#valere empire

[ansu-gurleht]

huh. i just realized. i need to figure out more about this timeline these four (malekaiah valer kassur and aryon) occupy by 4e201. like……so much would be different by then. the oblivion crisis doesn’t hit as hard thanks to preparation from what i’m tentatively calling the “new ebonheart pact” between morrowind and black marsh under the hortator ku-vastei and her an-xileel. the empire as a result isn’t as destabilized, meaning the aldmeri dominion has less success (or maybe no opportunity at all) to attack it. martin septim survived and was a successful and beloved emperor who cooperated heavily with the new ebonheart pact and its hortator. orsinium never fell so never had to rebuild, since they were sent aid by the new ebonheart pact and the empire. the red year never happened since the hortator had baar dau mined out completely. no skyrim civil war bc no aldmeri invasion, no great war, etc. it’s honestly a thriving tamriel at this point

[theonevoice]

15 people, 15 questions

Tagged by @streetcornertwoam (thanks!)

1. Are you named after anyone?

Not a specific person, my parents chose for me and my brother two names of Latin origins, mine from the Roman gens Valeria, after the verb "valere", meaning "to be strong". So how often do you think about the Roman Empire?

2. When was the last time you cried?

I don't cry very often these days, but on July 28 the final episode of Good Omens s2 got me sobbing, unexpectedly, because a couple of years ago I indeed had a "final fifteen" moment (minus the kiss and the hope for a s3), and I swear to god it was so identical, down to certain choices of words, that for several minutes after the ending I had to double check to make sure that I had actually seen it on screen and was not allucinating.

3. Do you have kids?

Nope, and I don't think I will, I don't feel like I could manage that amount of responsibility.

4. What sports do you play/have played?

I used to swim a lot, but now I only hike. Not the athletic type at all!

5. Do you use sarcasm?

Yes, way too often, but I try to restrain myself because it's very easy to hurt someone with sarcasm and the older I get the less willing I am to contribute to the general harshness of human relations. If I met someone who really deserves it, though, I will not hesitate to peel their skin off their face.

6. What's the first thing you notice about people?

Voice. 90% of my initial reaction to any new person is dictated by how much I like their voice.

7. What’s your eye color?

Hazel.

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Both, as long as they are well written. I strongly believe that fear and hope are both core parts of the human experience, and when they are well translated into fiction I enjoy them equally.

9. Any talents?

Does overthinking counts? For real though, it's a pain in everyday life, but it's a useful trait to have overdeveloped in academic research since it makes you quite the analyst.

10. Where were you born?

Italy, in the happy town of Montefiascone, one of our many "wine cities", but grew up in a little village near Orvieto, another one of our many "wine cities", connected to both Montefiascone and Orvieto via the Alta Tuscia Wine Road. If you are catching a theme, well... cheers!

11. What are your hobbies?

Too many for my non-existent free time. I play the piano and used to sing in a choir that unfortunately doesn't exist anymore (but I still do my voice excercise every now and then); I like sewing my own clothes; I like gardening; I got back into drawing after a solid decade spent not picking up a pencil (thanks to Good Omens); I love reading books and generally consuming fiction, but since this last part overlaps with my job I don't know if it counts as hobby anymore...

12. Do you have any pets?

I have currently 7 cats, most of them were abandoned nearby by shitty people who saw a stretch of countryside and just dropped them (which left some of them with several traumas, like refusing to eat alone for fear that while they're eating we will vanish). Depending on the time of the year, we take care of the unofficial colony that regularly assembles around our house (even more cats, hedgehogs, some badgers, stray dogs - but the dogs we have to report for everyone's safety, including theirs).

13. How tall are you?

Barely 5'1, I could easily play a hobbit in a Tolkien-based show without the vfx team even noticing, I am one of those unfortunate souls who watch the upper shelf in their kitchen with the same longing and desire with which normal people watch the Moon.

14. Favorite subject in school?

My absolute favorites were Literature, Physics and Technical drawing (you can still easily lure me into any trap by dangling a goniometer in front of me).

15. Dream job?

The one I am so lucky to have right now, and that I'm trying to make permanent (which is the hardest part). I am currently a researcher in the field of Comparative Literature with a specialization in Literary Theory, which may sound like something that one would make up in a tumblr bio, but it's actually a thing (unfortunately does not involve formulating theories about stories or characters, it's about looking at a chunk of literary history and trying to understand why certain genres, themes or writing practices rise and fall). I hope I can keep doing this, because I honestly love it, even if the chances are slim.

I don't know who to tag since my social anxiety extends to "oh god I cannot possibly bother those people just because they sometimes like my posts", so I will borrow the Italian tradition of the pending coffee and will leave a pending tag:

@

if you see this and would like to do it, consider yourself tagged!

[naporchesi]

Napoli’s Empire 💎 — Chapter I.

A história dos Napoli no mercado de minérios se iniciou com Vittorio Napoli. Nascido e crescido na região portuária, o italiano trabalhou em uma mina em Sardenha, onde deu início a sua jornada. Em paralelo com a pescaria, Vittorio exercia funções na extração de minerais como meio de sustento. Mas novas oportunidades bateram em sua porta quando seu destino, por acaso, cruzou com o de um homem experiente no ramo.

Ainda em sua juventude, Vittorio Napoli acabou por ganhar uma chance de sair do exaustivo trabalho manual e entrar no mundo dos negócios, mesmo que de forma indireta. O pioneiro do império Napoli se aventurou em novas experiências, em um mundo até então desconhecido para ele. Vittorio por bons anos foi como um aprendiz do bom empresário, realizando funções e trabalhos menores em nome do mesmo.

Foi então que, com os conhecimentos adquiridos ao longo do tempo e as economias que juntou, o italiano se sentiu pronto para dar seus primeiros passos sozinho naquele novo território. Vittorio arriscou tentar a vida como mercador, mas antes que pudesse fazer planos foi surpreendido pelo destino outra vez.

O empresário que o ajudou até anos atrás, agora considerado um amigo distante, havia deixado este mundo. Mas antes de sua morte havia preparado um presente para Vittorio. Para demostrar a valorização pelo apoio e dedicação fiel do Napoli, um pequeno lote de terra lhe foi dado. A primeira vista não parecia valer muito. Entretanto, foi um gesto que aqueceu o coração do italiano.

Mas a natureza sempre pode surpreender. Cerca de 3 anos depois, próximo do primeiro aniversário de seu filho, Vittorio Napoli fez a maior descoberta de sua vida. Em uma tarde pós chuva o homem passeava por suas recém adquiridas terras, inexploradas em sua grande porcentagem, quando se deparou com uma fonte rica de minérios de grande variedade. Com os conhecimentos adquiridos na prática e sua experiência em minas, Vittorio poderia facilmente reconhecer que aquela era uma fonte próspera.

Foi essa descoberta que marcou o início da ascensão dos Napoli no mundo. Vittorio voltou a fazer aquilo que dominava. Agora, porém, com total independência e liberdade. Ele liderava a próprio comercio e extração de diamantes, e tinha sua ética em primeiro lugar (assim como Francesco Marchesi). Para Vittorio a qualidade sempre foi mais valiosa do que a quantidade. E mantinha sempre vista rigorosa sobre o rumo de suas propriedades e suas produções.

Ao longo dos anos o crescimento dos Napoli deixou de ser apenas pela matéria prima. Com a abertura da joalheria Ethereal, os diamantes Napoli ganharam um significado novo. A assinatura da família se torna presente nas pedras preciosas e também nas joias das quais compõem.

A presença dos Napoli no mercado atual se da pela atuação na área das joias, minérios em geral (principalmente pedras preciosas, ouro e mármore), e também na parte empresarial voltada para patrocínio e grandes eventos. Se não pelas jóias, você talvez possa reconhecê-los por algum evento público ou até a equipe automobilística da qual patrocinam. A influência da família Napoli é bastante diversa mas sólida como diamante.

São italianos bastante sociáveis e engajados nas relações-públicas. Apesar disso, valorizam sua privacidade. Sabe-se muito mais sobre o império que os cerca do que sobre a família que o carrega.

[ihavenoconsistentname]

[lilacsandthistles]

@ihavenoconsistentname @comebelonely who even are these women

[myzlmao]

@lilacsandthistles anyways

[silverderp098]

[exvind]

How To Sith; By Darth Exvind

Primarily because I write Horror and additionally because I am drunk off my ass on a monday night I want to justify why the Sith were fucking horrifying to the goddamned Jedi and not in the standard DARK SIDE BAD HARSH EMOTIONS RAGE FEAR AND ANGER horseshit. No. In lieu I’ll provide a breakdown of Force Powers and why they are nightmarish in the wrong hands - especially those that would use them for personal gain.

