clonky

A state, where peace wishes to reside. The Duchy of Adria may have appeared from the ashes, but has requested solemnly to its people for peace. The land is filled with turmoil, people taken from their homes yet still fighting for land and country. There is more to it than just land, but there are people, there are livelihoods, and there could be peace. Yet, this path is not one trekked, perhaps one unknown. TO HAENSE, I find your instruments of war interesting. What is it that you seek? Is it those people who are excommunicated? Is it glory in God’s name? Or is it total submission under a supposed unified state? I query you, as I find myself confused as to what peace you desire. It is surely not the one where the lives of the people are put before any other, for then we would have peace. It is not for God, because many seeking peace have already sought penance to be relinquished from their excommunication. My husband, an elf who was never before known to be Canonist, was deemed excommunicated. Hurin and I, Seraena, seek only the path and light of God, yet all I see with war is the opposite. Shadows cast over your judgment, and I only hope that penance is served for all those who sought destruction over peace. I hope that penance be handed to those who put land over people, and greed over God. Peace is within your hands - it was given to you, the promises of Midlanders willing to put down sword because we have lost so many. Our brethren look from the Seven Skies and yet, when they look down on our turmoiled and malevolent lands, they do not see the crown of peace that was offered to be accepted and sat upon the head. The crown has been given, the olive branch tossed, but it was not taken, and for what purpose? Allow me to wonder where peace might live. Peace is not subjecting innocent peoples to horrific tasks, or a life barely liveable. Peace is not relinquishing identity, and peace is certainly not war. So, it is evident to mine eye that peace is not with you. If you require peace, if you so request it, if you are so desperate and you preach and speak about peace as if it were your own son, then harbor it as such. If peace is the answer, then it is not peace that is with you. Do not opt to speak of peace in place of avarice, because God shall surely see through this lens. Let the innocents die, they say, as this is war. Let there be peace, they say, but this is still war.

FULL NAME: Seraena AGE: 100+ PRIOR EXPERIENCE: Many a time have I encountered such grandeur foe with desire to continue my training and knowledge. METHOD OF CONTACT: clonkie (discord) clonky (in game)

I highly recommend commissioning capace. dude literally has a ton of experience working for people in bedrock marketplace and doing a variety of stuff. keep up the good work buddy!

The eyes of the Princess of Malinor lit with the flame that burned before her. The Petran Church, a heap of scorched rubble and rafts that have burnt the very structure of the church. Her visage was simple - admiration. Seraena knew her husband to be a devout Canonist. Regardless of if she was an elf, or if he was an elf, there was one problem. God was not with any of us in war. Regardless of this fact, her heart pitied those humans who did not have the life that she had. She could live for centuries, while they lived for less than a century itself. The hostages under her care, a young coupling, were subject to the kindness that Seraena showed. Next time, though, God would not be with Seraena, nor guide her path toward the tolerance that held her heart so. After all, with the excommunication of Hurin, it seemed that elves and Canondom did not mix. She would not force the lily pad to sink beneath the water. Alas, the burning of the church was but a mere act of vengeance. There and then, a small simper arose on the horizon of her countenance, and shone like the dawn. Here was a new day, a temperate change to facilitate her new found freedom.

"I remember the day Hurin and I were married. . ." Seraena, the Princess of Malinor commented on her engagement to her now-husband. "Perhaps it is time we renew our vows. It started with a Canonist priest, and we shall continue to be wed under the eyes of God." She too, was a Canonist elf, as Hurin is himself. Though, she did find it quite funny to see his name in such a missive. Regardless of his status, she did not care much for Canondom as he did. It mattered not. @Milenkhov

Olive Victoire is highly impressed with the research and history that this article contains.

