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After his exploration with his comrades, the elder mage sat down at his desc and began to read through letters and missives aside. However, upon reaching this one, he could not help himself but release a small burst of chuckles, as he spoke through them "Playing gods with ne even a sliver of magic aye? Tis a Jester! Ne a sorcerer." he said, gasping for air as he truely found the situation amusing as he called in one of his students so they could share a quick laugh.

"Why, talk about nostalgia," As the recollection flooded her memory, a contented smile curled across her lips, "We all saw how that went last time," Luthien would comment to her companion, her eyes flitting over the parchment one last time, before she sought to simply continue her day.

Somewhere, a bard prepares to perform this song.

"NO-!" Hera flung herself out of her bed, falling backwards into a corner. There, she stayed huddled against the wall, shuddering as those painfully familiar words echoed through her mind. . . Submit, child.

Guys you can’t be enabling my pastel pink addiction like this… (please.. i’m on my knees begging… i want it)

Henry Arthur Haverlock, the Duke of Blackworth and a vassal of Ravenmire, pens a letter to Edward Butterfield. @CharmingCavalier "Good Sir, I hope this letter finds you in good health. As a member of the Ravenmirian Government, I wish to inform you of some discrepancies that we have taken note of regarding the map. Do note that I have a deep respect for your line of work, and this letter serves merely to inform of minor errors." "First; Ravenmire's capital, Ravenmire City, is further to the north and sits exactly along the coastline - If you were to visit it in person, you shall see that it sits beneath the cliff and uses artificial supports to extend out and slightly into the Northern Sea." "Second; Ravenmire's borders. Ravenmire as of late has seen gradual territorial expansion - My own fief, the Duchy of Blackworth, sits right along the northern border of Norland, and so it would be appropriate to display the borders of Ravenmire to encompass the majority of the peninsula which we sit upon. Allow me to send you the borders which our Kingdom currently holds." On the back of the letter is attached a sketch of the Kingdom of Ravenmire's borders, including the two vassal fiefdoms of the Rhosmark and Blackworth.

"At least the menu is staying the same." Says. . . . .someone. Random One-Time Patron of the Grub Hut #72892, most likely.

wub da skah

Χριστός ανέστη, αληθώς ο Κύριος. Happy Easter bro

Ar-Malna gave a happy little clap. "I helped proof-read that!!"

"Huzzah! Pride Club!" proclaimed one John Galbraith, gleefully clapping his hands. He re-read it a second time, now with a frown on his face. "Oh. Pride's Cub. Eugh. Lame."

Name: Wernher Vourkehardt Age: 28 Residence: Glazier Avenue 1 Did you fill out the Census?: Yes (IGN: ickyNuN) (Discord: thickynunu)

Gallio Grandaxe went to see the new city that had been built, as he nodded with a smile at the sight of the beautiful scenery. He quite liked the nature, though still despised the different bugs crawling around.

CONTEMPLATIONS IN HOARFROST Anxious toes stood on the precipice of rimestruck lake, teetering on the edge of the waters. Already, an errant elf could feel the chilling burn on the soles of his feet. To the side his belongings were laid- a hat and a simple bag, his linen shirt folded neat and dry inside. With boots clipped under-arm, the errant man waded into the water with a hitched gasp as frost ran up his spine. The water welcomed the elf with all the grace of innumerable frozen pins boring into the bark of his bones, each stroke a step deeper into torture. The chill was a weight on his chest, chilling his lungs and stoppering his his ragged breath. His goal stood in the center of the frozen lake, a dry bar where he was to sit. After his labor through the bitter, biting water, panicked fingers grasped for frozen earth, clawing to remove himself from the agonizing drink. All the while, the question he was bade to consider rang in his mind. He was to wait to ruminate until he’d reached his perch at the water’s center, but the elf was taken by a wandering mind. He had given thought to the Um’ei his entire journey, during each stroke across the water. He had mulled over countless answers to the given question; By the teachings of Eresar, why are we? “To endure?” he thought, introspective of himself, huddled and freezing on an islet. But endurance is part of the journey; Asioth was a destination. The man knew one thing for certain; He knew nothing at all. Not what he was, not what he would become. Often, he saw himself as ‘journey’ incarnate, always moving but never coming to settle. The thought clawed at him nearly as much as the biting air at his wet skin. How terrible, it would be, if his tale ended here, if he could do no good by anyone, if he could not be the warrior-erudite he once envisioned himself as. ‘To suffer,’ murmured he, clutching his freezing and soaked form tightly. A bitter laugh fell from his lips as he attempted to make warmth of what breath remained in his lungs. But suffering didn’t feel like Asioth, or what he had read of it. If suffering was Asioth, he had attained it, as the tundric air made his eyelids hang low, each blink longer than the last. Barely could he bid flingers to flick, or arms to lift, only the energy to ponder remained in him. ‘My form will be rendered a block of ice, and I will shatter,’ he thought. The tundra would take him, and he would perish with no amount of pride in his accomplishments. Would he die a novice in all of his pursuits? Would he be broken, and never rebirthed? A chill ran through the elf. Not of ice, but knowledge. His jaw went shifted and went taut at the notion he remembered, glanced betwixt vellum pages; Strange liturgy that seemed to be an auld sage’s nonsensical ramblings. Their mere thought seemed enough to bid his extremities to move, and feet to support him as he stood. The elf leapt back into the murky water with abandon, a pair of boots left lingering on the floating islet, becoming a figment in the distance as his pain wracked body fjorded the water, and pulled itself agonizingly to the snowy shore. He began a limp across a frozen plain, headed towards sweltering stone. His answer would not be spoken to the air, unless first-heard by a waiting master.

