amyselia

Madame Claude lay resilient in her sickbed, affixed unto documents upon documents of news and information fed from all corners of Orenia. With a wrinkled finger risen to the air, the woman voiced in a wary medic’s direction: “The Southern Organization would be halfwits to continue in this warpath.“ A teaspoon clinked in movement against the medic’s morning platter as it was set before the Lady Privy Seal, whose eyes canted downwards, eyeing resentfully the printed figure of her former son-in-law, the Lord Chancellor: “You don’t realize the shock ye’ve laid upon z’em all!” @Chennster

-+- A COMPREHENSIVE GUIDE TO WARDING OFF ODOLAUSTELTZEA Penned by The Reverend Mother Anna Alongside Her Excellency the Lady Treasurer, Aloisia Helvets The Rot, otherwise known as Bloodrot, is an illness newly materialised among the populace of Vienne, rumoured to have originated from a failure to expunge the rancid residual musk of Almaris’s second Bloodrain. The stench is parallel to the odour of burned corpses, relating to the flame of Owyn’s sabre and warning us that his will assumes no idols in quotidian men, for all fall equally before fire and blood. The following guide will seek to attack the falsities spewed by natural science in attempting to explain divine punishment, and offer answers to the why of this phenomenon. SPREAD Lack of Worship; Attendance to the pew has been limited in this age of novelty sewn by the King’s acclaim. The allure of revelry has converted the greatest holy man into but a carouser, dining on wines in the Savoyard’s Smirk and letting slip their attention to the path of sober humility. God himself bears witness, and casts a breeze that wafts the malaise into the olfactory senses and begins to consume. Those that rejoice together are more prone to the ailment, as this obliges them into isolation to lay their knees before God’s altar in forgiveness. Even the best of men will be put to trial at the hands of God's plague. Meeting the Eyes of Sinners; Furthermore, those that have been gripped with the rot are being condemned for their sin, and thus ogling uncensoriously at the sinner is to be complacent. Unfiltered eye contact will transmit the illness the same as would committing actions of immoral faults. PREVENTION In order to prevent contracting the Rot, the most knowledgeable medics and holy men of Almaris have gathered to put together a list of methods that are said and proven to prevent people from catching the sickness: Prayers and Confession; GOD has punished us for our sins by sending us this sickness. The wickedness of humanity is evil and must be cast out. If you see someone that has been infected, it means that GOD tests them and their commitment to him. The sinners, he wants to punish them; the good men, he gives them a trial of life, forcing them to prove their love before him. Cast these men out of your home, out of your city in order to protect yourselves and your loved ones. When they have healed, God has declared their purity, and they may return. Daily prayers, confession of sins and donations to the lectorate are other proven methods that keep sickness at bay. At home; God's spirit of sickness and death enters through the front door during the night searching for sinners and persons to be tried, hence it is advised that one should start fumigation within their own homestead immediately. Take salt and draw a line with it on the swell of the front entrance. Take a male chicken (preferably one with black feathers) and pour its heart blood upon the door frame. This will make sickness think it has already affected the people of the house and will pass the household without injury. Outside the door, a small fire should be lit at all times in order to squall the fumes of plague. Stringing up herbs on a rope and letting them dry is a good way to purify the air in a room. It is essential that one does not open the windows facing south - for it is a known fact that bad winds carry sickness into the lands. Outside; When leaving the house, make sure to wear textures that will not absorb air or fragrance. Rot’s stench will deflect silk textures. In addition, it is advised to wear a full-face mask stuffed with dried herbs, so that the air breathed is purified. Hygiene; Before going to bed at night, make sure to stuff the nostrils with lard so that if everything else fails, sickness is refused entry into the body. That, as well as washing hands in the morning urine of goats, animals with hearty health. One should also drink plenty of garlic and lemon elixir in order to cleanse the insides, should the sickness infiltrate. If coming into contact with someone that has caught the Rot, make sure to drink at least five gulps of this elixir to wash out the malady absolutely. HEALING Confession and Prayer; If one happens to weaken with the Rot, they should understand that no ache is too great a burden for God’s merciful relief. Seeking repentance before him even on a bed of demise is the most important task for the afflicted person, and they should pledge themselves to frequent visits from priests and reverend mothers who may lead their prayer righteously. Lavender; Lavender is a powerful scent, able to mask the infectious aroma that sweeps the rot into the nostrils. A regular layering of lavender over the bridge of the nose and affected areas is the surest way to ensure the rot does not ravage the body wholly. Boil of Faith; The humours of the body are gravely beaten by rot, craving the cleansing of holy oils and incense. The afflicted should be helped into a soak of boiling water sautéed with hummus, lavender and frankincense, and have the skin balmed with butter of olives while the air is lit with lavender incense that overwhelms the odour of death. All hair should be cut from the head to prevent beguiling insects that might want to peck on the dampness. The afflicted must wade in the boil for 30 minutes, then be cleaned with a bath of river water and be laid on a bed of silk sheets. Earthly Consumption; Spiritually, their humours must be re-aligned not only in prayer but in stomach. No more must they partake of indulgences such as liquor and sweets, feasting only on vegetables freshly plucked from God’s earth, particularly cauliflowers and broccoli, artichokes, okra and hot peppers that will lift intense fumes to the throat. Blessings to the people of Vienne.

