🧢 DAY 3 — PEOPLE WHO ARE NOT IN THE PORTRAIT
The Weathered Flag
The trail ended in a storage room nobody had opened in twenty years.
DeNae supplied the flashlight. John forced the swollen door. Tara entered first because, according to her, conspiracies rarely stored themselves at eye level.
Behind a cabinet, Laura found a torn black Weathered Flag wrapped around a packet of identity papers.
The papers belonged to Henri Morin, Élise’s younger brother. During the occupation, Henri had worked under false names, carrying information between the resistance and Aleman’s defenders.
Oksana examined the flag’s uneven stitching. Hidden inside its hem was a hand-sewn map of the northern pass—the same route mentioned in Élise’s telephone warning.
Henri had crossed enemy-held streets with the information, reached the field hospital badly wounded, and collapsed before he could deliver it himself.
Julie found one more detail.
Before joining the resistance, Henri had served as General Krieg’s personal orderly. Krieg trusted him—and recognized Henri’s weathered flag when the reserve forces appeared at the northern pass.
“He knew,” Julie said softly. “He knew who brought the warning.”
Everyone looked toward the enormous ceremonial portrait waiting in the hall: General Krieg alone, sword raised beneath a flawless purple banner.
Adrian studied it for a long moment.
“Take it down.”
The organizers protested. The portrait required six men, two ladders, and a carefully measured lighting arrangement.
Lala watched it descend.
“There,” she said. “History just lost six feet of flattering canvas.”
With nowhere else to put it, DeNae stored the portrait behind the refreshment table.
The ceremony was now missing its centerpiece.
Adrian didn’t put it back.

Отредактировано BrownGunner6864 (2026-09-04 00:17:26)

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D8ab2f

Guild: Double D’s

🧢 DAY 3 — PEOPLE WHO ARE NOT IN THE PORTRAIT
The Weathered Flag
The headquarters records led us to a locked storage room beneath the hall.
DeNae produced a flashlight. John forced the swollen door. Tara entered first, announcing that forgotten heroes were rarely stored somewhere convenient.
Behind an old cabinet, Oksana and I found a torn black Weathered Flag wrapped around identity papers.
The papers named Henri Morin, Élise’s younger brother. He had served as General Krieg’s orderly before joining the resistance and operating under false names.
Inside the flag’s hem, Oksana discovered a stitched map of the northern pass.
Henri had learned that the enemy’s retreat was a trap. He crossed occupied streets carrying the warning, was shot, and reached Élise’s field hospital barely alive.
The flag had not flown above a glorious charge.
It had been wrapped around Henri to stop the bleeding.
I ran my fingers just above the coarse black stitches. They matched the thread beneath the Pennant Guard.
“H.M.,” I whispered.
At last, I completed the first card: Henri Morin.
Julie found a report showing that General Krieg recognized Henri’s flag when the reserves arrived at the northern pass. He knew who had carried the warning.
Across the hall hung Krieg’s ceremonial portrait—one man beneath a flawless purple banner.
Adrian stared at it.
“Take it down.”
The workers protested that the portrait required six men and two ladders.
Lala watched them struggle.
“Apparently removing someone from history is easier than putting him back.”
With nowhere else to store it, DeNae directed them behind the refreshment table.
I placed Henri’s name beside Élise’s and Varen’s.
Three people were now standing outside the portrait.
And we still had two days left.

Отредактировано Laura-LBB (2026-09-04 01:11:22)

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LBB 

39e8b4

Guild: Double D’s

Jour 3 Les hors-la-loi 
Guilde Au Manoir Né

Le soleil se lève à peine sur les toits de la ville occupée, projetant de longues ombres sur les pavés humides. Dans le double fond de son coffre en bois,  Marcus Thorne  caressait du bout des doigts le tissu râpeux du  drapeau érodé . Ce morceau de toile, utilisé par le vent des batailles et noirci par la poudre, était bien plus qu'un emblème : il était le cœur battant de la résistance, le symbole d'une liberté que l'occupant croyait avoir étouffée.

Marcus était un homme d'un courage rare. Chef de la cellule locale, il n'était pas de ceux qui haranguaient les fautes, mais de ceux qui restaient les derniers pour couvrir la fuite des autres. Son rôle dans les événements récents avait été crucial : c'est lui qui avait tissé le réseau de communication clandestin de la ville, utilisant les répétitions de la chorale municipale comme couverture pour transmettre les plans de sabotage à ses partisans.