"Wonderful. I feel - so important now." Muses Arakawa, newly appointed Vizier of Earth. "I should make up some badges." He then goes back to the renovation of his home, humming happily. "Oh. And a sufficiently long signature."

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THE SEEKER’S QUERY An Errant, faith-seeking Elf walked up to a group of High Elves in the Principality of CELIA’NOR and asked, ‘OUGHT WE HATE THE SHADOW’ They ignored my query as they nailed an Ibleesian’s head to a spike. The elf traveled into the White City of NUMENOST, where he met the Adunian Queen and a Knight. He interrupted their conversation regarding the slaughter of demons, undead, and dragons to ask, ‘OUGHT WE HATE THE SHADOW?’ The Queen asked in turn, ‘Are you attempting to get me to draw my sword on you?’ in response to the question, while the Knight said ‘I do not hate the shadow itself, but the one who casts it.’ The Queen then said ‘Yes’. The faithseeker found himself between the coppershelled rises of URGUAN , where he saw a lone Dwarf hammering white-hot metal. To the stout one he asked, ‘OUGHT WE HATE THE SHADOW?’ The Dwarf responded, ‘Depends on the Shadow’, in his brogue. He became too uncomfortable to produce an answer to a question of Canonist faith. Then, he walked betwixt walls he ought not venture into; He found himself in the Wood Elven hold of NEVAEHLEN, where he encountered a Dedicant of the Druidic mission; A librarian, and former apprentice to an Ownyst Lectorate. He asked him, ‘OUGHT WE HATE THE SHADOW?’ The Dedicant responded, “Nay, we should pity it.” He continued, “We should slay The Shadow where it is found, but not hate it.” The elf took his query to REINMAR where he found a child, who insisted he ask her the question, ‘OUGHT WE HATE THE SHADOW?’ The little girl answered simply, “Yes we should - Because they are spawns of Iblees.” She thought he was Darkspawn for asking. Onto HOKHMAT he went, where he found a pair of voidal mages he had met several times before, along with a talking tome. He looked between the two familiar women as the academy beyond loomed over them and, gleefully, rendered the question unto them, ‘OUGHT WE HATE THE SHADOW?’ The first mage asked, ‘The Shadow of What?’ The second said ‘No. The Shadow is the unknown. We may hate what is within the Shadow, but not the Shadow itself.’ The speaking tome answered with confusion, ‘The world was dark, before it was light. There is no reason to hate the Shadow, for it came first.’ The first mage, upon hearing of the querying elf’s travels spurned the people of Reinmar, agreeing with the tome when it said their people ought to be anointed in Voidal Flame. Dwelling deep in the desert, after a sweltering journey, the elf found himself beyond sandy cliffs in the home of THE IRON HORDE, where he stood before a group of Orcs who looked upon the seeker strangely when he asked, ‘OUGHT WE HATE THE SHADOW?’ The leader of the group said, ‘If you refer to Darkspawn, then yes. Kill them all.’ The Orcs reported to the elf that all Canonists were to be killed by them. The seeker felt relieved to have been allowed to leave. After seven groups, and seven holds, the errant elf- exhausted- found himself back within the lands of HANSETI-RUSKA, where his journey began. He stared around himself, at a quiet city until the hoof-falls of an impending stampede beckoned his attention to the front gate. There came a glittering force of the faithful, the honored Patriarch among them. The errant elf thought to himself- he’d queried Aevos’ people, all but one. So he would ask, staring at his reflection in a puddle. ‘OUGHT WE HATE THE SHADOW?’

say no more

"Well- That's a pleasant surprise!" A young mali says with a smile to her face, "I'm sure lari’maronn is pretty pleased, let's hope this truce stays this way."