FORCE PUSH

A way to move things in a direction.

Jedi: A utilitarian tool to move objects in direct contradiction to their weight and/or mass to fulfill a purpose.

Sith: A weapon. To throw my enemies against walls, to crush them, to throw and smash things together, to make the word bow against my Will.

Darth Exvind: “A MEanS TO ForCE SOmeoNE’S SMAll AnD lArGE INtenSines TO SEIZE alL AT onCE to FOrce the BilE AND FILTh out froM SOMeONE WhilE THey YET lIVE And CRuSH THeiR INTERNAL oRGanS THEY ARE FLEXIblE yES!? YEs GOOd COndENSE theM WIth A “GENtlE” PUSh And WATCH HOw theY REAcT!

-----

FORCE INFLUENCE

Jedi: A means to assuage heightened emotions and bring all involved parties toward a proper and appropriate calm and peace as to discuss the difference between all parties and reach an understanding which will if not lead to serenity but an accord between everyone involved.

Sith: I can and WILL bend them to MY will. History is written by the victor? Then why should memory be exempt!?

Darth Exvind: The Past IS as fluId and mallEAble As THe FUTuRE you Think YOu had a fAmilY?~!! NAmE them. NAmE Each and EvEry ONe OH HOW SuRe Are you!? Oh yeS Who IS REAl Who IS noT!? Is youR Love GEnuinE Or Is it juSt SOmethiNG I implIed!? I HAVE FivVE bouND hoStagES hErE AND WILL EXECuTE them - But the QuestioN IS: Are they really your family!?

------

BATTLE MEDITATION

Jedi: My friends, my comrades, we are all as one. We are united behind a singular purpose, a desire for peace, for order, for justice to prevail in our Galaxy. We march toward the intolerable, the unthinkable because we Must. And in this we are One. We cannot promise Peace - but we must work towards it. And our Unity shall bring us toward our goal. We fight as One, so that no one else must.

Sith: Together, we will be unstoppable! I look at you - and see only soldiers. Whatever fights, qualms, SHIT you’ve had between you before...you serve ME. You are MY Legion. Whatever you thought before, the ENEMY stands before you - across No Man’s Land. We will CRUSH them...because, at the end of the day, it is Us, or Them.

Darth Exvind: FigHTErs YES sO many FighTErs Oh my DARLING you kePT theIr originAl Uniforms!?! WonDERFUL. YES gooD. NoW THen. SomE MIghT SAy SoldiErs ArE Good for THeiR iNStinCts. I PrefER the mUsclE mEmORy. You Will All fAll. MAany TimeS> And theN Get uP. And RepEAt. UnTil youR FLesh FinAlly FAilS you. At WhiCH PoinT: I Tap my ReSErVEs. BuT the ImpoRtAnt thINg iS: We do Not LEt THEm lIsten iN on OUr ChAttER. Now. MARCH.

-----------------

I love the Sith Empire - but it can only exist with an appropriate Emperor. Otherwise...something so much worse would rise. 

[books-of-the-great-leviathan]

Chapter 10- Azare

***

Word came with the dawn: a missive under the swift flag, traveling from Lapide across Bellana's Arm.

An ill omen, Azare thought. He folded the paper once more and looked to the king. Daval faced the sea and an early morning sky slashed with red. Best to make plans by evening, when Bellana's exhausted her wrath for the day. Not morning, when she hasn't yet begun.

"Then it's done," Azare said.

"It's done." Daval's hands were clasped behind his back. He looked, in the dawn, like one of the statues along the sea walk, his handsome face expressionless. "Your assassin used the knife. The princess carries its curse. Now, all we must do is prepare."

"Queen Sofia Valere has killed your men. Taken Prince Alois as a war prisoner."

"As expected."

As expected. A phrase cold as the executioner's blow. He was as much a reason for their deaths as Daval, had schemed alongside his king for this precise result. Had he also expected triumph? No, his heart was too guarded for that, and Daval would not rest until Lapide was in chains at his feet. This was the first link, the first of many, and if it meant a triumphant Estara in the end, Daval would do far more than sacrifice his disappointing first-born son.

Estaran kings knew the power of sacrifice centuries ago when the splay of fresh entrails on stone wrote certain futures. This king had been preparing his own tithe for a long time, as long as it had taken him to realize his son was unfit to rule, to find a new queen and breed a new heir, one he could train without the interference of a strong-willed queen. Alois was far too much Margaux's son, and it had cost him. How we mock the innocent. Maybe once Azare had dreamed of more, but there was no room for doubt in him now, not at the crux of Estara's final victory.

Then why think of Margaux, her words rising thick and fast, like some ghost clung to his heart?

"You did well, Severin," Daval said. He looked over his shoulder and smiled. "Like I knew you would. And there's no breaking the curse?"

"No." Azare had overseen the tests conducted on prisoners in the deep war halls carved into the cliffs beneath the Tower. Black rooms, chains, the choked wheeze of dying men. Himself, striding between rows upon rows of cell doors, watching with eyes narrowed at the unnatural death that surrounded him. The whaleglass knife did more than wound; on the contrary, a wound inflicted by the knife would not kill. Not at first. It leached life, stealing piece by piece, sapping the strength of the victim until they became too weak to stand, too weak to crawl, wracked with pain and fear until they at last gave out. A cruel and lingering death.

Lapide's beloved princess would die that way, a young girl's life stolen, heart blackened and crystallized from the inside out.

He had done that. He had ordered that. He'd wrought that fate, as much as if he'd held the knife himself.

What would Margaux say? He saw the disgust on her face like she stood before him, not Daval. She would fly at him, all anguish and stinging words. He'd deserve every one.

For Estara, he told himself, for Estara, for Estara.

Lapide would crumble. There was no question. It would fall: first their queen and then her country, one after the next, like game pieces. Once they had, Daval would advance and sweep the board clean. No longer a sundered empire, but an Estaran empire, Daval Belmont at last reigning sovereign over all.

All it took was a knife, and a girl's heart to sheathe it in. All it took was Alois's life.

"Good." Daval faced him. A blast of sea wind swept the walk, ruffling Daval's gray-streaked hair. "Severin, I know you were always fond of my son. But you are loyal to me."

"Always."

"I hold that loyalty dear," Daval said. "And it grows more valuable than ever in the coming time. When my empire rises, so do you."

"I'm honored by your trust."

Daval clapped his hand to Azare's shoulder. "Alois is as good as dead. He's served his purpose, and now we must serve ours. You know that, don't you."

"Of course I do."

"As well as you know your place?"

"My place is as ever by your side."

His grip tightened on Azare's shoulder. "Come now, Severin," he said. "We both know that wasn't always true."

Azare took a slow breath. Daval's dark eyes were narrowed, full of steel and cold as the depths of the sea, where so many soldiers on both sides of this war had drowned. Azare could imagine Daval's next words like he was some witch, to whisper into being the thoughts of others.

Once, you were weak.

Once, you took more than you had the rights to.

Once, I know, something burned stronger for you than Estara.

Far below, waves crashed and boomed. Seabirds scattered on the high winds, pale scraps tossed against a bloody sky.

"The past is the past," Azare muttered, his voice rough.

"Is it," Daval said.

He released Azare's shoulder. It ached with the force of his grip. "Kneel."

Azare drew his Witchhunter's blade and sank to one knee, his head bowed. Another gust of salt wind swept past them both, drowning the memory of snowbloom, of what once might have devoured Estara from the inside out.

Let it stay there. Let it die there along with all my weakness, all my betrayals.

Once, he'd committed treason with a song in his heart.

He will kill us-

I don't care. Words that freed him, words that drowned him. How happily he'd let the waters close over his head. I don't care.

Alois's eyes were so like his mother's. Would they dull like the queen's had? Would he join her, wherever her ghost drifted, far from this world, far from Azare's reach? It was his only consolation to pray Bellana would embrace them both.

He offered his sword to his king. Daval made no move to take it, no move to use it on him. "Look at me," Daval commanded. Azare raised his head. "You know what must be done. For Estara. For all of us. More than one man. More than you, or me, or the dead. That is what matters. Legacy. Estara's legacy. The liberation of our people, an end to their suffering. They look to you as much as to me. And I will not see them bow to Lapide. Not now. Not ever."

Daval nodded, a hard jerk of his head. "Rise, Witchhunter."

