Eryane
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Posts posted by Eryane
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Ithirae appears again, as soon as she last disappeared, as she always tends to do - though it would not be long until she was gone once more. "So, tell me, from the beginning... What is happening?" she says to her sister Valyris.
6 -
"Always so well written," Ithirae remarked at her sister's new proclamation.
6 -
Arabella of Carolustadt, although not involved in Haeseni politics, takes the news from a courier on the road with some joy for the progressive move for Haeseni society and the continuation of the unique tradition started some decades ago. She wished the best for Queen Amadea's successes as the King's equal, albeit quietly and to herself, whilst traveling through the wintery lands of the dual monarchy. "Long live Queen Amadea of Susa," she'd repeat.
2 -
5 hours ago, Nectorist said:
in truth, my original plan was to have an elected empire because i think it makes for based rp, but we never really got to that given the extenuating circumstances
mad cause I wanted all the siblings to equally fight for the throne trying to get the peoples support >:(1 -
which part of our reign did you enjoy the most & the least?
also do you still put jelly in your eggs for breakfast?
3 -
CONTEMPORARY FEAR
A Collection of Poetry written by Arabella of Carolustadt
One day, I pray that I shall see the wheatfields of a land free from the grips of tyranny, and my mind will be at liberty with it. I have imprisoned myself to the whims of my paranoia and distrust, furthermore to the forces that are outside of my will that cannot be controlled by my voice alone. A voice in the contemporary era holds more weight than it once did, yet it still drowns amidst the millions. The opinions brought to life by language are often stomped out like a beginning flame by inter-subjective thoughts that control our lives without having any life to them but imagination. I find these writings for all of humanity who has suffered greatly in these past decades.
The Stranger Who Shapes Me
In our dreams were cities of gold
We saw a future for us both, brighter
Than anything in that land foretold.
Winter sang tales of new beginnings,
Yet to occur but soon to come,
And with it our unexpected endings.
I hear it still, the glass that shattered
The screams, the painful shouts,
And anger as nothing else mattered.
Our wounds, hearts, would heal,
But what we had written together wouldn't.
All the unmade memories were his to steal.
Who is he? I'd like to ask that too
For the man who stole my future
Is someone I never knew.
I have seen his face, it is engraved in my mind.
He enjoys being there, to torture me so
Blissfully unaware, of the life he defined.
Gently I will not go into the darkness
As alike to the sanguinary anomalies
Who are void of love, remnant to starkness.
Steadfast I will be in your presence,
For no matter the lack of humanity in your eyes,
Nothing shall break hope's essence
The Wall
There is no wall between these lands
And yet when I close my eyes, I see his hands
Reaching for a line drawn in the sands,
Declared impassable by a stranger's commands.
Whose hands do I see, that reach so far?
It is that of two brothers with cities of char
Blockaded by the collective imagination
That creates our understanding of the nation.
When I ask of his pains, for him to free himself of his woes
His eyes are only what tell me the most
Never shall he dare to open the box, to expose
The hardships of forced distance despite being so close.
Unfathomable is the strength of a brotherly bond
Which shall not, by this vitality, despond.
The Grey Palace
Daybreak, and with it the morning sun
Into the oranges hues we go, with the rolling hills
Grey scars the land, in buildings one by one
The air is crisp here, with the sweetness of nature
Do you know who lives here, amidst the castle before my eyes?
Children are laughing, and the cornfields sway,
Yet to say the joy there is unquestioned with happiness is full of lies
Oh, we are all so far from our home, and they are here to stay.
A stranger's embrace becomes one of longing
When that of a mother and father's are beyond their small reach
They crave for a sense of belonging,
And a normalcy they may never know.
His Name Will Remain Untold
Power seeps from the words unspoken
And the names I refuse to give life to —
For they deserve none of it from the pieces left broken.
Only when consciousness meets fringe do I hear them.
When the others ask for recollection,
It is of my mindful duty to sweep such questions away
Without desire for more speech, through subtle objection.
These names deserve nothing save for oblivion.
Like a liquor I drank them amidst casual routine,
In settings most unlike to mention them within.
An obsession of the mind and all such things inbetween
Of the jarring cruelties struck upon me.
Words, names, be them as they may —
Mean nothing without breath and gifted light of day.
Mother
Flinches at the clashes of metal
And tears from the sound of silence -
For it soothes your trembling soul,
Which coils in recollection of those terrors
As your hearing bursted into a singular piercing noise.
Home you stay, as the world caves in around you.
Close to your sons, whilst bloodshed surrounds you.
Physical existence becomes the nightmare,
Rather than the torments that fill your rest.
Only glimpses show this awakened sobriety.
Never shall they see these inner trials,
Nor the questions that consume you without words.
Tonight, I pray that you find a few hours of dreams in your rest.
