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❦ Cozy Cafe Skin Auction ❦ [ SOLD !] This is my first ever skin Auction! I didn't know that I coincidentally named every single outfit after food when Imade these, thus leading to the 'cafe' theme! These skins are for females and are based on the clothing from Haense, Oren and Yong Ping! ALL SIX SKINS ARE MADE BY YOURS TRULY! ♥ ───── ❝ RULES ❞ ───── ➤ All bidding starts at 250 Mina ➤ Minimum Increase of Bids will be 10 - 100 Mina ➤ No editing any of your bids. Only comment if you are bidding. If you are bidding again please make a NEW COMMENT. ➤ No reposting/claiming/reselling ANY of the Skins. ➤ Any edits to the skin MUST BE REQUESTED to me, after the Auction is over and is sold to the winners. ➤ If you have any questions, please DO NOT COMMENT IT. Send the question to my Discord : agape#1755 ! The Auction will end in 3 days. Tuesday, August 24th, 5PM MT (Mountain Time)! ❝ FORMAT COMMENT ❞ DISCORD: IGN: SKIN TITLE: BID: ───── ༻✧༺ ───── ❦ SKIN MENU ❦ [ CLICK TO VIEW UP CLOSE! ] ❀ Watermelon Wheat Fields Hanbok ❁ Sweet Summer Honey Hanbok ✾ Sakura Tea At Midnight Kimono ❋ Soft Sugar Plum Kimono ✧ Tangarine Dreams ❇ Pale Marine Gin ❦ Good Luck! ❦

Posted along the streets of most major cities, a paper with bold writing hangs for all to read. "The Kingdom of Norland has proven on countless occasions they think not with their heads but with their greed and bloodlust. Now that I have your attention, my name is Inui R'ikarth. I wouldn't call myself anyone of grand importance, but I also wouldn't call myself a nobody, if only because of my participation in multiple kingdoms across the land. When I speak of my 'participation', I speak heavily of Norland, the place I started and for a while, the place I loved." "I'm an odd little Ker, No lineage to call my own except a single human man who I grew to consider my brother. Eugeo de Astrea. And its on his behalf that I write all this in the first place, as he and Elysium are suffering further abuse from their dictators in Varhelm. They've asked me to speak out on my story. He is the current lord of Elysium, my first home when I chose to finally leave a life in the woods. I found a family there, and even now I love and visit them. But it was not long that I got to spend with this family that Norland thrust us all into a needless war." "Young and naive at the time, I'll admit I was rather foolish, I probably still am. But I had good heart. Knowing nothing of the world, I was not so eager to believe Norlands lies that Oren was made up of monsters, that we had every right to wipe them out. Hearing that peace communications had gone unheard in Oren, I did a military's greatest nightmare, and ran off to Oren on my own volition hoping to achieve something for the peace effort, even if it wasn't my place." "I'll cut out some filler and spare you some details, but in my time there, I managed to achieve an audience with the Emperor, and to my pleasant surprise, he and his people were all kind and eager to help me find a peaceful path to ending the war. I hadn't yet realized it was my own kingdom at fault. With the Emperor's wishes for peace in hand, I returned to tell the news to the King. The King denied the chance I was giving him, and spoke only of desiring to see his axe in their heads. A perfect chance for peace, denied. I was forbidden by him to return or speak to the Orenians. But on top of being foolish, I was also stubborn. After many weeks of research and fact searching, I came to realize Norland's only goal with this war was to satiate their greed at the cost of not only Oren's people but Norland's as well. Despite Varhelm being so willing to go to war, they did little to nothing to aid their abused front line, my home, Elysium. My family was suffering such loss and pain over a war that never needed to happen in the first place, with no aid from those who brought all this pain over them. So despite being forbidden, I returned to Oren. I did so not to negotiate the end of the war, but to negotiate a way to save Elysium from Norland." "Unfortunately, before such a goal could be achieved, I was found out for going behind Norland's back after my participation in resolving an Orenian raid, and saving hostages was mentioned by name in an article." Copies of the Article are attatched "I was quickly summoned to the Palace to speak with the King's right hand, for what I assumed would be a harsh punishment. Despite that I still went, and to my confusion, what I found was seemingly the opposite. I was told that I was being inducted, not willingly mind you, into a new elite group that served the king, called the Red Hand. They said I was to be their diplomat, having seen my work. For a moment, I thought this was a good thing, that Norland was taking an opportunity to take a better path in the war. I was dreadfully wrong. In that same conversation, I was told my first assignment would be to abandon any efforts in Oren. I had a sick feeling, and realized quickly the only reason I was in the Red Hand, was to be managed. Or at least I thought, but it was so much worse. I asked them what I thought was an obvious question, as a diplomat, a representative of peace, I wouldn't be required to fight right? Wrong. Very wrong. They told me, and I quote," "The only peace left for you to find, is blood upon your blade." "They told me I would be required to fight, and that it would be at the front lines as well. A sense of dread filled me when I recalled, my summons had been written by the King, King Sven. He was man I called my friend, and I confided in him many times my frustrations because of my inability to fight, even after being taught. He knew this, and he's the one who summoned me to speak with his right hand. Knowing I had no skill to fight or defend myself, I was being ordered to the front lines of the war. This was just their way to kill me quietly." "I acted quickly, taking my things and fleeing from Norland all together. At the time, many of my family in Elysium were upset with me for the events of the article previously mentioned. Knowing their anger at me, I told no one except Eugeo that I left, and it broke my heart. I fled to the only other place I knew anything about in this realm, Oren. They gave me a heroes welcome, and worked with me to cover up the fact I had fled, making up the story they had instead arrested me as a spy for my sake. For my efforts, I was granted the position of diplomat for Oren, and for a while enjoyed a peaceful life there. So the war waged on. Despite it, I snuck into Elysium to visit Eugeo what rare times I could, and eventually I was spotted and found out." "Norland was expectedly upset. And many times tried to attack me, even while I was pregnant and unarmed. My visits to Elysium were cut down tremendously due to Varhelms hostility towards me. But eventually, the war was over. Once it was over, I was eager to see my friends again and went to pay them a visit. My family in Elysium was rather angry at me, until I told them the story behind why I left. It was a blessing to reunite with them. As I was speaking with one friend in Varhelm, I wanted to ask him about something. In my time away, I had heard heard rumors that during the war time, Norland has called me a war criminal. I asked him if those rumors had been true or not." "The current Norlandic King, Vane Freysson, who was at the time on the kings council, took note of me and my conversation. Despite once again being peaceful and unnamed, he decided to take it upon himself, with the help of an insane dwarf, to attack me. I tried to reason with them, never once fighting back but they chose to chase me. They ran me well out of Norland's borders but despite that, still knocked me out and dragged me back Norland. There Vane officially banished me as a proper war criminal, by threat of execution should I ever return. They told me I could leave this once without issue. But his associates decided I was better off dead before I could even leave. They found an excuse to kill me through my atronach prosthetics. Some time ago, I unfortunately lost both my legs and one of my arms and now wear magical limbs to function. For the crime of wanting to have limbs to function at a basic level, they decreed I was a void monster, and that I had to die. It was only through the grace of the Elysium Rangers, my family, that I was able to flee from Norland." "And so we come to the present. Elysium now faces tyranny from Norland, partly so because of how they've defended me on multiple accounts. False accusations of breaking the law and not upholding it have been levied towards the Rangers. Elysium has been stripped of military rights and attempts have even been made to arrest them. I tell you this now, Elysium is the only reason Norland is still even standing. Elysium is a shining example of people who are just, kind, and strong. Norland repays that with tyranny, sabotage, and abuse." "I had no intentions on ever making this story public, but after seeing Elysium bleeding and hurting, I decided to do so, here it is. My personal account of the abuse I have faced from Norland, all for wanting peace and for valuing my life. I hope this could shed some light on the reality of what I now call the Bloodthirst Kingdom." P.S. - Guess what Norland? I sneak into Elysium. Banishment wont stop me from seeing my family. -Inui R'ikarth ~Ambassador of Stygian Hollow, Head of Clan R'ikarth, Stygian Hollow Council Member.

A Call for Ecclestical Trial Issued by the Auditor of the Tribunal. Johan “Horens Giant” Vullier Table of context. THE OFFENDERS CALLED FOR TRIAL. THE EVIDENCE. THE WITNESS LIST. THE JURY THE CRIMES. THE OFFENDERS CALLED FOR TRIAL. The organization known as the Ferrymen. Reasoning : I. During the assassination of his Holiness High Pontiff Jude II, Two members of the Ferrymen organization where found with their blades drawn surrounding the body of Jude II and the body of another member of the clergy. One of these men where quickly struck down by members of the Imperial State Army as well as the Ministry of Justice. Sadly one wearing the armor of the organization was able to escape the city. II. During the battle of Northguard thousands of Imperial witnesses could see the organization known as the Ferrymen fighting on the side of the heathen armies of Norland. This furthering the assumption that they in fact work for the heathen army. THE EVIDENCE During the Tribunal investigation dubbed “The Dove has fallen” we have gathered evidence from multiple sources. Not only witnesses of the crime itself, but other witnesses who saw one of the men behind the murder of High Pontiff Jude II while escaping the city of Providence while being ran after by multiple guards. The Tribunal has also been getting numerous reports of the criminal activities of the organization in question as well as one of them seeming to try and spy on the Imperial Household and staff. Its with these reports and accusations as well as the murder of his Holiness Jude II and their partaking in the ongoing war against the heathens hordes of Norland that the Tribunal had decided that enough evidence is gathered to call for an Trial of the whole organization known as the Ferrymen. THE WITNESS LIST. Due to the nature of the organization called to trial the names of the witnesses shall not be published. This to ensure their and their families safety. We know from experience and sources that the organization known as the Ferrymen do not take into consideration if they have to strike down a man, woman nor child if they gain from it. Thus it would be a crime against Godan if we where to put these witnesses and their loved ones in danger. THE JURY The jury itself shall consist of the members of the Tribunal offices and their Cardinal Judges. it will be under the command and word of the Auditor of the Tribunal and his word shall be final and absolute. In the case of a missing member of the Tribunal, the Auditor can see it to elect someone who steps into the role of that missing role or holds the position abstained. THE CRIMES On the day of first amber cold a horrid and blasphemous crime was committed within the cathedral of the Ex Godfrey. Not only was this crime against Imperial Law, but a crime against our faith, a crime against Him, the one true Creator. During the General Audience held by his Holiness Jude II. our Vicar of God, a General Audience that ended up as his last public Audience before his Holiness was brutally murdered during the time he was taking the confessions of our noble canonist flock. This is a crime that there is no turning back from, a crime against the Canonist flock as a whole and each and every person, nation or organization who calls themselves Canonist or believes in Him. Not only where our beloved High Pontiff Jude II murdered in cold blood, His body has also been stolen after the murder. The bodies of the Vicar of God do not belong in some ditch, nor as a trophy for those who have committed the crime. He belongs with the church, in the halls of those who came before him. where he shall lay at peace until the seven skies shall come from all of us. The fact of his body being stolen will forever be seen as one of the worst cases of theft in the History of our Holy Mother Church, a crime that will not be forgotten nor forgiven. The crimes committed go as follows.. TITLE III. Crimes against ecclesiastical authorities. §1 A person using excessive physical force against the Pontiff incurs excommunication. Members of the clergy may incur greater penalties depending on the severity of the crime. §2 A person who further uses excessive force against a bishop or cardinal are to face a just penalty as decided by an ecclesiastical court. §4 A person joining a group plotting against the church are to face a just penalty as decided by an ecclesiastical court. §9 Those who see it fit to insult or threaten a member of the clergy. These individuals are guilty of the crime of indignity. Let it be known that if the Organization does not show to this trial they will by default be punished with the worst punishment that the Holy Mother Church can grant. That of being declared excommunicate and anathema. SIT PERDUCAT NOS PATRIS LAPIS, AMEN. "May the stone father guide us, Amen" Johan Vuiller “Horens Giant” Head of House Vuiller, Auditor of the Tribunal. Knight-Regent Emeritus. Knight of the Black Sepulchre. Protector of the Church of the Canon and her faithful The Trial shall find place on the 1st of Horens folly within the Imperial City of Providence. [THIS SATURDAY 5.06.2021 TIME: 5:30PM EST]

