The Ivory Herald: Writer's Showcase Competition
Winner Receives: 50,000 Gold, Painted Portrait, and Publication in the Ivory Herald
Judging Begins Mithul 10. Submissions accepted up to the day of judging.
AMENDED: Upon the selection of an official Ivory Herald, the Herald is offering 50,000 gold and an illustration of the Regional Winner.
Regional winner is selected by the Baldur's Gate region by vote. Please cast your votes into the box below the bulletin board. Both winners will be presented on Mithul 17th!
Regional winner is selected by the Baldur's Gate region by vote. Please cast your votes into the box below the bulletin board. Both winners will be presented on Mithul 17th!
Skye Le'Quella
The Ivory Herald
The Ivory Herald
All stories below are presented on a board in Baldur's Gate and viewable to the public.
The Legend of the Water Magus
The Legend of the Water Magus
Written by: Clarif Thunderstone
When the world was old, there were only two realms: earth and fire. They did not interact and always left well enough alone.
Until one day, a wildfire unexpectedly tore through the earth and destroyed the fields.
The fire realm claimed no involvement.
Soon, a war began and the realms were livid.
Until one day, an elf-like creature emerged from the flames unscathed.
Everyone was amazed and dropped their weaponry.
She moved her hand up with force and brought a wave of freshwater down on the burning fields.
The crops were still destroyed, but the fires were gone.
The watermage then introduced the people to new crops that grew quickly. The fire realm helped boil water nearby.
Thanks to the watermage, the town was saved and she will still come by every now and again to bring us rain and wisdom.
Musing of a Frustrated Fairy
Musing of a Frustrated Fairy
by Edelgarde Spades
24th Tarsakh 1357 DR
Once upon a time, in a far far away land, there was a merry kingdom, whose name is unknown as the fairy tales authors of old could not care less about historical and geographical context. As much as an oxymoron it could seem, the kingdom was ruled by a wise and benevolent king and his beloved wife, whose pinnacle of skills was wearing overly pompous and over-sized gowns.
One fine day, which alas we cannot place within a global timeline because the choice between the aforementioned gowns and the wages of a skilled scribe is not as obvious as we would like it to be, the queen gave birth to a girl.
The newborn princess, who was named something cheesy and sugarcoated like Clarissa... or was it Arabella? Wait, maybe it was the one before. Anyway, let us go with Arabella, who cares anyway. Arabella's birth was celebrated with a three-days-long feast and I, of course, received an invitation because, let us be honest, these day nobody will take a ruler seriously if their daughter doesn't have at least one fairy godmother. You heard me, I once saw three being called at the same time: Flora, Fauna and Merryweather.
So, the final day of the celebration came and with it the time for the usual augury of the princess' future. Now, my dear readers, I have been doing this for two hundred years and every single time I wonder why I did not stay in the Feywilds. Seriously, why do they even need a fairy? Everyone and their grandmother knows it is always the same old story every time a princess is born. Anyway, right before I proclaimed my divination with imperious voice, I spotted a cowled figure among the crowd, who I instantly recognized as old Alecto the hag, trying to sneak at the party again. I mean... cowl or not cowl that nose can be spotted all the way from the Spine of the World. Although I can certainly see where the lass is coming from, as inviting her to a ball is the equivalent of using the crown budget for acquiring the services of an historian: shameful, utterly unfashionable and definitely unheard of, but at this point we all know where things are going.
So, I recited my prophecy, which was something akin to:
"A malevolent curse will befall the princess at her eighteenth birthday and she will be forever chained at the highest chamber of the highest tower."
As expected, the king and his spouse were horrified and distressed and of course they looked at me expectantly as if I had the magic wand. I do have the magic wand, but you see what I mean. Now I might or might not have been a bit tipsy and instead of waving my wand and stating something about the curse being broken by a kiss of true love, I opened my bag of holding and grabbed a spell book I was meant to deliver to my wizard friend at the second-highest tower of the realm (the highest is in the castle was already taken to hold the cursed princess). I tossed the book to the king and snapped:
"Well... How about you teach your daughter some goddamn magic rather than having her clumsily poking cursed items!"
At that point, I stormed off the castle, but some of the guests could swear the rulers took that as some kind of omen and were dead set in having that book strapped to the princess day and night.
