out to other members of the House of Lords on Elizabeth’s behalf. A letter from the Princess Imperial to the the Count of Azor, dated 3rd of the Sun’s Smile, 1826, read: To his Excellency the Archchancellor and Count of Azor, I do hope you and your family fare well, given the recent successes of Our Empire. I write to you with regards to the Rosemoor Bill in light of this newly proclaimed Imperial Diet. Fortunately, we have both been granted the privilege to stand before the House of Lords for another term, and I am hopeful that the makeup of the House may prove beneficial in passing the Bill. Particularly, I believe we may be able to bring the Viscount of Pruvia-Provins to support our cause. I spoke already with my brother, the Duke of Crestfall, and I know he shall not be an advocate for the Rosemoor Bill - much to my disappointment. It still stands that the Count of Kositz and the Duke of Cathalon may be persuaded into voting in favor. I am unsure of the character of the Metropolitan of Proventia. Despite the apparent challenges, however, I remain ever hopeful that reason will be seen, and the Rosemoor Bill will pass through the House. I believe perhaps, at this time, it would be pertinent to place the bill in the hands of each Grandee with the intention of proposing it formally at the next meeting. I ask for your advice on these matters. With regards, HIH The Princess Imperial and Countess of Rosemoor It should also be noted that Emperor John VIII was directly approached by the Princess Imperial. Seeking to inform her brother of her intentions prior to the public introduction of the bill, Elizabeth arranged a private meeting in 1824. The Emperor received her with some apprehension, yet Elizabeth acknowledged the difficulties he faced in balancing ideological support for Rosemoor with the resistance of many upper-ranking peers. John VIII ideologically favored the bill but understood that overt support could alienate influential nobles, placing him in a politically precarious position. Consequently, Elizabeth requested that he make no public declaration of support or opposition, assuring him that she would pursue the reform “through the vessels of government only” and that “[John] need not take a public stance on the matter.” Only after the Princess Imperial believed she had secured sufficient allies within the House of Lords did she begin to make the bill publicly known. In the concluding months of the 1826–1827 Social Season, she approached the young writers of Petit Potins, a publication dedicated to chronicling the events and gossip of the season. Elizabeth’s intention was to subtly introduce the concept of Rosemoor to the broader public, particularly the noble class, shifting attention away from the trivialities of the Social Season and toward a unifying women’s initiative. She met with Claude de Savoie and Alina Basrid, prompting them to publish the first public account of the bill. Eager to undertake the task, the two young writers produced a short piece characterizing “the current practice of agnatic primogeniture [as] grossly archaic” and expressing their “unwavering support [for] the Princess Imperial’s bill” (Potins, 1827). It is unknown if Princess Elizabeth, or anyone for that fact, truly anticipated the whirlwind of fierce support that this publication would initiate. Petit Potins was only the first of many, beginning what could come to be known as the ‘Rosemoor Convention’. “Petit Potins; the Match to Rosemoore’s Spark” by Mathilde von Braune (c. 1828). From left to right: Alina Basrid, Eugenie de Savoie and Claude de Savoie. CHAPTER III: THE ROSEMOOR CONVENTION The Movement “This topic, of equality and inequality, has been of much public interest recently. Our society is at a fascinating juncture where we must reconcile our past with our present.” ON EQUALITY, 1831 “An Essay Regarding Recent Political Sentiments and Fashions”, published by HIH Princess Josephine Augusta shortly after Elizabeth Anne’s death. PUBLICATION OF THE BILL Perhaps the most controversial development in the Rosemoor movement occurred in 1828, when Princess Elizabeth publicly released both a personal statement and the full text of her proposed bill. While Petit Potins had provided the first exposure of Rosemoor, Elizabeth took a further step when she personally appealed to the House of Lords through public opinion in publishing the Rosemoor Convention. Between 1824 and 1828, every member of the House of Lords had been privately provided a copy of the bill. Elizabeth had initially intended to bring Rosemoor to debate by 1826; however, repeated delays by her fellow Grandees postponed the discussion, fueling her fears that the bill might lose momentum and fall victim to bureaucratic red-tape. Although the Princess Imperial’s precise intentions cannot be definitively confirmed, it is likely that the Convention was published as a reaction to this lack of parliamentary engagement, rather than as an attempt to weaponize public opinion against the lords. The Rosemoor Convention was officially released on the 6th of Godfrey’s Triumph, 1828. The publication read: It is in these desires, Odus, that the present course of actions has shown me the true need to uplift the silent majority, whose namesake I take on this responsibility, for the betterment of their lives and their posterity. I grow ever more inspired by the generations who will take our place, as well as the generations preceding us, that this moment in time, no matter the odds or cost, must be afforded to bridge the long chasm that has plagued humanity. When I look at the faces of the people, the atmosphere of the peoples, it has been to my need that we must rescue what has been lost, to reclaim the sacrifices of those who have died in this spirit, and look toward the future prospects that we will achieve all that we set our sights toward. Circular Letter; Tenth Response of Emperor Joseph, 1717 THE ROSEMOOR CONVENTION There