Third Skin Auction POG! Hi guys its me doreebear again :) ! this will be my third skin auction! I just want to say thank you to all the people who have supported me through my past auctions money is a bit of a problem for me sometimes, but the amount of support and bids I've received has helped me and I want to thank y'all so much for it ;~; I love you all! Some info below! ALL BIDDINGS WILL START OUT AS 3$ USD! the bidding will end tomorrow night at 4pm CST (yeah im in CST suck it.) I will have male AND female skins! theres plenty to go around! cope and paste this for the bids DISCORD NAME: SKIN IM BIDDING ON: MY BID: RULES Ping the person whom you're trying to outbid so they know! I will not be putting my payment info out publicly so please PM ME FOR THAT INFO BECAUSE IT IS PRIVATE! ALSO! please no reposting on PMC! just because you bought the dress does not mean you take credit acting like you made it, I still made it! also do not resell if you want to just pm and I might. if you have any questions my discord is doreebear#3218 I can and Will refuse to sell a skin to a person. If they are a known skin stealer, frankenstien-er, post without credit or even just a toxic and hateful person whom I don't see fit to have my skins. I believe my skins should go to people who respect my work and respect others and myself as a person. Please give people a fighting chance, do not bid on all of my skins at once! you can bid on several just not all of them! also, NO RESELLING MY SKINS WITHOUT MY PERMISSION OR PUTTING THEM UP FOR AUCTION! good god >:( let the Auction BEGIN! Another winterfell vibe (MALE) Roman Queen (FEMALE) Red Russian (FEMALE) Charming Red (MALE) Vasoyevi Royal (FEMALE) Blue Rider (MALE) Blue Middle Ages (FEMALE) Commander Erwin (MALE) Spring Tea Time (FEMALE) Mother Russia (MALE) Red Renaissance (FEMALE) Battered Brown Armor (MALE)

ON FLAMENISM, OWYNISM & LUCIENISM By, Father Raymond Adhemar de Bar, FSSCT ‘Transfiguration of Peter’ “God’s Law is simple: keep my Flame and scatter the Deceiver’s darkness.” - Lections of Ex. Owyn Prophet Owyn, son of Godwin, pray for me. May God’s Will be done. Know, dear reader, that my hands are calloused hands and my mind is not a Virosi’s mind, I am but a mere brother of the Reformative Monastery in Ulmsbottom. My work is not a scholar’s work but one of a poor brother who toils to aid his fellow Man. Therefore expect neither lyrical prose nor masterful poetry. I am moved by holy providence to write upon a topic that is often misinterpreted even by my brother priests and the public at large. It is not uncommon to hear, see and read polemics targeted against those who might call themselves Flamenist, particularly my Owynist and Lucienist brethren. Lily-livered appeasers and cowardly clerics will often decry our strictness and discipline, “Oh what of the pagan! What of the gentile!” they cry, worried that some imagined gentile might be offended by God’s truth. Hear here and now, oh brethren of mine: the pagan cares not if you preach tolerance and falsehoods, but Iblees will gladly devour your soul! Heed my word, then brothers of mine, read and enlighten your hallowed minds, for the Flamen path is not one of brutality and war, but rather one of diligence, discipline and mortification. I will endeavour to educate my brethren in the ways of Owynism and Lucienism, their history, teachings and disciplines, so that we might not see any more lies being spoken of us by our very own. Then, my dear reader, you may ask yourself: ‘you have spoken of Owynism and Lucienism and Flamenism, what then do you mean?’ In truth, there is little difference. Flamenism, at its core is the worshipful reverence and following of the Exalted Owyn’s example. The great prophet’s journey on this word can be summarized thusly: be pure, vanquish darkness, worship God. What does it mean then, to be pure? Quite simply, it is to follow God’s Law as given to Exalted Horen. What does it mean then, to vanquish darkness? Quite simply, it is to persecute sin, be it internal or external. What does it mean then, to worship God? Quite simply, it is to pray, fast and give right reverence to He-Who-Is according to the prescripts of Owyn’s Church. Flamenism is active, never passive. Flamenism prioritizes action over words. That, dear reader, are the trappings of Flamenism, and all who practice it may be rightly called Flamenists. Then, both Owynism and Lucienism can be rightly called Flamenist sects. The very basis of their ideals are rooted in the main three aspects of Flamenism. What then be their differences? I will at first detail their communalities: Right Belief Both sects hold God to be One and accept His Prophets. Lay Preaching Both sects hold to the primacy of the Believer. Sanctity of Marriage Both sects hold to the saintliness of the married state and it’s gendered roles. Martial Reverence Both sects hold to the high ideals of Just War. Human Purity Both sects hold to the belief that Mankind are God’s chosen people, decrying miscegenation. Regular Worship Both sects hold to the convening of regular ablutions and religious liturgies. These are the aspects held in common by both Owynists and Lucienists. In certain cases particular beliefs take on a larger emphasis; for example, in the Westerlands, Owynist clergy, known as the ‘Lectors’ were overwhelmingly laymen, while Savoyard Owynists in the Blackwald held to a more collegial clericalist position. So while all the aforementioned beliefs are the pillars of both Owynism and Lucienism certain aspects may take on greater or lesser emphasis depending on the needs and customs of the believers. Now, Owynism and Lucienism are not synonymous. There are very distinct differences between the two sects, likely owed to the fact of their differing history. Owynists were mostly of Kaedreni extraction, being loyal to the Chivays, while Lucienists, being members of a Holy Order, favoured the pre-eminence of the Pontiff over any lay-ruler. That is why the main difference betwixt these two sects of Owyn are rooted in ecclesial polity and not dogma. Caesaropapism The Owynist belief that God’s anointed ruler is supreme over the High Pontiff. Pontifical Infallibility & Authority The Lucienist principle that the High Pontiff is God’s chief priest and therefore above secular power. These are the two main points of contention. With the rise of the Chivays to imperial purple, and the end of the cursed Darfeyist Pontificate Caesaropapism rose to prominence. Spearheaded by Basil of Sabris and Simon of Khazav, their ‘Reformed Communion’ instanted Caesaropapism into official doctrine, making the reigning Chivays ‘Vicergents’ of the Church. Caesaropapism, however, proved to be a great failure. The Church stagnated and the Chivays proved themselves incapable of governing both secular and religious affairs. After the end of the Chivay regime and the rise of Canonism in 1471, the Lucienist polity had its chance at pre-eminence within the ecclesial regime. However, the Lucienists in Aesterwald quickly came into conflict with the High Pontiff due to his Raevir heritage, rejecting, in part, both his Infallibility and Authority. This was the first nail. The second came with the Second Diet of Metz in 1534, wherein the Church, under Johannian duress, renounced Pontifical Infallibility. This is to say that both divergent views have failed. Time and time again secular rulers have shown themselves incapable of tackling both divine and profane government. Pontiffs who declare themselves to be the Voice of God on Terra often prove themselves to be madmen, like Daniel III of cursed memory. Today, by God’s providence, both Flamenist branches do not concern themselves with petty questions of government. They exalt their fellow Man in God’s light, through the Prophets, keeping to the flaming covenant of Owyn. This unity is nothing short of the Lord’s divine plan. History has shown us to be petty creatures, capable of squabbling even when more unites us than divides us. Therefore let us cry out: DEUS misericordia est! This, dearest reader, has been the short compendium on Flamenism and the brother sects of Owynism and Lucienism. Their pillars tell us more about the nature of Flamenism. Often we are decried as radicals and zealots. Know that we are nothing if not poor sinners, attempting to craft ourselves in the image of our Prophet. Sometimes we are called to just war, yes, sometimes we are called to purge those who offend God, just as Owyn had, but the core of Flamenist doctrine is not to persecute the wicked, but to persecute our own sin, first and foremost. This is the first law of Flamenism: hate sin! Exhortation: Now I speak to my Flamenist brethren. I look out at the world, through the small window in my cell in Ulmsbottom. The tranquility of the Reformative Monastery is a true shield against the tribulations of the outside world. Prisoners find peace here within these walls, making their penance with God, and I, a free man, find solace in my fellow man within here, aiding the dredges of society to find salvation. Yet, word reaches me every often, when the whaling ships pass by this quiet isle, trading not only in materials but also in gossip. I hear of degenerates, harlots, troublesome priests. Most troublesome news, such as a noble-woman practicing coitus publically and worrisome pontifical elections. This is what spurred me to action, this is why I pen this short essay now. What is needed most is a revival of the Flamenist ideals. What does a man gain by preaching tolerance to libertines? What does a man gain by preaching freedom in sin? Truly, humanity, God’s chosen people, need not a carrot, but a stick. Therefore I beseech you brethren, be you cleric or lay, follow in the steps of the Prophet, follow in the steps of his disciples also: Saints Thomas, Peter, Lucien, Adrian, Michael. My second request, brothers and sisters, is a simple request: unity. Now, more than ever, is no time to bicker and argue, much less amongst the clerics. The Church is the rudder of humanity, how is Man to benefit spiritually when many wish to captain the barque of salvation? Likewise, as Flamenist, it is our duty to bring an united front against the ravages of Iblees. The Archdaemon will wish to sow dissent amongst our ranks, just as he did with Exalted Horen when he sent Saul to our forefather’s camp. Beware, brothers! Beware of the Sauls amongst us! Drive them out and stand a united front against the sins of the age. Fire keep you all. Father Raymond Adhemar, FSSCT