Eighteen years passed and Arabella had grown into a fine young lady, who inherited her father's benevolence and her mother's love for oversized gowns. On her eighteenth birthday, Old Alecto knocked at the castle's door polymorphed as an old lady. The hag told the princess that she was sent by a relative from a far far away land to deliver her a silver bracelet as a birthday present. I know, I know, this is the oldest con in the world but back in Alecto's days it was advanced deception. Of course, Arabella never left her castle and Alecto was probably the first stranger she saw in a long while, so she invited her to her room in highest floor of the highest tower of the castle. Because, what could go wrong?
As soon as the princess wore the bracelet, it became an unbreakable chain stuck in the wall, that trapped her in the aforementioned room. Old Alecto was of course too busy cackling manically to notice Arabella, who in these eighteen years had nothing else to do other than being stuck in her room with a spellbook, had just fingerwaggled a Remove Curse spell.
Clink
The chain reverted back to bracelet and fell to the ground. Alecto, who was supposed to turn into a black dragon and guard the princess, decided she had enough and left the room without even bothering to go all the way to the door. I heard she then applied to be repurposed as a Frostwing Virago. May Icewind Dale be kinder to the lass.
More years passed and one day, Prince Wilbur passed "by chance" near the castle. I mean, we all know noble scions' best pastime is hunting for cursed princesses, but whatever. Recognizing the tallest tower of the realm, unlike his friend Prince Charming who ended up climbing the second-highest tower instead and found himself up for a nasty surprise, he worked his way up the ivy covered wall.
"Oh, fair maiden" he said after entering through the window. "I am Prince Wilbur and I am here to break your curse".
"Sorry, who?" asked the princess, visibly annoyed at the stranger who just entered the premises uninvited.
"The Prince. Wilbur. Son of the King" he reiterated, with the expression of someone who was just slapped in the face.
"Sorry to inform you the curse is already broken" the princess explained. "Besids, how are you going to break the curse? Are you a wizard or something?"
"Love is the most powerful magic of all" said Wilbur before being shown the exit by a Bigby's Hand.
The years passed and more and more princes tried the fateful climb to the princess' room, who visibly annoyed cast wards upon wards to protect the tower. In time said tower became a wizard tower proper, which also happened to be the highest of the realm, to the dismay of my wizard friend and everyone lived happily ever after. Except my wizard friend, that is.
The story teaches, as you can tell,
to always have a curse-breaking spell
of all nice things you can buy from a merchant.
And for all things holy, get a scribe as a servant.
THE END
In Opposition of Fatalism
In opposition of FatalismWritten by: Hjalmar Karlsen
Contemptible is the life of men,
Whose spirit equates to fowl,
Made cheap beyond all measure,
That which can't be bought.
The coward names all brothers,
Yet his heart is plated tin,
Forging chains of sinew, prostrate to circumstance,
Imagine Fate's cruel lash, a gentle tender warmth,
Inured with apathy's respite,
The coward quails no more,
With nought left to take from him,
He feigns at pride anew,
Behold the noble coward who cast away his crown,
Whose mind shan't know of sorrow, all is as it should,
Passion's fires dampened, all colour drained away
When life has lost its essence, suffering fails to sting
With splintered mind and supine soul, the man becomes a mouse,
Pitiful and wretched, nursed on vinegar's bile,
He proclaims it sweet ambrosia, all taste then turned to soot
Knowing all does happen in accord with Fortune's will
Cast off then now, your fetters and fear not to love,
With hope now greet your sorrow, for it cleanses as spring rain
Know intensity in feeling, embrace both high and low
Let passion be but fleeting, as wealth both comes and goes
Forget not your values, for all is not of like,
gold is not of copper, and a spear not the plough,
Strike forth then with fastness, to sever Fate's red thread,
Shelter what is precious, never fear not to mourn
Death rides in on gladness to bear aloft true.
Return to The Coast
Return to The Coast
After ages of strife
That pursues local life
Time has finally come to returnto The Coast.I've been hiding in vain
From my dearest old pain
I've been trying to run far awayfrom my worst.And for naught - there's no use.
For there shall be no truce
With the fiery mess, that residesin your soul.Does it roar! Does it burn!
It demands your return!
It shall never forget of the placeyou've called home.It demands I come back.
