Mescaffier

The old, crunkly founder of House Tsecsar wakes from her slumber. "I definitely could've used this 50 years ago!"

Dame Viktoriya rose from her abode beneath the earth, steam billowing out of her helm. Taloned digits gripped the wooden doorframe she stood in, as she read the letter that'd managed to make it into Old Providence. "There is room for . . . Only one Cult .. ist in this city, bit - ches."

Discord Name: tree#6855 Group Size: 12+ Offer: 1,000 Minae

Viathan, her husband, pops open a bottle of champagne as he smiles the sun's smile. "Hark, Godan! I am free from that witch's unholy grasp!" he shouted aloud, likely waking his poor family that slumbered within their manor. Foam gathered and pooled over the rim of the glass, soiling his gloves and turning the papers stacked atop the nightstand into a soggy, sopping mess. "The cheating MUTT is dead, at long last! The beslubbering, doghearted, rank, hell-hated HOUND she was! I knew it!" Sliding off from the comforter and onto the wooden floor with a 'thud', he knelt down to inspect himself in the mirror, preening and tidying himself like an exotic bird. Tears of joy crept down his cheeks and his lips were curled back into the most joyous grin as he donned his best suit and the most exorbitant jewels Valles could offer like a child whose parents just gave them their first allowance. "I can live at last! Oh . . . My dear," he sniffled, looking down toward his pocket watch. A man's image was roughly cut and glued into the hollow face of the trinket, himself beside him on some rocky coast. At last, it seemed the situation had finally dawned upon him. As he trotted toward the door, a low tune escaped from his lips, humming as he walked away from their keep. "♫♪ Hello, my old heart, how have you been? Are you still there inside my chest? I've been so worried, you've been so still -- Barely beating at all. Hello, my old heart, it's been so long, since I've given you away! And every day, I add another stone To the walls I built around you To keep you safe. ♪♫" And there, before Valles, sat a pyre with Mary's portrait at its centre.

"God-DAMN! I . . . Don't want to admit it, but it looks nice. Reminds me o' Renatus," rasped an elder Mali. "Perhaps it's time I come back."

One former head of the Imperial Royal Guard -- Dame Viktoriya -- frowned as the flier drifted beneath her feet. Little acknowledgement of those who had built the Forth Brigade; sculpted it. Not its predecessors, nor what it once was. Nothing more than a disappointment. Setting it aflame with her torch, she closed her eyes, and returned to her eternal rest in the garden.

[!] A glass bottle rolls onto the sand, wrapped in a damaged label - “Pißwasser Beer”. Inside it, sat . . . A message! As you unravel it, it feels as though it could turn to dust in your very hands. It was written on tree bark, which held an awful iron-y, metallic smell. On its front was a messily painted scene of a sprawling ocean and jagged shoreline, with a silhouetted man stood entangled in beachgrass. From its texture and its scent, the ‘paint’ was made from pressed berries & plants. At last, a small cluster of words almost unreadable, scrawled in patchy, auburn ink, occupied the space on the opposite side. It seems these words were the source of the page’s awful odor. “ Upon this dead shore I lie, flesh sinking into bone, with only bitter words to cry. An island barren and unknown, forgotten by kin and left to die. The sun rises to scorch my skin, the moon rises to freeze it thin. Months turn to years, withering like a dying tree, Upon this dead shore I lie by the sea. Hark, gods of sea and ferocious sirens, thirsting waves and ocean tyrants. Bid me safety and bid me home to Valles, empower my sails so that I may find rest once again. SOS, Captain of the Dreadnought, Heir to Valles, ”

tfw a forum account is almost as old as I am 💀

A figure stirs within the Barrows of Almaris' accursed Tomblands, awaiting their calling.

mhmm yes, fancy metal. I understand all of these words. Cool submission, I think it sounds hella cool

"Dwarf men . . . So, dwarf womens' beards are safe?" Viktoriya murmured, rubbing her bald chin. "Noted. Napouke the Dwarfbeard-taker is a feminist . . . Orcs truly are progressive."

"We'll be becoming apart of the 'Grenzi' soon!" one Dame grinned to her eldest son. "I can't wait to put down the manor. I'm astonished no one's taken the chance to ****** the island."