lies no rightful justification for the disqualification of women from their birth-given inheritance - all that remains within our Empire now, as told by the Orenian Law of Patrimony, are the remnants of a long withstanding backward and oppressive regime. We now hold the torches of our predecessors; of the women who have shaped Oren and Humanity for the better, and through their legacy we campaign for equality. One needs only to look as far as the figures of the Providence museum, the busts of those who have stood before us, to understand the roots of the Rosemoor Convention. In the wake of our late Empress-regnant, the great Anne I, I call upon the House of Lords to recognise what has been historically ignored - the true potential of women. We serve now as comrades in arms for our Army; as fellow servants of the state. With Oren we fight in the pursuit of Providence, of all that is good and righteous in God's eye. We ask to be recognised as equals beneath the law. No longer shall patrimony dictate the succession of peerages. No longer shall those factors beyond her control, her very state at birth, decide if she is capable. No longer shall she be seen as beneath her peer. For we are equal. Someday, and be it someday soon, I hope that I may be able to look upon my own great-granddaughter and tell her that beneath Our law she possesses the same right to inheritance as her brother. I wish to tell her that she is free, that she is equal, and that God blesses her devout service; it was he who granted her the wit and dutiful spirit she carries. BILL OF THE IMPERIAL DIET The Rosemoor Bill, 1828 Introduced in the House of Lords With intention of passing in the House of Lords INTRODUCTION The grounds of Imperial Peerage Succession have historically been upon the basis of patrimony - disqualifying female heirs on the sole basis of their sex. With the legacy of The Holy Orenian Empire’s first Empress Regnant in mind, Anne I, alongside that of other powerful and influential women in this state, there can be no moral basis observed to exclude the peerage right to inheritance of female children. That being said, it is therefore within the intrinsic values of this Empire to solidify the principles of equality and liberty of all citizens within the laws of peers. The eldest child of any given peer should be granted their right of inheritance, irrespective of gender. SECTION 1: On the succession of Imperial Peers CH 306 of the ORC shall be renamed from “On Patrimony” to “On Succession” (ORC 306.01) Imperial Succession of the Non-Imperial and Gentry shall be amended as following 306.01A - The obligatory heirs are the children and the children’s descendants of the given peer. Inheritance of peerages shall be followed in absolute primogeniture succession. 306.01B - In the absence of the above, parents and ascendants regarding their children and descendants. 306.01C and 306.01D shall be removed from the ORC SECTION 2: On the Implementation of above amendments The amendments described above shall come into effect for the next born generation in the line of succession of a peerage title No current heir or future heir shall be disqualified in the instance of an elder female sibling The law shall only apply to those born onward from the year this Bill becomes an Act of the Imperial House of Lords HIH The Princess Imperial and Countess of Rosemoor The public release of Rosemoor proved to be a double-edged sword for the Princess Imperial. While the convention garnered immediate and widespread support from diverse factions across the Empire, it simultaneously undermined Elizabeth’s position within the House of Lords, ultimately contributing to her political vulnerability and eventual downfall in the chamber. In the year preceding the introduction of Rosemoor, the affairs of the House of Lords had become increasingly publicized, undermining the institution’s original purpose as a politically insulated, crown-appointed body. The Lord Speaker, Count of Kositz, repeatedly expressed his disapproval of public involvement in House matters, emphasizing that Imperial Grandees were unelected officials and, therefore, ought not to rely on popular support to advance motions. Following the highly publicized 1821 debacle concerning the succession of the Barony of Carrington, the Princess Imperial was undoubtedly aware of these longstanding conventions. Nevertheless, Elizabeth deliberately leveraged public pressure to compel debate on the Rosemoor Bill. Whether intentional or not, the widespread support she garnered from noblewomen across Oren effectively became a political instrument against the House of Lords, challenging the traditional separation between elite governance and popular influence. THE LADIES MOVEMENT Immediately following the release of the Rosemoor Convention, noblewomen and several prominent noblemen rallied around the cause, marking the emergence of the movement for which Rosemoor would later become renowned. Throughout 1828 and 1829, a series of street protests were organized by the early supporters of the convention. Armed with signs and banners, these noblewomen took to the streets of Providence to publicly demonstrate their support for the bill. Claude de Savoie’s incorporation of the blue lotus flower into Rosemoor support materials became a defining symbol of the movement, inspired both by the Princess Imperial’s use of the lotus in her wax seal and by Lady de Savoie’s personal preference for the color. The flower was widely distributed - often as pins or wristbands - and worn by participants as a visible declaration of allegiance to the Convention. By the latter half of 1829, rallies under the Rosemoor banner had grown increasingly tumultuous. Passion and anger frequently escalated into disorder, necessitating law enforcement supervision or, in some instances, the dispersal of protesters. For a brief period, the capital was dominated by the fervor of the Rosemoor movement, with both