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amyselia

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    amyselia

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    I'll never be
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    your beast of burden

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  1. "War! Can I go to war, buba?" Anna Ulyssa illumed at the thought of open battle with the vocalizations of a thick Ulyssan accent, her training sword smacking the supporting pillars of the carriage which transported the returned Furnestock household across the expanse of the Savoyard sands. "I have never seen a dwarf, and I would like to see one, and talk to it. So maybe I shouldn't fight them. But, Ata did tell me fighting is the quickest way to learn about someone!" She'd pause briefly, "And Ata knows everything about everything. Let me tell you about how much he knows..." And like that, the Furnestock carriage was alit with the ramblings of an overactive little girl. __________________ On a distant yet eerily close road, Claude Élisabeth heard of the incoming conflict from the chatter of outside travellers. Her nose- crooked with enmity -wrinkled at the thought, her arms encasing her eldest within a matronly clutch. "May GOD lead his faithful to whatever path he deems necessary. Amen."
  2. Lady Pruvia stared down at her various design plans and blueprints, and then up towards the dejected Lady Mary, her countenance contort with a disagreeable intensity. "Do not let this be your end, madame." She'd coax, but to no avail. @ncarr
  3. Anna Ulyssa had been counting the break of each wave contra the sea - the coast of meringue foam in battle with liquid turquoise. "It helps with your nausea," had said Anastasia with a touch upon a palm. That bantam Novellen's owl grey eyes peered back into her mother's cerulean, and were immediately convinced of their infallibility. And so for the past 3 months, the number of waves had climbed to thousands. "How many more until we see our land, buba?" The affixed young girl queried towards her father as he waltzed onto the main deck, her lips abating the tally beneath her breath as she strengthened her grip against the ship's custodial railing. One, two, three, and... the waves at once began to pacify in height and volume. Where are they going? "We are here now, pigeon." Proclaimed Philip beside her, sweeping his littlest daughter into his arms and up onto his shoulders to allow her to take full sight of the coast of docks, people and animals alike. Anna was not interested in the beach, so much as she was on the people below. Her gaze wandered over each and every one of them, laying a number unto their body just as she had the waves, for this was merely another ocean. In her heart, this new change was temporary; she was convinced she'd soon return to her beloved wild and temperate birthplace. Her heart, her home, the city of Ulyssa. _______________________________________________________________________________________ On the other side of the continent, a certain Ashford-born Pruvia exited the palace she'd built from nothing with a smile of unrelenting joy, a letter within her pockets growing increasingly heavy. Crossing the lorraine over her chest, she spoke in reverence to the sky: "My life has returned to me, and so has the Lord's unending vitality. Glory to GOD now that he beats against my heart, that which has blasphemed the decade under the guise of GODliness. Let my love embrace me. Let his light swallow me whole. A new era has come upon us, and I am its ready servant."
  4. SIGN HERE! PETITION AGAINST THE NAME OF THE NEW ORENIAN CITY ‘SAINT JAMES’ [!] A petition booth is set up in front of the imperial palace with various clipboards on top of it. There is already a city named with the structure 'Saint X' in Almaris: the Savoyard’s San Luciano. It is a good thing to revere those of Saintly piety, but to do so in an exact parallel to a greatly dissimilar neighbor not only insults Savoyards, but insults our subjects, who are as alike to Savoyards as mice are to chickens. The tradition of Oren would venerate men and women with a portmanteau such as Johannesburg and Adelburg. Additional examples are the Pertinaxi Carolustadt, Senntisten and the singular Helena. Some suggested alternatives to ‘Saint James’ have been Jameston and Jamesburg, which would go colloquially by ‘The Imperial City of St. James, Jameston/Jamesburg,' etc. Many Orenians also simply dislike the name because it does not roll off the tongue well. OOC:
  5. Claude's tongue felt embittered as she watched the reception of the Archchancellor's return from the window of her palace apartments, curious as to what transpired yet too hollow of heart to enquire further. Her thoughts were equally disturbed. Her family, of blood and bone, swirled in her mind as a tempest. The sway of the Savoyard smirk was far too great a temptation for the Haeseni, bringing them to treat barbarically a woman of fine blood who only wished them goodwill, just as they had Claude's own sister - their own child. Was Josephine's a plight fought in vain, stomped on by the masquerade of men at play with chants of brotherhood and amity? The Madame could only answer with a sigh, falling into slumber to later be awakened in a tremor of sweat.