Azare did, slowly. The sword in his hands caught the red gleam of the sky, and for a moment it seemed sheathed in blood. Alois's, the princess's- it was of no consequence. Daval was right. Estara was what mattered, the lives of the many, not those Azare clung so selfishly to.

He slid his sword home in its scabbard. "My king. I am at your command."

"Then come on, Sev, and show me how I'll win my empire," Daval said. "Take me to the dreadnoughts. "

Azare glanced to the ocean, to the warships visible at the edge of the sea border. Maybe Bellana's wrath had come after all.

Maybe this was her hand, as much as Daval's.

They left the sunrise for the shadowy depths of Pavaloir Tower- not the halls of politic and strategy, not the dead queen's gardens and the court strolling under martyr boughs, but deeper, through metal doors only the king's or Azare's presence could open. They descended long spills of stairs into echoing darkness. Around them, the air grew so cold Azare could see his breath in it. Trench-darkness, this place, no memory left of sunlight or sea wind. These halls were black stone so highly polished Azare's reflection walked, spectral, alongside him. Even the air seemed dead in these depths, windless and frigid, far from the sun and sky.

A shadow detached itself from the wall as they approached a pair of metal doors. A woman, in Witchhunter grays. Her curly black hair gleamed in the lamplight, a shade lighter than her Witchhunter uniform. It sprung in a halo about a pert, sly face, all tilted eyes and rounded edges nicked with scars. Ziva Lapin, Azare's second-in-command these seven years, and his soldier for longer still.

"Lieutenant Lapin," Azare said.

"Captain." She gave him a nod, then bowed low for Daval. "Your Majesty."

"I hear you've been overseeing construction while your captain and I discuss weddings," Daval said.

A grin hooked the corner of Ziva's mouth. "Weddings, wartime. Both make for a fine show folk nevertheless can't wait to see the end of. The work's nearly done, Majesty."

He clapped her on the arm. "That's what I want to hear, Lapin."

She pressed a control by the twin metal doors. They were plain steel studded with star-shaped bolts, set deep in within the Tower, far enough down the hiss and boom of the waves became a low, omnipresent roar in the walls, underfoot, in the air itself, in the pit of Azare's skull.

Gears ground in the walls, and the doors slid open. Inside was an iron cage, illuminated by a pair of lamps bolted to the walls, beaming harsh blue-white orklight.

Daval entered without hesitation. Ziva gave Azare a glance and an arched eyebrow. He nodded in assurance, then followed.

The doors slid shut, trapping them off from the black Tower depths. With a shudder and the high keen of machinery, the cage began its descent. Estaran engineers had made this place, Pavaloir's ancient Guild of Iron and its highest thinkers, alchemists and scholars and the makers of war machines, those who sought to rival even the warrior Saints in their potential for bloodshed. It was here the warships and spellfire bolts of the King's Navy were forged, here the witch-weave armor of its soldiers was born, providing protection against even the worst Lapide could do.

"What you are about to see, Majesty, is a work in progress," Azare began. "But I think the full scope will be apparent."

Daval shifted from foot to foot, back and forth, restless. "And the engines?"

"Refined ork-oil," Azare said. "Less volatile. A hundred times the power of impure crude. This armada will be unstoppable."

Gears caught, and the lift ground to a halt. The doors slid open, and forth came the smoky fumes of hot metal and ork-oil, the bitter sting of alchemic forges and spellfire. Daval strode onto the metal balcony. It looked down, and down, echoes lost in the roar of the forges below. Spellfire glowed the hot blue of a summer sky, illuminating the cavern heights of the War Hall.

These halls had been excavated from the vast natural sea caves beneath Pavaloir, their upper limits left raw and clustered with stalactites. Lower, a grid of stark light illuminated the forges, vast swells of riveted iron pouring forth tongues of spellfire, pouring forth armor. Sheets and plates of it, hammered to sheathe the flanks of the warships.

Warships, Azare thought. That was a weak word for what they were- there were no warships like these in all the oceans. Even half-built, their scaffolds standing naked and silhouetted black amidst cascades of welding sparks, they were monstrous, bows equipped with ramming spikes sized to impale sea-orks, hulls bristling with cannon-slits and armored niches for alchemic bolts. Each stood a hundred feet high in their berths, chained into place like fighting beasts. Countless technicians and machinists in Guild black hammered, and welded, and worked the forges, carrying steel to the spellfire to be made into yet more armor, more guns.

The Estaran fellfox snarled across each bow. Now, though, it held not a sword in its teeth, but Lapide's crown crushed between its jaws. This was no mere fleet, but an armada to forge empires.

"Bellana give me strength," Daval breathed.

He stepped to the edge of the railing, staring down at the warships. Two waited in this hall alone; there were two halls more. Six dreadnoughts in total, six warships equipped with enough firepower to blast Lapide from the map. Maybe with its queen at the head, Lapide might survive. It might gather its navy; it might find a way. Sofia Valere was a fellfox herself, a force to be reckoned with. But with the queen lain low, with her country reeling and raw, with Estara's assassin able to strike them to the heart, they could not hope to stand in Daval's way.

"How long?" Daval's eyes shone blue in the light of the forges. "How long until they're finished?"

"Weeks, Majesty," said Ziva. She cut her eyes to Azare, then away again, just as fast. "Weeks, and they'll be watertight. Ready to sail. Ready for your hand, your command. Ready to dance a pavane if that's what you want."

"And I'll be ready too." He looked to Azare. "You remember the parable of Bellana's Saints, Sev?"

"Of course I do." His father and Daval's alike had made well certain they knew Bellana's books, Bellana's word, written on their hearts as much as vellum.

"The Sky-Queen, trapped in her wars against the beasts of the deep ocean," Daval recited, soft and reverent. "Unable to break free of the horrors that beset her. So she reached out, and when she had reached far enough, she gave. Mortals, flesh given fire, as of the hearts of falling stars. Saints, made to fight in her stead against a sea of horrors, an unjust world. And they were as gods, using their holy fire in service of Bellana, yes, but moreso in service of those who were not given the same."

He lifted his head, bathed in the spellfire glow, in the heat shimmer and waiting death. He might have truly been Leaure, warrior Saint reborn, guided by the hand of Bellana herself.

All save for the look in his eyes. Azare watched him, watched the look in them, the longing, like a soldier's at sunrise. Like a child's. He remembered Daval as a boy. Both of them as boys, young and frightened and doing their best to hide it. Dust in their lungs, the sting of dawn as they stood at clifftop. The first cast of gold light over the waves.

Daval's eyes narrowed against the sunlight as he looked through it, past it. He had the same look now. The same longing.

Bellana's mercy. Such a long time.

"We'll be gods, Severin," Daval said, and laughed, softly. "Gods."

And Azare was back, and that sunrise was gone, and the years returned to him, and to Daval. He was right. Only gods could hate like them. Only gods could kill like they would, the seas turned red, not with dawn, but with blood, all the way to the horizon.

***

The Witchhunter training rooms occupied a flank of Pavaloir Tower, a single bastion spire that had housed the order of Witchhunters since the days of the Sundered Empire. The tower jutted overhead, casting dense shadow across the rooftops, its sharp finial visible through the high windows of the training rooms.

Echoing white halls, they rang this time of morning with the peal and scream of blade on blade, shouts and thuds as fists and wood connected with flesh. Azare had trained here, a boy with eyes narrowed in concentration, his father at his back as he and Daval sparred and clashed. Now Witchhunter cadets fought against each other, sweat darkening their white uniforms, higher-ranking Witchhunters who'd earned their grays patrolling to examine form or bark a command. All stopped to click heels as Azare and Ziva entered, dozens of heads bowed and hands clasped to hearts, weapons lowered, drills halted.

"Sir," cadets called, and Azare nodded, his eyes fixed straight. He felt pent-up, like some wild animal trapped to pace in its cage, and knew that if he spoke it would be to snap. He headed through the halls, searching for one sparsely occupied. He felt Ziva's presence needle at his back. She had a way of doing that, of making it known when she had more she wanted to say.

They reached a hall empty save for a pair of cadets drilling disarms. "On your way," Ziva commanded, and they bowed and marched out, poorly hiding their stares in Azare's direction.