The Great Gumball Heist The Musin of the Mouse Hole are proud to announce the first major recycling operation of Almaris. On the 8th of The Deep Cold, in the year 24 of the second Age, the Broken Tap Tavern was seen packed to the brim full of Musin discussing a mischievous operation. Squeaks of info were heard about an operation regarding the Orenian Candy Store. The plan was simple. Recycle the Candy Shop's gumball machine. As the brave Musin began to pack for their journey, the little Musiletts prepared raspberry stew for their final meal before departure. The brave musin gathered their bags and prepped the cart for their journey. As they rolled the cart out of the cave and through the exit of Urguan they had one mission, retrieve the gumball machine. As they arrived to the gate of oren, they had swiftly convinced a man to let them through the citizen doors. Little to be known, this was almost their demise. The man had trapped them in the doors and ran off with a smirk on his face. It seemed as if all hope was lost. It was only till one kind ISA guard let the muslin through the gates that they would be set free. The plan was still ago. While all but two Musin left for the piano store, two Musin headed to the candy shop to loosen the bolts on the gumball machine. If it were not for the brave Musin that played the pianos with their soul, the plan would have been foiled. As the music playing Musin scurried to the candy shop, one man followed. The man saw the Musin attempting to lift the gumball machine and attempted to call for the ISA. One Musin jumped up and stole the mans glasses, forfeiting his ability to find an ISA officer. The Musin quickly places the gumball machine on the cart, and rolled it out of the city as fast as they could. After hauling the cart over the side walls, and a bit if dexterity based activity, the Musin had successfully acquired the gumball machine. Signed,

A Time Of War To the people of Oren, War has been declared by heretics of Norland to one of the Canonist nations, The Empire of Oren. For us, devout Canonists are trying to live accordingly to the words of the Holy Scrolls. My message to the Orenian people is; stay safe, and fare well into the war that is coming to you, for the heretics are the ones who are the threat to your faith. Spare the ones who surrender themselves as God is one who shows mercy upon people, whether they are your enemy or not; perhaps allow them time to learn from our Scrolls and to learn our way of life. O' you soldiers, of the Imperial State Army, if you ever reach the villages of the Norlanders, do not capture the children or the women, for they are innocent beings and both the main foundation for the upbringing of a new generation of people. God is the most high, and he shall show mercy upon those who try to discover his ways, the righteous path. It is God, who shall help you in your times of need, it is Him who shall ensure your victory against heretics. As a victim of an attempted assassination by a clique of heretics, I share the feeling with the Orenian people, for the heretics must be paying for their crimes and their hate towards our Almighty God. It was an Orenian who saved my life from a Qalasheen Berserker, and I thank God till this day that he saved my life. O' you, children who are not aware of what is happening, pray to God for your beloved Brothers and Sisters who are waging their lives against the heretics, as they are the ones who make sure our Holy Church is preservated and that our Faith continues its path in peace. You, Canonist nations, let the Words of God be heard, not just the chants of Victory against those who oppose our Lord. May God have mercy upon the enemies who surrender, and allow them time to discover the right path; The path of God. May God protect you, now and forever, Amen. Fr. Ivarus, Patriarchate of Jorenus, Hanseti-Ruska.

[!] A horde of birds would be flying over the capital of each Canonist city or settlement, dropping letters on which human eyes are attached, which would suit the message of this letter. [!] THE BUCKRIDERS You may not see us, but we see you, we watch every step you make into the forests of your Empire or Kingdom, as we ride through the nightsky with our commander Iblees. Your days have been counted. Keep an eye on the nightsky when you are outside, you may see us ride upon our goats gifted by the Daemons who carry these dead bodies back to where they belong, the Void. We claim the murder of tons of people, our existance, is the reason why you do not see these people anymore. Only us know, where they are, and where they are captured. You may curse us, if that pleases you, but know if you do, we shall ride into your residence and kill anyone who is dear to you, and take their miserable souls back into the Void. Your God, can not protect you against us, we are the standing army of our Master, Iblees. You all, shall be paying for the blood that has been spilled due to your pride. You either acknowledge our existance, or we shall burn your properties as we burn the uncountable bodies that we took from the graves and attached their eyes to each letter. Keep an eye on the nightsky, as we are always present. We are not recognized in the light, but surely recognized in the dark nightsky, We are watching you. Yours sincerly,

_______________________________________________________________________ Fresh posters were plastered throughout Almaris. It was clear that the person who had hung these did so recently. If one was to pass by or inspect it closely, the subject matter of said poster would depict the phrase: BE A MAN AMONG MEN Beneath the bold print it would read: The Revolutionary Armed Forces of Oren offers you an interesting and varied career with new allowances for fighting troops. Depicted alongside the right-hand side of the bold print would be that of a Resistance soldier donning his typical uniform - a cuirass atop a layer of buff leather. The soldier stands stiff and tall with sword in hand; he's clearly ready to take on whatever tyrannical forces he will undoubtedly face ahead of him. It is clear that the poster's motive is to spread awareness about the existence of an anti-tyrannical government force - specifically the Resistance against Oren - otherwise known as the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Oren (RAF) - whose openly oppositional to the current ruling group within the Empire. Located at the bottom of each and every individual poster are contact details for those interested in perhaps involving themselves as paid soldiers within the RAF: ((I can be reached on Discord: Pharmaceutical Grade Chlymydia#1514 - there are combat AND non-combat related positions open in the Resistance! Feel free to join us! We have three big events planned for the next three weeks!)) _______________________________________________________________________ ((Previous post, Cries for Revolution: https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/199201-cries-for-revolution)) ((Previous post, O' Beautiful Providence: https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/199510-o-beautiful-providence-a-critical-treatise)) ((Previous post, The Resistance Against Oren: https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/199659-the-resistance-against-oren)) ((Previous post, The Greatest of all Evils: https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/199915-the-greatest-of-all-evils)) ((Previous post, Is the Rejection of Tyranny an Act of Terrorism: https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/200158-is-the-rejection-of-tyranny-an-act-of-terrorism)) ((Previous post, Is Your Home Worth Fighting For: https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/200556-is-your-home-worth-fighting-for)) ((Previous post, I Want You to Fight Against Tyranny: https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/200827-i-want-you-to-fight-against-tyranny))