SpoilerThese were written over the past several months, enjoy :]
if you are curious for the inspiration, these came from my personal experiences since the beginning of the full scale invasion of ukraine and what I've seen -- nevertheless, I felt like they could be interpreted differently to lotc's history, or some characters, so take these poems as you will
12 -
Spoiler
based writing makes me feel fancy glad 2 be known as anastasia the mad :]
1 -
From her residency in Branhavn, Arabella of Carolustadt curiously listened to the chatter on the street as rumors spiral. She hesitated upon what she heard - could it be true? - the arrival of her cousin, who she had figured to be dead with the rest of the Novellen at the fall of the empire's successor state. If she closed her eyes for long enough, she could still see the ruins of Vienne's palace, and hear the crunch of glass beneath her feet in the dining hall where all the stone busts of the rulers of Oren lay broken. If she tried even harder to tug at her memories, the crackle of a fireplace in the Aster Palace and her mother, Victoria - muttering off about something she couldn't comprehend.
After packing her things to go into the capital city of Karosgrad, Arabella traveled the gravel roads leading to Hanseti-Ruska's capital to hear more information on the arrival. It gave her some feeling of nostalgia from stories she heard as a child, although this was quite different. Peace had finally been made - or at least some sense of it, and the international order had been entirely shifted.
Nevertheless, she set out to find her family. Curiosity took the best of her.
7 -
And then, the wandering traveler was back within the vast range of the Haeseni lands, as per request by the king to stay as the Petran Envoy for some time in the palace. Arabella of Carolustadt overlooked the unfamiliar architecture that stretched across the colorful Karosgrad from a balcony high above most of the city's buildings. Now having a solidified alliance for what she hoped to be a new home and new beginning in Petra, she felt some ease. There was still much more work to do. With that, she downed the Carrion Black she had been recently given!
4 -
Ithirae cheers on her sister!
5 -
Elisabeth of Hanover wishes her children could've been treated the same by Henry Cordayne.
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Ithirae gasps as she takes the document into her hands, as such was given to her moments ago by a courier. Then, she grins. "This is perfect for my new stand-up comedy! VALYRIS! Look!" Without another word, she runs off to find her sister.
3 -
Arabella lets out a heavy sigh of relief, at the haste response of the Queen to attend to the issue at hand - especially in a formal, well-written manner. "That's a monarch," the youth exclaimed to herself under her breath, increasingly becoming proud of her decision to have moved to Haense.
6 -
Having left behind the dissolved state of Oren, Arabella had settled her bags in the Haeseni lands. She had been there for a few weeks or so now, adjusting to a lifestyle entirely unlike her own after the end of the kingdom. Seeing this missive made her grumble, her nose scrunching. "This seems like an attempt to capitalize on the high division in humanity, and to bring it to Haense. I hope the people here don't fall for these tricks. I hope they stay proudly as one together, especially when the state easily could be in its golden age."
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"I fear for what this sort of dish might do to your stomach," quickly chimed in that of Ithirae, who then glanced over the missive with narrowed eyes. "If it, by any chance, has anything to do with human style of cooking, I'm afraid the royal janitor will quit his job. We do have a royal janitor... don't we?"
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"Cowards will always choose themselves and their survival first," a young Arabella muttered under her breath as she heard the news. "Siding with those who would murder their brothers and sisters, and them too without remorse if they had the chance." She, despite her seemingly patriotic words, had kept a bag packed by the door. Having heard nothing from the incumbent regime, her fears had worsened and she was not naive to the truth - she simply refused to accept collaboration in what growingly felt like the inevitable. That is, for now.
Spoilerbtw not a personal jab I love u Kaiser
3 -
As the streets remained silent and the common folk stayed in their homes, windows shut and curtains drawn, a blonde-haired baseborn girl of sixteen years roamed the streets in her own quietude. It was late at night by then, with only lanterns and candles to light to ward away the darkness. Arabella tenderly kept a rag to her nose as blood dripped from it as a consequence of the dry, airy night.
As the rush of blood slowed, she pulled the worn cloth from her nose and watched as a collection of papers scattered across the empty city square. Perhaps it was a missive from the king, who she long awaited word from for a hint of solace. The letter was signed by another cousin of her Novellen (albeit hers tainted) blood, Alexandros Casimir. With a talent in unrestrained curiosity, she lifted the parchment close enough to read.
And there was a longing she felt. Together, the Balian heir had written as his final word to the Orenian populace.
Together.
She sobbed, fell to her knees; the girl was not old enough to know a time where that togetherness existed within the complete Orenian society. She did not truly even know what it meant to begin with, or if it was a word with empty meaning and no true fulfillment to be given with it. What would today look like if yesterday had been different? What would tomorrow look like, if she chose to follow the path that Balian aristocracy beckoned for? Was this simply a petty political scheme to manipulate the scared common people who knew no better than to decipher deception? Or was it genuine concern? She could not tell as she wiped the tears from her cheeks.