Azare pulled loose the fastenings of his coat and slung it in a corner. He worked his arm- his right shoulder had a way of aching when summer came, an old injury pulling at his bones- and paced to the racks of weapons hanging on the far wall. It was a museum of war: blunted blades and training swords weighted with lead, thin snakeknives, wicked stiletto daggers in the Lapidaean style to better prepare recruits against their enemy's fighting techniques. Shields, too, bucklers and spellforged towers of metal, such that would shrug off rifle fire. Sabers and poleaxes and sword-breakers, even long whips, such as the fighting warrior-priestesses of Belamere used. Witchhunter recruits came from all across Estara's sister isles, and they brought their ways of killing with them.

Azare brushed his thumb to the hilt of a snakeknife. Not so ornate as Margaux's had been, not by half, but the shape was the same, the blade thin as a needle.

"Captain," Ziva called.

She stood opposite him. The morning sunlight poured through the west-facing windows, but where she and Azare stood, the room was bathed in shadow, still full of the night's chill. "You feel like hitting something?" she asked.

She held a pair of long staffs reinforced with steel, weighted to crack skulls. Her sleeves were rolled up, showing bare, muscular forearms gleaming like bronze in the sun. She spun the staffs and held one out. "I know I do."

Azare rolled up his own sleeves and nodded. She tossed a staff; he caught it, spun it, slammed its end into the ground. Chalk dust billowed.

"Remember not to leave your left side open," he called.

"Come now, sir. I haven't-"

He sprang before her sentence ended, whirling the staff; wood cracked against wood as Ziva caught his blow on the shaft between her hands. Her eyes sprang wide, then narrowed as a grin curled her lips. She shoved hard, throwing her weight against his. He was taller, but she had stability, and Azare threw himself back before she could shove him off balance.

Wood whirred; he looked up and jerked away as her staff flashed for his side. His left side, he noted wryly, batting her next strike away with his staff's off end. She paced, panting, a loose curl fallen over her forehead.

"What was that again, sir?" she said, puffing the strand away.

"You're gripping the staff too tight."

"Don't want to drop it on accident."

She jerked toward him: a feint. He jabbed back, connecting with flesh. She cried out, lashed out, real anger glinting in her eyes. Azare stumbled back, Ziva's attack a whirling onslaught of steel and wood and bared teeth. Azare ducked, dodged, dropped; his staff struck her ankle, and she half-tripped, attack interrupted. Enough. Azare brought his staff against her throat, wood kissing the skin of her neck.

Ziva jolted, chin raised, eyes wide. Sweat glistened on her brown skin. He felt the ferocious beat of his own heart, the ache in his shoulder; he hadn't realized how much it hurt until now.

"That was close," he said. "Almost got me."

"Almost, sir?"

Cold pricked through his shirt. Ziva's bared teeth became a grin. Azare glanced down: her plain bone-handled knife was out and poised under his last rib, angled upward toward his heart.

Azare gave a choked laugh, then lifted his staff and stepped back. "You win."

She sketched an elaborate bow. "I win."

"You're still gripping the staff too tight," he called, going to the spigot in the wall to drink and splash cold water through his hair. He let his breath out. The ache had leveled out around a deep pulse in his muscle, like a new bruise.

"Captain," Ziva said.

He looked round.

"Are you all right?"

There was a crease between her eyes, one she only got when she was worried over him. She did that too much.

"I'm fine."

Ziva eyed him, clearly disbelieving, then shook her head. "You look exhausted."

He wasn't the only one. Her skin had an ashen cast, the lines of her heart-shaped face gaunt. Again he felt that pull in his heart, like an old wound. "War does little for the complexion."

"What about victory?"

He didn't answer. She set her staff back in its stand and crossed to him. She reached out, as if for a strand of damp auburn hair that had fallen over Azare's face, then stopped, and pulled away. Azare saw the movement in her throat as she swallowed. "Saints, this is like a dream, isn't it? I can barely believe it."

She let out a laugh, wild as gull-cry. "It's a bloody miracle is what it is."

"I wouldn't call this a miracle."

Ziva's brows arched. "No? What else would you call it? I've seen so many soldiers die. So much Estaran blood fed to the waves."

She grinned. "The witch-queen brought low, and Lapide with her. I don't know what meter you have for miracles, but for me..."

Her dark eyes glowed, struck by the light slanting through the high windows. She took a sharp breath, lifting her face to the day. Her hand strayed to her side, to the plain knife, again sheathed. She always kept it at her fingertips. Its sweat-worn bone grip hardly matched her sleek Witchhunter grays. It didn't matter. Azare would no sooner tell her to stop wearing it than tell the sun to not rise with the dawn.

"So many years," she said. "So much lost. Everything I've fought for has been for this. Not for killing, sir, not for bloody Lapide. For us. For Estara. Everything we've fought for, bled for. Everything we've lost. To see Estara rise again."

What we've lost, Azare thought, studying her as she spoke, as she shifted her weight from foot to foot as if she itched to lunge back into combat. Ziva had lost more than most. Before becoming a Witchhunter, she was one of Estara's countless orphans in a plague of twenty-five years ago that had swept across the sister isles, sparing none it touched. She'd survived, a mere child, though her family had not. Daval's father had succumbed to that plague, leaving him the crown. A nation crying for vengeance was his inheritance. He was ready, and so was Ziva, hungry for her nation's victory, to grind Lapide into the dirt.

For all it had stolen.

For all it had taken away.

For all it had killed in its cradle, killed before it began.

"Everything we've fought for," Azare murmured.

Ziva looked at him again, and this time didn't avert her eyes. Azare wanted- it didn't matter. There was work to be done. And there was his own weak heart, his own shame. He could not sling that weight onto Ziva's back. How would she look at him if she knew the truth?

Not like this. Not with sunlight in her eyes.

She smiled with that fishhook of a grin. "You really do look tired, Captain," she said, and reached for his face, her fingertips light on his skin.

He caught her hand before she could touch him. He felt the way he trembled, and hated it, this part of himself he couldn't control. Azare closed his eyes. He felt Ziva's pulse through her wrist, pressed tight to his.

What are you waiting for? Margaux had whispered once as they'd danced slow and close in candlelit dark. Lips, and mingling breath, and ache, then and now. What are you waiting for, Severin?

What did he wait for now? The end of the war? Daval's empire? A dead woman, bones in a tomb?

Azare opened his hand. Ziva pulled away from him, head bowed. He would wait forever if he had to. Only if Estara sank beneath the waves would he betray his duty again.

For Estara, he vowed, turning from his lieutenant. There was no pull in his heart this time, and  his ghosts at last stayed silent.

[theblacksunking]

She protects

Aereal Close Active Range Unit.

Race: Human Cybernoid Age: 34 (Sublimated at 22) True Name: Valere Smith. Gender: Female. Deaths: 0. Protector of Dokuro's Infinite Empire to the threats of the unknown...

[walteinsamkeit]

Information about the Courtiers

So, here we are. This is a huge post with all the information I could possibly gather about the Courtiers. The idea for this post was born out of sheer interest in this kind of stuff and the desire to know more about it, and I figured other people might as well be interested in it. Some of this might be far-fetched, so I would like to say that this isn’t a theory in any way, shape or form. It’s just a collection of information that caught my eye or facts that I found particularly interesting. Some parts involve me drawing conclusions or making assumptions. This is how I interpreted these things. You are allowed to disagree with me, but please be respectful. More might be added to it at a later date. If you see anything that isn’t correct (including typos/spelling mistakes), or would like to add to this, make sure to contact me! If you’re missing something here and have a question that you would like answered or a thing you want to see explained, don’t hesitate to shoot me a message either. Finally, I would like to thank @gummy-vitamin-gobbler​ for being my proof reader. I honestly didn’t want to put anyone through reading this entire thing and I’m super grateful you volunteered. You’re the best <3 Proceed with caution as this text does contain spoilers!  This post is in alphabetical order based on their names, with a few general facts at the bottom of it.