And with that I must pack...
I'm aware - it's a story,familiar to most.After ages of strife
That pursues local life
Time has finally come to returnto The Coast.
Op’s Adventures in Another Land - Through his Red Rimmed Glasses
Op’s Adventures in Another Land - Through his Red Rimmed Glasses
By Cyrah Ru’othro
Within a small meadow there lay a small elf with a face that may well have been bashed on a shelf.
His eyes were surrounded with glasses in red and his skin had the pallor of someone quite dead.
He hummed to himself as he plotted his day. Would he find adventure? Well, who could quite say?
“Perhaps I shall have cherry pie” he thought.
He did like having sweets much better than not.
In the midst of his ponderings came quite a scuffle.
In the bush a black hare did scamper and snuffle.
“Oi oi!” it cried out, much to Op’s surprise. “I shall miss me whole contract upon the sun’s rise! I must surely be swift and be quick in the knees. I cannot simply be late whenever I please.”
And so off it dashed into a thick bramble where Op followed suit with a grunt and a scramble.
He dove beneath thorns and sharp pointed twigs. They snagged at his skirt and his tangled dyed wig.
Then suddenly giving, the earth ripped asunder, the land opened up and Op tumbled under.
He fell for an hour and then hit the floor. It hurt just a bit, but he had expected more.
He flopped all his limbs and he rose to his feet and he found he was in a library quite neat.
He marveled and gawked at a leather bound tome, its scent like the people he sniffed back at home.
But then as his gaze wandered over the room, he thought to himself, “I should leave this place soon.”
He searched until something had caught his red eyes. It was a door only one eighth of his size.
“No matter,” he thought, “I am a skilled wizard. I shall shrink myself down to the size of a gizzard, and then I can strut through and see where I am.” and he grinned as he slapped his thigh like a fresh ham.
So Op set to casting but found his spell failed. “Oh no, I am trapped!” the desperate elf wailed.
However, he spotted an item nearby. He felt it was magical and something to try.
He stepped up to a table and then did behold a miniature bottle all covered in gold.
And tied to its neck was a note wrapped up well. It read, “DEVOUR MY INSIDES! FREE ME FROM THESE HELLS!”
Op was quite startled, but gave a small shrug. He opened the bottle and started to chug.
And with a bright flash and a dizzying motion, his head smashed through the ceiling as he was grown by the potion.
He found he was standing within a large garden. A squirrel chirped in protest. Op said, “Beg your pardon.”
And so off Op went to explore this strange place. He stepped with a wiggling demonstrative grace.
Then upon a large table Op found he had stumbled. “How curious now.” the pointy eared mumbled.
Seated before him were odd figures three: a hamster, raccoon, and a great talking tree.
“Oh darhling, you’re late!” cried the scraggly Raccoon as she munched on some trash like a famished baboon. “Do come take a seat, meet my colleagues and friends. At this table the hour for dessert never ends.”
And surely enough on the table were laid many cupcakes and tarts and a bowl full of glaze.
“My weakness,” squeaked Op as he trembled with glee, “and you will just share all of these goodies with me?”
Then before they could answer, without much control, Op ate all the cupcakes until he was full.
In shock said Raccoon, “Darhling, I do not think-“interrupted by Tree, “So shut up then. Let’s drink.”
“But we have us no drinks!” squealed the hamster in rage. What ensued was a squabble to best any age.
But Op, having eaten, felt no need to remain. He set off exploring this strange world again.
And soon he approached a small house in a tree. He wondered what manner of place this might be.
“Hoo hoo!” called an owl, “Do you plan to go in?” Its beak warped and stretched in a menacing grin.
“I do.” replied Op with a nod and a sigh. “I simply must find a way to climb that high.”
The owl guffawed and with a slap of its knee, it said, “You should just fly in the air, Sir, like me!”
“But I cannot fly.” stated Op with a frown. With a smirk the old owl dropped onto the ground.
“Nonsense!” did it cry; then with a flutter and sniff, it kicked skinny Op off the side of a cliff.
He tumbled and squealed as he thought he might die. Down below someone commented, “So, pigs CAN fly!”
Op finally landed in a plushy red chair. Beside was a rat with a comb of green hair.