Parmi ces partisans se trouvaient  Aleima . Marcus avait immédiatement décéléré chez ce jeune homme, une étincelle unique. Il était devenu son mentor, son protecteur, presque un père de substitution dans ce monde en ruines. C'est Marcus qui, des mois plus tôt, avait confié le drapeau à Aleima en lui disant :  « Tant que ce tissu flottera, notre peuple ne sera pas soumis. » »  Ce lien indéfectible unissait le vieux lion de la résistance et le jeune héros en devenir.

Mais le filet de l'ennemi se resserrait. La veille, les rumeurs d'un tirage au sort imminent lors de la prochaine réunion secrète avaient semé la panique. Le plan initial semblait condamné.

Pourtant, contre toute attente, le destin bascula d'une manière totalement imprévue.  Le lendemain, Adrian annula lui-même la répétition.

Adrian, l'administrateur rigide nommé par le régime, avait découvert le pot aux roses. Mais au lieu de livrer la cellule à la milice, un reste d'humanité ou une alliance secrète l'avait poussé à agir. En annulant éventuellement le rassemblement sous un prétexte technique, Adrian venait de couper l'herbe sous le pied des soldats qui attendaient l'ordre d'intervenir.

Ce contretemps providentiel offrit à Marcus les quelques heures nécessaires pour mettre Aleima à l'abri. Serrant le drapeau érodé contre son torse, le jeune héros s'enfonça dans les tunnels de la ville, tandis que Marcus, un sourire serein aux lèvres, restait en arrière pour effacer définitivement les traces de leur rébellion. L'histoire d'Aleima ne faisait que commencer, portée par le courage de Marcus et le geste inattendu d'Adrian.
Merci 🥰

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Mamie code 667a2c

🧢 DAY 3 — “THE PEOPLE WHO ARE NOT IN THE PORTRAIT”

The ceremonial portrait was enormous.

General Caelan stood in the middle, heroic and dignified, surrounded by his senior officers beneath the victorious banners of Aleyman.

It was exactly the sort of painting designed to make future generations say:

“Wow. Those twelve people apparently did everything.”

We now knew that wasn’t true.

Adrian returned to the old storage rooms and unfolded another relic.

A weathered flag.

Nothing impressive at first glance.

Faded cloth.

Frayed edges.

Smoke stains.

Then Laura noticed writing on the inside.

“Names.”

We carefully opened it farther.

There were seven.

Marek Sol.
Tomas Renn.
Ilya Verne.
Ansel Daro.
Petra Vale.
Niko Saren.
Eliza Moren.

None appeared in the official ceremony history.

Julie began searching.

John took military reports.

DeNae handled personnel lists.

Laura checked casualty records.

Lala sat beside her and announced that she would “assist emotionally and aggressively.”

I opened my handy-dandy journal and began cross-referencing.

Yes.

Me.

Cross-referencing.

ADD is not the inability to concentrate.

It is the ability to concentrate intensely on something fascinating while completely forgetting you left your tea somewhere.

DeNae silently placed my tea beside me.

See?

Big sisters are magic.

One by one, the names appeared.

Marek.

Resistance courier.

Tomas.

Rail worker who delayed enemy supplies.

Ilya.

Farmhand who knew a hidden route through the ravine.

Petra.

Telegraph operator who transmitted intelligence after official lines were cut.

Niko.

Scout.

Ansel.

Civilian mechanic who repaired a damaged field transmitter.

And Eliza Moren…

Field nurse.

Laura found an old photograph.

Seven exhausted people stood beside a damaged hospital tent.

The weathered flag hung behind them.

I looked at the ceremonial portrait again.

None of them were there.

“They’re the reason Elias got the information,” Julie said.

John nodded.

“And the reason he trusted it enough to act.”

Adrian stared at the portrait for a very long time.

Then he turned toward two attendants.

“Take it down.”

They hesitated.

“The ceremonial portrait, sir?”

“Yes.”

“But it is the centerpiece.”

“Not anymore.”

Ohhhhhhh.

I wrote so fast I nearly tore the paper.

ADRIAN HAS REMOVED THE OFFICIAL PORTRAIT.

Lala leaned toward me.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I am witnessing character development.”

Behind the removed portrait was a narrow strip of older stone.

And sitting on the ledge above it were four fairies.

One kicked her feet happily.

Another gave me two tiny thumbs up.