General information Vesuvia’s royal court consists of five members. Their titles were given to them by Lucio when he became the Count. As reported by Valerius, the other four Courtiers were present on the night of the murder outside of Lucio’s room, thus making them key witnesses.  Quaestor Valdemar is the palace’s head physician and Julian’s former boss. They seem to be obsessed with the Red Plague and delight in the chaos the disease brought to the city of Vesuvia. Not much more is known about them. Consul Valerius, as his title suggests, is a consul to the royal Palace and reportedly a key witness to Lucio’s murder. A tarot reading done by the apprentice reveals that Valerius has his own agenda, despite seeming supportive of Nadia and her aims at first. Praetor Vlastomil, besides serving as a judge, was Lucio’s business partner. He is an eccentric man obsessed with insects, particularly with worms, and has entire rooms dedicated to them at his manor.  Procurator Volta is in charge of the city’s food supply and was essential during the Plague according to Nadia on account of her being able to smell the Plague off of people and other things. She is always hungry and never seems to be satisfied. Pontifex Vulgora is described by Nadia as a warmonger who has won many battles in Vesuvia’s name. They are extremely aggressive and obsessed with destruction, often threatening others. Quaestor Valdemar Name • Valdemar is a Scandinavian masculine name that finds its origins in the Old High German name Waldemar. It consists of the elements wald (meaning “to rule”) and mar (meaning “fame”). This German form was introduced to Scandinavia as Valdemar in the 12th century with King Valdemar I of Denmark. It’s particularly famous for being the name of many Scandinavian monarchs, and is sometimes considered to be the equivalent of the Slavish name Vladimir (meaning “of great power” or, in folk etymology, “ruler of the world”). The Old Norse form is Valdamarr (or Valdarr), which occurs in many tales and sagas.   Title • A quaestor, back in Ancient Rome, was a public official. The term quaestor translates to “investigator”. The position served many different functions that differed per time period. In the Roman Kingdom, the quaestores parricidii (quaestors with judicial powers) were appointed by the king to investigate and handle murders and capital crimes.  Headdress • The type of wrapped, horned headdress Valdemar wears is called a hennin. It was worn by European women of nobility in the late Middle Ages, and although it’s not clear what distinct styles of headdress the word hennin specifically referred to at the time, it has been recorded to be used in France as far back as 1428. However, the word wasn’t used in the English language until the 19th century. There are many different styles, such as the conical hennin generally accompanied with a veil (which is called the cointoise), the escoffin (a more heart-shaped hennin), the truncated hennin (with a flat top), the divided hennin (which was often covered in white cloth), the beehive hennin and the related Lebanese tantour headdress. The particular style worn by Valdemar seems most inspired by the butterfly hennin (thank you for this suggestion @gummy-vitamin-gobbler​!) Appearance • As stated on the Arcana Wiki, Valdemar has dirty blonde hair (as can be deducted from the color of their eyebrows) and red eyes with slit pupils, like a cat. It is to be noted that their facial structure seems very similar to that of Nadia (and her sisters), with the same nose shape and eye color, and what seems to be the same skin undertones. It is a possibility that Valdemar is from Prakra. They wear a white lab coat with an overlapping mandarin collar on which they wear their beetle brooch, shoulder length gloves, a black waist apron and a white surgical mask. While there is no existing labcoat design that looks like Valdemar’s, the buttoning style is somewhat similar to the “Howie” style lab coat, although it might be a bit of a stretch. This is a variant of the basic lab coat adopted for the added safety. The Howie coat was named after J. W. Howie, who was the President of the College of Pathologists. This style has the buttons on the left flank, elasticated wrists and a mandarin collar.  Tarot card • The card Valdemar represents is Death. Death is ruled by Scorpio, suggesting that their zodiac sign might be Scorpio. There is, however, a discrepancy at play here, considering Valerius’ sign, which we will come to later. The number of the card is 13, which is a number sacred to the Goddess as there are 13 full moons in a year. In Asra’s tarot deck, Death is portrayed by a skeleton horse. It’s not clear whether Valdemar represents the upright or reversed card meaning. Considering Valdemar’s seeming inability to let go of the Red Plague and desire for it to return, one might argue they represent Death Reversed.  In traditional decks, Death is often portrayed by an armored skeleton riding a white horse and carrying a banner. The armor is symbolic for the fact Death is invincible and unconquerable - no one can triumph over him. The white horse stands for purity, as Death is the ultimate purifier, and doesn’t discriminate between age, race or gender.  This card is probably the most feared and misunderstood out of all of them, as people often take the meaning of it far too literally. Upright, it is actually a positive card that stands for significant transformation, change, transition and new beginnings. Reversed, Death reflects reluctance to let go of the past and a refusal to accept change. 

