Mescaffier

What Pokémon am I?😳

Viktoriya DeNurem peered at the board, adjusting the golden spectacles that sat atop her skeletal features. "Hmm . . . Mina? Count me in."

T H E E N D O F A R I V A L R Y 12th of Harren’s Folly, 1791 Viktoriya DeNurem marched at the fore of a proud Orenian rally, a cart secured behind her as the men, clad in red, tangled through the undergrowth. Recruit Neldor, Recruit Jacker Gendik, Recruit Maglure Varak, & Recruit Merlin Forrester trudged on behind her, having come to her call amidst the sudden chaos that’d broken out minutes prior. At the very centre of the city, a commotion had stirred – a silhouette spotted upon the roofs. Jamila Al-Nabeel stood upon the crook of Varoche Hall, a note held betwixt her trembling grasp. A woman, Viktoriya DeNurem, raced up through the halls, desperate to halt the poor Farfolk in her actions – alas, too late, as she fell from the sky, landing with a sickening thud upon the pavement. The DeNurem watched on with a grimace, descending back down the climb to stop at the decrepit body below, evidently horrified. ”COMRADES!” she cried. “We must deliver this woman back to her family! To Al-Hadirah, we must go!” The aforementioned soldiers rallied to her shout, readily gearing up & preparing for their journey ahead. They reached the shore of the encampment, yet the city was empty – a stale, dank scent hanging in the air. They lingered, for several moments, before moving on toward the stone keep, expecting citizens to be lingering. Yet, as they rounded the corner, they were met with a foul surprise. An infamous convict – Elene Komnenos – reeled forth, attempting to lunge at Recruit Varak. Her blade clashed with his iron breastplate, and her fist, his eye, as he shoved her off from him – the Officer that lead them, Viktoriya DeNurem, then surging forth to protect the newly Oathed. Yet, the Komnenos was clever: she was aware of the woman’s brash, arrogant nature from their past encounters. Whirling about, she brandished her longsword, delivering a terrible blow to her flesh, slashing the Officer’s chest. Viktoriya stumbled back, a string of incoherent words escaping as she fell upon her bottom – the rest of the party that’d remained now advancing. Recruit Neldor stepped forth, fending her off well enough for the DeNurem to regain her bearings, now finding Elene upon the floor, a bloodied mess. She bowled through the Farfolk that’d begun to appear to the commotion, grabbing the woman by the collar. The Orenians held their ground, sure to allow for the Officer to pass as she dragged the Assassin through the halls – glaring forth at the double-doors ahead with clear intent. Dropping Elene upon the floor, the fight continued. The Komnenos had managed to send another barrage of attacks upon the woman, yet, her actions were slow – dulled, now, as she began to lose consciousness. The woman stood atop her, drearily glaring down into her gaze as she unsheathed an ivory dagger, dragging it across her visage, before plunging it within the crook of her throat. There, a three-decade long rivalry lay ended. Years of hunting – fighting – slaying – waiting, boiled down to a single few minutes. Elene Komnenos had been slain. And, out from the corner of her eye, as she trotted away . . . She could see a dim, teal manifestation rise from the mangled corpse she carried, dissipating into wisps as she caught its gaze. Something unholy had clawed its way out from within the blackened depths of the Komnenos’ soul. “Tyranny's child hast not broken us yet, Try as she might, not a drop will she get! Tyranny's tantrums have come into play, Striking down witches for what we don't say!”

A large, towering Olog stands amongst its brethren – its ugly, battleworn features stretching up into a crooked grin. It lifts a meaty fist into the air, valiantly shouting alongside the other Raguk as a Goblin dulls the speech down into a few mere gestures and words, now comprehensible for the lesser minds of their clan. ”WOLOLOLO!” it cackles, slamming its mighty knuckles into the dirt below in a steady rhythm. ”LALALA! GUG, GUG!”

A woman peers at the flier, furrowing her brows a tad. “Oh my – Sixteen eggs . . . Ten ‘erbs, buckets o’ milk? Grouch, t’es sounds loike a bakin’ class,” she snickered, nevertheless rising and preparing her scavenger hunt for the mentioned supplies. ”O’ well. ‘m desperate, niet much teh lose.”