Nataliya Reza, writing her letter in Freeport. Hello, to those whom are reading this letter. three years it has been since the execution of the former Princess Royal, Nataliya Reza Barabanov-Wick. As you may know, rumors have been floating about, that she has survived. And I am here to share with you, that those rumors are true. I am Alive. "Name and Business." an Oren Guard inquired as he looked down upon the figure, hidden behind a dark cloak. "Nataliya Reza." The woman stated simply, pulling the cloak away from her head, revealing herself as her sapphire gaze darted upward towards the guard. The man paused for a moment. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?" he inquired in a perplexed manner. "I know many people who want me to be." she offered a gentle chuckle. "I need to lay off the drinking." the guard simply shook his head before flipping the lever, allowing Nataliya to enter Providence. the 'lot of you are probably curious as to how I survived, if you are looking for a logical scientific answer, that I cannot give you. Or perhaps I could, but I am not a professional in that field so the only possible thing I could offer is theories. "Next!" An ISA Soldier called out, a line of people would be seen outside of the church, The Coronation of the new Emperor. "Next Please!" the ISA Soldier called out once again, causing the line to inch forward every-so-often. A Child could be seen bouncing up and down beside her mother before accidentally stepping backwards onto a woman's shoe. The girl spun. "I'm sorry Miss!" Nataliya then offered the young child a warm smile. "It's alright dear, it happens to the best of us da?" The Child's mother turned about. "I'm so sorry, she's a bit-" She then paused, squinting her eyes at the Haeseni woman before stating. "You look familiar. . ." Perhaps It was Godan's protection over me, sending Angle's to watch over. Godan does protect the innocent and punish the wicked after all. Or perhaps it could've been the Barbanov's before, watching above with anger that their own Kin turning against each other, condemning one of them to death for crimes they did not commit. "Next!" The Soldier called out. Nataliya stepped forth with outstretched arms to her side, allowing to be patted down for weaponry. "Nat?" A familiar voice called, one of Anna Henrietta's "How did- you survived?" the woman appeared to be dumbfounded by this discovery. "Da! And I will share how I survived when this is over." she chuckled softly before entering the church Or perhaps I was saved by the Knight's Terrible aim whom assaulted me moments before, and his lack of knowledge how to properly check for vitals. who knows? Nataliya entered the church, sauntering past groups of people whom turned with looks of shock and surprise as she passed by. whispers would be exchanged by the men and women as the Haeseni Princess found a spot next to her dear friend Margaux, conversing with the youthful woman whom had just lost her mother. whilst Sir Candle sat in the pew behind, making sure nobody attempted to attack sweet Margaux or Nataliya. A young boy with an oversized beret would sit in the pew in front, fooling around before turning to gaze at the architecture. After a moment, the young boy would recognize a familiar face. his visage paled upon the sight of his aunt, thinking as if he saw a ghost. He then Hastily turned back forward confused. Though what I do know, is that my Kingdom is not what it used to be. It saddens me to see my own country men whom I used to put my life on the line for turn their backs on me. I've fought along side men who gave up their lives to protect my Kingdom and myself. and I will never forget those faces. each face who had stood in the way when a blade or any weaponry that was swung my way, even when I was disowned. they were still willing to protect me. My Uncle Ser Demetrius, Ser Ivan, Rozalina Baruch, Arminus Wick, my husband and many others. Good men and women of Haense who were willing to still protect me even though my titles were stripped from me. These people had honor and respect. And I had earned theirs. A small child would be seen walking the rainy streets of providence, his head hung low, the beret dangling from his head before pausing mid-tracks. the child then spotted a petite woman, holding a black umbrella over her head as she gaze at the young barbanov with her sharp sapphire eyes. but where is that honor and respect now? Never in my life have I seen such cowards in my Kingdom. Knight's who went through tedious trials, to earn their names and moniker's, cower like dogs with their tales in-between their legs when my so called nephew, the King ordered my execution without trial? Or that their own King spoke the words of Iblees, clearly possessed by a demonic creature, but no one batted an eye? being apart of the royal army was an honor! yet you treat it like some medal that makes you better than the rest of the people of your kingdom whom you took an oath to protect. Respect and Honor is not something that gets bestowed upon, you earn it. Any man who must state 'I am the King' is no true King. And yet, that is all I heard from my brother and nephew's mouths. A good King is humble, Kind but also just and stern. And the past rulers lacked many of those qualities whether you want to hear it or not. You claim you do your work for The King's and Queen's before us but they would spit in your direction and call you the traitor for what you have created! Otto paused, gazing at his aunt with shock and disbelief before shaking his head left to right, neglectful to accept the fact “Vy are niet real, vy are just like my mamej who does niet come back! Papej says vy are just my thinker playing tricks on me.” The greatly oversized beret swayed with every head movement, almost dropping off his head. Nataliya Reza's smile soon dropped into a frown at her nephew's statement. The Princess pondered at the thought before extending her hand out towards her nephew. “You’re going to find child that many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view. the truth is often what ve make of it; you heard what you wanted to hear, believed what you wanted to believe.” She answered softly as her sapphire gaze still sat upon Otto.“ I am real as the trees planted here, the air you breathe.” Her hand still hung extended towards his, awaiting for him to touch it to prove she is alive. Otto August reluctantly shot a glare up to meet the woman's eyes for a brief second. Though after a few more moments passed he would raise his hand towards hers, a small flinch being felt as they made true contact and a gasp coming from the boy “Nie.. How did vy?” Though vague she could likely understand what he was referencing to. You feed your people lies. Ever since my father's death you greedy spawns of Iblees dug your claws so deep into the lines of Barbanov's, playing them like puppets. Choosing Queen's who have the spines of damp rags because you know they're easy to manipulate. Casting me out because I was not a pawn to your game of chess! genociding innocent lives because they speak the truth that you do not want to be spread! As the two Barbanov's conversed a young man strolled up standing next to the woman. Her son Casimir Rupert. The Wick's stark green eyes narrowed at the young boy. "He is nie' family." Nataliya huffed at his words. "Casimir be loving, he is nie' Heinrik. Otto is kind." Casimir stood idle, continuing to shoot daggers at Otto before answering. "Da? that is what you said to me when I met Heinrik. And now look." his tone grown more irritable. "my mamej seems to forget that the men of Haense and the King, her nephew, wasted no time at all to attempt to burn the flesh right off her bones. . . I wonder how many will burn at this one hands" The young Wick then stormed off without saying another word. It was clear that he had a hatred for the Barbanov's and rightfully so, and could not understand why his mother still held some kindness to a few. And now. . . you spread the lies of me being a witch! Where did these lies spread from? Last I remember, my family and I resided in Freeport. And before that, it was Providence where I was respected better than my own Kingdom. Did you want to get rid of me because is see through your lies and know your darkest secrets? Or Perhaps something else? It is beyond my comprehension as to why I am constantly sought out and to be messed with when I have never done anything traitorous against my kingdom and have done nothing to harm it, except speak my mind. But that's where the Irony lies. I am doing harm. I'm damaging the walls of your fabrication of falsehood. Some of you been told that I am against Haense, but that is false. I am for my Kingdom, I am for Haense. I am against the people who are sending and digging their corrupted roots into the soil of it. And I will not stand by, saying nothing and watch it burn to the ground. While all the innocents suffer from your corruptness and pride. Nataliya parted ways with her young nephew, hoping that this one would not turn his back on her. The Princess made her way out of Providence, to the docks where a ship rocked side to side in the bay. Stepping onto it before offering the sailor mina as she sat down on a bench, a cloak wrapped around her to keep herself warm. "Where to?" the sailor inquired curiously. "To Freeport, please." she responded gently. The Sailor let out a hearty laugh. "You're a mad woman if you live there!" The Princess lifted her gaze to him once again. "perhaps I am." Say what you will about me. Call me a traitor a witch a Disgrace a Monster whatever word comes first into your head when you think of me. I've been called those my entire life, but I do not care. If had to revisit the pain and sorrow I went through to arrive where I am now, I'd do it all over again. I have a loving husband, Petyr, whom I have known since we were children, who tends to my every need and has never left my side. a wonderful young boy, Casimir whom I was lucky enough to watch grow up into a young man and be something I am proud of. I have my beloved Aunt Alexandria and Uncle Konstantin. who cared for me as their own daughter. My little brother and sister Aleksandr and Juliya, whom I've practically raised since birth and proud to call my siblings, and thankful that they have not had to endear the hardship I went through. my Great Uncle Rupert and my Uncle Nikolas who've treat and see me as their own daughter. I have the Wick's who have also known me since childhood, standing in as my protectors. my Aunt Irene, Godan Rest her soul. who was there for me as well, tutoring me and being there for me and accepting my choices when others weren't. and the friends I have made along the way of my journey, though I still have much more to go. I regret nothing. I do hope this letter makes your blood boil. You will understand and feel what the King's of Old are feeling right now. what has become of once a great Kingdom. I do not care if they entire Kingdom despises me after this letter! I'd rather die a hated woman, knowing I spoke the truth and stood my ground than die a loved puppet, and a pathetic liar. "We're here." the sailor stated before tying the rope to one of the posts at the dock before helping the woman out of the boat. "Spasibo." she dipped her head in thanks before offering him a tip. "Of course, try not to get killed." Nataliya turned back and smiled. "I'll try not to, I've already made that same mistake before." She then made her way up the steps into the tavern where her Husband and Ser Candle waited for her. You can spread your piteous lies you can change your documents, strip away my titles. you can do anything possible that helps you sleep better at night! But that cannot change blood. You cannot change the truth of who I am! I am a crow and this is my Crow's Calling. I am Princess Royal, Nataliya Reza Barbanov-Wick. First born of King Sigismund II and Queen Viktoria Ruthern. And I am not done yet. ooc comments: please keep it in RP and keep it respectful. I don't like bringing OOC into RP or vice versa. I've put some thought lately and I think after Nataliya has moved on, I will be pulling myself away more and more from LOTC. (she's not dying soon FYI) I know it has only been two years of me playing this server, but I've slowly grown a distaste for it, I am a busy person and my life will only get more busy as I go along. I will obviously will still be around but I do not know for how much longer. I've always had a fondness for Medieval, Fantasy and History themes. whether it be movies, shows novels, games and etc. and was very happy I finally found a RP server that fit my liking. but it's like a child beginning to grow out of their toys, and really not wanting to play with them anymore because they're starting to mature. on that note, I haven't grown out of LOTC yet, but there is an end in sight down the road. I hope y'all have a wonderful day <3

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ “They hide their abuses under the guise of ‘constitutional monarchy’ - I ask them: what’s constitutional about oppression?” Gustaven von Halsfield, 1807 ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Initially, Man - by nature - was created by the Creator to be alike with one another. It was the unjust exploitation and subsequent oppression by the arrogant men in Oren which led to our bondage of servitude, bogged down by the shackles of such. If the Creator would have had any bondmen from the start, He himself would have appointed who ought to be bonded, and who ought to be free - leaving no such right to the arrogance of man. Therefore, I urge for you to consider that the time has come - dictated as such by the Creator himself - in which you may, if you so desire, remove the shackles of restraint from your slaved spirit and help us recover the liberties which were once taken from us by those haughty, posh "men" of Providence. They oppress us out of sheer fear of us regaining the power that has been within us this entire time. For centuries, the common people have dealt with the humiliation and shame of being underneath such privileged aristocrats. How long must we suffer? How long should our children suffer, growing up so innocent and pure; not realizing that their futures have already been chosen by the very people that forced us into our current state? Why should the future incriminate these innocent children capable of so much more than we truly realize? Alas, they won’t have the opportunities to provide such potential due to restrictions brought on by their social class, arbitrarily decided by Those above him. I urge you, Kinfolk, brothers and sisters: We deserve change, We demand change; and We will have change. Such is true. If it isn't words that they will listen to, then let it be BLOOD. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ “Change is necessary, and the time for change is now.” No longer will those who consider themselves to be oppressed at the hand of the Empire allow such travesties to continue unchecked, for the time of righting such wrongs is rapidly approaching; that of which is something that nobody can deny. Previously, critical sentiments harbored towards the Empire were rarely ever discussed openly in fear of persecution. Now, however, it’s all too common to walk through Providence and hear some type of discussion involving one another condemning the Empire for their trespasses and abuse. Seemingly, the everyday citizen has finally opened their eyes and acknowledged the horrors around them. It’s now time for them to decide whether they’ll simply accept the abuse and inherently enable the continuation of it, or if they’ll actually put their foot down and make a difference. Some of those who consider themselves as the ‘enlightened’ type are doing exactly that: putting their foot down, hoping to make a difference; no longer will they willingly allow the abuses of the Empire to continue unchecked. These people travel up and down the roads, voicing word of their cause, hoping to appeal to each passerby they encounter in an attempt to recruit more willing to support their mission: “Is it not time for us to consider that we should finally do what’s necessary to make a difference in our own lives? The system of the Empire thrives on the ignorance of those under its reign: what the people don’t know they can’t reject! Well, I say we let them know then! Open their minds! Once we have let ALL know of our struggle, our message, and our passion then we shall truly know the difference between the common man made from blood and bone and those who are simply hollow puppets of the Empire, that of which must be purged. Those puppets of the Empire are the same ones who wish to put down others for their own benefit. Tell me this: If a man beats you down, kills your family and steals your money, would you be willing to join them? No, you would devote yourself to growing stronger than them in the hopes that one day you may return to put them in their place. That is exactly what we’re doing, and we urge you to do the same, brother and sister!” “No longer will those who consider themselves to be above us be able to repress and silence our opinions and disagreements. We shall rise above them and make sure they know who we are, for our power far outweighs that of their own. Soon, those who reject our message will be beneath us; not spiritually, or politically, but rather literally: they shall be beneath us, six feet underneath our two feet as they lie in their graves. No longer shall there be murders in the streets - orchestrated by none other than the Empire’s own military! No longer will soldiers and nobility torture our women and starve our children! No longer will they beat and stomp on those who simply look differently from them! NOT FOR A MOMENT LONGER will those like you, who toil and struggle in hopes of one day achieving their dreams, be hindered from such!” “For hundreds of years we’ve accepted the abuses of the Empire that they’ve subjected us to, our spirits kept in handcuffs - the key to said handcuffs they’ve tossed away. For too long we’ve stopped looking for that key. Blind eyes and cuffed hands have come to be all our once proud people know. No longer! No longer will we remain as the slaves that gather their resources and fill their fat unworthy bellies. I encourage you to consider our message, that the time to do what’s right and fight against an injustice is either now or never. Let it be now rather than never.” The voices of these revolutionaries are filled with pride as they speak of their ideals and dreams of a far better society that only a revolt against the current status quo could likely achieve. Along their travels, they parted minas and bread to the commoners who struggled in the economy of each nation, it was quite clear these men were the voices of the poverty stricken and lower class that ultimately had no voice within society. These men were not bandits; not thieves; not at fault for any wrongdoings. These men were simple commoners who yearned for a change, who yearned for a better future; one that didn’t have haughty nobility upheld upon a throne supported by corrupt bureaucrats. They offered smiles and waves to their fellow man, elf, and every dwarf that they came upon in their travels. They saw each and every creature equal to them. No one was judged or criminalized by these men. These men simply wanted to help those in need lead the fight against tyranny. Application (interpreted IRP): A group of four horsemen approach you while traveling alongside one of the various backroads of Almaris; stopping you, they begin to openly speak of their cause and ideology, hoping to appeal to you. After a certain amount of time passes they invite you to take up arms and travel with them to the next destination they have in mind, hoping to find even more people supportive of their cause, promptly welcoming you with open arms: Minecraft Username: In-game name: Reason for joining the Resistance against the Oren: ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ {{OOC}} We’ll now be allowing those interested in joining the Resistance against the Holy Orenian Empire do so. If you’re interested in joining the Resistance then I encourage you to fill out the short application above. You can either send it as response to the forum post (which I imagine few will do), through a DM, or via Discord: Pharmaceutical Grade Chlymydia#1514 We have many events planned which we would absolutely adore you to become involved with! Obviously as you can imagine our efforts won’t be successful unless we have a decently sized group of people to support such ideals. The more we have on board, the merrier. If you personally have an interest in going against the Empire then we’ll welcome you, regardless of what race you are! Orenian, Norlander, Kha - you’re welcome to join. Thanks for reading! ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ (Previous Forum Post, O' Beautiful Providence - A Critical Treatise: https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/199510-o-beautiful-providence-a-critical-treatise) (Previous Forum Post, Cries for Revolution: https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/199201-cries-for-revolution)

