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Adalfriede deftly wove a hank of horse hair into a brooch, pouring all of her hopes and dreams for young Erwin's future into each braided bump. Finishing the horsehair brooch with green and blue dye, she stored it away deep in the back of her wardrobe, only to be retrieved when the boy came of age and earned it.

Book-Seeker stares hollowly at the flyer, head tilting. It takes a ticket.

"And my councilors ask of me, 'Why do these Southlanders deserve such disdain?', I only wonder how it is not evident enough." She pondered the details of the missive, tossing such into the hearth of the common's quarter before carrying on with the eve. Ellenore was only further convinced that the Outlander held no capacity for honor.

Father Nerium, who was not a Nephilim, scratched his head in confusion. This seemed to him a great way to incite powers of violence upon one's self, specifically those of a nature against the Azdrazi. In his confusion, he took off one of the pieces of paper, if only to add to his archives where another person lived.

Somewhere obsure in Aevos, a Mali'ker sat in deep meditation- the missive before him acting as the center of his inner turmoil. His brows furrowed and smoothed in turn, until finally, Mirasul opened his eyes with his contemplations at rest. "Amador harbors the blood of my late akthal huleyr - in his death, I find purpose to act." He reached for pen and paper, murmuring a declarative"Yyrel vex" before summoning his sorr to deliver the message, which addressed a 'Kasyana, Lady Esfir of Amador.'

"Oh, of course its Cullas." Ventys remarks as she looked over the flier with a very long sigh.

Rezalisa clutched at her cross to hear of the acts of Shadow seeking to seep in to the lands of Hanseti-Ruska. Her rides back to Morteskvan grew to be more and more tense, especially when the sun threatened to dip beneath the horizon - or when it was choked out by the sullen storm clouds of the Ailmere. "Have no fear at heart," she'd always whisper to herself, uttering the phrase taught to her by her mentor.

Theodosya von Augusten, Countess-consort of Hohengarten, nearly collapsed to the ground upon reading her niece's recounting of her harrowing journey within the slimy embrace of such evil beings. Grabbing hold of her skirts to better run, she hastily ambled her way to her husband Friedrich, seeking for him to hold a prayer for the young Baroness - Afterwards setting forth for her homeland to comfort the young phoenix. @DuhPuhWuh

Taking the "One season weekly" route, I'd definitely want to see it tangibly in game. Part of the reason I argue for matching with irl seasons, is people will only decorate their nations appropriately during those seasons regardless; for some strange reason, people only make snowmen during the last 12 or so years in Aeos lol But also I'm biased because I like to play seasonal games during their set season. LoTC in winter would throw off my cozy winter vibes, LoTC in summer would throw off my summer-of-excess vibes

A Nephilim tears one of the little ribbons off, and is on his way thereafter!