Viktoriya sat her son, Bertholdt, down ahead of her, staring intently at the costume she'd made him put on. It was . . . A princess gown! The poor boy. "See? Niet as uncomfortable as ye' thought, now, go act cute and win us some mina! Or, erhm . . . Wotever t'ey're givun' away."

Old, yellowed scraps of parchment can be found amongst the Empire’s decrepit alleys, trapped betwixt cobble & enshrouded in waste. They seem to target the slums of each settlement – most particularly, the Crownlands. Each bears profoundly messy scribing, all more or less the same, covered in lines of blotchy ink and grime. ❝We Are the Mutants❞ The Poor cried, ”We are starving! There is no more bread, and we have nothing to eat.” The Rich Man sneered, ”Not my problem! You do not work for your bread,” as if he did not steal away the grain by his own greedy hands and create filling bread for his own overflowing mouth. The Poor cried, ”We are dying! There is no more medicine, and we are all ill.” The Rich Man jeered, ”Not my problem! You do not take care of yourselves,” as if he did not buy all the medicine and raise the prices so high, the gods themselves would not be able to reach. The Poor stopped crying, And the Rich Man was satisfied. Until they came knocking on his door one night; their faces were sunken, their flesh decaying, their eyes sightless. They were monsters of the Rich Man’s own making. As they devoured his flesh, the rich man cried, ”Please, spare me!” The ravenous zombies told in unison, ”Not our fault . . . . . . You fattened yourself for slaughter!” And they continued their feast. ”We Are the Mutants.” Around these worn leaflets, others lay – perhaps, that the sender wished to publicize further. No signature – telling sigil – or other form of identification was given; save for the small, thorny cross included at the very bottom of each missive.

Viktoriya DeNurem – dubbed, ‘The Allslayer’, by the beast Tichar – stared down at the waters beneath her, a mess of gore and ichor. She became an effigy of sorrow and rejoice as she peered downward to where the General once laid, now turned to a mere puddle of slop by the descendants’ mighty onslaught. The noise that followed tormented her – her suffering reduced to a mere whimper unheard by her brethren, as the situation struck her. Finally, the lamentation rose out from her mangled throat– a cacophony of joyous cries and confused, shrill shouts, as she finally fathomed the beast’s demise. She’d watched him be torn apart in front of her, situated behind the front line composed of mighty Dwed – meeting his terrible gaze, once, just before he was torn from the sky and obliterated by the Holy knights’ multitude of blows. Memories rushed back into the labyrinth of her mind . . . Of her time within Tichar’s encampment. The deal it’d tried to strike with her – the foul trickery and misdeeds she’d committed to be sent back into the Arcas’ mainland. Being hoisted – shown the light, quite literally, after dozens of months confined to her cell. The feign of hope lighting within her damned, black soul once more – only to be snuffed as the General told her of its terms, should she be set free. And yet, she fought on. Now, Tichar was dead – gone – once and for all. She was free. For now.

Viktoriya DeNurem – the Vice Minister of the Office of Foreign Affairs – gave a firm nod, peering at the missive ahead with the slightest beginnings of a smile. ”Tae Mali’aheral, good lads. Ae look forward teh our next diplomatic mission!” the woman hummed, gently rolling the parchment to then slide within the drawer of her desk as her clad digits drummed upon the wood of her table.

You’ve fallen for my trap. I want to be -Z tier

oh god no they found me

PLAYER NAME : TreeSmoothie CURRENT POSITION : None SUGGESTED POSITION : S++++ REASON FOR CHANGE : Give S++++, am egirl (I put this in neon comic sans, so your eyes would bleed reading this. Have fun!)