ON: 5th of Sun’s Smile, 179 S.A 5th of Javier’s Justice, 101 D.R With the signing and promulgation of this document, the Sovereignty of Hyspia and the Duchy of Brabant, henceforth referred to as ‘the signatories’, do agree on their honor to the terms laid forth hereafter. ARTICLE I - RECOGNITION The signatories recognise the authority, legitimacy, leadership, & titles of the counter-signatories, with mutual respect of each ability to exercise their powers within their realms, the recognition of their respective borders & to conduct diplomacy as they see fit. ARTICLE II - NON-AGRESSION That the signatories pledge to adhere to principles of peace between each other, and, on the basis of sharing belief in the one true Canonist faith, shall not wage war upon one another or try to bring harm to the integrity of each other’s territories in any way, shape or form ARTICLE III - TRADE & TRAVEL A. The signatories agree to allowing the free movement of their respective citizenries between the two realms. B. The signatories grant each other one shop or stall in each other’s capital which shall be free of tax, to enable trade to flourish between the two realms. ARTICLE IV - DARKSPAWN The Signatories agree to lend mutual support, such as in the form of military, in all cases that involve a darkspawn (vampires, demons, undead, etc.) threat in one another’s domain. ARTICLE V - FRIENDSHIP To commemorate the friendship between these two states, the Sylvan Duchy of Brabant will gift the Viceroyalty of Hyspia 4 llamas and 3 purebred horses. ARTICLE VI - DURATION May the pact be in effect for 15 years, and the friendship be in perpetuity. Signed, His Grace, Ser Sterling Blaxton-Whitewood, Duke of Brabant, Marquis of Lotusgrad, Baron of Blackwell, Lilenburg and Swan’s Keep, Lord of the Peaks, Protector of the Weefolk. HER ROYAL HIGHNESS, Ramona de Pelear, Sovereign Princess of Hyspia, Duchess of Pacazu, Baroness of Arenisca and Del’mar, Lady of Ladorada, Lady of Niseep, Gereon's Hold, and Ciudad de Plata, Gran Maestress of El Orden de Francisco, Protector of the Hyspian People, Protector of the Farfolk, Matriarch of House de Pelear HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, Dimitri Otto of Korvia, Sovereign Prince-Consort of Hyspia, Duke-Consort of Pacazu, Baron-Consort of Arenisca and Del’mar, Lord of Ladorada, Lord of Niseep, Gereon's Hold, and Ciudad de Plata, Gran Maestre of El Orden de Francisco, Protector of the Hyspian People, Protector of the Farfolk

[!] The recently healed Atemu, who suffered injuries at the hand of Gashadokuro in his sacking of the Koyuni capital, casts his Hesthorian-blessed gaze towards the great site of maleific power. The Pharaoh contemplates the various matters facing the people of Koyuni as a whole. Even his own people, he thought, who had just escaped the fury of the Horde were now thrown into the infernal wrath of Gashadokuro. Had the Gods abandoned his people? Where was Hesthor, Kalthet, or Tetu? How would his wife, who was due to return from the wartorn Rah'mun homeland Kemet-taw, handle being thrown into an equally dangerous situation? Might the orcs, in their sheer hatred of his people, seek to exploit their relative vulnerability? Might the An-Gho return? These questions and more percolate in the minds of the Pharaoh. The Pharaoh sought refuge in the depths of the Temple of Purity where the presence of Hesthor dwells. The Pharaoh assumed a Rah'mun prayer posture before the towering shrine of the Great Spirit of Purity, tied to the domains of Scorthuz, and looked into their teeming waters in the hope of discerning some great truth. Atemu prayed and watched - the shrine shimmered with its normal power, and nothing extraordinary came to him. After a few hours within the presence of purity, the Pharaoh began remembering details from his past studies. Purity cleans what is good and restores it to its proper form. The Khnem, soul, was created with many principles in mind, and purity maintains them. Hesthor's waters are known to cleanse the rocks, soil, and dirt of even the foulest manifestations. What if the power of purity and the earth could be combined? Keb. He thought. An image flashed in the Rah'mun's mind at this revelation, almost overtaking him. Keb. That is who, the Pharaoh thought, he and his people must call upon. The Earth shall set things in order, and the Great River will purified anything which relents to the world order of Keb. The Pharaoh then rose from his feet, bowing to the shrine of Hesthor and then departing the temple, preparing several notes to write to people, including Bor of Hazum and other Rah'mun spiritualists. Rituals must be prepared to appease both Hesthor and Keb, for they both would serve their own role in the Rah'muns struggle against the Isfetian occupation of their country. It was time for purity and the Earth to join in overwhelming force squelch Isfet - for good. Hesthor and Keb

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[!] A simple note was left in reply You have done well young Yandel. I will see to it that you are given your next trial soon. I will call on you when it is ready for you. I have high hopes for your success in our eternal war, Yandel. Do not be a stranger around us in the Keep, you are one of us now. On the Sunlit Path. Just say you are my Initiate and they will grant you entry. -Aurae

Name: Moss Mawce Kervallen Age: 50+ Are you an inhabitant of Dúnkeld (or plan to be): Yes