THE CAPTIVE IN THE CAVE From Ashes, We Rise EST 143 E.S. - Present | 1590 A.H. - Present ⋅ ───⊱༺⠀☨⠀༻⊰─── ⋅ ISSUED BY THE ON THIS 18TH DAY OF JOMA AG UMUND OF 534 E.S. 16TH OF THE AMBER COLD, 185 S.A. ⋅ ───────────────⊱༺⠀☨⠀༻⊰─────────────── ⋅ IN THE MONTH OF Msitza ag Dargund, 534 E.S. I, Esfir Artemisia Amador, had been forcefully taken from my home by servants of Iblees. Dark beings, one of whom had risen from the dead. Here, I recount my captivity and urge both the Brotherhood of St. Karl and the Holy Canonist Church to act upon these evil miscreants. “I cannot undo what has been done – I can only ensure it does not happen again.” – HENRIK III AMADOR, “WHAT DARKENED OUR DOORSTEP” ⋅ ───────────────⊱༺⠀I⠀༻⊰─────────────── ⋅ THE EVENT TOOK PLACE in the early hours of that Saint’s day. I had been within my home, the Barony of Mondstadt, when I heard a call at my gates. When I answered there was a lone traveler who had coppery-red hair with a scruffy beard, green eyes, and a scar across his right eye. There he had asked me directions to a place where he may peddle his wares. I stepped outside to properly give directions, and we engaged in brief conversation. IT WAS DURING THIS conversation that I had briefly mentioned the Veletzian War, and how my grandmother, the Bl. Queen Amaya of Venzia, was a veteran of such. Upon learning of my heritage, the man had said he was lucky, and that was when a second approached. An incredibly tall figure clad in armor, armed with an axe, came from behind and killed all the plant life around it. Dark magic of sorts, without a doubt. I had of course initially planned on fending off the foes, of course, but I was outnumbered and outmatched, and was thus struck over the head and knocked out. ⋅ ───────────────⊱༺⠀II⠀༻⊰─────────────── ⋅ I HAD SPENT THIRTEEN days in the captivity of these dark beasts. Upon awakening, I noted my surfaces - a dark cavern, dimly lit by soulflame. It was then my captors introduced themselves to me: The undead self-proclaimed King Jormunharr, and his ‘Chief-Killer’ Verethingarr. The latter then left to the kitchen to prepare a most foul meal, which I will describe in more depth later. Meanwhile, Jormunharr told me a story of a former interaction he had with my own father, the then Baron Henrik III Amador, also at the Keep of Queen’s Crossing.1 He revealed to me during such the decapitated head of the late William Temesch whom he had slaughtered in place of my father. It was around this time that Verethingarr had returned with a wretched bowl of stew, grotesque in both appearance and stench. I was then forced to eat this ‘meal’ - what was in it still eludes me, but I can only assume that it was nothing good. THE CONVERSATION CONTINUED WITH the darkspawn, with me bound to a chair. Jormunharr claimed to be the rightful King of the lands now known as Hanseti-Ruska, and had pacted with the Queen Amaya three decades ago. She had challenged the Dark Lord to a Holmgang, or duel of honor, with a Weiss Lord acting as her champion - the name of which was not stated in this retelling. The Weiss Champion won this duel, and as promised, Hanseti-Ruska was spared from the undead terror of Jormunharr for one generation that has now passed. LATER IN THE SAINT’S hours of my captivity, Jormunharr offered me three options after attempting to brainwash me with his rogue morals and sinful antics: First, I could take my family and flee the North. Second, I could remain in Haense and be subject to his wrath in what I can only imagine will add to the endless battle of Good versus Evil. And the third, he bid me to join his legion and betray my Kingdom. For a being so prideful and firm in his beliefs about honor and loyalty, I was disgusted by the mere thought of betraying my Homeland and kin for such a servant of darkness. I deemed him both a hypocrite and a tyrant, adding to this infinite list of sins. 1] What Darkened Our Door ⋅ ───────────────⊱༺⠀III⠀༻⊰─────────────── ⋅ AS THE EVIL-DOERS continued holding me captive, spewing their manipulative and heretical lies, I stood firm in my loyalty to Hanseti-Ruska as both a vassal of the Crown, and a niece of the King. It was then I challenged the Dark Lord; should he prove the victor, he would have my life. We engaged then in a duel. It was short, I confess, and ended with Jormunharr grappling me by the neck and draining me of strength, which rendered me unconscious once more. IT WAS BUT MANY Saint’s hours later that I finally awoke, alone in that cave. I was unbound, and there were no locks on the doors, and so I ran. Once I had reached the outsides once more, I was able to travel back to Haense with few injuries. ⋅ ───────────────⊱༺⠀IV⠀༻⊰─────────────── ⋅ IT IS GODAN I owe my life to during the torment I faced. And that is why I now implore the Brotherhood, The Holy Order of The White Comet, and any other enemy of shadowspawn and evil to assist me in ridding Aevos of the terror of Jormunharr and his undead legion. I was not the first to lose their life to these fiends, but I pray that I may be the last. Any who wish to join me on my conquest, or require information on further details of my captivity, please contact me through bird. AND TO JORMUNHARR: Spitting in your face once wasn’t enough. ⋅ ───────────────⊱༺⠀☨⠀༻⊰─────────────── ⋅ Her Ladyship, ESFIR ARTEMISIA AMADOR, 12th Baroness of Mondstadt, Heiress to the Viscounty of Zvezlund

Throughout the many bars, taverns, clubs, gathering spots, and even inside of outhouses, are posted many slips of paper, all reading the same thing....