Lieutenant Viktoriya DeNurem – the ‘Allslayer’ – glanced toward the surface of the prison pit in which she was bound to: one of her comrades of the Imperial State Army held at the top by a daemon. The Officer would watch on with an apathetic front – not forced to look, yet, couldn’t quite tear her gaze away from the gruesome scene. ”One God, One Empire, One EMPRESS!” they’d cry, before being pushed into the pool of descendant ichor & gore below – a guttural shriek escaping from their lungs the entire way down. . . . An Empress. ”Forgot Peter kicked tae bucket . . .” she mumbled, recoiling a tad as a thick splatter of blood flew toward her cell – coating the plague-infested bars that separated her from the gruesome scene outside. Half-finished bone shanks & stone daggers were haphazardly strewn about her prison’s floor – alongside a few dozen shoddy attempts at writing upon the parchment she’d taken with her. The Leftenant was preparing for her fight . . . Against the Paladin, Diomedes. All she bore were seemingly harmless weapons, yet – hidden deep within her bedding sat a potion . . . Gifted to her by the Inferni, M'ag'ns C'arne – that she’d hope would ensure her victory, and, more importantly . . . Survival. ”Ah’ll have teh congratulate ‘er, when ‘m back.”

Lieutenant Viktoriya DeNurem – ‘The Allslayer’ – stirred within her prison, a harsh cough escaping from her bloodied maws. The daemonic carving upon her back had healed over – a sliver of her strength returning, yet, the woman was far, far from ever returning to her prior state. The blight of madness had claimed her, her mind a winding labyrinth caught ablaze: crumbling with each terrible moment she remained bound to the Inferni soil. Every hour, she’d be forced to watch her comrades – human, mali, orc – plummet into the pool of blood & gore below . . . Some odd sort of ritual the Daemons were in the process of putting into fruition. Each day, fed the limbs & flesh of her fellow soldiers. She recalled each & every ISA – their prideful gait, their untainted souls burning with determination for their state – with a twinge of jealousy. For some . . . Odd reason, her mind seemed to linger upon the thought of the Sergeant. ”A . . . Resolute anh’ unswervin’ fellow, he is . . . Was? Old man, Reedwater is, ha,” the Leftenant croaked, toward no one in particular. She’d suddenly fall into a reverent silence – thinking over her words with a blank expression. ”Ah . . . Who knows. Maybeh t’ey’re all dead, out t’ere. Hmmm, Bert?” she’d inquire – peering over toward the corner of her cell, where a rat sat.

Pained groans could be heard, from deep within the Inferni encampment. Viktoriya sat in her cell, piles of human bones piled atop one wall – rotten pieces of flesh along the other. Her breathing was ragged and harsh, the woman slumped atop the uneven stone floor of her prison, clutching a loose brick. She’d heard of the Firewatch’s advancements from passing Inferni grunts – the smallest light of hope igniting within her. ”Stay strong . . . D-Descendants.”

