Eryane

The young countess, Alexandra Tuvyic, nodded with utmost approval of her favorite holy knights. After seeing the missive formally published, she spent the night in the outdoors of the municipality drafting up and sending special invitations around the Holy Orenian Empire. A courier dressed in dark, albeit worn, attire approached the following people with a sealed invitation. Many of the letters might have had a leaf or two within them, or other plant-life such as a flower or loose petals. HIM Emperor John VIII and the imperial household of Novellen @KosherZombie HIH the Duke of Crestfall and his esteemed pedigree @BenevolentManacles HIH the Count of Renzfeld and his esteemed pedigree @ErikAzog HIH the Countess of Rosemoor and her esteemed pedigree @Ivoreyy HG the Duke of Sunholdt and his esteemed pedigree HG the Duke of Cathalon and his esteemed pedigree @Fishy TRH Count of Kositz and his esteemed pedigree @Imperium TRH Count of Azor and his esteemed pedigree @Da_Emperors TRH Count of Susa and his esteemed pedigree @KBR TRH Count of Valles and his esteemed pedigree @grnappa TRH Viscount of Pruvia-Provins and his esteemed pedigree @MrChenn TRH Baron Carrington and his esteemed pedigree @MannyMannyManny TRH Baron Halcourt and his esteemed pedigree @DevoutChorale_ TRH Baron Stahl-Elendil and his esteemed pedigree @Braehn Elendil An'Hiraeth TRH Baron Darkwood and his esteemed pedigree @DarkWrath94 Additionally– Mister Otto Wittenbach and the Northern Geographical Society @Etow Mister Tobias de Sarkozy and his esteemed family @Qizu Mister Otis de Rosius and his esteemed family @0TI5 Miss Claude Elisabeth de Savoie and the Ladies of the Rosemoor Convention @amyselia

The day had been another long and hard one of endless travel to her aimed destination. Yet, she had been assigned to various volunteer activities as additional work to find a deeper spiritual meaning whilst seeing the conditions of the less fortunate. As Anastasia finished kneading her eleventh bread dough, covered from head to toe in flour, she overheard another conversation. Proud of her friend’s writing - or at least from what she heard - she beamed. How wonderful! She thought, Claude is right about our collectiveness now. We’re stronger together. However, before she could hear much more, Sister Galina placed another chunk of dough to to knead in front of her and she went back to work.

Amidst Anastasia’s journey had she often overheard passing travelers discuss the ongoings of the empire. While at first her mind was quick to judge when she heard of this missive, as many young children are ought to do, she could not help but consider what had been said. She hadn’t the chance to read the whole missive, other than overhearing brief conversations. Although the woman with her, Sister Galina, had been hesitant to allow her to see much of the ongoings imperial politics - she had granted her this one missive to read, so she may contemplate the opinions of both arguments. Anastasia took the night to read and re-read what was written. “Sister Galina,” she called out the woman traveling alongside her as they walked on foot at the break of dawn. Anastasia was tired, exhausted, but her pilgrimage would allow her to see the poorer side of life she hadn’t seen in its entirety. “This woman speaking out against the Rosemoor lot. . . She has good points, and brings up great concerns about the common woman- the common people who make up the heart and soul of our empire. But she seems so angry, and I hope God finds her so her and the noblewomen can find a common ground- so change can be made together, as Orenians.” For some time, the two pilgrims remained silent. All that could be heard was the chirp of early morning birds and the crunch of gravel beneath their feet. “I will pray for her.”

The auction was closed as of 8:30am EST. Thank you all so so much for bidding, it means a ton as this was my first auction. I’ll be reaching out to you all here soon about payment & the skin files! (Apologies for all the confusion with bidding! I am on vacation in Arizona and they evidently don’t practice Daylight Savings so the times were very much off). Traditional Russian @Fie - 150 Blue Riding @Kholibrii- 140 Women’s Armor #1 @latte - 250 Old Fashioned @ImStuckInHell - 130 Yellow Promenade @Kholibrii - 120 Women’s Armor #2 @zuziee - 200 Flowers & Bows @Kholibrii - 170 Rhenyari Attire @ncarr - 250