Juliya Barclay's brows raised as her smile widened ever so large! "Oh my dear sister! I must pray for this little one for his good health- and visit! How exciting!"

[Written with a weary hand—no, a hand both rigid and unyielding—each stroke of the pen was a battle against its own constraints, these reflections emerged as if drawn from the depths of a restless soul. It is as if the very act of writing was an act of defiance, the ink splotchy and uneven. The text can be found folded neatly next to a notice board. The paper, slightly crumpled from being handled, seemed out of place among the posters and mundane advertisements. Its presence invited passersby to pause and reflect, to unfold the paper and delve into the musings of an unknown author.] What is the self but a construct, a figment, a mirage? We carry the burden of our names and roles as if they are the essence of our being, but in truth, they are nothing but fleeting, insignificant shadows of an ever-changing consciousness, slipping through our fingers like sand. It is only in times of solace and torment intertwined, in the moments between wakefulness and sleep, that these shadows take truthful shape before dissolving into mist. Dreams are false illusions and the heralds of truths half-hidden in their folds. The Oyashiman, with her resilient spirit and trembling leg, rages against the tyranny of pain. She reminds me that life is a concoction of disappointment, reward, and desperation in her path of defiance against the illusion that the world is a domain of suffering. It is in dreams we escape; in dreams that we find the seeds of our deepest longings, our most profound truths. She does not dream much I think, but through her struggle, we see that even amidst shadows there is a whisper of meaning beyond identity. In armor, I am One, an identity forged in battlefield and conflict, despised and hunted. Without it, I am Another, a name that hovers like a ghost, whispering only in the echoing silence of forgotten libraries. Untouchable? Perhaps it is an arrogant conceit. It lives on the edge of understanding, teasing and elusive, shimmering like a mirage that beckons yet never stays to be grasped. The steward of many dead men, with dead ideas persisting in his flesh, with sanguine-gold embers and cryptic wisdom, speaks of a world where we are more than tools in each other’s hands. To be living is to be more than paintbrushes wielded, but masterpieces hidden within the canvas of our own perceptions. It remains a beacon, the golden gift, divine privilege, the light shining on the self, allowing for alignment with all that is. There is peril in dreams. Wondrous and fractal, unfurling in patterns too sublime to map. Elixirs that lead us to wonder, but mothers of disappointment, forges where they are cast. Every step into the garden of dreams is fraught with the thorned ivy of despair beneath blossoms of unparalleled beauty. Do eyes perceive, or is it the fog embracing translucent night? In every challenge, every defiance against limitation, It etches its lessons with delicate and brutal hands alike. Whether chased by shadows in waking life, or dancing in somnolent realms, the pursuit remains immutable. The dance of dreaming and living colliding in the banal and divine, light and dark forging paths filled with fleeting clarity, sibilant in echoing. In every dream, however perilous, from my wearied heart and weary feet, true purpose whispers; the spirit must concur through limited veils. I dare to dream—for to dream is to be. If you dare to dream, beyond the convoluted machinations, the tangled schemes, and the arbitrary morality they've decided, find me.

"Loyalty is meaningless in this day and age, it seems." Valindra mused, clicking her tongue in clear disappointment. Her memories shifted to Lurin's predecessor in Arcas, who's inhabitants were willing to fight, tooth and nail, in war or beyond for even the smallest of ally. She'd let out a hum, jotting down a single warning to herself in the depths of her notebooks. "It is a pity- I thought them above such cowardice. Lurin has entered a spree of self destruction they will not soon recover from."

This Lore has been accepted. Moved to Implemented Lore, it will be sorted to it's appropriate category soon. Please note that if this is playable lore, such as a magic or CA, you will need to write a guide for this piece. You will be contacted regarding the guide (or implementation if it isn’t needed) shortly.