Consul Valerius Name • A masculine name of ancient Roman origin. This was a patronymic family name derived from the Latin valere “to be strong” or “to be healthy”, and was the name of several early saints (this ties in with him representing the Hierophant card). The Valerius family was prominent from the very beginning of the Republic to the latest period of the Empire, and a lot of its members were among the most celebrated statesmen and generals. This even went as far as several of the Roman emperors claiming to be descendants of the Valerii. It’s also to be noted that there were a lot of consuls who bore the name Valerius.  Valerian is also an herb with sweetly scented pink or white flowers that has sedative and anxiolytic effects. The name of the herb is derived from the verb valere, just like the name Valerius. It has many other names, one of which is all-heal. This name is also used for plants in the genus Stachys, although one of the nicknames for this specific plant is lamb’s ears. Nicholas Culpeper, a seventeenth century astrological botanist, said that the herb was of special value against the plague.  Title • Consuls, back in ancient Rome, were magistrates comparable with prime ministers or presidents. Apart from the oldest, it was also the most important position in the cusus honorum or “course of offices”. Consuls always came in pairs and served for only one year to prevent corruption. They were the chairmen of the Senate (which served as a board of advisers), commanded the army and exercised the highest juridical power in the Roman empire. Consuls had the right to interfere with the decisions of praetors and quaestors.  Appearance • Notable about the Consul’s clothing is the golden ram brooch he wears on his shawl. In the tarot deck used in The Arcana, The Hierophant is represented by a ram. Valerius is also the only courtier who doesn’t wear a red beetle brooch, so this makes it an exceptionally remarkable feature.  Valerius wears his ombre hair French-braided and draped over his shoulder. Ombré, literally meaning “shaded” in French, describes the gradual transition from one hue to another, usually from dark to light or vice versa. Ombre was popular in fabric printing as far back as the early 19th century.  His underclothing seems to consist of what is either a jumpsuit-like one piece or two separate pieces with gold trim on the cuffs and collar.  On top of this he wears an asymmetrical, taupe, frock-inspired, tunic-like overcoat with three-quarter bell sleeves, a golden cord in the front and what seems to be some kind of button and loop fastening, also called “frog fastening” or “Chinese frog”. This is a type of ornamental braiding of sorts consisting of a button and a loop and serves for fastening the front of a garment. This particular type of closing is often found on clothing of Asian design. Frogging was also a popular type of fastening for military uniforms from the 17th to the 19th century. His shoes have gold decoration, red soles and spool heels. The hand that Valerius keeps near his body also seems to be lighter than the rest of his skin, leading me to believe he wears a glove on this hand.  Tarot card • The card Valerius most likely represents is The Hierophant. The Hierophant, in Asra’s tarot deck, is depicted as a ram. Valerius’ ram brooch seems to allude to a connection between the two. There is however one problem concerning this theory, namely that The Hierophant is ruled by Taurus, and not by Scorpio, which happens to be Valerius’ canon zodiac sign. This would make him the only known character in the entire story representing a card that does not match their zodiac sign.  The card’s number is five and it is commonly depicted as a religious figure sitting on a throne. The three elaborate vestments of his office that he wears represent the three worlds. He wears a crown and his right hand is raised in benediction - this is the same hand that the Magician has raised, but where the Magician draws raw power from the universe and manifests it on the material plane, the Hierophant channels his power through society (in the form of religion). The crossed keys of the Hierophant represent a balance between the conscious and subconscious mind, and are used to unlock mysteries.  Upright, the Hierophant means religion, group identification, conformity, tradition and beliefs. Reversed, it means restriction and challenging the status quo.  What is interesting to note is that the Hierophant is also known as the Pope, the High Priest (as a masculine counterpart to the High Priestess), the Shaman, and Chiron. Chiron is a comet with an erratic orbit. In astrology it symbolizes the “wounded healer” in the natal chart. Chiron represents our deepest wound and our efforts to heal it. In Greek mythology, Chiron was a centaur who was a healer and teacher who ironically enough could not heal himself. The symbol for Chiron is a key, much like the keys that the Hierophant himself holds, used for unlocking secrets.  The wounds of a Chiron in Scorpio native are nihilism, sexual addiction, power struggles, jealousy and obsession and trouble leaving bad relationships.  Praetor Vlastomil Name • While Vlastomil isn’t an actual name (I know, I was surprised too), Vlastimil is. It’s a common Slavic masculine name consists of the elements vlast (meaning “homeland”) and mil (meaning “favor”). This however is the modern meaning of these words and it should be said that they are derived from volsti (power, government, rule, sovereignty) and mil(a) (kind, loving, and gracious). The Latin form of this name is Patrick (I have no idea how). Patrick can be found as a name derived from the Latin Patricius, which means “nobleman”.  Title • Praetors served as judges of the Roman Republic and, in the absence of the consuls, commanded armies. It was a title granted by the government and was inferior only to senators and consuls. One could only become a praetor after serving at least one term as a quaestor. The Praetor Urbanus acted as the chief administrator of Rome and wasn’t allowed to leave the city for more than ten days. They were the main magistrate responsible for trying the people of Rome. Hat • Vlastomil’s feathered cap is called a beret. It is a soft, round, somewhat floppy, flat-crowned hat for both men and women that originates in France and Spain. It fits snugly around the head and can be shaped in a variety of ways. There are many different styles of berets and aside from it often being seen as headgear in the military it was very much beloved by European nobility and artists throughout history. The Basque style beret, which is probably the most well-known and most simple style of all, was first commercially produced in the very South of France in the 17th century. The beret that Vlastomil wears seems to be inspired by berets worn during the Renaissance, and in particular those worn by the German Landsknechte. The Landsknechte (a word combining land “land/country”, here in the sense of “lowlands”, and knecht “servant/vassal”, here in the sense of “foot-soldier”) were mercenary soldiers who were an important military force in Europe during the 15th and 16th century, consisting mostly of pikemen and foot soldiers. They wore large, slashed berets (sometime referred to as starfish hats) that, when puffed out, showed a different color fabric underneath, and were adorned with big feathers.  Although it doesn’t have much to do with the hat on itself, it should be said that the Landsknechte had a reputation for unprincipled, ruthless violence and were infamous for the fact it wasn’t unknown for entire regiments of Landsknechte to swap sides in the middle of a battle if they were offered more money or to desert en masse when there was no more gold to pay them. Appearance • Vlastomil has grey hair and white eyes with slit pupils, much like the other Courtiers minus Valerius. A very striking feature is his one visibly pointy ear with a golden earring in his stretched earlobe. There seems to be another gauge right behind the first one, but he doesn’t wear any jewelry in it.  He wears a gown that is most likely inspired by traditional ceremonial court dresses/judicial robes, although I don’t know enough about these to be able to determine which one exactly it is most similar to. The open puff sleeves with white insets are reminiscent of the slashed style of his beret. They seem inspired by the paned sleeves that were popular during the 15th and 16th century European Renaissance. Furthermore he wears fabric chausses, worn in the 14th century when they served as leg armor made from chain maille. These could extend to the knee or cover the entire leg. Tarot card • Vlastomil’s card is Justice, ruled by Libra and bearing number 11. It was in fact confirmed by the devs that Vlastomil’s zodiac sign is Libra. In Asra’s deck, Justice is represented by a boar. The traditional depiction is that of Lady Justice sitting in a throne, holding a sword in her right hand and her scales in the left. The sword signifies impartiality and victory, and the scales show that logic must be balanced by the intuition, as the left hand is the intuitive hand. It is to be assumed that Vlastomil represents the reversed meaning of Justice. Justice upright symbolizes fairness, truth, cause and effect and law. Reversed, it stands for unfairness, lack of accountability and dishonesty. Considering the Praetor’s course of action during Julian’s trial, it’s evident why he would be Justice Reversed. The card shows an unwillingness to understand, refusing to take responsibility for one’s actions and blaming others for your mistakes. It reflects a very judgmental, biased, black-and-white view of the world and under-handed behavior, all of which is incredibly dangerous while swinging the sword of justice. Procurator Volta Name • Volta isn’t an actual given name either, but there are a lot of things that is is. In a poem, the volta, or turn, serves as a rhetorical shift in thought and/or emotion. It has gone by many different names such as fulcrum, modulation, torque, swerve. Leslie Ullman called the volta the poem’s “center”, which is largely the poem’s dramatic and climactic turn. Phillis Levin said that “we could say that for the sonnet, the volta is the seat of its soul”. It’s interesting to note that the stomach was once thought to be the seat of the soul, instead of the heart or the brain (particularly in Buddhism if I am not mistaken). The Volta also a quick-moving Italian dance that was mostly popular during the 16th and 17th centuries.  Title • Procurators were officials who were in charge of the financial affairs of a province in ancient Rome. Although they worked alongside the imperial governor they were not subordinate to him and reported directly to the emperor. The procurator had its own staff and agents and had a few primary responsibilities, such as the collection of taxes and rents and the distribution of pay to public servants.  Headdress • The headdress Volta wears is a cornette, which is essentially a type of wimple. A wimple is a large piece of cloth worn around the neck and chin and covering the top of the head. The wimple was popular in early medieval Europe, where during many stages of medieval Christian culture it was unseemly for a married woman to show her hair. Originally the wimple was creased and folded in prescribed ways. Later, elaborated versions such as the cornette were supported by wire or wicker framing. Both the wimple and cornette are perhaps most famous as a headdress for nuns. Like the horned hennin, the cornette was folded in such a way as to create the resemblance of horns. In the mid-17th century, it was worn by the Daughters of Charity: a Roman Catholic society consisting of women that took care of the sick and poor and attempted to resemble ordinary middle-class women as much as possible in their clothing.  Appearance • Volta has curly, reddish-brown hair and brown eyes, although one of them is invisible due to what seems to be a lazy eye. One sharp snaggle-tooth sticks up from her bottom row of teeth. She wears what seems to be some sort of nun dress, or a habit, which were traditionally plain garbs worn by members of a religious order. The reason for this uniform outfitting was that nuns and monks had to be recognizable as such. Considering the cornette Volta wears (which is tied to the Roman Catholic society Daughters of Charity as explained above), it is most likely that her dress was based on the typical Roman Catholic habit. Ironically enough, the habit was a symbol for living a sober life in poverty and consecration, all of which seem to be the opposite of the tarot card Volta represents (as described below). Her dress has puffed sleeves and, considering the shape of it, probably an empire waist. Her shawl is clasped in the front by her beetle brooch, and she wears what seems to be a tasseled fabric and a lace fabric draped over her dress. Finally, she wears fingerless lace gloves.  Tarot card • Volta represents Temperance Reversed, as seen during the lunch scene with Vulgora and Volta in Nadia’s route where the apprentice can read the cards for one of them. Its number being 14, it is ruled by Sagittarius; traditionally the teacher of truth, enthusiasm, tolerance and beauty.  In Asra’s deck, Temperance is depicted as a dove, but traditionally it is a winged angel we can see on the card. The angel, being a child of Hermes and Aphrodite, is both male and female, symbolizing a balance between them. One foot stands on dry land (the material world) while the other stands in the water (the subconscious). It represents a need to “test the waters” before jumping headfirst into unknown circumstances. The angel carries two cups with water that are being mixed, thus mixing the sub- and super-conscious minds.  Upright the card means balance, moderation, patience, purpose and meaning. Reversed it is imbalance, excess and lack of long-term vision. As Volta is known to be extremely hungry and greedy when it comes to food, it’s clear what the element of imbalance and excess is. This conflict creates a lot of stress and tension. Temperance Reversed is also about people you are dealing with proving to be uncooperative. It may feel as though your interests are in conflict or competition with each other, and solving this may seem like an impossible feat. Although not consciously, one might still realize something isn’t quite right, and it may lead to role reversal.  Pontifex Vulgora Name • In Roman mythology, Fulgora was the female personification of lightning. She is a minor goddess and the Roman equivalent to Astrape. Astrape was a shieldmaiden of Zeus, and was given the task of carrying his thunderbolts together with her sister. She is described as “flashing light from her eyes, and raging fire from heaven that has laid hold of a king’s house”. There isn’t a lot of information to find on her, sadly. Another possible origin for Vulgora as a name could simply be the word vulgar, meaning “not suitable, simple, dignified or beautiful” or “rude and likely to upset or anger people”.  Title • The pontifex (literally “bridge builder”) was a member of a council of priests. The college of the pontifices was the most important Roman priesthood, responsible for regulating the relations of the community with the deities recognized by the state, called the jus divinum. They fulfilled duties such as for example regulating expiatory ceremonials needed as the result of pestilence or lightning. The pontifices were probably advisors of the king in all matters of religion and all held office for life.  Headdress • Like Valdemar, Vulgora wears a hennin - albeit a perhaps somewhat more historically accurate version without the fabric wrapping. Their headdress seems to be slightly more similar to an escoffin in general shape but features the same horns as Valdemar’s hennin instead of the open-centered top a normal escoffin would have. Aside from that, their hennin is veiled with a sheer cointoise attached to both steeples. They wear a neck-covering wimple much like Volta’s, making their headdress into what seems to be a combination of these three styles. Appearance • Vulgora has red hair and yellow eyes with slit pupils. They seem to wear some sort of diamond-quilted knee-length tunic with a fabric waist tie and a tasseled golden rope on top. The red-and-gold striped, puffed sleeves are alike in size to gigot sleeves. Introduced to the English court by Anne of Cleves (one of Henry VIII’s wives), these sleeves were extremely wide over the upper arm and narrow from elbow to wrist. Once more, and much like the clothing of the other courtiers, Vulgora’s garbs seem to be Renaissance-inspired in design; specifically by the Tudor clothes worn during the reign of Henry the Eighth. Back then, the type of tunic Vulgora wears was also called a petti-cote; technically a waistcoat with sleeves. Furthermore, they wear a skirted, somewhat flaring, sleeveless cloak lined with gold near the bottom. These particular pieces of clothing were worn to make physical proportions appear larger, with padded shoulders and stuffed sleeves enlarging the figure. This was done to accentuate manly features that made the wearer appear bigger and stronger.  It is hard to tell what the lower half of their arms might look like considering the clawed silver gauntlets they wear. Gauntlets like these were worn as armor, made out of hardened leather or metal plates protecting the hand and wrist. An interesting fact is that the term “gauntlet” is used in the idiom “throw down the gauntlet”, meaning “to issue a challenge”. A gauntlet wearing knight would challenge another to a duel by throwing one of his gauntlets on the ground. Picking it up meant that the challenge was accepted by their opponent.  Tarot card • The card Vulgora represents is The Tower upright. It is ruled by Mars (the planet named after the god of war), which in turn rules Aries and Scorpio. It is assumed Vulgora is an Aries to tie in with their theme of war and strife. Its number is 16.  In Asra’s deck, the Tower card shows a stag surrounded by red beetles (also note that Vulgora’s masquerade mask was a red stag beetle mask). Traditionally it is depicted by a tower aflame, tormented by lightning strikes. People are seen leaping off of it in desperation, fleeing from the destruction and turmoil. The Tower is generally one of the more negative cards in the deck. It signifies physical darkness and destruction as opposed to spiritually, and represents  ambitions built on false premises. It is however important to note that the destruction of the tower also signifies the creation space for something new to grow in a sudden, momentary glimpse of truth and inspiration.  Upright the Tower means disaster, upheaval, sudden change and revelation. Reversed it symbolizes avoidance of disaster and fear of change.  The Tower is about the destruction of inadequate foundation of false thought, belief and action. It is humbling, frightening, but necessary. It is often descriptive of a major upheaval, disruption, emergency or crisis, and is likely to bring chaos in the aftermath of such an event. Only after this will come change and regeneration. Beetle brooches All courtiers, except for Valerius, wear a red and gold beetle brooch on their clothing. As we know, these pieces of jewelry are shaped after the red beetles that are occasionally seen and mentioned in the story. They are found in a specific room in Vlastomil’s manor, as well as burrowed in the ground beneath a spring nearby Nopal and kept in a well by Valdemar in the dungeons beneath the palace. Nadia mentions that the beetles were once used to dye fabric a bright crimson red, and in Asra’s route, a local named Saguaro tells a story of how a giant red beetle was once defeated by Lucio before turning into thousands of smaller red beetles that then hid in the ground. Finally, the red beetles appear on the Tower card in Asra’s deck. They seem to play a significant role in the spreading of the Red Plague.  Judging by the general shape of the beetle, it is assumable they are based on scarabs. Scarabs held great meaning to the people of Ancient Egypt, who saw the them as symbols of creation, life, rebirth and immortality. The scarab-headed god Kephri was responsible for rolling the sun across the sky every day, where it died at night and was reborn in the morning. The sacred beetle also had protective abilities that they lend to its wearer.  The scarab beetle was also sacred to Khepera, the god of creation, resurrection and immortality (all of which seem to allude to Lucio, the ritual, the apprentice and perhaps the Arcana). It is a highly spiritual bug that carries messages that bring our attention to renewal, spiritual maturity, and the powerful influences of the invisible side of life. When a person died, it was believed that their heart was weighed by Ma’at, the goddess of truth. If the heart was heavy with sin, the spirit of the deceased was not allowed to move on to the after life. In an attempt to convince Ma’at that a person was good and deserved her mercy, scarab beetle amulets were placed over a mummy’s heart.  With the update of Lucio’s tale I feel like it’s safe to draw a few careful conclusions here. Lucio is from a wartribe referred to as the “scourge of the South”, depicted as red beetles on the tapestries that tell their tribe’s story, and referred to as “the swarm” by Lucio himself. In fact, Lucio describes his tribe as “a plague of voracious beetles, leaving nothing but bare bones in our wake”. It must be noted that the beetles kept in a well in the dungeons by Valdemar were used to dispose of the bodies of their deceased patients, as the insects were “[...] so effective at disposal” according to them. It is hinted that Lucio contracted the Plague from a beetle bite while fleeing from his mother after he failed to kill her. As stated previously in the story, the Plague is directly tied to Lucio’s life and will follow wherever he goes - as are the last words of his tale.  The Four Horsemen In my previous Arcana plot theory post, I mentioned and quickly explained the Four Horsemen theory. While you could go and read it there I will here once more explain what exactly this theory is about.  Quite a while ago when the Valerius sprite first was released, the devs jokingly mentioned that the Courtiers were the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and that Valerius was the fifth Horseman. While I do not remember the precise context or interactions that took place, this was the gist of it.  At multiple points in the story it is mentioned that the Courtiers (minus Valerius) are not exactly human, or as not perceived as such by the apprentice. They are frequently described as “[having] a presence like a dark chasm” (Valdemar), a “beast” (Volta) and “not necessarily human” (Vulgora). Last but not least, Vlastomil’s manor is described by the apprentice as “confusingly designed [with] doors that lead to nowhere [and] halls that suddenly stop in dead ends, as if the manse itself were trying to disorient us” (Nadia’s route: Book VIII).  It seems as though the four Courtiers represent the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. This idea is now further supported by the wyrm in Lucio’s tale introducing himself as “the worm of pestilence”.  The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are described in the Book of Revelation - the last book of the Bible’s New Testament. The chapter says that God holds a scroll in his right hand that is sealed with seven seals. The Lamb of God, or Jesus Christ, opens the first four of the seven seals, which summons four beings that ride out on a white, red, black, and pale horse. The four riders are called Pestilence (on the white horse), War (on the red horse), Famine (on the black horse) and Death (on the pale horse). The colors of the horses also match the color schemes of the Courtiers. The Four Horsemen, as harbingers of the Last Judgement, set a divine Apocalypse upon the world.  We can now with (near) certainty say that Vlastomil is Pestilence, Vulgora is War, Volta is Famine and Valdemar is Death.  During the Last Judgement, the dead will rise from their graves after which the Second Coming of Christ (the Lamb of God) occurs. Everyone will then be judged, and will “receive what they deserve” depending on how they have lived their life. What goal this serves story-wise we can’t say just yet. 