Another night, she would give it another night, and hope the best to come for those of her young generation.
2 -
Although amidst a series of travels abroad throughout the lands of Almaris, Ithirae of Celia'nor was able to collect a few bits of regarding the state of her homeland - among them, this. The publishing of the non-aggression pact made her smile, and she went into the depths of the small tent she stayed in to write Valyris and Illarion. So the board shifts and changes with the tides of history, and we must learn to read - to our utmost abilities - what the future holds ... And she continued, until she sent it off when she found a post down the road.
1 -
HOMELAND
When I was much younger than I am now, I heard people echo this word all around me. They reminisce of the rolling fields and bustling pristine capital city and towns on its outskirts, the glistening manors perched not far from the main road, and the palaces that struck them with awe. Work for your homeland, fight for your homeland, die for your homeland. And what do you do - how do you choose - when your homeland fights itself? What comes of the word, how far does homeland stretch when constricted by infighting? It feels as though the luxury of this once far-reaching term in the context of Orenian society was robbed from me.
Those older than me knew a time when there was not tension, perhaps not peace in the foreign sphere, yet at least little friction between the Orenian peoples. I was born and raised in internal conflict, amidst the Brother’s War after the dissolution of the empire, as were others of my generation. We have never known peace like our parents have, and it is questionable even if our parents knew it either.
Can we not, as Orenians, come together as one alongside a governmental regime that listens closer to the will of the people, than to destroy our homeland in its entirety? I ask this of Acre, of the House of Novellen, of us all. Why is it that Oren must end, the Oren we have built, the Oren our ancestors died for? Why must we bring a conclusion to our customs and cultures, our community? I fail to understand the incessant need to bring the concept of nation that brings us together to its knees, to dissolve it, when it can be made better and we can put to rest the needless bloodshed of our own kin. Have we not killed each other enough already?
We have seen kinslaying in the imperial family, brothers killing brothers, to that in our own fields. I cannot urge enough that there be some referendum, some conference, of the Orenian populace in its entirety. Dare I say regime change, but not the end of our home. If it is truly the end of our nation that the majority yearns for, then we shall see then rather than to murder one another viciously. There is never any honor in murdering those of your own nation, your brothers and sisters. We all, as Orenians, know that the true power is not derived from the miraculous nature of our rulers but from the people itself that uphold it. This rebellion should be an awakening, as was the Brothers War, that elites bleed red like commoners.
To the Haeseni who watch as Orenian blood is spilt, mayhaps unsure of where to stand or what to do, please do not forget that we are as human as you and do not deserve the destruction of our homeland - as you did not, in the times before when Haense stood at the brink of death. I ask that you do not aid in the end of our home, as we did not with yours many years ago with the Rubern War. There is a chance that we, as humans, may prosper as two equal nations. There has always been a chance, I believe and pray that all have always known this potential to have existed, even if our rulers have not before been willing to take it because of their own grievances.
I hope that one day I shall see my homeland in its calm, peaceful state once more that is no longer driven by chaos- a homeland that is willing to cooperate with its foreign neighbors rather than exploit them; a homeland that can flourish in its multicultural origins and have an age of tranquility without having to be removed from the map; a homeland named Oren, without fear being struck down by its own brothers and sisters within.
PRO DOMO ET PATRIA,
Arabella of Providence
Spoileri hope Google translate got the Latin right xd
reply as you wish as according to your characters :]
PS can someone hit me up with a good song for this bc I can't find one
15 -
"Let's hope that these peoples and their king have the sense in them to be wise about their next moves," Ithirae said to Illarion, as she spun about a bit of honey with a teaspoon until it dissolved in her tea. @VoxyNoir
5 -
Upon finding her sister - Valyris Wynasul - in the Celian palace, Ithirae gave her but a simple nod of her head not long after the release of the missive, one of subtle approval. She'd go deeper within the royal halls, then, in search of Illarion to advise on these new people's smooth integration into their nation.
4 -
Amidst the Celian streets, an auburn-haired elfess, Ithirae Wynasul, curiously eyes those who claimed to hail from the Akaln'riv family, with subtle observation and intrigue after having heard of the family's values and history that had spread in recent days. She hoped the best to come from them, for the prosperity of their nation.
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On 7/21/2022 at 6:29 AM, Shmeepicus said:
dont talk to my wife like that
1
THE FOURTH DUMAPALOOZA
in Human Realms & Culture
Posted · Edited by Eryane
Desperately, Elizaveta attempts to read the letter that her father was sent. Although she was quite young, barely able to read much, the Ruthern tried her hardest to comprehend what fancy words lie before her. She understood nothing. @Demavend