THE SNUFFING OF A FLAME MISSING PERSON – LIEUTENANT VIKTORIYA DENUREM [!] Fliers would be passed out about the Holy Orenian Empire, seemingly made with upmost haste. The missing woman in question is scrawled onto the page – each sketch slightly different in each missive. Viktoriya DeNurem has gone missing. She was last seen in the Inferni Territory – alongside Captain Sir Alaric DeNurem, Captain Sir Cassius Reine, Captain Darkwood, and Private Endellion. Any information of her whereabouts should be taken to the Imperial State Army. . . . Deep within the Inferni encampment, vicious cries & groans could be heard. Viktoriya was slumped within her cell – completely silent. The shrieks and screams around her echoed out through the space, of people being slaughtered – tortured – torn limb by limb. And, yet, here she sat: still yet to die. Several weeks prior . . . Her husband: Captain Sir Alaric DeNurem, Captain Sir Cassius Reine, Captain Darkwood, and Private Endellion had sailed out toward the Isle of Korvassa with means to scout the region. Yet, unbeknownst to them: Inferni forces had been awaiting their arrival. Attempting to bargain with their forces, Captain Darkwood had leapt out from cover to speak with the daemons – to no avail. The party was thrown into a vicious combat – immediately moving to flee as the Inferni mass grew. Trapped beneath the root of the tree the ISA Squadron had been hiding inside – Viktoriya soon took to looking for Captain Darkwood after she’d wrestled free, who had been the first to be stricken down. At first, unable to spot the Captain – she took to hiding, awaiting her party: the party that had already sailed away. As she’d watch Captain Darkwood disappear behind the dunes, she knew . . . Soon, she’d be dead. So – With her last, raggedy breaths, she’d defend the Darkwood: running out from her hiding spot like a madwoman, screeching and screaming at the top of her lungs. Several Inferni would turn upon their heel: away from the path Darkwood had taken, to chase after her. Still sprinting, she’d turn about her heel, and chuck a bottle toward the floor – some odd concoction made with Blissfoil Pollen, of her own making – instantly bringing two Inferni upon the ground in a deep, deep sleep. A spear had been jabbed through her calf, causing the woman to stumble, yet, she’d keep up her fight. Grabbing her ‘ISA Victory Flask’ – awfully ironic, for the situation – she’d blind another, whilst five more appeared: a line of fallen Inferni trailing behind her as she’d roll down the hill, toward the shore. While her fight had certainly put a dent in the patrol’s numbers – in the end, she’d be caught: a spear to her chest. As a last attempt, she’d shriek . . . ”TICHAR! T-TAKE ME TO COMMANDER TICHAR!” Surprised of her knowledge, the Infernal grunts would take to apprehending her . . . Dragging her to their encampment. The DeNurem would soon find herself within the deepest depths of their prison – left to her own within a cell. There, she’d sit for hours . . . . . . And then hours turned to days. . . . And then days turned to weeks. . . . And weeks turned to months. She was not being rescued. There, she would sit . . . Kept surprisingly healthy, despite the slabs of human meat she’d been fed – and the dirtied water she was given. Slowly, She’d go insane. [Inferni emotes were in cyan (as shown below) & green. . . Sorry for the confusion!]

“ T’ere’s a reckoning a’coming, And et burns beyond tae grave. Wit’ lead inside my belly, ‘cause my soul ‘as lost et’s way, o’ Lazarus . . . How did yer debts get paid? ” . . . Lieutenant Viktoriya DeNurem’s voice rung out in an impassive tone. Her dull, gray eyes were focused upon the land ahead – her gloved hands gripping the reigns of her stalwart alabaster steed as she rode forth, toward the Crownlands. Wherever she’d been prior had been far, far away from civilization – tucked away in Mother Nature’s embrace, keeping herself company locked within her laboratory miles underground. She would come back anew, like a phoenix risen from its ash. The news, of the death of Peter Pruvia – of David & Rylan Swint – of the Emperor, had all affected her in ways she couldn’t have imagined: the tendrils of grief chipping away at her soul with each passing moment. A burden unto her deepest, most selfish desire – something she recognized would halt her progress indefinitely. An utterly . . . Useless feeling, yet, one that reminded her, she was human. Finally, she’d find herself rounding the corner of the Empire’s familiar thoroughfare – the golden fields of rye, the great walls of Helena looming overhead. She was back – though, not quite ‘Home’, yet. Tying her steed up within its stable at Harlingen, she’d move out toward the inner-city, off toward the DeNurem estate, to greet her husband, Sir Alaric DeNurem [ @Paulobig ], inside. . . . ”Great change approaches us, love. Let us be its Harbingers – For new times are upon tae horizon! Long may she reign – GODAN save tae Empress!”