street demonstrations and publications proliferating to express support or dissent, cementing Rosemoor’s visibility and influence within public life. In a symbolic demonstration of popular backing, the House of Commons, led by John Napier, conducted a ceremonial vote on the Rosemoor Bill. While the Commons had no legal authority to legislate on matters of imperial succession, as these were reserved solely for the House of Lords, Napier’s leadership ensured the bill’s passage in the lower chamber, though the vote was contested and divided along ideological lines. The divided result highlighted both the support for gender equality among members of the Commons and the persistent opposition that Elizabeth and her allies would need to confront in the Lords. Despite its lack of juridical power, the Commons vote amplified the bill’s legitimacy in the eyes of the public and increased pressure on the upper chamber to consider the measure seriously. It is important to note that Princess Elizabeth herself remained largely removed from the movement. While the publication of her bill served as the catalyst, the Princess Imperial did not participate directly in the Rosemoor Convention. She neither organized nor attended rallies, nor did she issue further public commentary on the matter. Leadership of the Convention instead fell to a cohort of ambitious and influential young noblewomen, including Claude and Eugenie de Savoie, Alina and Safiye Basrid, Anastasia and Amaliya Ruthern, Maude Fitzpeter, and Leopoldine Vimmark. Many of these women had been contributors to Petit Potins and had actively championed the cause from its inception. By 1830, the Empire had become deeply polarized as a result of the Princess Imperial’s actions, prompting a full and urgent convening of the House of Lords to deliberate on the Rosemoor Bill. “Women: The Anarchy of Oren”, a painting by Anti-Rosemoorist Clyde de Ravenswood (c.1829) CHAPTER IV: THE ROSEMOOR CONVENTION The Betrayal “What are Orenian values of familial love to be if broken and battered so easily by those whom We admire the most? What are Orenian values of justice to be if all who express differing opinions are to be silenced?” AN OPEN LETTER TO PHILIP AUGUSTUS, 1830 Published by Anastasia Ruthern, who later rose to the Imperial position of Empress Anastasia I, responding to the censure motion pressed upon HIH Elizabeth Anne. THE HOUSE OF LORDS DEBATE The Rosemoor Bill was formally introduced into the House of Lords on the 12th of Godfrey’s Triumph, 1830, during a formal sitting attended by the Princess Imperial, Duke Crestfall, Count Azor, Count Kositz, Viscount Pruvia, and the Metropolitan of Proventia. Additionally, the young Prince Philip Amadeus (later Emperor Philip III) was permitted to observe the debate. Before Elizabeth was allowed to present the bill, Lord Speaker Count Kositz addressed the chamber, emphasizing the importance of confidentiality in House proceedings. He cited the Carrington succession crisis as a prior breach of the House’s duties and identified the Rosemoor Convention as a second such instance. His remarks were met with audible agreement from Count Azor and the Metropolitan of Proventia. When the floor was opened for introductions, the Princess Imperial responded directly to these claims. She underscored the “insurmountable change” that the bill would bring to Orenian noblewomen and asserted that she “would be doing the Empire’s women a disservice to present a bill that was not acknowledged and supported by them.” Her address provoked immediate disruption from Duke Crestfall, Viscount Pruvia, and Count Azor, who repeatedly interrupted the Princess mid-speech, creating a scene of considerable tension within the chamber. The subsequent debate initially centered on the absence of provisions in the bill regarding matrilineal marriages. Count Pruvia first raised the issue, with several members expressing concern over the potential for “stacking” titles through marriages between male and female peers. The Princess Imperial countered that all peer marriages required Crown approval, rendering such concerns invalid. Nevertheless, the chamber engaged in extended back-and-forth discussion on the matter. Ultimately, Elizabeth agreed to amend the bill to mandate matrilineal marriage for female peers and to prohibit the union of two peers without Imperial consent. It was the Duke of Crestfall who first shattered the decorum of the Rosemoor debate. In the midst of deliberations over matrilineal marriage, he rose to speak, declaring that he was “not inclined to vote for this bill merely because [his] dearest Imperial sister has made a spectacle of it,” and accusing Elizabeth of intending to “turn to her followers and claim she has won these rights from tyrannical men by pushing against the social fabric.” With those words the debate transformed from a discussion of legislative technicalities into a direct, personal confrontation - a public challenge to the Princess Imperial herself. Philip’s attack marked a dark turning point. Elizabeth, her composure strained but her voice resolute, rose to defend the bill and the very principle of female leadership. She accused her brother of believing women to be inherently unfit for the responsibilities of a peer and intellectually inferior to men, accusations grounded in Philip’s own words during those private discussions years earlier. To the chamber’s astonishment, Philip confirmed her claims, insisting that he “wholeheartedly believed them”. Enraged, Elizabeth accused him of “spitting on their Mother’s legacy,” and what had begun as a parliamentary debate quickly became a battle of personal insults, shouted across the chamber in a scene of unprecedented tension. Amid continuing arguments over the bill’s marriage provisions, Philip escalated the conflict further by proposing a motion of censure against the Princess Imperial, seeking to silence her entirely from the debate until the