“What are you?” it asked as it snorted some beer. “I have never seen anything quite like you here.”
“Where am I?” asked Op as he glanced to and fro. He saw sofas and tables in a lamp’s dim blue glow.
“You are here.” said the rat as it snorted some wine. “I shall keep you forever and you shall be mine.”
“Oh no!” shrieked Op as he leaped from his seat. “I thank you most kindly, but I have to retreat! I have much to explore, so I must move on quickly…”
But the rat had just drowned due to snorting some whiskey.
Away ran dear Op, that strange noodle limbed rascal. He next came upon a large shimmering castle.
Within it he found a small dusty courtyard with a hag and a jester and fluffy haired bard.
“Greetings, Tramp!” cried the hag and with large gap-toothed grin. “This is my place, so come in! Do come in!”
Op smiled and he entered, much pleased by the greeting. “I hope I have not interrupted a meeting.”
“Nah!” howled the hag with a grunt and a spit. “This is my bard Hamsie and my husband Peach Pit!”
“I’m not your husband.” did the jester declare, before he watched Op with a vacant dead stare.
“Oh, please do not mind her.” smiled the bard with a wink. “She is harmless no matter what things she may think.”
Op nodded to that so the bard would continue. “I play music here and I make drinks off the menu. My name is not Hamsie and I find it not clever. I care not otherwise, so you call me whatever!”
Before Op could reply, the hag butted in, “I’ll introduce myself, Tramp! To forget is a sin!”
All eyes turned to her as she stood with a puff; she began to list titles with an out of breath huff.
“I am a great warrior and tailoress, see! I snatched up a giant to break on my knee! I swallowed a barrel of tar with the feathers. My breath will add moisture to all sorts of weathers! That’s why they call me the maiden of rain! I’m also the captain of moldy old grain! But most of all known, I am Queen of the Pentacles!”
“Nice to meet you.” said Op, “I’m the wizard of tentacles!”
“A wizard, you say? Can you cast me a spell?”
“I would, but the last I tried did not end well.”
“Never mind!” the hag said, and then gave a great sneeze. As she blew her nose something smelled oddly of cheese.
At this, Op decided to no longer stay. As he left, Jester whispered, “Please take me away.”
Soon the pointy legged Op reached the end of the road. He paused and was met by a fat horned blue toad.
“Yip yip!” it cried out, “It’s the end of the line! I’m Kippy the Toad and YOUR FLESH TASTES JUST FINE!”
Op yelped as the toad revealed rows of sharp teeth. He disliked that his skin was he soon to bequeath.
But before it attacked, he heard a loud crash, as the black hare from earlier leaped from the grass.
With a swish and a swipe, it chopped off the toad’s head. “Me contract is finished! Old Kippy is dead!”
Op stuttered and stammered, unsure what to do. The hare turned toward him and simply said, “Boo.”
Op sat up quite frantic and sweaty, head pounding. A small lantern near him served to be quite grounding.
With a trembling he saw that he was in his bed. It was all just a dream and no toadlings were dead.
He smiled and he laughed, “What silly things I have dreamed!” then he found Kippy’s head on his pillow and screamed.
A tribute to the people of the Muse.
A tribute to the people of the Muse.
By: Reiker
There once was an elf named Oth
Who some might say he was quite soft
With noodles for arms,
and a slight lack of charm
one might think he was a little off.
Fingal Darius was a man quite bold
with a terrible love of booze and gold
his hat never left his head
even in a woman's bed
perhaps his head got too little too cold?
A man with quite an intent stare
Nathan Goldemane with the fabulous hair
always last to get the pun
and first to grab Oth's bum
Some might think his head was full of air.
Kitsy the tiefling with skin so blue
was as troublesome as any i ever knew
the birds they did swear
because kitsy was there
to show them how to say "screw you!"
Now the muse I'm afraid is long gone
but the memories they still live on
Sitting here on my (hiney)
I'll raise my drinking glass
And cheer with my own little song
Two Stones
Two Stones
By: Anonymous
Two stones - one gilded, one rough.
One admired, and one made into a hearth.
One slept in hoards and riches,
The other in soot and ashes.
Yet both are slave to sun and wind,
And both the sands their traces rescind.
Both riches and hearth end buried,
Yet with warmth’s memory,
Life’s fire would onwards be carried.