AN OPEN LETTER TO PRINCE PHILIP AUGUSTUS His stomach turned to be in the presence of the man who betrayed his own brothers (Owyn 33) HIH Prince Philip Augustus, Duke of Crestfall, To a figure of such renown as the heir presumptive to Our empire, a person who is gazed upon as a symbol of leadership and wisdom as its heir, We ask you what you may hold as the meaning of kinship? We ask this as news spreads that you, Your Imperial Highness, had voted to silence your sister's voice as if she were nothing more than a stranger. The Princess Imperial’s voice was silenced on the House of Lords; an unconstitutional act against the Countess of Rosemoor appointed by Our Emperor to be seated there. We turn to the imperial family as a paragon of how Orenian familial affairs are to be conducted. Thus, We hold the kin to Our Emperor with the highest degree of reverence and respect. Indeed, We hold these truths without most of Us having been graced with the acquaintanceship of the Emperor’s family. Is this same respect not held among these esteemed individuals as well? We question this as you have moved to silence your own sister’s voice. Will We be silenced when your reign is to come, too? Behind the opaque curtains of the House of Lords was shrouded a show of perfidy from kin unto kin. Thus was a voice that pleaded for a mere chance at equality silenced by one of their own blood. The Holy Scrolls tell Us of the abominable consequences of the violation of familial bonds, the kin-slaying, and the horrific aftermath left in its wake. While no blood was spilled between siblings on this day, We did witness a scene of betrayal reminiscent of the tragedies of old play out before the legislature. Now we must watch as the aftermath unfolds. We pray that God shall find His good graces into your heart to remedy what has been done. In your attempt to silence one voice, you have only allowed for the amplification of thousands more. This provocation is such a fickle thing to effuse, for it breaks the coexistence of the word We hold so dear to Our movement: equality. How can this be achieved when one is angered and the other apathetic? How can We create understanding in the apathetic when We are not allowed to speak? We are not allowed to witness, as a collective, the debate of an issue which would alter forevermore the fate of half of the future nobility of Our Empire, who long for the mere chance of equivalent right. A wise scholar once said that “The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's lives.” Familial bonds may extend to blood and birth, but should also be intertwined by sentiments of care and regard for each other. We watched as you remained idle, standing quiet as the voice of your sister was quashed. Will you retain a similar silence when time comes for you to sit upon the throne? If this is how you have chosen to treat your own and blood, how will you choose to treat the extended family which We created within Our esteemed Empire? We pray that God will guide your path further in this matter. We pen these words in the name of those silenced, who shall not be any longer. In the name of your sister the Princess Imperial Elizabeth Anne, whose voice you have directly quashed, and in the name of your mother, Empress Anne I. In conclusion, We ask you to consider these questions. 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? When will Our voices be heard? Signed, A Majority Who Shall Be Silenced No More

A LADY’S PILGRIMAGE Early amidst the month of the Sun’s Smile, a single bag was packed and rested near the door leading out of the Ruthern manor. Only items necessary for living were packed neatly in the bag and ready for the awaited pilgrimage. Anastasia reached for the bag and looped its straps about her simple clothing, all done in a sweeping motion. A series of letters were prepared to be sent out to her friends, family, and mentors to inform them of her travels. The sting of her mother’s death resonated with the halls of the palace that lost its glimmer and shine without one of its finest princesses amidst it. Her spirituality waned with the finality of death, or presumably so with the unusual circumstances of her mother’s disappearance. It was then her decision was solidified; a religious pilgrimage to Sutica to deepen her faith to witness one of the battlegrounds of Canonism in more recent history, so she may endeavor to understand the sheer devotedness of those willing to sacrifice their lives for God. For her journey there on boat and foot, she prayed seven days heretofore in the Providence cathedral that she would come to see the role of the Canonist faith among those of the lower classes, and understand a life she had not been raised within. And so she packed all her jewels in her bag but did not dress in a noblewoman’s attire. These items were not for her to keep as mementos. Instead they were to be given to those less fortunate she met along the way. Anastasia wore simple, worn clothing from the marketplace that would be suitable for her long adventure. With her letters sent out and her bag donned upon her back, Anastasia set out for her pilgrimage trailed by her mentor, Sister Galina, in the name of God.