House voted to lift the censure - a measure with no precedent in Orenian history and no procedural basis to justify it. The chamber, already consumed by tension, fell into stunned silence. Yet the motion was seconded almost immediately by the Metropolitan of Proventia. Elizabeth, grasping the enormity of the moment, turned to Lord Speaker Count Kositz and asked whether such a vote could even lawfully take place. After a brief pause, Kositz called the Grandees to vote. One by one, members sided against her: the Duke of Crestfall, the Metropolitan of Proventia, Count Pruvia, and in a crushing betrayal, Count Azor, who she had trusted implicitly. Only Kositz and Elizabeth herself opposed the censure. When the motion passed, Elizabeth rose and quietly excused herself from the chamber. That would be her final public appearance. She would never speak again to her brother, Philip Augustus, or to any other member of the House of Lords. She had been humiliated by family, betrayed by allies, and publicly silenced by the very institution she had sought to reform. The actions of Count Azor were particularly bitter, undermining years of trust and leaving Elizabeth isolated in a chamber that had once been the stage for her vision of change. Alone, betrayed, and muted, the Princess Imperial’s presence in Orenian politics came to an abrupt and heartbreaking end. “The Imperial House of Lords”, depicting the Grandees of the 25th Imperial Diet (excl. HIH The Princess Imperial). Pictured (left to right): The Duke of Crestfall, Count of Kositz, Metropolitan of Proventia, Count of Azor, Count of Pruvia and Duke of Cathalon (c. 1829). A REACTIONARY MOVEMENT In the wake of such profound betrayal and public humiliation, the Princess Imperial withdrew completely from the capital, taking refuge at her private country estate. For the next two years, she remained there in seclusion, never returning to Providence, the city that had once been the heart of political life and the arena in which she had fought so fervently for reform. Emperor John VIII, alarmed by his sister’s withdrawal, attempted to reason with her through private letters delivered to her estate. He expressed both his fury at the events of the debate and his recognition of the constitutional illegality of her censure. In her absence, he confronted the members of the House of Lords, reprimanding them for their actions and issuing stern warnings that any repetition of such a breach would result in their immediate removal from the chamber. A letter recovered from John VIII’s personal belongings dated in 1830 read: To Our beloved elder sister, Princess Imperial, Elizabeth Anne, We recently read the open letter to our brother, Philip Augustus. We were unaware of the events that transpired within the House of Lords, a few months ago. We have not seen you within the capital in many months. We pray that you are kept in good health alongside your family in Rosemoor, and hope that you will come visit Us for jasmine tea, in the near future. We grow as lonely as we do old within these towering August halls. So few of our friends still live, and it feels that with every year that passes, we lose another. The courts are filled with young men and women. Foolish children. We worry that they won't learn the same traditions and lessons that we did, with Our mother stewarding the courts. Though We do desire that you visit soon, we also write you regarding the Rosemoor convention, and your censure on the House of Lords. We write to inform you that the actions taken to silence you on the House of Lords violate the constitutional principles of Our country. We appoint grandees and representatives to Our diet, to represent the will of Our people. If we find the actions of a grandee or representative particularly out of line, we may revoke their position in the diet. Otherwise, they are to speak freely within the Imperial Diet and the confines of the constitution. We will be speaking to the House regarding the constitutionality of this motion, and issue our ruling promptly. Your Brother, John Charles Elizabeth, however, remained fiercely private. Little is known of her life between 1830 and 1831, or indeed of her final days. Her estate was closed to visitors and most of her household staff were dismissed. Even her husband, the famed Imperial State Army General Iskander Basrid, vanished from public life, resigning his post in silent solidarity. Appeals from Count Kositz to reconvene the chamber fell on deaf ears; instead, her daughter Helena Augusta informed the Lord Speaker that another Grandee would have to present the Rosemoor Bill in her stead. The only known communication from the Rosemoor estate during this period was a single letter addressed to John VIII. Its tone was measured yet poignant: Elizabeth referenced an illness that had long affected her. In her seclusion, she left behind only these carefully chosen words, a quiet testament to her enduring commitment to the cause she had devoted her life to, even as she withdrew from the world that had betrayed her. The letter read: To my brother, I pray that you are well, dearest brother. Truly I do echo that sentiment of lonely August Halls. It seems they lack that same ardour in which the walls of Novellen bequeathed upon us all of those years ago. I suppose as children this energy we speak of came from the presence of those who surrounded us; it came from those closest to our hearts. It is no palace or hall that brought light into our younger days, but rather it was those whom we shared the halls with. Alas as the years have continued to pass, those souls close to us became fewer. Time is, after all, our greatest adversary - an untamable beast of which we have no means to fight. I can feel time weighing upon me, John. I no longer sport that same spirit I possessed when we fought arm-in-arm as comrades in our nation’s army. I am weary, brother. Irreversibly so. Some time ago I was visited by our court