Morning
Morning
Written by: Haiden
I look up at the sun, and I do not see beauty. I wonder how many corpses greeted its rising today..... Yeah
A Warlocks Lament
A Warlocks Lament
By: Anonymous
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Extract from a Traveler's Log #31
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
May you find mercy in reading this letter, which was found by the roadside in Marsember on the Coldest Midwinter's Night of my life.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It began on the 30th of Myrtul, in the year of Forgotten Dreams. First came a storm. After the storm came thunder and rage and violence of the Lost Horde, which descended upon the Fields of Glory. Such was the fate of my kin, to wither and die in obscurity. To scream and beg in the uncaring dark, but I was not to share it.
Years had passed and bitterness became a hardened shell. I wore it like a warm coat. It hugged me, like a familiar dream. I have pacted and I have prayed and I have waited for the day I was given my due. The world owed me and I would collect payment, pound by pound of flesh if need be. But the world was not fair then and it was not fair now. There was no soothing balm for my shattered soul. No screams of foemen, no prayers for the dead.
Years had turned to decades and a hard shell became hard to carry. Age took its toll and bitterness poisoned my dreams. I have made oaths. I have served. I have made chains. I have enslaved. I have done all that man could that a man should never wish for, and through it, I have become so much less. I have outlived my foemen, the spectres, which haunt me from my past. Yet there was no salvation from within. No soothing balm for my shattered soul from without. No whispered thanks for a long lost people to lay my weary spirit to rest.
...There was only the quiet, inescapable rattling of dragged chains, which now cling upon my shattered soul.
So know this, my progeny, my only seed planted in the soil so hated. My only kinsman that I shall never meet. My only torment which I regret. Know that I am gone, but my chains do forever hold. They are what defines me. They are what remains when all is ash and dust. They are me.
And they are yours to bear, my son. Yours to bear, as I have born the shackles of my ancestral pitied screams.
Know that the world will never ease your burdens, nor will justice serve salvation.
Know this and grow bitter.
Use it as a hardened shell.
Wear it as a warm coat; let it wrap you like a shattered dream, for it is the only thing which will ever bring you comfort to your bitter days.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So ends this transcript. And so ended a life, before it began, by the Hammers of Frimjaws upon the 30th of Myrul, in a year left unmarked
-Anonymous
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A Man Named Nathan
A Man Named Nathan
By Rosandra Rosita Wolfscarlett
Oh, what words can describe
Such luxury
As a golden mane of hair
Over two lips dipped in cherry wine
And whispering in my ear?
He says to me
You are much sweeter
Much braver
Much stronger
Than that white haired witch who chases me.
Your rear bests hers
Your eyes a dream
Though I have found another
And we may be far apart
I know you best that white haired pig
I know so in my heart.
Oh, my love, my dearest one
I pray that we may meet once more
Though I walk my days in Calimport
I think of you always and forever
I know that you remember me.
I remember your smile
As we danced beneath the apple blossoms
We pranced in the corn like horses
And always you would say
You are a beauty most fair.
One day I hope I may return
To walk the coast with you again
To hold your hand and kiss you
And know that you see me
In your words an eagle by the stream
And what joyous words my honey colored man.
Oh what joy
Your lovely face
And open heart
And graceful limbs
And manly spine
A man named Nathan.
Peom Duet
Poem Duet
By: Sophia
I have walked in pale moonlight
sparkles of shine shimmering
upon the world of wet glass.
I have gazed from mountains
into the rocky cascade of oranges and blues
from the early morning night.
I have stood upon the brown shores
where distance is vastly blue
and the sound winter white crash.
But nothing have I been near
no vision so crystal clear
as when I see you my dear.
---------------------------------------------
When We Were Together
When we were together
climbing slippery oak tress with rustling leaves.
Were we happy?
I still bitter taste the end.
When white walls crumbled
and billowing winds
blew it all away.
I now have a new brick red house, built with these
two small hands.
But I wistfully recall
that first house
were I lived for nothing
but you at all.