  6. I haven't been around in Almaris for too long, but I do like this map for the individual immersion it gives way to. It feels more realistic than the ones I've been in previous (Atlas, Arcas) because of the immense size. Large maps are quite controversial but I've always reasoned that nations shouldn't be like 1 minute away from each other because I feel as though it replicates how a world without many quick means of transport would be. HOWEVER, in that same breath I'll acknowledge that there is a strong lack of communication between nations and settlements in Almaris that I think has really stunted how diplomacy and overall world building work this time around, thereby decreasing community immersion which I feel is more important than any personal interest I have. It isn't realistic to live in a bubble without acknowledging the existence of your neighboring states. There isn't enough want for interaction with nations outside of your own, which has led to a lot of stagnation in conflict, storytelling and the progress of new settlements. I don't believe this is entirely the fault of the world though, its based on different groups arguing about how LotC should be, with the added tragedy of a missing unifier (large-scale ST events and global engagement motivators). Without interaction, new settlements are extremely DIFFICULT to capitalize on if there isn't already a dedicated playerbase and community connected to it (something like Savoy), so we've seen very few of them rise to the occasion. Isolation isn't good for any playerbase.
  7. Claude crosses the lorraine over her chest, granting the petite viscountess a warm motherly hug.
  8. Claude Élisabeth receives the missive from a courier designated to the office of Civil Affairs as she journals the recent events of Providence, a burdened sigh on her lips in being interrupted. Nevertheless, the urgency of the courier's entrance has her cast her work aside momentarily. As she finalizes the portion directed to the Emperor and his Chancellery, her eyes mount a fraught wariness. Balmy fingers conjoin to form the lorraine cross over the madame's chest, beginning a soft prayer: "Let the fire of Owyn decimate the enemies of the descendants, those who would tear us from the faith of GOD. Let our Emperor, pious of bone and marrow, lead us from these trying times. Amen." In the next few days, Claude would be seen in the library of the Providence Museum investigating voidal activities.
  9. Lady Claude reminds herself of this moment, and of how her own gown had been perfectly tethered to the blue of the sea- despite her primary color of adornment being blue already. She'd scoff, her mind- now 25 -developed well past the care for such things as the ongoings of the frivolous court atmosphere, yet she did understand just how marvelous those dresses were, and perhaps began to think of a new design for herself!
  10. With a pitter patter of heels upon the night's street, the shrouded body of Lady Claude Élisabeth Pruvia appeared within that dim husk of moonlight, two buildings of immense size paralleled on either side of the slim Providence alleyway. In her fingers was a box of Rhenyari Scorch, her fingers working through the tobacco to deposit it inside her mouth every few steps. Abruptly, the madame stops, a couple's conversation made apparent from within an apartment's balcony, smoke crackling someplace nearby. "Crestfall... [unintelligible].... Archchancellor... [unintelligible]... Dirty elf." Were the words she could hear best, the madame's lips quirking downwards as she thought of the imperial elves, those who chose a culture beyond blood; Claude had done the same, and it had been the definition of her fidelity - foreigners, immigrants, all under the banner of an overarching Empire. Yet what of her values? Claude massed a wad of tobacco into her mouth, salivating above it before spitting it out against the corner of the street. Without a word, she continued on her way.
  11. Lady Pruvia is left speechless by the number of those in support, articulating her thoughts of support towards the courier that had entered the letter.
  12. "She is not ready yet." Claude's bantam whisper swept the air following her daughter's scrambled getaway, her embittered tone forming the thorn in the halls of the Preussens. Remitting a terse look towards the attending audience of servants and Pruvian gentlefolk, the madame brought her hand upwards to exact a singular fearsome snap into the air, following with her typical unforgiving bark: "You heard your Viscountess. Get to it!"
  13. Claude awoke that morning with a sting upon the heart, the sound of bewildered maids rushing about the Preussens and towards the new Viscountess' room being a macabre reality to the timorous mother's stomach. How was she to manage a daughter who was meant to manage herself? Pushing her fret within the gut, Claude creeped from her bed and towards her daughter's chambers, their eyes meeting - softening. "Your piano tutor awaits you, ma belle." She reminded, as she did every morning before now, and for all the mornings to follow.
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