physician with a terrible diagnosis - a telling of the same illness that claimed our blessed Mother’s life. I sought to continue on, to fight, and with the unfailing strength of my husband beside me I have done so. A legacy is immortal only when it endures beyond the span of our lives, carried forward by those younger and stronger than us to uplift our ideals. That is the Petrine Model: to construct institutions that outlast us. When I was seven years old Simon Basrid charged me to innovate. Without the capacity to adapt, he told me, we would fall privy to the mistakes of our forebearers. This - Rosemoor - is my embodiment of that charge. It is my vision made law. It is my defiance. It is my legacy. And thereby in the wake of betrayal and humiliation I struggle to find that strength to continue on. I had always believed our family to be one with the Imperial identity. Our Mother, in all her feats, seamlessly unified the identity of the Monarch and the State - a sentiment to which I extended to each member of our kin. I ask you to consider now how greatly I am disturbed by the apparent change in this philosophy. Rosemoor is the embodiment of the Petrine hunger to progress; it is a contemporary example of our plight to instill the values of the Rights of Man declared in Nenzing. I am appalled - by the obstinacy of my peers, by the duplicity of my kin. I have no strength left to fight their resistance, no energy to persuade hearts hardened by pride, brother. I am ready to embrace whatever awaits me next. But I will not depart with bitterness. I leave this world with the fond knowledge that I gave all, that no path remained untraveled, no effort left unmade. The gardens of Rosemoor grant me solace, and the enduring love of my children reassures me: I do not leave in failure. I leave having pried open a door whose hinges will one day be shattered by the generations to follow. Iskander will hold my hand as we face our Maker, and together we shall meet the light of our triumphs and defeats alike. For this, I am grateful beyond measure. I must thank you, John, for being a friend, a confidant, and most importantly of all - an ever loyal brother. You have walked with the weight of worlds upon your shoulders for so long now, and yet you still do so with an elegant grace and an ever tender heart. I will see you again, for our God would not be so cruel to make a pair of siblings such as us stay apart. May he watch over you and guide you with a gentle hand, John. Your Sister, Elizabeth Anne Records of imperial physician reports were kept highly classified within the Empire, making it impossible to confirm whether the Princess’ words to John VIII were accurate. Courtiers occasionally observed a slight decline in the health of the Princess, who was 75 at the time, but no concrete evidence of the illness she described exists. Without intending to speculate, this author attributes the Princess Imperial’s declining health in her final years largely to the overwhelming presence of grief and heartbreak. The Rosemoorist cause had been close to her heart for decades, shaping every aspect of her life: her birth, upbringing, military career, courtly position, and appointment to the House. She believed wholeheartedly in the equality of man, inspired by the teachings of her childhood mentors - to innovate. In all her endeavors Elizabeth had acted with quiet, gentle grace. When she finally chose to speak, she was silenced. For the first time in her life she found herself at odds with her country - at war with the very individuals who were meant to embody it. Never before had the Princess Imperial waged war against her own nation’s institutions; in every previous instance her ideals had been shared and accepted within the Empire, not outwardly rejected. Therefore, when the tides turned and she found herself in conflict with her Empire, it seems only natural to conclude that she was irreversibly broken. On the 7th of the Sun’s Smile, 1831, at age 76, the Princess Imperial quietly passed away at her Rosemoor estate. Devastated by his wife’s death, Iskander Basrid died only a year later. Upon her deathbed the Princess Imperial released a public letter to the Orenian people, titled “Of Providence; a Reflection of the Past ''. OF PROVIDENCE; A Reflection of the Past To the denizens of my Empire, Oren, For the entirety of my life, these seventy six years, I have been inspired by the resolve of our people. The Empire that we share basks in the vision of the glorious God above, and through him we have seen many a victory, and in the same - many a defeat. As a girl I feared this ebbing and flowing of success; I was concerned that perhaps someday we’d fall again into the troubles of our past. These troubles, as my Mother long ago described to me, claimed hundreds of lives in violent assault and indefinite instability. However, despite a precedent in history that we would fail, I never saw a cloud in the eyes of the street’s baker, nor a tremble in the steps of the Imperial soldier. We fought, time and time again. It was not fighting just war; or enemies - no, certainly not. It was fighting each day for the survival and stability of this Empire. We still fight for the sake of our future, and our resolve remains the one thing that the course of history cannot ever dare to remove. I am often reminded of a passage I wrote at fourteen years old. I spoke of Providence - the guiding light in front toward our progress, and the driving force behind us as we moved toward it. Providence was God’s vision towards all that was good, and all that was holy. The walls outside of my window tell of the City of Providence. I pray that I have honoured its namesake. Alas the clock chimes, and the end of my days draws ever nearer. When I leave you, Oren, I will leave behind the words I was imparted with long ago by a man who I came to admire. He told me that in order for our Empire to prosper, we must acknowledge the need