Lady Claude encounters the foreign missive during her daily bout of information debriefings, a bead of sweat collecting at her temple. "Castle Woldzmir has been in the hands of the Haeseni the whole time?" She whispered to none but herself, a shiver running up her spine, "Mon dieu... What a large structure." She could not cease to ponder the fact for the rest of the evening.

Lady Claude shoo'ed away her grandson's courier, her mind reveling in the possibilities for her formal attire. "You are to be the nephew of a Queen." She'd state to the petit Count, rapidly pouring kisses as concession atop the beau's forehead.

FEAR NOT THE EVIL THAT MARTYRS OUR TEMPLES The encore of an undaunted basilica crumbling at the hands of heretics; history pierces the mind of God’s doting servants; men and women watch in fright, defenseless against darkness. In maelstrom, the cowed canonist may question the posture of the Exalted's command over the pew. He may stray from his flock to bid his prayer in what he considers a solitary peace, the prayer ‘done right’ within one’s own sacred habitation. He beckons his countrymen to do the same, falling from the grace of God’s holy structures into individual worship, for why must cathedrals guide our devotion? To those that herd men away from their sanctuary, I say that what is holy cannot bestow its blessing without the unity of pure men’s hearts in a center of benediction, and to allow evil to splinter the faith when our chapels- the monoliths of God’s amity -are torched by heathens is the acceptance of the faith’s lack of fervor. Thus, we must contend with stronger zeal and exchange blows against that cynical blasphemy. Men have always deemed mercurial events to be miracles only to be met with flagrant opposition, but in the felling of a controversial place of worship like the Basilica of the Argentate Star, there is no contest to the fact that such is a dauntless attack on the possibility of the faith's reprisal. A Basilica represents canondom in the unity that the Exalted foresaw, reveling and worshiping together for the betterment of the conglomerate of humanity. In Oren’s Basilica, no longer under anathema, the name of God began to grow new eminence; his devoted priests returned to keep his walls free of indignity, angering the awaiting blasphemy. When canonist churches are infiltrated by the blasphemy, we wish to recede into our cocoons to avoid the temptation of their sin, but I contend that we must instead violate the light so that it might shine a fire that cleanses. The house of the lord’s servants in Balian may be corrupted by hazards of human nature, such as lapses in recent memory when they might have welcomed the Azdrazi into their temple. It is no fault of men that the evil idols whisper of suborn, but it becomes the fault of men when one cathedral crumbles in a realm by the hand of heresy, only for a neighbor (even if disgruntled) to welcome another heresy with open arms. That cathedral now becomes tainted, desiring the renewed fervor of men who have become ignorant to their chapel’s sanctity. Canondom’s zeal is lost on the souls of the complacent. To cower from our places of worship when hostility arises is to accept the complacency - the apathy. It is not courage to seek out compromises, it is indolence. When one cathedral falls, we must rebuild; when one cathedral is depraved, we must regroup. We cannot allow our places of worship to go abandoned, just as we cannot abandon the faith. Signed, Acolyte Anna of Providentia

A young Claude de Savoie is spotted dancing about the Augustine Palace before her debut, decked in black and white cloth. Decades later, Anna Ulyssa mounts the carriage to Mardon, the steel of her chestplate clinking in the bounce of travel. A waiting cherub listens silently to a bard...