[funight]

JOHANNIZZA RETREATS FOLLOWED BY THE CRUSADERS

When Johannizza heard that the Franks were coming, he did not dare to abide, but burned his engines of war, and broke up his camp. So he departed from Demotica; and you must know that this was accounted by all the world as a great miracle. And Henry, the Regent of the empire, came “On the fourth day (28th June) before Adrianople, and pitched his camp near the river of Adrianople, in the fairest meadows in the world. When those who were within the city saw his host coming, they issued forth, bearing all their crosses, and in procession, and showed such joy as had never been seen. And well might they rejoice for they had been in evil case.

Then came tidings to the host that Johannizza was lodged at a castle called Rodosto. So in the morning they set forth and marched to those parts to seek battle; and Johannizza broke up his camp, and marched back towards his own land. The host followed after him for five days, and he as constantly retired before them. On the fifth day they encamped at a very fair and pleasant place by a castle called Fraim; and there they sojourned three days.

And at this place there was a division in the host, and a company of valiant men separated themselves therefrom because of a quarrel that they had with Henry, the brother of the Emperor Baldwin. Of this company Baldwin of Beau voir was chief; and Hugh of Beaumetz went with him, and William of Gommegnies and Dreux of Beaurain. There were some fifty knights who departed together in that com pany; and they never thought the rest would dare to remain in the land in the midst of their enemies guided istanbul tour.