for change - for innovation. When progress comes upon the Orenian doorstep, we must embrace it. We must not fear that hunger for success in which has shaped who we are, and what our Empire has become. Embrace it, Oren. Upon my deathbed I feel many things. Pride, sadness, joy, and each in between. It could be said that I feel nearly every relevant emotion in this moment - except for one: unsatisfaction. Truly, I leave this world behind wholly satisfied. I have served my country in every capability I could, and despite my misgivings at times, I know that the sixteen year old princess who long ago vowed to do all she could would look upon herself now with a smile. My children, grandchildren and great grandchildren hold my familial legacy, and the lasting work I leave behind is something I think fondly of. The time that I shall meet my creator grows near. I should hope God will smile on me, and I await eagerly to embrace my Mother once more. It has been far too long. God bless Oren. Onward in Providence we stride, for the blood of our ancestors has paved the road behind us, and the hopes of our successors clear the path in front. With love, HIH The Princess Imperial A depiction of Rosemoor House, Princess Elizabeth’s private estate (c. 1820). CONCLUSION The saga of the Rosemoor Bill, culminating in the events of 1830, represents a critical juncture in the history of the Orenian Empire and in the broader struggle for women’s legal and political equality. Decades in the making, the movement drew upon the cultural and intellectual currents of the so-called “Golden Age of the Fairer Sex,” a period during which Princess Elizabeth herself was raised amid rising liberal sentiment and the unprecedented visibility of women in Imperial governance. From the political participation of figures such as Vivaca Rutledge to the economic achievements of figures such as Mary d’Arkent, Elizabeth inherited a legacy of female agency that both inspired and informed her vision. The Princess Imperial’s approach to reform was methodical and strategic. Between 1823 and 1824, she drafted the Rosemoor Bill, codifying absolute primogeniture for the Orenian peerage and embedding equality into law rather than relying on fragile cultural shifts. The campaign that followed - the subtle introduction of the bill to public discourse, the alignment of influential allies, and the mobilization of noblewomen across Providence - transformed a legal initiative into a social movement. The blue lotus, soon emblematic of Rosemoor, became a visible symbol of both solidarity and resistance, bridging the sphere of private advocacy with the public conscience of the Empire. Yet the Princess Imperial’s ambition collided with entrenched power structures. The formal debate in the House of Lords in 1830 exposed the depth of resistance to change, as Elizabeth faced not only ideological opposition but personal betrayal from those she had trusted. The censure passed against her, unprecedented in both scope and severity, effectively silenced her within the political arena. The chamber that had once been a site of hope and reform became one of isolation and humiliation, leaving Elizabeth withdrawn from public life until her death. In this final chapter of her public existence, Elizabeth’s life assumes a tragic grandeur. She embodied the tension between vision and reality, between principle and the rigid hierarchies of her time. Though her voice was silenced, her intellect, courage, and unwavering commitment to justice cast a long shadow over Orenian society. In her seclusion, she preserved the integrity of her ideals, leaving behind only a few private words that testify to her enduring devotion to the cause she had championed with both brilliance and bravery. Her life and death, though marked by personal loss and political defeat, stand as a testament to the transformative potential of individual conviction against systemic oppression. The story of Rosemoor, however, is not yet complete. The aftermath of Elizabeth’s censure, the political reckoning that followed, and the eventual passage of the bill - events that would define the Empire’s path toward legal equality - remain to be recounted in the next publication. APPENDIX OF CITED WORKS: 1770 - Tanith Vursur “An Open Letter on Arranged Marriages and the Rights of Womanhood” 1779 - Elisabeth Ruthern “The Golden Age of the Fairer Sex” 1786 - Vivaca Rutledge “A Vote for Women” 1800 - Anne I “20th of Horen's Calling, 1800” 1809 - Princess Elizabeth “The Social Season” 1810 - Princess Elizabeth “To the Debutantes of the First Social Season” 1822 - Vivaca Rutledge “The Importance of Female Representation” 1826 - Princess Elizabeth “A Letter to the Imperial Archchancellor” 1828 - Princess Elizabeth “The Rosemoor Convention” 1828 - Maude Fitzpeter “Men for the Rosemoor Bill” 1828 - Office of the Arts “Petit Potins; The Ladies’ Movement” 1828 - Ministry of Civil Affairs - “Providence Post; The Rosemoor Bill” 1830 - Anastasia Ruthern “An Open Letter to Prince Philip Augustus” 1830 - Demi d’Kratt “Feigning Oppression: The Irony of Our Noble, Orenian Daughters” 1830 - Claude de Savoie “Women of Tradition” 1830 - Aileen Poiters - “Transcript of the Rosemoor Convention Debate” 1831 - Ministry of Civil Affairs - “Providence Post; Rosemoor Bill Rejected, Backlash Ensues” 1831 - Helena Basrid & Victoria Kaphro “Unity Above All Else” 1831 - Princess Josephine “On Equality” 1831 - Princess Elizabeth “OF PROVIDENCE; A Reflection of the Past”