The letter came early in the afternoon. Many had been donned with the colors of mourning, yet Anastasya had not desired to ask. Merely she had dipped her head in a courteous and respectful manner for the person who likely had nothing to do with her own personal relations. How foolish she had thought herself to be then to not think that the talons of death could too reach her family. Immediately did the Raev depart from any congregated place and to the comforts of an isolated section of the palace gardens. In her shaky hands she held the unopened letter, unbeknownst of its unfinished contents. Only when she was seated on the bench nearest to the waterfall did her fingers unfold the letter. How strange, she observed, for her mother not to perfectly seal the parchment in a pretty manner befitting to her liking. It was not the finality of death that hurt her the most. It was the unfinished letter that sent an indescribable sorrow deep within her, knowing there would never be another letter scribed on that parchment at her mother’s hand. There had still been a slim chance of her survival, as she only disappeared and this letter could’ve been a mistake, but so minimal was her luck and optimism. You will find yourself damaged in the process. Anastasya read the sentence over and over as the carriage trudged its way back to Kositz, to be at her sister’s side.

ANASTASIA'S AUCTION OF ATTIRE Under the supervision of her mentor, Sister Galina, Lady Anastasia Ruthern proudly announces her first auction of clothing. These have been designed and sewed by Lady Anastasia– albeit with assistance and guidance from those dearest to her. Others, such as armors, are acquired from various craftsmen across the empire with designs from Lady Anastasia. Any inquiries surrounding the auction may be sent through letter. OOC GOLD & WHITE DEBUTANTE TRADITIONAL RUSSIAN BLUE RIDING WOMEN'S ARMOR #1 OLD FASHIONED YELLOW PROMENADE WOMEN'S ARMOR #2 FLOWERS & BOWS RHENYARI ATTIRE SIMPLICITY

“How adorable,” a Raev said with a brief smile at the missive. Before she could read any further of the newfound child kingdom and their rules, Anastasya had been approached by Sister Galina and ushered to the cathedral for prayer and preparation for her religious pilgrimage.

what’s one thing about lotc you’d like to see change in?

As the announcement was spread throughout the populace, Anastasya made her way to the confines of the Cathedral of Providence. There in the lonesome pews did she kneel in prayer for the years to come.

Whispers in the halls of the palace rang with a dreadful tone the young Raev girl who passed the hushed courtiers was not quite used to. News had spread quick of Lady Adeline’s death. Later that evening within the cathedral, Anastasya gathered what remnants of the Petit Potins columns she had left and flicked through each one that mentioned the d’Azor. With each scan of the paper did the finality of death dawn upon that youth even more so until she had spent the next hour in prayer for the woman she would never have the chance to know more.

A courier approached the Countess Dobrov with some hesitance, but eventually did she receive the invitation. Alexandra took a long sip of her orange juice (in a wine glass) before shouting at the top of her lungs. “FAMILY! SISTERS! DMITRI! We have been invited to the Secretary of War’s wedding!” Without further to do, she rushed off to prepare each and every one of her sisters (Milena, Nikita, Reece, Ostrovina, Reza, Nastasya, Eugenia, Caelan, Fyodora, and Mardon). @Cepheid @Tigergiri @RaindropsKeepFalling@Hephaestus @Tiresiam@doreebear@Axelu@Caranthir_@Endovelicus @edelos @Publius

“Now see, cousin — this is good for starting fires!” Explained the ten-year-old Countess Dobrov to her cousin Alexander from the Woldzmir Manor. As the gossip column lit up in flames, a sudden shock filled her gaze. “Oh, wait! Wait! It says something about me-” Yet before her fingers could grasp the last bit of paper remaining as the rest shriveled into ashes, her oversized headdress of a skull designed with feathers fell over her face. “Hmh.” @Kujo Elsewhere… By the riverside of Kositz, Anastasya counted through the mina she had raised for charity with astonishing pride in the organization’s accomplishments for merely having only begun a year ago. At her side was a copy of her friends’ gossip column Petit Potins and a letter addressed to the founders, Claude and Alina. The letter was sent off later that eve, @amyselia@VeganWalmart

eryane signs the petition.