Silver Knight
Silver Knight
Written by: Rose
In eerie darkness moonlight shines on the silver knight
He marches the ranks to his final fight
Rain drops tink tink on his plates
He charges in knowing his fate
Each step sinks into wet soil
Rage like fire in his heart did boil
Steel blades meet as army's crash together
Our silver knight had met his better
Dead his spirit marches everyday
Replaying what put him in his grave
Lost In time he falls again
When will his humiliation end
Hopes to end this endless loop
So no longer he to slip in poop
A Cryptozoologist’s Day At Boareskyr Bridge
A Cryptozoologist’s Day At Boareskyr Bridge
Transcribed by Bobbin.
Journal entry 237.
This afternoon I observed a strange occurrence across the bridge. Usually, at that time of day Outsiders known as Lemure tend to bask in the sun if it is not raining. Their commanding Infernal Imps tend to lazily fly about, nap, or if on watch banter endlessly with each other. As written before, while the Balor attacks have been unfortunate it has been quite informative in regard to Outsider behavior.
Today the Lemure and Imps did nothing of the sort. Throughout the morning half a dozen Imps arrived to the area herding two or three times their number of Lemure. Scouts on this side of the bridge promptly informed their officers in nearby Soubar and continued to watch for further developments.
By afternoon there were over thirty Lemure gathered near the western side of the bridge with others groups clumped about father away along the river.
If one were not familiar with Lemure they may mistake their gathering on the road as the area having been used as a latrine by giants. Each Lemure crawled about in the manner one would expect of a slug or snail to move with homely faces, that remind me of my brother’s wife, forming their front end. The constant motion and mumbing, perhapse faces as well, would keep anyone from mistaking them as turds upon closer inspection. Finally the stench carried across the river by the wind reminded me of a pot of stew left unattended for a month mingling with the less offensive smell of a well used latrine or overflowing sewer.
If not for the Imps, at this distance seeming as flies buzzing about, they surely would have wandered off leaving a trail of excrement for poor passerby to step and slip on. The Lemure have even been ovserved to fall into the river and drowned themselves in the past, leaving their mass to float down river. Surely bewildering simple farmers and fishers which observe their husks.
Come mid-afternoon one of the scouts spotted a traveler approaching from the northwest along the road. Either indifferent or unaware of the large number of Lemure they were nearing they walked into a rock’s throw of the large force.
With screeching and shouts that could be heard on this side of the river the Imps marshaled their Lemure and rushed at the approaching traveler. No doubt each Imp wished to be first to sink their tiny teeth and feast on the hapless soul. Slowly and surely the Lemure crawled after the imps.
As the Imps began to converged on the traveler something unexpected happened; the traveler seemed to explode in a fiery inferno which immediately engulfed the nearby Imps. As the Imps fell from the air in burning heaps the traveler was no were to be seen. The Lemure, perhaps confused by the sudden loss of their psychic handlers, seemed to freeze in place.
A few moments passed as the Imp burned and the smell wafted across the river, adding to the fecal stench already hanging in the air.
With no sign of the traveler for a minute or two I was startled by a loud boom and another conflagration which engulfed a number of Lemure. Before I could understand what was happening several more explosions sounded as more Lemure were set ablaze.
Terrible wailing and screams carried across the river.
–The-traveler,-now-near-the-burning-mass-of-shi–
[The prvious line contains a line through it.]
The traveler, now near the mass of Lemure, seemed on fire himself and throwing flask after flask at the Lemure with each flask erupting into a fiery explosion. Soon after the breeze brought proof of what we were seeing. The sharp stench of burning crap was near overwhelming.
We covered our noses and mouths with wet cloth in an attempt to escape the putrid stench.
Suppressing gags we observed the traveler quickly make his way across the bridge to relative safety.
Upon his arrival to this side of the bridge a pair of scouts briefly questioned him to find that the Tiefling was a wandering mercenary or adventurer. Upon his dismissal by the scouts he stepped a little ways off then threw a flask down at his feet, laughing all the while as he caught fire from the explosion. After dusting himself off and patting out the fire he wandered off.
This day’s observations have drawn me to the conclusion that disposing of Lemure using fire is ill advised and that in general Tieflings may be insane.
Fractals
Fractals
Exquisite in their natural design
Divine in their repetition
Mesmerizing in their infinity
Witness the snowflake
A symphony of fractals
Each one unique
Each one its own symphony
Witness a field of snow
A field of endless symphonies
A field of infinite beauty
Lady Netanya
House Divine