FOR IT ALL COMES TO AN END The raven haired child sprinted through the streets of Cyrilsburg, determined to catch her rebellious puppy as he scampered away. Anabel knew that she should have listened to Sir Milner, her faithful guardian, and indeed remembered to lock the gate behind her. Eventually the dog came to a pause in front of her Father, allowing a moment of respite for the now exhausted child. Wilhelm smiled, lifting the dog off of the ground. Beside him was her mother Evelyn, and her elder brother Jarrack. The princess thought she would surely be in great trouble, but instead the trio welcomed her into a warm embrace. The Queen of Curon’s fate, however, would render this once happy family broken. Someday allegiances would be forced, and each of them would find themselves either pledged to an enemy, or dead. However that would be some years later, and for now the Princess basked in the warmth of her family. The ashen throne felt cold beneath Carina’s fingers. It had taken much struggle to reach the dias, but as her husband the King stood before Norland’s people, proclaiming his rightful rule, it was met with only ecstatic cheers from those below. She herself had been born from nothing - a fisherman and a ***** - however fate had determined that the course of her life would differ much from those humble beginnings. Iron from Ice, they cheered. She joined them. The Queen of Norland did not know that whilst these words were spoken, enemy forces amassed against them. She did not know that all she knew and loved would very soon be destroyed. For now, however, she was faithful in the resolve of her people. That left her hopeful. Mariya watched as thousands of citizens scattered across the plot of land, hauling carts of stone, brick and marble into their newfound capital. Much progress had been made already, with new homes and stores rising from the dust each day. What stood in total grandeur, finished far before anything else (her husband had in fact ensured it), was the Novellen Palace. It made her smile to know that the infant Joseph Clement, sleeping peacefully within her arms now, would someday inherit every inch of this space. Mariya had suffered greatly. She had lost family, friendships and lovers - all for the sake of the Imperial crown. Tomorrow it will all become worth it. Tomorrow, she will be coronated. In tragic storytelling, the Duchess of Adria would someday find herself deprived of everything; her crown, her children and her happiness would slip from her grasp. However for now she did not know this, and her ambitions for the throne rendered her satisfied. The light of hundreds of faintly glowing flowers illuminated the forest around them, casting a dull blue tinge over the world. Elizabeth, nearing twenty seven years old, had often traveled the forests when she was younger - daring creatures of the night to face her in her newfound courage. Beside her now, however, was no paranormal creature. He was in fact a gentle and kind soul - one of the few that embraced every inch of her, quirks or not. Therefore when he proposed to her upon that evening, shrouded in the moonlit field, she allowed herself to finally look forward to the future; to the one that they would share. In that moment she found only joy. Yet The Princess Imperial’s story would not end entirely in happiness, for she would suffer a betrayal far worse than she’d ever known. However for now she did not know this, and beside the man she loved there was nothing but pure happiness within her soul. A sickly young servant boy emerged from the curtains, offering Amadea the peppermint spiced tea she had commanded of him. Lounging upon a sun-chair, the countess enjoyed the rising Providence sun and all of the warmth it brang her - perhaps even a suntan. Philip and the children were nowhere to be seen, as she preferred it, and only in her company was the small chihuahua Augustus. She enjoyed her life now, certainly, though what loomed above her head (or perhaps what lacked upon her head) was that Imperial crown. It was all she had ever known, and all she had ever wanted. She was born to be a lady, raised to be a consort, and destined to be an Empress. That crown was her only guiding light. What the Countess of Renzfeld did not know is that she would never reach that coveted position. However for now, in the warmths of her silks under the roof of her palace, she lived in pure and utter bliss. Her ending had come even swifter than she could have anticipated. In a matter of moments there was a battle - a winner proclaimed and a loser devastated. For Lucia, unlike many others, this fight had become a matter of survival. Whilst for some it had only been a question of who could satisfy their whims and wealth to a greater extent, for her it was instead the basis of life or death. She would emerge an Empress if they won, and a corpse if they did not. That is what made it so entirely unfortunate when fate determined that Peter IV would fall. There was no retribution and no mercy - she would not allow it. For the Azor was a woman of her word, and intended to die by that philosophy. She stared down the end of the crossbow bolt with a certain calmness. She did not fight. When the Empress of Oren died that day, she felt no fear. For her soul had lived a thousand lives before, and someday, would live again.

I might just be traumatised due to the war of the two emperors a few years back, but overall ive actually been very impressed with the lack(?) of toxicity in this war. Sure, yeah, there's definitely some questionable things (as there is every day on lotc), but I actually think this is almost a positive step for lotc and war. You make good points regarding how important NLs are, moreso than staff, but I think what really needs to happen is a continuation of prioritising rp > ooc.

From within Fort Imperium Lucia of Azor was faced with a letter bearing shattering news. In that moment, and for days afterward, all the Empress truly wished to do was return to her home, and be with her ailing family. She wished to embrace her parents, for the current times did not guarantee safety for either of them. Alas, she could not. Her life had been threatened already, and the Empress knew that no land would be safe for her - neutral or not. So, she was left with only the company of the stone walls of what was once called Linnord. She was deprived of warmth, family, and home.