SIMPLICITY https://youtu.be/o-BbeLmOAYE “Oh, Milena!” She cried out in frustration and threw her head into her hands. A desk of disorganized organized papers sprawled out all before her. Papers were neatly together in piles yet the piles were not neat. There was only one paper that interested her out of them all, however. One with scribbles and crossed out stanzas, mishaps and marks. “Think! Think! There must be something...” There was no plausible way for the Lady Dobrov to focus on her poetic writing as her mind swirled and swiveled with a million and one thoughts. Was someone standing behind her? She glanced, and no one was there. Even when she had assured her mind resolutely there was none else but herself in the room, the figure lingered in her peripheral vision. Who was it? A voice muttered a name, or a phrase; she could not understand. Paranoia, anxiety, and endless worries. What shadows did she see lurking so near and who was that woman’s voice that called out to her? If only she were to glance over her shoulder one more time and see what it was– Crows flew about Milena in her chambers and cawed ‘til her ears rang and her head ached. She flailed her arms, yet none of her efforts seemed to stop the unrelenting black birds while she coughed, coughed, coughed. “Please!” She begged her mind to give her freedom from what it tormented with. “Please, please!” She pleaded again as her headaches worsened and her mind pounded. The woman scrambled out of the chair and curled up into a ball, holding herself as though she were a child all over again. A figure came into view out of the blurriness. He wore black robes and a golden Husaryia cross dangled from his neck. The aura about him was unlike any other; warm, comforting, goodness. When Milena looked again, her brother Dima stood before her. “Pray in the morning, pray in the evening. When your mind begins to turn against you, pray to Saint Julia for guidance.” And so she prayed and prayed and prayed from where she laid on the creaky wooden floors until all the crows were gone. The air revitalized her lungs again as breath swept into them in sharp inhales. Her hands pressed into the ground where she remained for all the time that had passed her and she sought those poems again with a cleared mind. From broken lens and obscure clouded views, A girl sat quiet in the row of pews. She was not alone, she had known this well For their eyes were watching And the world was stalking. Yet all the wandering glances saw not Of what lies beyond the blackened curtains. Was it too heavy to lift the fabric? Did they dare to bring a hand forth to try? One err step out of place, a word said wrong, As simple as a walk if not seen strong. She was wary, breathed when given the chance For their eyes were watching And the world was stalking. Although she had seen smiles, heard laughter too, Through a broken lens was how they were viewed. Her dreams were not of greatness. She did not want a crown or a title to hold. Wicked night terrors of realism from her tormented mind allowed her no chance to have desires of dancing with a prince. Merely, she wanted to dance. Cough, cough, cough. All throughout the night she coughed until she could cough no more. Her body seized up when her lungs could take no more and she rasped out what air was left. Cough Cough Cough Milena’s frail hand reached for a handkerchief she had specially crafted herself in her bedridden state. On it were the names of all her children sewed in cursive; Isa, Alina, Eirene, Safiya. Designs of vines and flowers, chrysanthemums and roses, were sprawled throughout the fabric. When her coughs came again, she could not bring herself to taint such a precious item with her sickened bouts. She sought another to her luck and wheezed with what little strength she had left in her. The sickness had taken her for months. In the beginning, she ridiculed herself for her horrid lack of duty as a mother ‘til she accepted, as she always had, that some occurrences in life were out of her control. She could not bring such cruel blame upon herself for what was not her doing. Men and women of her past and present walked at the end of her bed and around her room in a slow promenade. A boy who once dreamed of being a knight Grey in attire and in his paled face too Had he ever the chance to know his might? A girl who dreamt of being a pianist And perhaps the finest in all the land Had she once the chance to know her talent? A boy who she would never truly know Who had shared her blood and had shared her name Had they once the chance to know each other? A girl who dreamed of jewels and dances Who was the most beautiful of them all Had she once the chance for those romances? A boy who once dreamed of goodness and peace Stolen from the living world far too soon From above had he seen kindness increase? Foggy figures dissipated into unrecognizable transparencies, and then they were no more. Red dots lined the handkerchief when she coughed again. A sharp sting engulfed her entire body and sent her consciousness into the crevices of her mind. She had seen the snakes strike at the perched crows for years, hearing all the horrendous hisses it had to resound. With her eyes closed, she could see her family all standing together as one in their blackened irregular choice of attire; her father, her mother, and her five siblings. Together they had endured the rumors, the harsh words, the sickening accusations against their family– as one. She had made a family of her own and danced all she had wanted to dance. Milena had spent her life simply, with a good partner and children who prided her so. What more could she ask for? What more could she dream of? When Milena closed her eyes, she knew the answers for those distressing queries and for many more. A smile remained on Milena’s lips ‘til the last breath faded out. There were puffy pink and orange clouds ahead, a beautiful seven skies for miles upon miles when she opened her eyes again.