The Attempts Of Assassinations Written by: Father Ivarus, Saint Heinrik Basilica, Jorenus Diocese This is a short letter regarding the recent situations that have happened against men of the Church and it's followers. Quite recently, many attempts of assassinations have been made on those who are serving God. This is why I call all believers of our Church to stay cautious wherever you are! As the threats are not just made to us, men of God but also against the believers of the Church! These people (The Qalasheen).. who claim to believe in 'God' are in fact believers of Iblees, putting swords on the necks of Priests, and trying to murder all those who do not believe in their deity. Shame on them! As a victim of an attempted assassination, which had been attempted by one of the Qalasheen folk, this is what they call a ‘Jihad’ also known as a strive to spread their religion in other nations by using horrific violence and acts. This system of beliefs must be stopped, immediately! We can not tolerate such actions to our people who believe in God. Put all your trust in God, as it is he who shall protect you against these heathens and their actions! These people who do such actions against men of the church must acknowledge God as the supreme being and refuse to believe in their God that they call 'Allah'. This is why I, Father Ivarus, servant of the Saint Heinrik Basilica of the Jorenus Diocese, warn you for their actions and what risks it may bring with, I shall pray for all of you who are experiencing the same situations.. May God bless and keep all of you and protect you from these situations. ~ Father Ivarus ~