I was actually bragging just a few hours about how this conflict hasn't had much ooc toxicity? I'm not sure if you're speaking about the CRP as I wasn't there but I actually haven't caught a single instance of real vitriol. Lion has been stressing acceptance in the Oren discord as to not have any of that, and if there is any then it's snuffed by a lot of people who care about their community beyond this civil war (most). Individual reports of toxicity are sadly not able to be controlled, and as for the peterphile thing that's just something said by the immature bunch, it's not widespread. I don't mean to psychoanalyze but being those on the Imperialist side and having been displaced from Providence city and original Oren discords, it can be very easy to get overwhelmed. You have to try to focus on seeing this as a consequence of the roleplay rather than OOC.

POEMS OF WAR & WHIMSY By Anna Ulyssa ((Art by Edwin Austin Abbey)) These poems are published on behalf of The Imperial Princess Anna Ulyssa of the Holy Orenian Empire, now an Acolyte of the Canon Church, who contemporarily suffers from mild hysteria due to the loss of her parents. These are writings of several years of reflection upon the state of humanity and man’s will, beginning from age 14 and ending at age 21. 1 Musings of a Beard, 1859 The dead God hath forsworn Horen, Tempt by the widower mistress: power, kiss her honey hair. Kill their young, let not men recover, their unity shall mean our perish. Thus, let us bathe in the blood of sterility, and slumber in dreams of genocide. Urguan, thy glory shall prevail. 2 Crumbling Humanity, 1859 Red Pontiff ‘pon his glory schism, allegiance corrupts canonism. The canine scent of Vargentgotz: slaughter kin, forsake thyne cross. The Black King’s Moot, when men lick tongue on heathen boot. Woe to ye who praise the sun, your folly is the meekest son. Goats dine from Petrine broth, and bleet when Oren bids no troth. 3 Wigged Brothers, 1860 Haiku Here lies peacefulness dovetailing with apathy To create frailty. 4 Devise of Kinslayers, 1860 In the night will blade in crimson bite the deadened flesh of prince and wife. Venomed bread will fell the King to bed, be righteous men beseeched to tread O’er the corpse of hacked and sewn up dwarves that the day will see a crown in court Of the Real heir-Prince that’s been concealed and lords shall crumble ‘till they kneel. On the page will stand victor of age, a fleshling prince upon old stage. 5 Southbridge, 1861 Bled their tongue with the taste of carrion black to abstain from death’s permanence. Ble’ssed the jaunt of heartland soldiers in silver to regale the ruination of armistice. Bridge of Humanity, contest the North And the mini-men. Bridge of Dwarves, contest the Wigged And the mercenary. 6 Consort Curse, 1864 A magnanimous lady falters not before monarchs, she protests in silent loathing. A revered lady glitters, yet she embitters. A lady of great distinction commands courtiers’ passion, but is never a court quaintrelle. She is prized on highest podiums as the most charismatic socialite yet the most exceptional warrior. She must be relegated to shrew because she is most shrewd (and equal parts imbecile). A perfect lady: she is male, better than halfwitted girl. 7 The Duel at Arichsdorf, 1866 Honor tilts the sword to dirt and buries it in ancestral catacombs, where it waits beside the husks of soldiers of the 18 years war, not Urguani. Honor is besmirched, a graverobber comes to dig it out with a shovel in-hand used to crush the bones of slumbering corpses as they wake from the disturbance. A pavane of skeletons begins, the dead take up arms against men with the steel of legacy and faith once enshrouded beneath centuries-old coffins. Scrags wither, for they cannot battle what denies they exist, And honor sinks once more into pits.

Anna crossed the Lorraine over her chest, noting the necessity to pray for the elves of Ebonwood after the attempt on the Princeps' life.

Wisdom as always.

Princess Anna Ulyssa received tale of the war's end from the eerie castle of Mardon, the peace being read to her preceding the emergence of a light chuckle forth her lip. "For all that Haense lost and all it won for the half-beings, its men receive nothing but a warranty of safety for the crown 'pon their King's head. What is more, the Empire gains no penalty that it could not have paid with mollified ease - dispossessed of nothing that it cared for." The stalwart Princess paused, various drafts of ruminations laid out before her in a pavane of neurotic energy. "Before the age of prophets, the Dwarves had readily assisted Hanseti's destruction of their brothers in Renatus, only to wage war upon them within the century's end, for the half-men had grown jealous that The True Faith had harmonized humanity and left them marooned in nothingness." Her eyes were bruised with exhaustion and still she lifted them towards the seven skies: "He shall see to his children's folly soon enough, when the bell tolls on time and men are made to test their faith in the final hour. May he reap his vengeance on us all. May he reap his vengeance on humanity."