By the end of the evening when the sun had set, Anastasya had no other desire besides a swift crash into her bed as soon as the carriage arrived in Kositz. She acquainted herself with so many that night and again, a hundred more thoughts swirled her head for a sleepless night. In the early hours of the following day she clambered out of bed in search for a candle. When Ana did, she set the lit wax on its holder and began drafting a letter on which the candle’s light shone. Yet she recalled what her newfound friend, Molia, had told her the night before and crumbled it for her friend’s sake. Her various attempts from letter writing to sleeping were to no use. She found herself flicking through the gossip papers, laughing at the good memories the paper incited from an evening well spent.

After being pulled into the interview, Anastasya left to the Providence cathedral where she knelt at the pews and prayed. It was all she could do in a time of so little understanding. Only when the light of day began to fade did she catch a carriage to Kositz to return home. There, she let out a yelp as a bucket of water drenched her from head to toe. "PHILIP!" She cried out, knowing immediately who the perpetrator was. When she dried off and found a change of clothes, Anastasya met her younger sister Amaliya with a look of pure uncertainty. "Yam niet sure what this means. But it is a funny thought, nie?" Though after the silly prank and her sister's curiosity, she found herself incapable of sleeping for the rest of the night. A million thoughts ran through her mind and would continue relentlessly for days to follow.

While working at the Providence Sugar Stall she and her friends had made, a man with such a sad demeanor approached. His entire person was off-putting from his solemn gaze to the way in which he held himself. Anastasya held out a wooden Husaryian cross, "Here," she told him, "It is niet much, but know that my prayers are with vy." "I see," George Hartcold-Rourke took the cross, and pocketed it with a sad nod. He limped away after, his cane tapping the ground until she could hear it no more. When at the stall again, Anastasya watched the passerby and sold many more crosses– but nothing could keep her mind from that man and wondering what had occurred. That night she prayed, even if she hadn't known his name or his sudden passing– she prayed for the stranger she wish she could've helped more.

PROVIDENCE SUGAR STALL 3rd of Owyn's Flame, 1827 A depiction of several desserts to be offered at the Providence Sugar Stall, as drawn by Miss Nikoleta Barrow We, the children of the Augustine Palace, cordially invite everyone across the empire and her allies to come to our sugar stall where we have pies, cakes, cookies, brownies and imperial specialties! We also will have homemade desserts that are special to everyone’s different cultures and families. The stall will be on the bridge to the palace, and will be open from the months Owyn’s Flame of 1827 to Godfrey’s Triumph of 1828. We are raising money for Mayor Otis de Rosius’s orphanage and poorhouse, and for the church! Late in the month of Godfrey’s Triumph, we will also be making and creating toys and blankets for the children at the orphanage in the public palace gardens. Everyone is welcome to come and to help out! SIGNED,

As Anastasya steps out of the Providence cathedral from her prayer, she overhears the conversation of several passerby about the foreign affairs ministry. She listens close with her intrigue heightened and catches wind of the ministry hiring. The thought remains in her head for the rest of the day and into the evening, until she pens a letter to the Secretary of Foreign Affairs.

@MunaZaldrizoti@Nectorist@UnBaed "Oh goodness, my dear!" Cried out the Lady Basrid as she hurried over to the set of rose bushes with a handkerchief high in the air until she proffered it out to the Countess Dobrov. It may have been better had the woman brought out a full bottle of wine, yet the woman had never considered such offering. All she could manage was a small smile to Margaux, and her thinly laced fabric to Charlotte. "Goodness, goodness. Everything shall be all-right in good time. God will ensure no harm befalls your sweet daughter. Ehr– further harm..." @Aesanie@Cepheid@Tigergiri@RaindropsKeepFalling@Hephaestus@Tiresiam@doreebear@Axelu Off in the distance in the town-square of the municipality, a young Raev girl stood tall with her arms cradling her youngest sister, Eugenia, in her arms. Alexandra, the oldest of the nine-and-counting set of daughters, demanded her sisters (Xenia, Milena, Nikita, Reese, Ostrovina, Reza, Nastasya; save for Eugenia) about as they decorated in preparations for the imperial family's visit. "MOVE IT! MOVE IT! LET'S GO!"