RENIER OF TRIT RELIEVED AND DELIVERED

Then did Henry, the Regent of the empire, take council with the barons that were with him; and they decided to ride forward. So they rode forward for two days, and en camped in a very fair valley, near a castle called Moniac. The castle yielded itself to them, and they remained there five days; and then said they would go and relieve Renier of Trit, who was besieged in Stanimac, and had been shut up therein for thirteen months. So Henry the Regent of the empire, remained in the camp, with a great part of the host, and the remainder went forward to relieve Renier of Tritat Stanimac.

And you must know that those who went forward went in very great peril, and that any rescue so full of danger has but seldom been undertaken, set ing that they rode for three days through the land of their enemies. In this rescue took part Conon of Bethune, and Geoffry of Villehardouin, Marshal of Roumania and Champagne, and Macaire of Sainte-Mene- hould, and Miles the Brabant, and Peter of Bracieux, and Payen of Orleans, and Ansea.i of Cayeux, and Thierri of Loos, and William of the Perchoi, and a body of Venetians under command of Andrew Valere. So they rode forward till they came to the castle of Stanimac, and approached so near that they could now see it.

Renier of Trit was on the walls, and he perceived the advanced guard, which was under GeoSry the Marshal, and the other battalions, approaching in very good order; and he knew not what people they might be. And no wonder that he was in doubt, for of a long time he had heard no tidings of us ; and he thought we were Greeks coming to besiege him.

[lilacsandthistles]

Some quick appreciation for these shenanigans

( @oof-grey-leader )

[thanatle]

Pirate AU where Valere wrecks havoc on the empire, which provokes Varis into sending Zenos after her. She manages to survive two encounters with the prince before she ends up saving his life when his father's enemies attempt to assassinate him.

What....I enjoy plotting things.

[albiusffxiv]

Social Functions in the Untamed Lands: The ‘Bad Rep’ Ball

Garlemald State News

Column Periodical

By Aurelius oen Albius

(Special thanks to: @balmungrpcalendar@balmungroleplayers @for-gold-and-glory @luckysparrowffxiv@@artemishimura  @dmlynx  @dylanthornexivblog@song-and-lace for promoting and working this glorious event. Viva Vitae, you keep Balmung amazing!)

Greetings, dear readers and fellow Imperials! This is Aurelius Albius. While most of you by now are rather familiar with my regular columns speaking of my accounts in lands far from home in the Garlean State Media, in this edition I find myself approaching this mannerisms in a different format this time.

 As a token of their appreciation, the staff at the Garlean State Media has provided me with a Mark VII Photographic Lens Device, with twenty-time zoom and adjustable flash. This will allow me to, when applicable, cover events occurring around the world in real time to be delivered right to your doorstep or local newspaper stand. Join me as I travel around the world and document life outside of our great Nation’s domineering walls.

I introduce you all to myself, as I make way down the legendary Ijin suburb of Shirogane for a special event. Today, we are venturing to a gathering by the name of the ‘Bad Rep Ball’. Yes, dear reader. I understand that the savage tongue treats the word ‘ball’ in a rather casual sense. No, this is not the typical ball of sorts you would find in our Imperial homeland. Imagine the thought process of a savage when the word ‘ball’ is mentioned. When I first arrived here, I pondered of the possibilities myself. Keep that thought in your head as we proceed. I wonder how accurate you will be!

According to the flyer, the event seems to be hosted by ‘Some Crazy Bastards and Their Friends’. It was not too far from the truth. Dear reader, the savage tongue I understand may be a bit vulgar and very blunt in nature, but do appreciate my endorsement of the fact that this event is designed to appeal to the youth. The event ran largely into the evening hours, hence the photography taking place under the stars of night. The venue itself was rather enticing, a stark reminder of how far I am from home. Oh how it reminds me of the Eastern Theatre! Rightfully ours, of course.

Interestingly so, the lyrics for most of the songs played in the outdoor festival were not for children. I shall not hence repeat them in literal fashion in this report, dear readers. However, rest assured that I boldly endured the savage’s tongues tenancies to result to savage language, and began to enjoy myself. Such energy is documented here in real time! Notice the exotic mannerisms of inter-crowd dancing! 

Observe, the savage in motion!

These individuals here are not being compensated for their art, nor are they dancing out of routine or practice. They merely are dancing just to dance. In fact, many in the crowd were dancing along with the beat! Perhaps there may be a quality in common with the youth of Garlemald versus the youth of the Untamed Lands? This is a correlation one may find in a neutral zone like Shirogane.

And here I am myself, submerging myself into the rhythm! Sometimes, it order to have fun in a foreign land, one must adopt their mannerisms to the native peoples. After all, we learn from our… former enemies, no matter how odd or overbearing it may be for us. Our Empire is vast and all-encompassing. There are many different shades of Garlemald. I must admit, dear reader, to be consumed within the crowd while surrounded by pulverizing noise and gyrating bodies reminds me that I am still quite young myself! Perhaps there is something after all to learn from the lesser peoples by attending their methods of merrymaking!

 All in all, I enjoyed my time here at this ‘Bad Rep Ball’. Needless to say, I also did not leave this event with a bad rep! I forgive the savages for their false advertising, as that would be a horrifying scenario, would it not? But ah! I leave you now in the midst of my inn room over here, in an obscene hour of the evening, with sore feet, knees, and vocal chords! I may have let my hair down a little bit in this delightful event, but I did so without regret. I leave invigorated, and inspired by the raw excitement and proactive expression of the arts. If one may wonder in what manner of delight this event could possibly be when I have portrayed it to be so … -rebellious-, then it shall be healthy of you to heed my words before my goodbye.

And those words would be this: It is by writing upon a blank page that we discover, and afterwords, understand.

 A wave of the hand now, and I am gone. Lowering my head, I dream that I am home. Until we meet again, dear readers. Valere est numquam!

[foodbulgaria]

JOHANNIZZA RETREATS FOLLOWED BY THE CRUSADERS

When Johannizza heard that the Franks were coming, he did not dare to abide, but burned his engines of war, and broke up his camp. So he departed from Demotica; and you must know that this was accounted by all the world as a great miracle. And Henry, the Regent of the empire, came “On the fourth day (28th June) before Adrianople, and pitched his camp near the river of Adrianople, in the fairest meadows in the world. When those who were within the city saw his host coming, they issued forth, bearing all their crosses, and in procession, and showed such joy as had never been seen. And well might they rejoice for they had been in evil case.

Then came tidings to the host that Johannizza was lodged at a castle called Rodosto. So in the morning they set forth and marched to those parts to seek battle; and Johannizza broke up his camp, and marched back towards his own land. The host followed after him for five days, and he as constantly retired before them. On the fifth day they encamped at a very fair and pleasant place by a castle called Fraim; and there they sojourned three days.

And at this place there was a division in the host, and a company of valiant men separated themselves therefrom because of a quarrel that they had with Henry, the brother of the Emperor Baldwin. Of this company Baldwin of Beau voir was chief; and Hugh of Beaumetz went with him, and William of Gommegnies and Dreux of Beaurain. There were some fifty knights who departed together in that com pany; and they never thought the rest would dare to remain in the land in the midst of their enemies guided istanbul tour.

RENIER OF TRIT RELIEVED AND DELIVERED

Then did Henry, the Regent of the empire, take council with the barons that were with him; and they decided to ride forward. So they rode forward for two days, and en camped in a very fair valley, near a castle called Moniac. The castle yielded itself to them, and they remained there five days; and then said they would go and relieve Renier of Trit, who was besieged in Stanimac, and had been shut up therein for thirteen months. So Henry the Regent of the empire, remained in the camp, with a great part of the host, and the remainder went forward to relieve Renier of Tritat Stanimac.

And you must know that those who went forward went in very great peril, and that any rescue so full of danger has but seldom been undertaken, set ing that they rode for three days through the land of their enemies. In this rescue took part Conon of Bethune, and Geoffry of Villehardouin, Marshal of Roumania and Champagne, and Macaire of Sainte-Mene- hould, and Miles the Brabant, and Peter of Bracieux, and Payen of Orleans, and Ansea.i of Cayeux, and Thierri of Loos, and William of the Perchoi, and a body of Venetians under command of Andrew Valere. So they rode forward till they came to the castle of Stanimac, and approached so near that they could now see it.

Renier of Trit was on the walls, and he perceived the advanced guard, which was under GeoSry the Marshal, and the other battalions, approaching in very good order; and he knew not what people they might be. And no wonder that he was in doubt, for of a long time he had heard no tidings of us ; and he thought we were Greeks coming to besiege him.