I whispered, “I knew you were involved.”

John turned around.

“What?”

“Draft.”

“There is no draft.”

“Historical draft.”

He stared at me.

I smiled.

He chose peace.

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Tara 🇺🇸 031cde
Guild: Double D’s

Guild Quest. Day 3. -The Hall. Aleiman: Five Days Until FanFare
Guild: Double D's

DAY 3 — "PEOPLE WHO ARE NOT IN THE PORTRAIT"
📌FOUND: The Weathered Flag—a black flag bearing the gold Hyperion symbol—from the "Past Victories" collection

On the third morning, Adrian canceled the rehearsal himself. Three musicians reportedly fainted, although one later admitted that he had simply lain down because it seemed appropriate. Adrian returned to the narrow strip of black cloth sewn inside the border of the red and gold Regimental Standard. The archive ledger led us to a long wooden box incorrectly labeled Damaged Stage Drapery. Inside lay the Weathered Flag of Hyperion: black fabric burned and torn along its edges, with the gold Hyperion symbol still shining faintly at its center.

This was no official army flag. It belonged to the underground partisan resistance, whose members used the ancient Hyperion symbol as a promise that Aleman belonged to its people, not only to its generals. Written along the reverse hem were the names Élise Morin, Luc Varenne, Tomas Bell, Ansel Rook, Mireille Dax, and Henri Vale. Below them appeared dozens of initials, crosses, thumbprints, and small personal symbols. One unknown defender had drawn a chicken. Julie immediately announced that this person had been an individual of excellent judgment.

As Adrian unfolded the Weathered Flag, the diary carried us into the battle itself. Tomas and Ansel had smuggled it through enemy lines wrapped around the radio battery. Before dawn, they raised it above the ruined mill at Stone Orchard. The black flag was not intended to inspire a ceremonial charge; it was a signal. When the gold Hyperion shield became visible from Blackstone Ridge, resistance fighters hiding throughout the valley knew that Élise's preparations were complete, the civilians were clear, and the enemy had entered the trap.

Mireille Dax, a teenage signal operator, kept the radio network alive while enemy shells tore open the eastern tower. Corporal Henri Vale defied headquarters and opened the armory to the villagers. Luc Varenne redirected the artillery without authorization. Tomas and Ansel destroyed the enemy ammunition convoy and released its horses into the fog, causing two advancing companies to collide with each other. Élise moved between the signal tower, the defensive positions, and the field hospital, issuing instructions under Krieg's authority when frightened officers proved unable to issue any of their own.

"That flag was not carried behind the army," Laura said. "It told the army when to stand." Julie pointed to the tiny chicken beside one faded name. "And somewhere in the resistance was a person who understood the importance of poultry." Tara studied the gold Hyperion symbol. "It could still be an ancient interstellar beacon." DeNae shook her head. "If it summons anyone, tell them to bring fresh radio batteries and enough food for two hundred defenders." Lala leaned close to the black fabric. "I'm not touching it. I'm allowing it to experience my presence.” "Your presence has been difficult enough for several centuries," I said. Oksana looked at the names. "They wrote themselves into the flag because they suspected official history would not."

She was right. After the victory, the ruling council needed one simple hero whom frightened citizens could rally behind. General Krieg was noble, popular, and safely recognizable. Varenne had disobeyed the high command. Tomas and Ansel belonged to an illegal resistance movement. Mireille was a young civilian operator. Vale had distributed military weapons without permission. Worst of all, Élise was a nurse who took command when decorated officers refused to act. Officials considered every part of the truth politically inconvenient, so they replaced the Weathered Flag with the red-and-yellow Standard, removed the unwanted names, and painted Krieg alone at the head of a glorious charge that had never occurred.

Adrian stared at the vast ceremonial portrait already hanging over the platform. It showed Krieg on horseback under the red-and-yellow flag, untouched by mud, potatoes, hesitation, or reality. "Take it down," he ordered. The chief organizer went pale. "But the portrait is the centerpiece of the ceremony!" Adrian raised the Weathered Flag. "No. This is." "That rag cannot hang above General Krieg!" the organizer gasped. Lala whispered to me, "If Adrian strikes him with the measuring pole, do we intervene?" "Not immediately," I replied. The portrait came down, revealing a crack across the wall behind it. Adrian looked at that fracture and then at the forgotten names. Aleman's history, he realized, had been repaired in much the same way—by covering the damage with something large, impressive, and false.