Gino, circa 1785 "Family comes first, sí?" "Don't let 'em know what ye' thinkin'." -Gino He was not a good man. It was only through the hazed phrasings and doublespeak that he covertly tricked the bystanders of his twisted old life. His charm, per se. Only a few unlucky souls could confidently say they knew Gino Falcone. They saw through his counterfeit virtue. Most of them were under the sod. Dead, by his hand or otherwise. Even through all his endeavors, he was exposed to each and everyone. In his rare moments of frankness, he widely opened the door to his sin without usual fear. Perhaps tired, or simply naive to the consequences he fully saw. Lies, cheating, theft, murder, perjury, threats, extortion: you name it, he was guilty or a firsthand witness, and he wasn’t testifying beside the plaintiff. It was his matter, him, yet. What was it that mattered? The riposte was orthodox, by his character, at least. “Depends who you ask.” He’d say. He’d reassure, that as long as the wider apparatus was cracked and broken, he was simply ascending beyond it’s trickery; he was no worse. Nevertheless, he’d long for a connection, an empathy he did not know, to his kin, and to another: a yearning. It was true. In all his lies, the sham that was his livelihood: that was a veracious account. Though, few knew it. He didn’t. He was the blindest of the bunch, simply adamant enough to holler the utmost stridently. Where had it begun? The sand was initially entrenched within his eyes in 1778, summertime in Thyra: the jewel of Seyam. Twenty one summer's lived, a young man without much more experience than moving boxes and preaching God. He was of a quaint upbringing with a father, stepmother and wittier brother. In a sudden whirlwind, dislodging everything the man knew as “home,” every constant, arose a plain war. War meant evacuation. And thus, the sandstorms raged. Wreckage and havoc, leaving the trade-state halfway to hell. The brothers had migrated from the forsaken region with wholly two cents, a set of clothes and a utopian ambition to their name. They’d escaped by the skin of their crooked teeth. So easy to sled down the hill that trailed under, little did they know, the consequences in their terrible, terrible domino effect. Helena, 1779: it was the paradigm immigrant tale, and they would find a better life. She was a bustling city, and her light never seemed to fade. As the sun would set, the city lights substitute it with an equal glow. Confined in her intricate walls, she embodied the promise of wild love and adventure. Intoxicating, without exception, could make somebody or nobody forget. Gino and Vittorio were just two chaps. There was one unequivocal factor of the dreadful apparatus. It was a town of connections, and how many names you knew. You’d never catch her eye, otherwise. Two nights in the rat race to win her heart, staying in a small-fry tavern, and they loved it. Gino slept neither, but he neither found himself tired. He ambled through the alive pavements, coming to know each corner, each street like a native. However, sanguine hope, naive certainty and boyish flirting were not enough. The duo needed Marks. Yet, even that would not satisfy him: with an innermost lust for a mark, a spot on that holy block, an importance. They enlist in the navy, an old family pen pal of Vittorio’s leading it by the name of Oisin O’Rourke. They came to never know him well; he was merely too important, and they (though they would not admit it) were pawns. They made a modest wage, by domestic tasks. After all, there was trifle benefit of the sailors in a war of that horrible fire. Seconds molded into minutes, molded into hours, molded into days, weeks, months: it all elapsed in haste. The inherent fascination the capital exuded never faded. It endured. In ‘81, Gino found himself sojourn in a bland room, in a bland apartment, settled in the viridescent countryside. Vittorio had found a lover, starry eyed, and the brothers had split into their separate lives apart from fleeting scenes at a bar or a time to smoke, hazing the air. In the suburban scenery he’d so ambitiously hoped to escape, he met her. It was love at first sight, and Gino did not believe in cliches. She was beautiful, but not in the Imperial sense of pale faces and rouge with delicate, toy noses and pale eyes. She was the woman a man would come to yearn for, a donna. There was a sparkle in her olive eyes and lure in her laugh. She had antics. She had notions, and she was a keen soul, kindred. She was unafraid; her name was Florenza. They’d sprouted as friends. He was infatuated with her, an angle he couldn’t elucidate, a perplexing puzzle. She was an adventure, sprinting into the moonlight without a care to the uncharted, drunken with mania. He was a man. “Gino,” She’d spoken softly with a distinct idea. He’d turned, inquisitive. “Let’s go!” Her voice lifted up and she lit up at her hypothetical. He paused. Where? He wondered. He could not jump in, lest he knew. “Where?” He asked. “I don’t know!” She replied matter-a-factly. He wasn’t a bore, nor was he a voyager. Nevertheless, they went. They burrowed through the raw snow, against the flurries in summer clothing. The North was bleak and coarse, jarring. The frost pierced his every sensibility, and he flinched with every arduous step through the snow. Regret: the sun had set into a dim overcast, why’d he tag along? That, he did neither know. What time, what hour, what day had he transformed into a reflective sort? Was it a destiny? That too, was a pensive notion. There were countless doubts and questions, all without answer, only circumvention. It was a cool autumn day, lodged in the midst of the month. The tinted buildings were rampant with guileless kin. The brother’s were meandering down the paved roads, leaving a trail of smoke wherever they led on. It was election season; Gino had struck intrigue in the field, captivated. It was unforeseen that day, when they were plucked up by their collars, hastily awaking in an office with their step uncle sitting across. The man had a harsh gaze, coldly stoic in his cunning. He was nimble, but aged, be it years or a certain stress. He was terribly pale, and flourished a blonde, well groomed mustache. The appearance implied his identity being a blooded Imperial, he was not. They knew him as an Adunian, as a distant family. He wasn’t their blood. “Ahh,” the man began, Padraig O’Rourke was the name. In minutes, the dirty deal was settled. They were workers of the O’Rourke company, and once you were in, there was no out. Yet, anything to feed the family, he supposed: anything at all. The two were to be provided more apt adornments, and the meeting concluded. They talked much of the future, but little of what it portended. He was caught up. A dog chasing its tail, never satisfied. He soon withdrew from the Navy. He made handsome earnings from his superiors. The epoch was a renaissance; he was graced with little to worry over. The principal, the morality, of the work was dubious, but he did not think. Nay did he reckon, did he feel, did he judge, did he debate. His eyes were shut, and he unaffectedly was. He’d come to be an apathetic man, in that way. The brother recruits had been familiarized with those among them, and those not. Their organization was loyal to the Josephites, and opposing the wig wearing Nationalists. When Padraig was preoccupied as a politician, they came to be acquainted with a Raev: Dimitri Orlov. He was a steadfast, bearded man with steadfast soliloquies of life’s cost. Gino didn’t care for philosophy. There were others to be known: George Galbraith, an opportunist, an idealist, an eccentric and a politician, a friend. Ostromir Carrion, a soul of noble birth and mannerisms, gothic and pale, with the darkest theses. Santiana O’Rourke, a cousin with an inherent naivete akin to the Falcone’s, a companion. And Giada, a dear Illatian, and the dearest friend birthed as an enemy and cousin to Florenza, loyalties with a low-life cartel, recruited to the flipside by her wit. But as all reveries do, the short era ended with a snap. Unrest advanced against the Josephite muscle, occultist pagans permeated through the ISA, and Florenza grew suspicious of his “union duties.” At all the alleys there was a secret, and with mystery, there was paranoia; and with reticence, there was worry. Fear, it filled him to the brim, he did not spill. It was not him, he’d instilled. The line smudged, of who Gino Falcone was, and who he was not. He was restless, paranoid. With each stride, his palms were tightened in underlying burden. Not his work, but it’s fallout. The danger that glared at him so bitterly: dread. Echoes haunted the evening streets as he paced throughout the alleyways as he had since he’d arrived: a peculiar habit, walking, or following. He proposed little acknowledgement to any architecture, wandering within his own psyche. It was, and always had been,a yearning to clear a clouded mind. Yet, it only imparted further eludings: ironic. He followed, focusing on the sound of a duet’s footsteps in quarter time. The night was of routine in every rationale and facet. It was of a pleasant, cool temperature. The heat was entirely expelled through the words Gino met. Even her living room, he figured, exhibited such a homely portrait, calming, as she screamed. “Tell me the truth!” She’d yelled with such conviction of a sure judge. His love - Florenza had brought light to his tenebrous work. He’d frozen, as an effigy, faltering with zero words to the reminder that he was a single sinful man. He resented the fact that dormantly he knew. Inadvertently, she did too. They yelled, as he retorted tepid lies he had no belief in. Neither did she. He left, zealously removed. That was it, the end, without a proper goodbye. “I said get out!” She’d shrieked. “Ti odio!” was her word. I hate you, it meant. She’d pressed him out of the interior in fervor. Though, before he could voice anything at all, the door was slammed shut. He could not muster a thought. In and out, in and out, with his own breaths. A left, a right, a first, a second. The repetition led him home to a drafty room; exhausted, he could not sleep. Notes were penned to no reply and hollers screeched without echo. Naught, and in ultimatum: it all ceased, delving into a pool devoid of voices, wishes, pleas but darkness. It was a cold day when they met again, magnetized begrudgingly it. It wasn’t the type of day you would expect to see an old soul roaming, only to have fate shove them into your peripheral focus, and life once more. Fate or luck, or plain coincidence: Gino thought not of it. Only rushing into her, begging as a child. “Flor, Flor, Flor, please.” He pleaded. “Eugh! Fine.” They sat, and spoke. He told her of the truth, of his work, and of him. She’d paused, silent. “I think I’m going to have a heart attack.” She uttered, facing his eyes. They were not cold, but tense, scared. Scared at what she may have said next, what she did not ponder aloud. He’d lost control; he’d inadvertently transformed from the player, to the spectator. He twiddled his thumbs. “Gino,” she frankly remarked. “I don’t want to be a mob wife.” “You don't have to be.” He said, detracting his gaze. “I’m sorry.” “I don’t think you are. I think you’re sorry you’re caught.” “Maybe, maybe not.” He pondered. “I’d do it all for you, I would.” Would he? Maybe, maybe not. “I know you would.” She said, judging, frowning, but genuine. “I shouldn’t have spoken with Morgryn.” He said, a sigh escaping him. “It doesn’t change the scene, but I’d hope the words make it prettier.” It was her turn to pause. “It doesn’t, but at least you tried to fix it.” She offered, flashing a bittersweet smile. He returned the favor, shifting in the booth where they sat across. “Ti amo.” He said. I love you. Therein, he knew. There was no doubt, and no lie. She looked away. “Ti amo anch’io.” Vice versa, I love you too. They’d come together by frosted truth in glorious colors of the hopes and wishes of what they sought to see. What was that smile, like the sunrise ensued after a starless night? It was a fire, one that burnt your edges soon enough, sparing only ash from the bygone portrait of a pleasant picnic. 1787. “Do you often look up to the stars, Mr. Falcone?” A sage and a mystic of mysterious origin of yesteryear or tomorrow stood tall, forth. The stars would, in the twinkling of an eye, show their face. That evening glimpsed into nighttime. “What?” The implicit rationale escaped him. Then, too, perhaps, he sought answers. Nay, rather, justification, an excuse for the half-truths. The sage led backward to the depths of a starless night within a dark interior akin to cavern. He led afar, into Gino’s precise consciousness, to another realm. When the duo awoke from the trance and dream, discombobulated, a single remark struck him, and prevailed. “What is your creed?” “Canonism,” he’d imagined. “I’m in business - dirty business. I’m not a lunatic.” His faith, and his service, a naturally conflicting duet. Yet, he knew, deep down; it was his definition. “You allow for your business to decide upon who you are, what a fascinating feat.” They’d long drifted from the vibrant districts, left traversing the dim pavement once more. That experience, that transient stupor, why did it so avidly sit? In younger years, craving escape, a walk miles from who he was, a distraction. Dope had perpetually been a bad business; he was a hypocrite, per usual. “Where do we head?” He suddenly queried to a turned head, in partial presence. “Esbec.” The leader led on. What a distance, he thought - but not aloud. Alas, it was the manner of any pursuit, any business at that. With fortuity and unpredicted exterior force, Gino and Florenza were married. The wedding was a merry day, absent of discord, of dispute or routine bickering. It was broad, surrounded by the families and the work in thoughtlessness. They settled at a pleasant street, as a pleasant family with twin infants, and the lights of a so-called family man’s world: Cosimo Antony, and Lauretta Ivanna. For moments, the world appeared simple. None the wiser were they to the quarrel swathed behind the curtain. They’d fight over his varying deceit, his betrayal, and split, only to fall into connection once, in longing of fantastical woulds and shoulds. Even when he slapped her, and she screamed, and he swivelled offset from the world: cold as ice. In that twisted way, it was love. Time slowed. The Josephites dominated opposition, days were repetitive with equally repetitive feuds that therapy rarely succored. In the flash of a second, yet, Gino had lived such a life for a decade, in 1790. As time sped on lacking an instant to catch its breath, fate itself never wavered, nor did he: stuck in his ways, his “tradition.” Naturally, restlessness expanded, as did that destined dread. He found solace in a platonic adjacency with Giada. She understood, as she was. He knew naught but that vague, wondrous relation as sympathy to oneself, and incidentally another. They shared a mutual respect to the other. A break from the lonesome night, from a roaring fight; the next day, it would begin again, in sunlight anew. Deception, deceit and duplicity, was that all he was? It couldn’t be, it was an impossibility. So profoundly, he’d devastated his humanity. Had it ever been present, at all? Another ponderance unanswered, another thing lost for forsaken greed. He was devout. “This is not who I am.” Silently, he fell into a repetition, as an anthem to oneself in his native tongue. Alas, it was. Albeit, something he dashed from ‘till he could walk no longer. He was a steadfast man, an odd man, a crook and killer to some, a friend to some, a husband, a father, a brother. Yet, when they’d all retired, one appellation remained. In that precise evening, he was a father: distant, at that. He’d sought to be loyal, for connection, for a link that could not be true if he was not. He'd failed. His brother vanished from sight in 1793, leaving a blow to the being, a gaping stoic absence. The first of dominoes to fall, the first of the purge into an isolation. A disappearance was an optimistic designation, as in the last of days alongside Vittorio, he was supposedly dying. Gino had no room to think else from his disappearance as a loss, a death: a disappearance from life. The parting words were half-hearted, a reminiscence upon the before, seeming common with any dying man. A man had hoped to hang upon a crucifix, if it entailed awaking in the Skies above. Torture - for something you could not see, and witless retribution. He’d held the present world in a clasped palm, to cease. And to know, discerning yourself in the flipside, a reflection. He too had partaken in the offenses, the sin. Save, Vittorio seemingly knew such. Knowing not where his confidante had gone, spiritually, nor plainly, he was simply alone. How whimsy that concern was. He’d never meant to be a sentimentalist. The images flickered across his psyche’s forefront, rushing like fish down the river, incidentally sentimental in their cursory essence. They did not lie; they did not bend. His legitimacy, his newspaper: even that journalism. What was it but another falsehood - another fictitious ideal? Life slapped him in the face. In a moment, all seemed without guile. Yet, perhaps that too was a rosy memory - another half truth. Had that foreboding shadow always towered over him? Had he forgotten the face of the sun withstanding in its luminosity? His work, his side of town: it’d always acted as a nocturnal entity, amid the night’s. They traversed throughout the unpaved plains in the hours past five ‘o clock, till his gait grew heavy and his footsteps slowed. The towering city and it’s light was but a silhouette, far away. He grew cold, though spoke of naught; there was not a soul he trusted to listen. There was a deja vu, and a peculiar nostalgia with their endless trail to an uncertain destination. Storming rainy weather poured down upon them, speckling his coat with droplets like memories. It was his life: a chase and yearning to something, perhaps nothing, a child’s game of tag as every businessman, every crook, every politician sought to escape an unequivocal conviction of their very actions, and their very consequences. What did they wish for? An idealist’s heroism? What folly egoism, he thought. Gino had lived his life in a way to be a puppeteer as opposed to the marionette. He did so in excess, in greed for further control unto the strings. Only to learn that the people were not puppets to be tossed or contorted, and reminded. Stringed along, till the thread broke into thin strands and he knew not where to follow. Till there was no road, but a solemn darkness of the privy. He knew of his circus masks, where he’d act as two men: twofaced. He knew of the sin too countless to possibly count. He knew of the worldly wishes that had come to fruition, for what? For a lonely superiority, for a power over the dead man that could not shake his hand? For a corruption that rivalled what he’d arrived to overcome? For seclusion from the kin he'd sworn himself to, therein crashing down? Wonder, want - it was a dangerous thing. It brought hope to the young, and fools from the older. It led a false tale to the could, an attraction, a magnet. It led boats into the sea, and innovation to scrape the skies. It brought the pious to their sermons, and the heretical to a deeper crevice. It brought wanting, in the unknown “more,” of a brighter room. It was a siren, a summoning melody far from the candid: the real importance. The man halted at an edge, wherein the grass transformed into cobblestones, a shoreline of the wilderness to the rural at the riverside where a road led. Sometimes the traveller would pass by, as an immigrant, a salesman, a thief, a revolutionary, a wisher… He was not solus. Before him, there was a man: someone he knew from the earliest day onward, a son. He knew him as a boy, but at twenty five, there was scant boyish about the man that had come to adopt distinctions from his father, his pa. Where was his other family? The priority he’d promised as his first, and so sorely severed? His wife Florenza, driven to death by his inadvertent endeavor. His eldest daughter Lauretta, distant, offset from the world proceeding his wife’s death. Giada, dead by reckless behavior and reckless influence. Augustina, young and misguided with arduous fury at a lot she’d not chosen, and a subpar father, too, too absent. And Gustavo, a man he’d seen less as a son, but kindred in a being that Gino knew well, an immigrant and of ignorance. Where was he now? At a town for what meaning, what longing? He’d no purpose, nothing but old memories and hope for God’s mercy on his ashen soul. “Here,” the voice broke the looming gloom of a long lasting silence. A rural brick build, perhaps a bar or inn, hung as an escape from the incessant pouring. Young men conspired within, of politics and parties and all that he’d witnessed before. The Josephites, the Nationalists, like teams in simple sport, of the goals being fatalities, and votes as their points. It didn’t matter, as another false pretense, another lie. Soon, the open door was closed, and fate seemed to seal an unsent letter of the unsaid. He smiled, in nothing akin to happiness, but a melancholy bittersweetness in what had not. Who was he, truly, if his motive was to hide the very identity of what had brought him beyond struggle within the navy? That was not him - not his, or the whole, he’d convinced. Yet, with each passing day it seemed the opposite was true. A great agony had filled his chest, by figurative impressions, and physically. His breathing had come to knot in his throat, laden with unease and tobacco’s residue. He kneeled, catatonic, fixated to the movement of the figure he’d figured a son. He’d drawn breaths so prolonged without lament. In the end, when all had fallen down, and he’d outlived the festive chaperones, nil prevailed but the regrets he’d sworn untrue. Loss - mortality: it brought realization to a senseless soul. That question echoed throughout each thought, each meditative reminiscence, again. A cosa serviva tutto? What was it all for, then? His horrid pride, powerless to admit - to change, even vowing, in sickness and in health, believing in the assertion. He sought to be righteous to his ménage, but with everything in his recollection, he’d only fought. He’d only pulled in an endless tug of war. He’d only done what he must, in values he’d not like to know he was less than. "La famiglia non combatte la famiglia." He uttered. Family doesn't fight family. Oh, the irony. Envied, are those fortunate to die young -- preceding the isolation and betrayal of age, and the time for mistakes. He was a man of fifty six. To the dignity of a crook, and the bliss of asinity. He’d done what he must. And so, he reeled back in breaths he could not catch, and the shuffling of feet that could not stand. The torment, as if he’d been transfixed; he had. And so, he groaned into the fray of the leaden turning eve, in a profound notion: a faithlessness he’d sworn to walk away from, only to tread right forth into it, beguiled, as he’d never guess it’d be from those one did not envisage… In such an instance, his cunning had abandoned him long before, surrounded, yet so very alone in a shock. In that moment, he could swear that naught was of any importance at all: only the pained, shallowing breaths. Cliche, for one’s life’s recollections to flicker before it would all end… Yet, heavy is the heart of the impoverished spirit, thumping with each stride - each step forth into the darkness and night. ‘Till it may drum no longer and the soul musn’t continue, and the rich man must halt. Tranquil, is the deafening silence one lies amidst, so very still. Naught would dare interrupt the reverie’s eternity, until the morn where he’d have vanished beneath- Ahead, a river dashed, stopping for no soul in it’s bustle. What wonder, a cycle forward forevermore without the hesitation of a memory’s flickering pang within his psyche. And he did not think of the unanswered questions, for it mattered not. Where would that doubtful stream lead him? Irrefutably, elsewhere from petrichor above and the loveliness of the day. It was 1779, a Helena alley scented with smoke and innocence. “So this is Helena, eh?” It was Vittorio, or Victor, perhaps too early for the latter. “Bustling town.” Gino reaffirmed, a young, cocky, strapping man of twenty two. “Nothin’ like the Old Country, I’ll tell you that much.” “Louder, the bells, the vibrancy - intoxicating, si?” He riffed, flourishing a smirk. “Far better than that old place, now: halfway to Hell under tons of sand.” “We got out the nick of time. They trust their people to protect them, their fate in the hands of selfish bastards.” He halted in a pause, contemplative. “Then, they suffocate in a dune.” “And- see? That is how we are different; we thought ahead.” He remarked, gesturing with his hands. “Just think.. Hadn't we left there, we'd be stuck in a sand pit, in a coffin of our own making.” “Makes you sure glad to have been wise to what was happening, like you said.” He remarked, an underlying bother, as an unbothered man. “...Fools.” He concluded. How the Denier or sinner themselves would reject what he’d not yet grown to be. Perhaps it would be all okay, the next day would tell. ‘Till they’d walk alone, wayward, with each following day, through the bell's toll.