110% landscars, lol WT has already given them warnings (to my knowledge) but no Nations tend to take them seriously.

The author of the letter projectile vomits 'midst rereading her masterpiece. How peculiar.

"Ah, right . . . George existed," murmured a brooding Dame. "Damn. He really did just disappear, didn't 'e?"

[!] A horrid poster sits nailed to the wooden board ahead of you. THERE'S A HOT SINGLE RICH WOMAN IN YOUR AREA! Lady Dowager, DAME VIKTORIYA I, ‘the Silver Drake’ Matriarch of House Tsecsar, Former Captain of the Imperial State Army, Knight of the Most Noble & Most Ancient Order of the Lion, Former Imperial Queen of Arms, Castellan of Heimisgarðr, ‘Allmother’ of the Eight Precepts, Úlfhéðnar of the Father, Et Cetera DAME VIKTORIYA I is in search of love! If you’re a human man searching for a woman with lots (lots!) of mina and eight children, she’s your gal! NAME: Viktoriya Vyacheslavovna DeNurem Tsecsar I D.O.B. [Date of Birth]: What’s a . . . DOB? Youth slang? The text is too small to see . . . I need my reading glasses. AGE: It’s rude to ask a lady such a question! I’m in my prime. OCCUPATION: Illegal substances vendor Alchemist HOBBIES include razing heathen (anti-GODAN!) villages, worshipping GODAN, potion-making, taking long walks on beaches, taking short walks in swamps, taking moderate walks in mountains, sleeping, dissection, hanging out in the suspicious alleyways of Providence, sleeping, and potion-making. APPEARANCE: [!] A single picture was attached . . . Drawn in some hideous ‘pixel-block’ fashion: CRITERIA: - Must be a human! - Must be a man. Preferably. - Please don’t be a cultist. I’ve had enough cultist husbands, I think. - Preferably alive. - Preferably mentally stable. That’s it. My standards are low. I’m desperate. WHAT YOU WILL RECEIVE - A very temperamental kind, old young woman with lots to offer. - Mina. - Possibly, a home. Dame Viktoriya tends to swing between homeless & not-homeless. - Lots of step-children. - Potions! - Did I mention . . . Mina? Should you be interested, send a bird! My response time may be slow, I am a working woman. Humbly, Dame Viktoriya

A lone woman hummed atop a mountain, a hood cloaking her toothy grin as she read.

Dame Viktoriya entered the hospital in a hurry, her white robes trailing on the floor behind her. The moment she burst into the room, she could tell she'd been too late. "Ah. An old face . . ." Conversation commenced. Velhrun had been her oldest friend - literally, and figuratively, and despite his actions, she felt she should aid him. Yet, she'd been too late. "Vhat do vy mean, vyr . . . dying? Vyr young! Young folk don't die!" she chortled, looking down at him with a crooked grin. "I'm a hundred years old, friend." As they spoke on, his voice had gradually dwindled. And then, at last, his breath had, too. "Vel -- VELHRUN!" She'd sought to resuscitate him; she was in denial. Yet, she'd been too late. That maleficar didn't leave the hospital alone that night, but with a heavy bodybag in her arms. "I'll find out who did this to vy, and t'ey'll . . . I'll faechkin' - kill them!"

"Asioth's children are truly among the most durable. Not even the largest nations actively head-hunting them can keep 'em down," a husked figure spoke, turning to face their old friend with a toothy grin. "Not that Druids or Paladins give much of a fight, though!" @Qizu

Dame Viktoriya reminisces on how Duncan had been caught cheating, and subsequently slaughtered by her twice. She chortled, neatly nestling the parchment away in a compartment of her desk to hold onto. "Like a cockroach! The pest is back. Perhaps . . . Inui, was it? Perhaps she'd enjoy to plus-one with me."

"Oh . . .?" An elderly woman mumbled, fetching the paper from her servant's grasp. "Look at that, Alaric. It's Old Marian - the thing vy taught me. I suppose-" she coughed, rubbing her chin - "that it's making a come back. Thrilling!" Viktoriya hummed, sliding it over toward the empty seat beside her, as though asking it to read it. Old vials and empty potion bottles clattered to the floor, yet oblivious was that Dame.

Viktoriya glanced down at the paper with a quiet grumble.