Lieutenant Viktoriya DeNurem was situated within the swamp, a large cavern looming ahead of her, covered in runes & dried blood. The Fourth Brigadier herself seemed tired, and weary – as if about to drop the floor for a long, long rest. After receiving the news of the Major’s death, she’d gone out in search of the culprit – never to find them, nor, what could have caused Rylan’s sudden disappearance. A new desire blazed within her heart – . . . The want for Revenge. Amidst her sulking, she’d find herself beginning to slump toward the ground – thoroughly exhausted by her travels. Her face twisted into a look of pain as she’d sign the Lorraine upon the crest of her cuirass – peering out toward the starless void above with a grimace. ”Mother – . . . Ensign Peter – Major Rylan. When will et end? When will tae pain subside?” . . . ”Wot’s tae purpose of continuing ‘ere? En t’es living ‘ellscape . . .” Looking down toward her breastplate, her trembling hand would grasp the locket that sat upon her chest – slowly opening the lid that sat atop it. There, inside, sat a picture – her Purpose. Of herself, and a white-haired Imperial Captain: Alaric. Her life’s will – what kept the blaze within her heart aflame. And, in the moments before she’d faint, her gaze would catch alight: a fresh hope developing in her soul. ”My brethren – My comrades. Ye will be avenged. Rest easy . . .” the Leftenant murmured, sleep finally claiming her. For the next several months – the woman remained unseen.

Lieutenant Viktoriya-Marie DeNurem glanced down toward the paper, a taut look upon her wrinkled visage. As she’d read, her hands took a slight tremble – realizing the morbid nature of his words – along with the faint, crimson tinge upon the missive’s surface. Despite the divorce that’d occurred years prior, between Philip – her ex-spouse, his brother – and herself, she had still considered Peter like a brother – as he did, her. Despite all that had happened, both supported each other in their times of need: as comrades in the Army, and, as brethren. ”M-May . . . ‘is soul rest en peace,” the Leftenant told in a feeble tone, signing the Lorraine upon her breastplate. After a moment of despair, she’d take to preparing a steed for her journey to the Albarosan Manor, in Kaedrin, to place a bouquet upon his grave.

Lt. Viktoriya DeNurem cracked a grin as her eyes scanned the missive, eagerly preparing her form to mail to the fellow Leftenant. After sending it off, she’d begin her ascent up the stairs from her office, to show the flier to her husband, Alaric @Paulobig. ”Look! A drinkin’ contest!” she’d cackle, rubbing her palms together after setting the leaflet down upon his desk. ”Remember when ae downed t’at bottle o’ vodka en one go? Ha! T’ey best just give me tae prize alreadeh, t’es win will be loike takin’ candeh from a baby! Not – T’at ah’d ever do t’at, o’ course!” NAME: Viktoriya-Marie Helene DeNurem RANK: Lieutenant [[IGN:]] TreeSmoothie

boomer.