The Clock is Ticking, the ball is in your court. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The streets were unbearably cold that night, the pounding of feet and crackling of flames accenting the darkened night sky as the orange glow illuminated their faces. Dressed in black, plating pressed against their chest as they heaved beneath the plumes of drifting smoke. Men, women, young and old, standing side by side as the marker of injustice burned fervently before their eyes. They had come inside under a cloak of darkness, fulfilling the oath they had taken alongside their comrades at arms to purge the holy city of all that stood in the day of true freedom. And as the mockery went up in flames, the passion in their hearts spiraled into an elation. "Alexsei, my friend, we did it." One muttered beneath the rag obscuring the lower half of his face, trying not to cough as the thick smoke whirled around them. One Simon Roberts stood among the enflamed structure, his eyes widened with awe as the flamed licked and danced their way up the walls. Sparkling displays of ember stricken wood came tumbling to the ground in splashes of splintered fragments, shattering upon impact with thunderous noise. When they gathered together in that room, all seemed to now be worth it. "Of course Simon, of course we made it." The taller of the pair speaking said in the same muffled tone, clasping a tough callused hand upon his fellow militiaman's shoulder. As they spoke the others began to erupt in cheers, staggering backwards from the increasingly violent fury bubbling up from the once stagnant and sturdy flooring of the Ministry of Justice. To them, it held an almost catharsis. It had all been building up to this, a valiant declaration of war and escalation of their conflict wrapped in secrecy. No nobody would call them, petty vandals, miscreants, or misguided, they were a threat. And they expected to be dealt with like one, what was once a joyous organization of dutifully dedicated detectives had turned against the blade that had struck them down. A product of Tyranny, a product of injustice. "The time for celebration comes later, brothers, for now we must go. Our message has been sent, and the pigs shall soon hear our voice." The one called Alexsei shouted out over the amassed band of terrorists, rallying them around his command and to the sound of his booming speech. The footsteps started once more, clattering to escape what was rapidly becoming a hellish inferno as the same men in black came streaming from the front of the building and across the streets of Oren. They all ran in the same step, trailing behind one another as they flew from the fire they sparked. And as screams erupted around them, calling for soldiers, calling for water, the perpetrators were already gone. Into the forest, out the back gate they ran, satisfaction plastered across each and every one of their usually grim and solemn faces. Simon had simply done as he was told, the book he scribbled in and the etchings in the rubble left by their knives making their voice heard. And as the dust settled, and the fire died, all that was left was their reminders. Their message. On a large stone brick, engraved carefully into its front facing side, in broad scratched in lettering it read, K "The Clock Strikes Six, and we march one step closer to freedom. The Nightmare will come to a close, a new dawn will rise. Viva Mercatore, may God Save Oren for nobody else can." The same message, plastered upon nearby walls, under benches, and in the stumps of trees. A war had begun, a quiet war. Only time will tell of it's conclusion. For now, the secret was revealed, the game could begin.

The Talon's Port - Orenian Boat Race Year 12 of the Second Era [!] Flyers are posted throughout both Talon's Port and Oren on an upcoming event between the two cities. "On the 5th Month of the 12th Year of the Second Era, there will be race held between the city of Talon's Port and the city of Providence! Invitations are extended to any person who wishes to compete! Competitors will race along the coast in rowing boats, making it their goal to reach Providence before the other competitors. The competition will start at the Talon's Port docks, and will end beneath the bridge leading to Providence! Whichever rower reaches the Providence bridge first will earn a prize of 500 minas! The event will begin later in the day!" [!] There is a map provided on the flyer that details the route of the race! OOC Details: Event Time: Monday, February 22nd at 7pm EST. Players will be racing mechanically in boats.

Looking for a House to join? Aye! If you are new to the server and want to connect with other players, bonding together... helping each other out. You are free to message me on discord to join our House, currently it has two members... Not a lot tbh, but we are rather new... It's located in Oren, and we accept only players from there. There's no restrictions on the age, gender of your character... You could be sibling/cousin/uncle, but you have to be a heartlander or at least from the human race.... Discord: Valecius#5323 ^^ Current Family Tree

Ajax Frostbeard in his usual stint of writing has composed a new song! Posting it quickly in the tavern hall in Urguan's mountain holme he returns to his home to make additional copies, wishing to send them out to the other nations of the world. His hopes are this song can become popular enough and be enjoyed outside the kingdom as well. The Indomitable Cavalryman I'm Haenseti, I'm Norlan Im a Holy Oren son Charging Khazadmar across the plain I'm the lancer on a dun I'm an Uruk on the run I'm a Horseman here to bring you pain. Was with Verthaik and the 7th 16-06 or was it 7? Countless Urguan footmen i did hew And the tears and tribulation Of that proud dwardmari nation Them I know because I was riding with them too And I ate rations on the run, Riding with the Uruk hun In the distant redrock steppe while in their prime Whether coalition, or sedition, in these wars' painful attrition I had burned down your village in the night And I knew the Fierce Sultan, and rode their swift arabians Harassing heavy northmen upon their heavy drafts. And yet I rode the Pereshan against the Federal Suitican And once again blood in sand was cast. (well) I'm Haenseti, I'm Norlan Im a Holy Oren son Charging Khazadmar across the plain I'm the lancer on a dun I'm an Uruk on the run I'm a Horseman here to bring you pain. Well I've worn the Talon's Crimson If you're quiet and you'll listen You'll know that It was with him that I stood When along the ports kids cried as their mounted constable died Cut down by highwaymen's cold blood. Well I's the prancing heavy lancer when I fought beside Ruskan dancers Suffrage of Haenseti's Oren Raids. And mine was not to question why Mine was but to do or die In Elvenesse, with their Charging Light Brigade On mountain high in Rocky eden Be me Urguan be me Heathen The Traitor to the hammer I will put With A Crack Flanking Maneuver I'm a Norlan mounted trooper Striking Terror into Landsknecht men on foot. (well) I'm Haenseti, I'm Norlan Im a Holy Oren son Charging Khazadmar across the plain I'm the lancer on a dun I'm an Uruk on the run I'm a Horseman here to bring you pain. Well I knew my days are numbered As all the fortresses lumber More modern innovations then again No match for arcane fire, or Dorimnur's Cannon-shot With a swift rear guard action i retreat. No Match for Pikeman's Ire, or Hefty Golems fought Reluctant, I retire and take my leave. These days I ride as special forces On those wild Druidic horses To those southerners we give our thanks And no matter which side deployed on If you want this battle won, You'll always need me to strike at their flanks. (well) I'm Haenseti, I'm Norlan I'm a Holy Oren son Charging Khazadmar across the plain I'm the lancer on a dun I'm an Uruk on the run I'm a Horseman here to bring you pain. I'm a horseman here to bring you pain. Was with the Greenskins as they pleaded To find the wells so badly needed And The Kahazad War rams charging Oren ranks Saw high elves mount struck down in a haenseti town The Night We charged the empire down As we piled them both up like cordwood planks

Hello friends and foes of LoTC! I hope that my post finds you all well, that the new year has been kind to you thus far and that you find yourselves in the best of health. It is my sincere hope that you are all safe and sound with your loved ones (or your pets). With the coming of the new year I found myself back on this wonderful server nearly three years after I took a hiatus. Much has changed and I felt like the type and quality of roleplay that we have had has changed as well, to my pleasant surprise! I grew nostalgic of my early days of playing on the server back in 2014-2015. Alongside the updated mechanics and progress in the world lore, I felt that it was the perfect opportunity to breathe life into House Visconti; which I had the pleasure of representing off and on at earlier times. I plan to compile a Master-guide to Illatian and Visconti roleplay by the end of next week and give the RP announcement about our current position and plans. In order to help me make this a reality, I decided to reach out to you, the LoTC community. I was dissatisfied with the information I was able to collect thus far because: Some key players lost access to their drives and their precious documents. Some key players became inactive and unreachable. Primary-source forum posts are very aged and difficult to follow. Secondary-source information is often skewed and distorted. We have a list of tertiary characters holding the family name who I cannot place in our family tree. I wanted to write this post and ask those of you who have played a House Visconti (or Illatian persona) to kindly reply to this forum post and aid me in my project by sending me links to the documents (or forum posts) that they do have or by contacting me on my Discord: Zoprak#3499. Character sheets and family trees are required. Secondary sources mentioning or referencing the family members and their activities are needed. Documents outlining family activities are appreciated. Miscellaneous documents, photographs, screenshots and skins are not necessary but would help fill in the gaps in the lore. Thank you for your time and assistance, I look forward to roleplaying with you all in the coming weeks. To those of you who are facing an upcoming semester I wish the best of luck and amazing grades. Please do not hesitate to contact me. Best regards, Zoprak (Antonius Mihailo Visconti) (P.S Dear Moderators, I apologise if this is in the wrong section, please transfer it to the appropriate place if need be, I am a returning player and I am still unsure where to place my forum posts that are OOC).