Here came the icy winds that whipped the inflamed tresses of Olive Victoire as her eyes flitted to view the wintery abyss. The young girl of High Peak, having hailed from Aaun now found herself in the Kingdom of Haense, feeling desolate and alone, and preferring to be mute rather than speak. She held her arms close to her, with the fur coursing her skin, yet her heart did not warm. Her body ached. Her arms could not bear the weight of sadness any further. Her legs couldn’t carry her to a path of victorious elation. Her eyes - who chose not to see the beauty of the world - were now fogged by tears. There was not a moment that passed, a snowflake that fell, where Olive did not think of Gawyn. There was not a night spent without a weeping child, longing for the parental affection that Gawyn had provided. By blood, she was not a Tiber. By name, she was not a Tiber, but to Gawyn, she was just as much his and he was hers. Olive Victoire. The namesake of ‘Victoire’ rang in her ears. She believed she did injustice to her name. In no way was she victorious. Victory would mean to her that life was fruitful, that it was fair. Victory was not the stools she used to clamber up the Hand of Horen to save her aunt, Adela of High Peak. Victory was not her safe venture to Haense. Victory did not save Ser Gawyn, and Olive felt a disgrace. "Life is unfair, Olive. You have simply been unlucky.” Gawyn’s voice still echoed in her mind. Though, she did not forget his song of words. "But you, you will be safe elsewhere.” Perhaps life had been unkind to the girl, but if unkindness meant that Ser Gawyn had cared for Olive as his own blood - his own kin - then life had been fruitful and giving. Life had been granted to Olive, even if it was at the fate of another’s. Life was easily taken as it was given, but Olive was forever indebted to her one true family - Ser Gawyn Tiber. "I won't forget you, Gawyn. Guide my hand to sword, and guide my mind to victory. I will miss you as the sun misses the moon." Hands then stretched to the sky as the sun appeared from the dimmed clouds, shining down on Olive from above. The warmth of a true father could never be forgotten by one who has felt it.

Olive Victoire of High Peak found herself dithering, her mind a swirl of what transpired. Perhaps she was frightened for her life, for she would soon be found to be the culprit of the stools. But, she didn't quite feel a discernable way, all she knew is there was no regret to be had. Kin is kin, blood is blood, and she would sacrifice her life for whom she considered family.

giving me a 79.9% grade in this class is really cruel. round it up or else

"I was invited?" Queried the Rosius girl to her father, her eyes sparkling as she saw her name glimmer on the parchment. Olive Victoire began her preparations to play with Darius and Cecily and maybe even have a slumber party!

Sister Gisele hummed to herself after reading the missive, her mind fluttering with what occurred that day. She did not forget that her prayers sentenced the rain to stop in an instant, making way for a clear blue sky after the request was sent to God. She smiled, and continued to hang linens to dry out over the Aaunic Sea.

Penned by Sister Gisele of Merryweather on account of the counterfeit nuns It is with great melancholy in which we cast our response upon the savagery of nuns the other orders possess, to be wickedly enveloped in sin so they must do harm to the subjects of God’s piety. Albeit these nuns roam free under the guise of charity and with God’s act of beneficence. THEREFORE, the Order of St. Jude and the Judite nuns hereby declare their disentanglement with those nuns of deceit. WE STATE that any persons that obtain and constitute to the vows of nunhood, should hereby follow said vows. If they shall not find this agreeable, then they shall perish to God’s mercy, and are hereby disallowed from garbing in nun’s attire. WHEREOVER, we do not condone the action of poisoning, falsity, or inauthenticity of said nuns. The Judite Sisterhood thereover condemns these women of cloth for disguising and perishing the trust of loyal and pious subjects of God. THENCE it is that the citizenry of humanity be weary and remain cautious when approaching the Petran region, and the Judite Sisters hope for repentance amongst the barbaric actions these faux-nuns have acclaimed. WE ALSO HEREBY DECLARE that not all nuns are of the deceitful sort, and some have devoted their life to piety and poverty to worship God in solemnity. Be aware that you mustn’t conduct executions in God’s Holy House, as He shall be the one to condemn you in the Afterlife for this is sacrilege. Thereover, it is in proposition to warrant a search for these faux-nuns, and let God's sword be the decider of their fate. TO CONCLUDE, if you are of the needy kind and have been ravaged by poverty, the Abbey of St. Jude has plentiful resources. Those who seek refuge in lieu of recent events may have a stay at the abbey if they so choose. Bread and wine are also charitable offers that the Judite Sisters proffer to the Children of God. Sister Gisele of Merryweather, Judite nun of Aaun Mother Anna of Alstion, Abbess of St. Jude

Sister Gisele of Merryweather does hope that she is not confused with the nuns with lack of piety and morals. She prays to God that he may have mercy on their souls, and prays dutifully for the guardianship of her other Sisters.

Quick steps clacked through the echoing halls of the Hand of Horen, with Sister Gisele's habit bundled in her hand to ensure her safe journey to the chambers of the now late King. She stopped before the ailing body, her lit candle flame flickering. It was as if the candle was representing the Monarch, that his flame was burning low, soon to be distinguished. The nun left Mother Anna to her brother, and began to pray for his safe journey to the Seven Skies.