Name: Anna Ulyssa Age: 23 Race: Human Service: (nun, monk, priest, militant, etc.) Priest Where do you wish to serve?: Providence or Mardon OUT-OF-CHARACTER Username: amyselia Discord: amyselia#0001

Anna Ulyssa mutters the sentiment in exact words from across the continent where she stood in prayer at the altar, though exchanging ‘kingdom’ for ‘empire’. She adds thereafter: “The haeseni have never given us peace since their departure. It is a folly of revenge that consumes them. I pray for the souls of those whose life hinges on our destruction, who now cry wolf when their malevolence makes them a target, as all malevolence should. Amen.”

"Ultimately, men choose the righteous!" Rejoices Anna Ulyssa as she passes cloth and bandages to the wounded soldiers, of which none were the untouchable Ferrymen band.

Claude remains oblivious as she stood amidst the ongoing slaughter of the battle of Lower Petra, sinking sword into blood-stained dirt. Exhaustion poured into her, and the woman fell chest-first against the earth, breaths heaving below her lips as she neared death's slumber. She lay surrounded by thousands of those who had been stripped of their mortal coil, her soul finding itself depleted. It was but an insignificant end, an end which she longed for many times on this brutal day, yet her breaths continued until she awoke to find that the day had been won. For a moment, her family flashed before her eyes. She thought of her father, gone to ash. Her children, her husband, her sisters, her brothers and... her mother. What of her mother?

"Nice try - use more cannon fodder next time!" Anna loured at the Haeseni, returning to the preparation of her armor set.

"And now, to bring the faithful to peace. Let us hope our next pontiff is not an urchin of hatred for his own herd." Claude rejoices this day, ordering the finest crate of Pruvian Port around.

A long-dead Princess of the Imperium Renatum peers over the men of Blackvale with a smile.

Lovely! Tysm for all your hard work

Lady Provins had been at prayer for the Emperor and Empress through numerous sleepless nights. In half a year, the fatigue of her humanity was tempered by the hand of GOD, asking her to witness the clemency laid before those most holy of monarchs in what was deemed their folly. "I must remain stalwart and guide our people through this." Such was a refrain within her mind whenever she felt rest at her eyes, bidding her to fall to slumber even at her leaders' time of need. Yet the madame did not fail, for she did not herald the Pontiff's raising of the excommunication as a goal to be achieved, but as a lesson to hold fast to her faithful heart. Thus, that night was among another in which Claude's belly lay empty in fast, her body withering as her soul was reinforced in the light of the lord's remediation; the time of the spirit was nigh.

Claude had sought atonement for the past year's chaos in prayer and fasting, hardy through it all. Yet, her eyes were doused in tears only after such a simple thing as a quote from the holy scrolls, that liquid erect from her inner heart of canon zealotry. "GOD delivered a test to humanity, and many succumbed. I PRAY for the souls of my brethren, to let us be one under the call of his holiness once more."

Princess Anna Ulyssa watched the scene from the safety of her mother's arms, the girl's undeveloped brain lagging behind in understanding, causing her to lie in fright. After, watching the unity of Savoy and Oren unfold unequivocally as the new Prince was coronated, her grin finally appeared.

Claude looked up from her immense paperwork as the Baron Carrington read her the dwarven proclamation, a sound laugh exiting her lips. "Mon dieu! Now that we are strong they cower, but when weak they roared of war. Today the dwarves stand exceedingly short."

the truth behind this is terrifying A lot of you know a brief retelling of what happened to me either by word of mouth or active witnessing, but very little know that I had tried to expose my predator 3 months before the whole thing blew up, and that a lack of having EVIDENCE after deleting literal months of snapchat/discord conversations because I couldn't handle the trauma that I felt in seeing any of it could've held back a ban had his exposition not been as public and souring as it was. The pain that I've undergone in the healing process should never have to be felt by anyone, as I was already being groomed long before anything amounted to real predation. NO ONE should ever have to suffer through what me and many others suffered through via a lack of action in not just the moderation/administration but the community as a whole. Please watch out for underage people, of which I still am!!!!!!! It is our common responsibility to care for them if they're being allowed on the server alongside grown adults. It can not be said enough.

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."