The Empress of Oren stood upon the central balcony of Fort Imperium, looking down at the various women, children and soldiers milling about. These people were now her people, and this fort her home. In this coveted position they would now look to her for certainty in a time of great strife.

THUS THE VIRTUOUS His stomach turned to be in the presence of the man who betrayed his own brothers. But Owyn was filled with godly strength and recited his ancestry, and he did not balk. Gospel 4:33-34 Lucia d’Azor had come to be known as many things. She was a Lady of Azor, known by her family and to the court. A bold and determined soul, to her betrothed. Perhaps to some only a brash child, brazenly staking her claim to that long-coveted position. And finally, most importantly, she was a devout canonist. A daughter of the Creator. The situation laid before her appeared uncannily familiar. To what, however - she would not know. For she was a woman raised amongst the tender care of family; the quietly unassuming final daughter of a fruitful ducal union. It was certain that her family had before faced trials and tribulations, as every other had, yet what defined her kin from another was their sense of unity. Thus when her city, her new home, had erupted into chaos, she had fled back to the familiar warmth of Azor. The gently burning fireplace and expansive collection of books did a great deal to calm her. In truth, the Lady d’Azor had believed herself to be called personally by God. It was his voice in her mind, his command, that had willed her to declare such bold intentions before the Imperial crown that day. The Faith was in turmoil betwixt infighting and schism, and thus it was her sworn duty to defend it. An Emperor of Oren must bow before God. Beside one she could ensure it. Rally the faithful, it had long ago been said. She had answered His call. And thus, tucked away in Azor, in her private reflections she wrote: 14th of Owyn’s Flame, 1868 It is He who commanded me once before, dictating the course of my life thus far. My faith is resolute; in steadfast will I follow what is true, and what is Holy. The Empire of Oren was long ago created in God’s own word through Exalted Godfrey, and therein He has commanded the will of nations. At his whim we rise, and in his wrath we fall. The plight of man is oft a fruitless one. We may aspire to great heights, and yet before His judgment in the Seven we will be each seen as equals, assessed upon our virtue. It is not a crown in which grants us redemption, but rather, it is the will of the man upon whose head it rests. And thus I pray for His guidance. I pray for the soul of my betrothed, and the soul of his brother. I pray for the canonist flock who will suffer upon the sins of many. Lord, admonish my soul. I have grown decadent. I have sinned. I have forgotten my purpose - the purpose you set me. You punish me for my sins. Command me again as you have before. I call upon you in my times of fortune, and equally so in my times of need. I forsake my worldly pleasures, the spoils of my name and my wealth for your hand in guidance. I am Iulia, servant of God, follower of the divine legacy of the first wife. I beg of you to redeem me of my sins and once again light my path. Orenia aut mortem. Rally the faithful. Long live the Emperor. Iulia, formerly, Lucia d’Azor

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IVORY’S SKIN AUCTION Hi! So since I've been in iso (COVID sucks) I've had time to skin and even more time to online shop. Time for an auction! Rules: Any bids that don’t follow these rules will NOT be counted- so please read these carefully You can not edit a comment, please post a new one with each new bid. I am keeping track of the auction, and will not count any edited comment bids. All skins begin at: 200 mina OR 5 USD Bidding increments must be at least $2 USD or 50 mina Once a skin has moved from mina to USD bidding, it cannot go back to mina If you need a head as well, I'm happy to make one for an additional 3 USD for male, and 5 for female :) You will also notice that I have 2 commission slots on auction! These will be my only commissions open for the time being, and can be bid on the same way as any other skin. Commissions include head, hair and clothing based on any references you provide, and will be completed for you by the end of the week! AUCTION WILL END AT 8PM EST FRIDAY 8TH APRIL BID FORMAT: Discord: Skin/s: Bid: (specify USD or MINA please) Skins: COMMISSION SLOT ONE COMMISSION SLOT TWO Alex: Red The Princess Imperial Ruska The Duchess Sunset Gown Italian Rose Russian Debutante Steve: Armored Up The Tsar

The ill-fated Countess of Renzfeld welcomed her daughter into the skies. It was true that the woman, in her living years, had never really learned to love her children. Every inch of her life was spent in anticipation of a day in which she'd claim that cursed crown - every action was done in preparation; every movement was made in expectation. Her children had been nothing but means to an end - physical manifestations of her assurance to the throne. Her three sons allowed for succession, and two daughters allowed for political leverage. However, akin to many of her family, Amadea's life had ended in a disappointingly underwhelming manner. She had never risen to those heights she was promised, and every avenue in which she had taken to prepare herself was in vain. It was this that she had reflected on in death. And so when Amelia met her Mother in the skies, she was greeted with nothing but love. What was not given to her daughter in life would be given in death, and the pair would finally bask in the love of a family. So they would learn, no amount of jewels, silverware or gowns could have ever truly compensated for their desire to love, and to be loved. That is what, in death, the Countess of Renzfeld could finally give her daughter. Love.