From the desk of the Herald: Sisters of the Night
Jul 3, 2016 3:01:14 GMT
Antonio Galanzia, ..., and 3 more like this
Post by Sokrates Salonikas on Jul 3, 2016 3:01:14 GMT
(ooc: so historically the era of the troubadour and courtly love does not occur until slightly after our time period in the High Middle Ages, but we are vampires and I say we are on the cutting edge of everything. Also, I hope this doesn't make anyone uncomfortable and I apologize in advance if it does. I, Wilmer, am in fact, quite happily married and do not actually love any of you in that way. Well, okay except perhaps for Micheal, but how could you not? However, Sokrates is a maudlin romantic and a failed poet who sees so very little beauty in his dark and dreary world of grave dust and corpses that he must now take a moment to appreciate the gentler things in life. As we have no resident Toreador minstrel to serve this function, the following will have to do.)
The following perfumed scroll begins to show up in all areas of Cainite interest:
Greetings, fellow Cainites of Gaul.
Too often, we become embroiled in the base and ugly struggles of prestation and politics and fail to pause a moment to appreciate the gentler things, the simple comforts of life that lie right in front of us. Eternal nights stretch out before us, and while it may sometimes be dark and full of terrors, there is also much of beauty to be found in them as well. Our world is many times a grim and dark one of battle, blood, and terror, so it is all the more extraordinary to see the many strong and capable sisters of the night who have risen above their oft-neglected station and seized power and authority in their own right. As Herald, my office is often one of grim and cutting negativity. I must enforce the social order by noting that this Duke's shabby accoutrements are quite unbecoming his station, or that Baron is a vain and strutting popinjay. So, for a welcome change I declare the following:
To the Baroness Morrigan of Trento,
For her dark and exotic countenance like night blooming iris in the Carpathians, and her elemental mastery, I grant the Lady of Mysteries a minor boon from myself at her convenience.
To the Doge of Trieste,
For her wise and mysterious counsels and calm and gentle demeanour even when beset with peril on all sides, I grant the Black Madonna a minor boon from myself at her convenience.
To Fia of the Free City,
For her wild and terrible fury like the arctic winds of her homeland, and for her strength and pragmatic ways, I grant the Wolf of the North a minor boon from myself at her convenience.
Finally, to the Lady Lyrah Belirae,
For her calm and unflinching courage in navigating the treacherous paths of our world unsworn and alone, and for being Caine's own porcelain angel, I declare that she is indeed the fairest Cainite in all the domain, if not the world (as she has always wanted) and grant the Queen of Night a minor boon from myself at her convenience and declare her Dignified* until such time as she should choose to use it. (*Okay, perhaps not at all in her speech, or her actions, or really any other area of life, but certainly in my cold and unbeating heart that she did briefly stir into throbbing tumescence when first my dead eyes did lay sight upon her.)
The Herald has spoken, perhaps too much.
The following perfumed scroll begins to show up in all areas of Cainite interest:
Greetings, fellow Cainites of Gaul.
Too often, we become embroiled in the base and ugly struggles of prestation and politics and fail to pause a moment to appreciate the gentler things, the simple comforts of life that lie right in front of us. Eternal nights stretch out before us, and while it may sometimes be dark and full of terrors, there is also much of beauty to be found in them as well. Our world is many times a grim and dark one of battle, blood, and terror, so it is all the more extraordinary to see the many strong and capable sisters of the night who have risen above their oft-neglected station and seized power and authority in their own right. As Herald, my office is often one of grim and cutting negativity. I must enforce the social order by noting that this Duke's shabby accoutrements are quite unbecoming his station, or that Baron is a vain and strutting popinjay. So, for a welcome change I declare the following:
To the Baroness Morrigan of Trento,
For her dark and exotic countenance like night blooming iris in the Carpathians, and her elemental mastery, I grant the Lady of Mysteries a minor boon from myself at her convenience.
To the Doge of Trieste,
For her wise and mysterious counsels and calm and gentle demeanour even when beset with peril on all sides, I grant the Black Madonna a minor boon from myself at her convenience.
To Fia of the Free City,
For her wild and terrible fury like the arctic winds of her homeland, and for her strength and pragmatic ways, I grant the Wolf of the North a minor boon from myself at her convenience.
Finally, to the Lady Lyrah Belirae,
For her calm and unflinching courage in navigating the treacherous paths of our world unsworn and alone, and for being Caine's own porcelain angel, I declare that she is indeed the fairest Cainite in all the domain, if not the world (as she has always wanted) and grant the Queen of Night a minor boon from myself at her convenience and declare her Dignified* until such time as she should choose to use it. (*Okay, perhaps not at all in her speech, or her actions, or really any other area of life, but certainly in my cold and unbeating heart that she did briefly stir into throbbing tumescence when first my dead eyes did lay sight upon her.)
The Herald has spoken, perhaps too much.