A W E D D I N G - – 1780 – - I N R E V E L A T I O N [!] An Artist’s depiction of the soon to be wed couple, Chief of Intelligence, Sir Alaric DeNurem KL and the Right Honorable Imperial Director of Immigration, Lieutenant Viktoriya Helene Châteaudun. Freshly fallen snow crunched beneath a certain Lieutenant’s boots as she’d round the corner of the road leading up to the formidable fortress of the Eye of Man, Captain Alaric DeNurem close in-toe as they’d approach. There, the great bastion stood, ever-looming across the barren tundra of the Holy Orenian Empire’s North-Eastern woodland – the area around them still and silent, as gray clouds, laden with snow, hung heavy in the sky above. They'd approach the lake beside the keep, an eager grin upon Lt. Viktoriya’s face as she’d walk upon the ice. ”Hmmm . . . What’s this surprise you’ve been speaking of, Vikky?” Alaric called after her, outstretching a hand to sit upon her shoulder as they’d walk. Where they stood, the ice seemed exceptionally thick – showing that the Leftenant likely had scouted the area before taking him. ”Ye’ll see – Ye’ll see! Just follow me~,” Viktoriya told back with a hum, grasping his hand to intertwine their digits as she’d glance up at the DeNurem, an almost . . . Fond look in her hues, paired with her anxious smirk. An hour had passed as they traipsed around, sight-seeing and cracking jokes at one another – falling upon their arses and cackling, enjoying their time spent. After her last fall upon the ice, the Lieutenant didn’t seem to bother getting up as she’d reach for something within the depths of her satchel – a small, wooden box. A ring sat within its confines, atop a tiny velvet pillow – looking as if whoever had made it put tremendous thought & effort into the small gift. Using her offhand, she'd pull out another object – a bouquet, except, seeming to be made of carefully worked glass. Staring down toward the ice below them, she'd then slowly peer up to meet Alaric's hues - her anxious expression slowly melting into that of a longing gaze. “Alaric . . . Yer' my world - the dream in my ‘eart. The first time I'd laid m’ eyes upon ye, ae immediately knew we shared somet’ing special - and et wasn't long after t’at I'd fallen in love with ye & realized ah'd been meant to spend my life . . . With ye'. Yer tae most incredible man I've ever known, and ye make me feel amazing each and evereh day. At first, ae'd . . . Been incredibly nervous to say this. But, now - I'm elated to be ‘ere, upon one knee - proposing to the man I love. Ah can't promise ta fix all yer' problems - and I know t’at ye' can’nae fix all o' mine. But I can promise, t’at, from now on - Ye' won't have to face t’em alone.” Alaric's lips parted, his jaw lowering a tad as a grin flashed across his visage - His heart beating quickly as he heard her words, inside feeling his love for the Leftenant. The DeNurem's grin slowly settled on a loving smile, a sense of serenity arising midst her presence. “Viktoriya,” He began his part, drawing in a deep breath, locking eyes with her. “Since the days I set my eyes on you, way back- During my cadet days, a part of me was taken, lost and drifting through the halls of my mind for so very long . . . No more. When despair was cast upon my former marriage, so coincidentally, by fate or not, you were there - A light to guide that part of me that was so lost,” He paused a moment, simply adoring her features. “And in those quick days, I came to notice that my soul was truly incomplete - It was missing you. I love you Vik, so damn much. You're always there for me, one that takes life with such elegance, expertly sailing the waves of time with the things you do so well . .. I could go on for days, never to end on how eternal my love for you ist,” He concluded, widening his smile as he offered his hand for the ring, awaiting the question. “ . . . Yer’ much better at wording this than I am,” Viktoriya would quietly chuckle, bowing her head as she'd offer him the ring. “ . . . Will you make me t'happiest woman in the world-” Viktoriya would pause, then peering back up at him - a genuinely affectionate expression upon her scarred features. “And - And, marry me?” She'd finally choke out, the woman's grin broadening. The DeNurem slowly reached his right hand out further to slip the ring into his right fourth finger - His facial expression beaming with happiness and affection at that. “In doing so, I would, in turn, be the happiest man in the world-” He mirrored the pause, peering back deeply down at her eyes. “Viktoriya-Marie, with all certainty GOD could bestow upon me - I do so graciously accept you in marriage!” He exclaimed, immediately leaning to a kneel before her as his left hand quickly search the back of her neck, resting there as he went in for a passionate kiss. Lieutenant Viktoriya-Marie's smile would grow wider as she heard him, tilting her head to press her lips upon his - tightly shutting her eyes as she'd lean into him. One arm would pull itself up & around his shoulders, while her other hooked underneath his right - pulling him into a tight embrace as they met lips. “Alaric . . .” She'd murmur between breaths, pulling away for a moment to speak. “You've never left my side, even after ah've been . . . Quite the troublemaker. I love 'ye. The mostest.” His eyes closed as their lips met, his hand around the back of her neck moving ever so slightly, giving her skin a little scratch - His right hand circled up to rest by her cheeks, cupping it while they embrace, his frame pressed against hers. “Vik . . . You've been with me in the darkest of times and made this day the brightest of them all- As I with you, you with me. I love you just as much as you love me,” He hummed as they took a pause, going back to the task at hand for a while longer - Before pulling but an inch out, his forehead pressed against hers as he watched her eyes longingly. I T I N E R A R Y Firstly, The Marital Proceeding Those invited & wishing to attend will gather within the Basilica of the Final Revelation, inside the Crownlands of Helena, to bear witness to Sir Alaric DeNurem KL & Lieutenant Viktoriya-Marie Châteaudun’s espousal. Leonardo Châteaudun, Ms. Viktoriya’s father, will lead the maiden down the aisle to ‘give away the bride’, per marital traditions. Alongside her, a Ms. Jacquelyn Cenobia will serve as her Bridesmaid – and Mr. Ostromir Carrion as the Groom’s Best Man. Secondly, Bestowals of Good Will After the holy ceremony, any guests who bare gifts for the couple, or wish to congratulate them, may approach the dais in orderly fashion in to do so. Be their bestowals physical gifts, or wise words of advice, all offerings will be graciously accepted. After all has been finished, while leaving to begin their after party, the newly-wed couple will throw two bouquets into the air – one for any woman attending, and a second for the event’s gentlemen – to grab. Thirdly, A Revelry in Jubilation An after-party event will be held within the grounds of the Dragon’s Rest Tavern, with servantry dispensing refreshments to those who had attended the event. The Bride will hand gift baggies out – containing unique & custom-made offerings to the guests as a thanks for their attendance. After all have eaten & received their bestowals, the newly-weds & their Best Men & Women will come together to host a toast – signaling the event’s next segment, of short games & happenings. Lastly, A Concourse of Fair Maidens & Sirs Once the toast has been made, the next few planned games & contests will begin – the prize pool over 2,500+ Imperial Marks! A Contention of Fine Wear – All fair Maidens & dashing Sirs that wish to participate in the after party’s first event are encouraged to don DeNurem colors: being Gold, Onyx, & White. Once all those that are partaking in the competition gather, the Bride & Groom will confer & select one individual each that they believe to be the most fittingly dressed – a pool of 1,400 Imperial Marks being given away in the first happening. We request that your outfit be made by yourself, or commissioned from another, with proof. Those that are wearing stolen skins will not be considered. The Drunken Jubilee – The Bride & Groom call upon the most avid drinkers to participate in an alcohol-tolerance competition. The drink being used in question is called the ‘Widowmaker Shot’ – notorious for bringing down the heftiest of ologs, and putting the most skilled drunkards into a deep sleep. In order to play, you must pay a sum of 150 mina – and the winner will get 80% of all profit from the pool, along with an extra two hundred per round they’ve stayed sober (With a maximum of Four Rounds). By taking part in the Drunken Jubilee, you understand that we will not take any responsibility for damage you may cause to yourself, others, or the surrounding area whilst drunk. You are in charge of yourself – it is suggested you bring company, in the event that you may black out. I N V I T A T I O N S House of Helane HIM Emperor of Oren, Peter III @ARCHITECUS And the honorable pedigree of House Helane. House of Novellen HIH The Duke of Helena, Joseph Novellen @Hunwald HIH Princess Imperial, Anne Novellen @DreamInSpace HIH Princess Imperial, Elizabeth Novellen @Ivorey HIH Prince Imperial, John Novellen @KosherZombie HIH Prince Imperial, Philip Novellen HIH Princess Imperial, Juliette Novellen @yandeer HIH Prince Imperial, Peter Novellen @Ark And all other honorable pedigree of House Novellen. House of Barbanov HM The King of Hanseti-Ruska, Josef Barbanov @CaptainHaense HH The Queen Mother of Hanseti-Ruska, Viktoria Barbanov @Zaerie HH The Princess of Hanseti-Ruska, Nataliya Barbanov @doreebear HH The Prince of Hanseti-Ruska, Stefan Barbanov @Flapman HH The Prince of Hanseti-Ruska, Aleksandr Barbanov @Xarkly HH The Princess of Hanseti-Ruska, Juliya Barbanov @MotherLay HH The Prince of Hanseti-Ruska, Franz Barbanov HH The Princess of Hanseti-Ruska, Analiesa Barbanov @ShannonLeigh HH The Princess of Hanseti-Ruska, Alexandria Barbanov @UnBaed HH The Prince of Hanseti-Ruska, Nikolas Barbanov @Eddywilson2 And the honorable pedigree of House Barbonov. House of Helvets HG the Duke of Cathalon, Robert Helvets HG the Duchess Consort of Cathalon, Letizia d’Aryn HL Peter Helton Helvets HL Wilhelmina Beatrix Helvets @marinaemily Governor-General Henry Frederick Helvets @Fishy The Rt. Hon Count Rochefort, Richard Victor Helvets @osumanduas HIH the Countess Rochefort, Princess Lorena Helvets of Helena @Starryy HL Adrian Othodoric Helvets The Hon. Victor Leopold Helvets The Hon. William Linhardt Helvets HL Lorena Anabelle Helvets @MunaZaldrizoti HL Theodora Angelica Helvets And the honorable pedigree of House Helvets. House of d’Arkent HG Duke of Sunhodt, John d’Arkent HG Duchess-Consort, Vespira d’Arkent HL Captain Peter d’Arkent @erik0821 HH Tatiana Barbanov @axelu HSH Grand Princess-consort of Muldav, Eleanor Victoria HL Theresa @marinaemily HL Alexander d’Arkent And the honorable pedigree of House d’Arkent. House of Carrington HL Baroness of Carrington, Mary Lucille d’Arkent @libertyybelle HL Baron-Consort of Carrington, Joseph d’Arkent HL Mary Jane d’Arkent @Branchio HL Mary Vespira d’Arkent HL Mary Sophia d’Arkent And the honorable pedigree of House Carrington House of Othaman The Rt. Hon. Viscount of Valles, Erik Othaman @grnappa And the honorable pedigree of House Othaman Personal Invitations His Excellency, The Secretary of War General Alren DeNurem KCL @Mirtok Lieutenant Reina DeNurem @devvy Ensign Wes DeNurem @GrizzlyWes Corporal Virgil DeNurem @Maur Miss Winter DeNurem @BimboBudgie And all others of DeNurem pedigree. His Imperial Excellency, The Archchancellor Sir Simon Basrid KCS @Cracker His Imperial Excellency, The Vice Chancellor Jonah Stahl-Elendil @Braehn Elendil An'Hiraeth His Excellency, The Secretary of Foreign Affairs Godfrey Briarwood @KBR His Excellency, The Solicitor-General Darius Basrid @Quantumatics His Excellency, The Secretary of the Interior Edward Galbraith @sergisala His Excellency, The Secretary of the Treasury George Galbraith @MrChenn1 His Excellency, The Secretary of Intelligence Riordain Armas-MacDroch @calculusdesola His Excellency, The Secretary of Civil Affairs Victor C. Halcourt @Lyonharted™ His Excellency, The Secretary of War Alren DeNurem KCL @Mirtok The Most Honorable, The Lord Lieutenant of Reza His Royal Highness Nicholas Barbanov, Prince of Hanseti-Ruska @Eddywilson2 The Most Honorable, The Lord Lieutenant of Owynsburg Henry Frederick Helvets @Fishy All Oathed Imperial State Army Soldiers & Officers Mister Leonardo Châteaudun @DylanDeNewb Sir Cassius Reine KL @auLune Mister Ostromir Carrion-Tuvyic @Lhindir_ Lieutenant Jacquelyn Cenobia @bloomtiara Miss Annabelle Kelmenour @audyush T I M E & D A T E The wedding between Alaric & Viktoriya will take place at The Basilica of Final Revelation [Church in Helena] on the month of Tobias’ Bounty, 1782. Afterward, an afterparty will be held at the Carrington Estate, upon the Eastern side of Helena. We Hope to See You There!

Lieutenant Viktoriya-Marie would peer down at the paper, wiping sweat from her brow as she'd read on, taking a break from her work. A large, half-excavated cavern lay ahead of her – heavy piles of debris ahead, several dozen broken pickaxe heads scattering the ground below. A smile would form upon her visage, using an armored hand to form the Imperial State Army salute upon her breastplate as she’d read of the DeNurem’s promotion. Ascending through the rickety lift she’d made, the Leftenant would clamber up their dwelling’s staircase to greet her fiance, Sir Alaric DeNurem, amidst his utterance, nodding along to his words despite not quite understanding what they’d meant. ”Alren DeNurem – t’white bull, humaniteh’s ‘ope. An extremleh well deserved elevation!”

+1 (Making me a dwarven warhammer, will make sure to upvote on all of my 13 alt accounts)