Dear Oren Manufacturing Facilities, I have damaged my Lumarium Occulos Thricoard. I am In need of a replacement device to direct three beams of Lunar light to be focused into the correct frequency of solar light. Ensure that the Focusing Occulosis glass Lens is focusing downwards and that the glass is made with Aquamarine mineral dust. The deflection Arrays are to be made from silver and to sit at a 90 degree angle. Please try to oil the Pins, Knobs and Swivels to prevent rusting. The device should be able to fit into one's pocket, please don't bring some obtuse structure. It will be rejected at the gate. Feel free to keep the design for reproduction. A secondary copy will be kept in the Haelun'or Library records. Deliver to the front desk of the Haelun'or city gates. Present my family sigil upon entry to drop off the package for inspection. Unless already permitted. Do not enter the city. That is unless you wish to risk a puncturing from the archers atop our grand walls. The package is to be delivered to any member of the Celia'thilln family. P.S. Ensure that you bathe properly before arriving at the gate on threat of the guards dousing other vagrants with water from the murder holes.

[!] Flyers were put up around Oren, Haense and Sutica and some of the trees right outside of it! It’d read: Tricks and Mirages Palace is now looking to hire people for their next venture! Currently, we are talking of expansion into settlements or other nations and need more workers to do so. But, we currently reside within Sutica, Oren and Haense. Job Descriptions: Crafter: A crafter makes the approved ideas for the pranks, no rename tokens required. Payment is 200 mina per week. Herbalist: People who simply go out and gather herbs to bring back for use, noting down where they are found and such. Pay is negotiable and a herb by herb basis. Alchemist: There is always room for another Alchemist. We provide whatever is needed, whether herbal or otherwise. Pay is negotiated. Other: Is there something you believe we may need? Try your luck! You never know. There is room for future promotions and to make more mina but it all depends on the work put in and just how well everything keeps going. [!] A form is attached at the end of the flyer to fill out and bird in! https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLScoN8kFKNctMl5YTQ7lkunXS_ggQ3ARwgYIixEkV4DIuywFkA/viewform The shop itself is located at Lubba Ward 3 in Sutica, Nauzica Stall 11 in Oren, and/or Rosebud Market 3 in Haense for those interested or just curious.

- Steepled’s Skin Auction - Hi everyone! This is my first skin auction I’ll be doing, please feel free to look around! Rules: - You may not edit a bid comment, every time you bid you must add a new comment with the new bidding amount. I will not count edited bid comments. - Bids start at 1000 minas, and bid increments are of 500 minas. - The auction will end in two days time, September 25th, 10:00 pm EST. - You can bid on any amount of skins you like. But you must pay if you win. - Payment comes before skin(s). Auction Format: Discord name and tag number Skin (s) and bid (s). Good luck bidders!

Moore Music, Custom Pianos and organs. To view all information, click the link. Click Link below for photos PREVIOUS WORK Discord gamegage#4169

Order of the Knights of Saint Owyn, Defenders of the People of the Kingdom of Mardon, the Principality of Pruvia, and the Blood of Ioannes. “By the Blood of our Fathers, for the Future of our Sons” The Order of Knights of Saint Owyn, known in shorthand as the Ioannian Order are a secular Order dedicated to the preservation of Traditional Orenian values and the defense of the Horenic Kingdom of Mardon and her people, be it from both foreign and domestic threats under the guidance and leadership of the Prince of Mardon. They act as both a peacetime police force, and a wartime army as the realm needs at any given time. Ranks and Structure High Command Knight Commander Undisputed command of the Order lies within the Knight Commander, who, in turn, serve the Prince of Pruvia, and the Kingdom of Mardon faithfully and with due diligence. It is his responsibility to ensure the Order is well disciplined and equipped. Knight Captain (200 Mina/Saint's Week) Inspiring battlefield officers, the Knight Captain has the honor of bearing his own heraldry to combat. With an iron resolve he will guide the soldiers of the Order to victory or an honorable death. Low Command Knight Sergeant (150 Mina/Saint's Week) Deputy officers, they are being groomed to one day lead the Ordermen to glory and victory. Usually the sons of nobles or promising veterans, they enforce the orders of their seniors officers and ensure their charges are well kept after. Enlisted Knight Brother (100 Mina/Saint's Week) The senior most enlisted rank, these men have served for many years past their prime and have chosen to continue to serve. They have the most experience of any enlisted Orderman and often serve as advisors to senior command staff for their plethora of knowledge in the art of war. Having proven their capability, they are Oathed and granted the heavy laurels of a Knight. Half-Brother (75 Mina/Saint's Week) A grizzled Order, he has seen firsthand the brutal glory of warfare, and stares unwavering into the jaws of death, ensuring discipline is kept in the ranks. While not a Knight, he is a Half-Brother of the Order. Footman (50 Mina/Saint's Week) The backbone of the Order, each Footman is oathed and sworn to follow the orders of the Knight Commander. They are drilled to act as cohesive units and stand ready to bring victory to Mardon. Recruit (20 Mina/Saint's Week) Raw, Unblooded, untested. These words describe the future brothers of the Order. With a fierce desire to serve, these recruits will either die in service or live long enough to bring glory to themselves and the Order. Specialized Ranks Quartermaster In charge of distribution and inventory, the Quartermaster is often times a Knight-Sergeant. Disciplinarian Harsh and unsympathetic, the Disciplinarian uses both whip and voice to mold Ordermen into shape. Faults or mistakes are dealt with harshly, and swiftly to ensure it does not happen twice. Apothecary Field doctors, the Apothecaries are tasked with treating the sick and wounded of the Order. Skilled in alchemy and herbalism, they are tasked with getting brothers back into the fight swiftly. Payment and Rewards for Service A soldier ought to be able to make a decent living, and reward for services is simply the right thing to do. Salary Within each rank, the various members of the Order are paid on a Saint's Weekly ((one irl week)) basis, ensuring they have enough money to buy their own food, pay for their family to eat, and be clothed, and ensure they also have money to tithe during Mass when the collection bin is passed around. As well, it proves that each man is worth something, as money is being put into them as an investment. The pay rate of each rank is listed next to it in the Roster. Rewards When it comes to service, some men and women simply do things a step above the rest, and ought to be rewarded for such That said, members of the Order are well rewarded for their services to their brothers and sisters/ 50 Mina per kill during battles 50 Mina for bringing in a new recruit 35 Mina per kill of bandit/highwayman 100 Mina per kill of Lesser Abominations (ghosts, ghouls, etc) 300 Mina per kill of Greater Abominations (Shade, Wraith, Dreadknight, etc) 500 Mina per kill of Mordring's Lieutenants (Harbingers) 1000 Mina per kill of Enemy Commander during battle ((must be perma kill, and result of a win of the warclaim)) Equipment The Ioannian Order uses a variety of weapons, both siege equipment and small arms to ensure they are well prepared for any combat. Small Arms Vandorian Longsword Used first by the Order of the White Rose, the Kaedreni Longsword has been a staple weapon of Waldenian and Vandorian soldiers since their roots in the Order of Saint Lucien. The Vandorian variant features a hand and a half grip, and a slightly shorter blade length. Gladius A weapon with roots as far back as the White Rose, the Spatha was once used by the Salvus Shields for short and bloody work in tight city streets. Used as a stabbing weapon, it is often paired with a shield. The Gladius is considerably shorter, and more nimble, often called ‘butcher’s blades’ by veterans, for they are used in places where the fighting is bloodiest. Arbalest The Arbalest is a fearsome weapon. Used in sieges, the Arbalest can pin an armored man to a wall from a distance. Often used once then discarded due to lengthy reload times, it remains a formidable weapon. Zweihander An ancient weapon, the Zweihander is a massive two handed weapon which requires the strength of a well built soldiers to wield. The weight, however, is worth the effect. Known to be able to sever limbs easily and carve apart armored men, the Zweihander is a fearsome weapon carried most often by a Knight-Sergeant. Flanged Mace The flanged mace is a crushing weapon, used to cave in armor plates and bones alike. Those who carry the mace into battle rely on heavy handed and traumatic blows of force as opposed to the finer blade work of a Longsword or Gladius. Siege Equipment Hansetian Ballista From the great white north, the Hansetian Ballista is used. Developed by the Teutonic siege engineers, it was widely used by their Hochmeister Mirtok DeNurem and made a great presence at the original Siege of the Dreadfort. It is designed for accurate, long­range fire at personnel, fortifications, and ships. Kaedreni Onager The Force of the White Rose developed this weapon early in their reign. It is effective as a small catapult and works slowly against weaker fortifications at short distances. It is capable of flinging hot pots of oil and basic explosives at enemy positions. Waldenian Trebuchet The Waldenian Trebuchet is an example of a tradition of artillery warfare. Large, intimidating, and powerful, the Waldenian Trebuchet is capable of great damage to all fortifications and at long distances. Waldenian Catapult The Waldenian Catapult is simply a more advanced version of the Kaedreni Onager, working at longer range distances and with more power. To Join the Order To sign up, simply fill out this form below and an officer will contact you. -OOC- Minecraft Name: Skype (Preferred, not required): Nexus Professions: Will this be your main?: -IC- Name: Race: Age: Where do you live?: Combat skills of note, such as a former mercenary?:

The Tagma of Nicea History of the Tagma The Tagma is a recently formed levy by Despot Constantine Palaiologos. In times of war the Tagma of Nicea has one job; to protect Metz the capital of Lorraine. The location of Nicea makes the protection of Metz almost natural, as it's very close to the capital. The levy is lightly equiped compared to other Orenian levies which makes the soldiers to move faster than any other unit. Ranks Officers: Strategos (Marshal) - the head of the Tagma(army) appointed by the Despot, tasked with managing the Tagma, and leading it into battle. He is often revered by his men, who follow his command faithfully. Lochagos (Captain) - A field officer, tasked with training the Army and assisting the Strategos with leading it. Before battle, they are often involved with the Strategos in the makings of strategy and battle plans. Those who hold this rank have proven themselves worthy to the Strategos, and are amongst the most capable commanders in the Army. NCO’s Lochias (Sergeant) - The Lochias are the regular officers of the Tagma. They are often very experienced and proficient in their work, both in combat and leading the troops. Dekaneas (Corporal) - The Dekaneas are the junior officers of the Tagma, Like all officers, they are tasked with training the troops, disciplining them and maintaining them in good form - as well as leading them into battle. Enlisted Veteranos (Veteran) - The Veteranoi are amongst the most proven and proficient troops of the Tagma, well equipped and well trained. They have earned their rank through a long and faithful service to the Tagma. Even though they are not often tasked with leading, they set an example to the soldiers below them who strive to reach to the same position. Stratiotis (Man-at-Arms) - The Stratiotes are the regular troops who make the bulk of the Tagma. Just like the Neos, they are tasked with the ordinary of tasks listed below. Neos (Recruit) - Neoi are the freshly recruited troops of the Tagma, often ill equipped. They undergo through basic training and are tasked with the most ordinary of tasks such as guarding, escorting and standing in formation. Joining the Tagma; Name: Race: Age: Any prior military experience?: ((OOC)) MC Name: Skype Name (can PM if needed): Do you have TeamSpeak, or are you willing to download it (will be used in battles and other activities)?: Timezone: