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Ivae'vhai Atmorice read over the the notice. their face contorting into a litter of emotions. Surprise, confusion, finally baffled irritation. Before they chuckled "go back to the history books, relic" the not-so-fenn fenn replied.

Valindra smiled the sun's smile. Signing her lorraine cross, she took a break from sharpening her blade.

Elaranael Drakon scans his eyes over the missive and exhales a small scoff. "Being a Tundrak doesn't just make you princess... " He responds to his cousin (@Wyrvun) with near equal agitation from the words that now hung in the air like lingering dust. "It's real easy to call to arms as what? The thing we've already been doing without some presumptuous woman telling us to? I mean, she may not even be a Tundrak, I could say I am! Does that make me Prince of Fenn?"

Monika’s face dropped as she read the missive. “Vhat? Ea- ea have to go visit him!” She exclaimed, rushing over to Aaun, hoping to find him there.

Laethor Drakon scoffs as he reads the missive. “Oh, please. This can’t be, can it?”

Marinus Corvus Calvissiador, resting in his office after a long day's work at the arena, sorting through the stack of mail piled on top of his desk, had never picked up a quill faster in his life.

Emaelia Drakon scans across the missive before handing it off to her Archon, Aroiia Drakon (@Sygnus_) "Who is this Aelyra? I have not heard of her." A light scoff follows this. "Her words speak truth, but there is naught but inaction. This, this... paper-" Her tone grows bitter, turning to address the room of Drakon, huddling around to hear the missive read aloud after she finished her ramblings "-It's not but a failed attempt to retain some authority, some power! She claims herself a princess. What makes a princess, her blood or who follows her? I say both. How can one be Princess of the 'fenn only penning missives?"

An elder follower of the faith cast a pair of furious, blazing sights over the script. A taloned digit ran 'cross the name of the challenged, 'Aranur,' 'fore returning to the challenger scribed at the bottom. The prince garnered their typical grimace. With crackle and sizzle, the parchment was immolated by a sudden plume of dragonsfire, and the titan rose. A gauntleted fist coiled about the bleak glaive resting beside them, risen to fondly peer over the rayless sun crowning its design. The devout Neare marched elsewhere, seeking this trader...

Now Hiring “FULL TIME POSITIONS” We are seeking instructors and professors for the Academy of Hohkmat in the following fields. ALCHEMY BARDMANCY HOUSEMAGERY DIVINE MAGIC Instructors and teachers will be employed within the Academy’s “Circle of Practical Arts”. Instructors are not required to be Mages, but should be comfortable working with an entirely all mage institution. Duties and Responsibilities include: 1. Providing classes to the general student body in your field. You may hire assistants as necessary. Instruction should focus on how your field of expertise interacts with Voidal arts and its users and be relevant to the student. 2. Managing, designing, and maintaining the physical space for your profession - renovation expenses will be paid for by the Academy. 3. To adhere to all Academy rules and regulations, taking direction from the ‘Head of the Academy’ and the Master of the Circle of Practical Pursuits. Salary Negotiable Send a letter to the Grand Magister, Razad the Fatebinder if interested. SO BOUND GRAND-MAGISTER, Sorcerer-King, Hierophant of the Mysteries, Master of the Ziggurat of Hohkmat

[!] A missive spreads across the realm bearing the seal of the royal house of TUNDRAK, addressed to the archons of the REMNANT BLOODLINES and all those surviving MALI'FENN which made the crossing to Aevos. A harbinger of change has come to Aevos. Tonight, on the 13th of The First Seed, in the Hundred and Seventy-Eighth year of the Second Age, the continent looked up and watched a sapphire star burn across the night sky. The sagas of our kin speak of great, blazing stars from bygone ages, and with each one came a CATACLYSM. These dark hours — the sacking of Frostfall, the ravaging of Lindale, and the Second Siege of Tar'sil, and all those our youth cannot remember — still linger in our annals, their tolls on us nigh insurmountable, and yet through these tales of upheaval and uncertainty we have PERSEVERED as a people. Now, a different type of war stands before us. Now, we are a SCATTERED few. No longer can we afford to turn a blind eye to the lessons of the past. We must heed this star-writ warning BEFORE this change comes to scar the realm. I implore all MALI'FENN to seek community and face the coming tides as one. In this uncertain age of devils and portents I ask you again to take up your thanhium and steel; oppose those deific and voidal magics which threaten the stability of Fin'hesin and our people; and now if never before, find support in one another. It is through adversity that we have always ENDURED, and it is through SOLIDARITY that we will weather the dangers ahead. PRINCESS AELYRA TUNDRAK HEIR PRESUMPTIVE OF AELTHIR II UNTIL THERE COMES ANOTHER

The newly ordained Herald of Strife found the missive entering their iron grasp. They needed only peer over it for a few seconds before a nod followed, one of approval. "It has been too long. The Four Heralds must rise anew to spread the Primeval ways once more, lest we fade into further obscurity through the inaction of generations. As Maleficar are a threat to us, so too is stagnation. We only hope Delmar is versed enough in our ways.."

“It's a lesson. It must be” Perhaps it was a lesson to be thrown off a ship by your mentor. A quest of perseverance. At least, she had hoped that it was – and continued to hope. The battering of the waves must amount to something, and the risk of death had to have meaning. But there were no further splashes of water; no rope thrown down, none to dive after her. Perhaps this was an extended lesson. God, it’s freezing.  “It’s not the season to go swimming.” Vasily – Arrogant and smug. He was a stranger when he pulled her out of the water, dragging her limp body through the sands. He had cause to be arrogant in that instance, but it didn’t stop her from thinking so. And saying it (An appreciative thank you following, of course). He was the first face she saw when she had awoken. A part of her still questioned why he did it – would this count as failing her lesson? Is this a part of it? How was she meant to find her way back to The boat? “You think too much. Come along.” Her time in Reinmar could be defined by two faces. The first was the face of Jeffrey De Wees. She had gone to Reinmar as directed by Vasily, then left to stand alone in front of its looming gates. Entering it felt odd, and she was sure that she looked as out place as she had felt. Perhaps that was why Jeffrey approached her, taking pity on the lost. But he was, undoubtedly, the face which marked the beginning of her stay in the city. He led her to the outer region of the city, past the woods and towards his monastery. Their conversation was formal, polite; kind, even, as he offered to house her within his monastery for the time. It was Jeffrey, too, who then pointed her way to finding her Mentor once again. “Gael. You should look for Gael, the Paladin.” Tilruir’tir of ******* Joma. It was a name that created an impression before you met him. At least, She thought so. She had teased and commented on the matter incessantly, from the moment the name was mentioned. Her reunion with him was as sudden as her departure from him. Quick– unintended. Her investigations for Gael had led her to the steps of Urguan. A daunting task, to locate a man she had never met before, but her hope was enough to drive her feet towards the city. It became a fruitless endeavour at first, as she saw no signs of the man she was meant to find. But then came Tilruir’tir of ******* Joma. Of course it was him. The second face of Reinmar did not have a name, nor even a face. Well, not a name that she could remember. He had found her when she conversed with Tilrurir’tir – Or Til, as she called him – within the Church. The pair had returned there following their reunion in Urguan, bickering, before the man interrupted their way. We're Agents of Janus. The moment those words came from Til’s mouth, there was no room in Reinmar left for the both of them. No amount of back and forth exchanges could change the matter. By the end of their meeting, the matter was settled: They were not welcomed. Kicked out of, yet another, form of home – Trespassing was evidently the only option left. Til didn’t know where the Sage had gone with the boat; though his departure from it kinder, stepping off on the docks rather than shoved off the railings. Now, they were left to find accommodations of their own. And She did. Sort of. If trespassing counted as accommodation. The cabin was old and unused. Snow had blown through the broken windows, and the locks on the doors had long broken. Perhaps there was a bit of blood, but nothing that Til and her couldn’t clean themselves. It was perfect. “Surely the lesson is over soon?” “I think he forgot us” She uttered these words as she led Til back to the place Vasily had found her. An open beach, with the forests a few steps back from it. The Sky was clearer than it was when The Sage pushed her, the waters calmer and the sun kinder. What a joke. But the cabin was cleaned, and she was here now with Til – she could afford to be patient. Perhaps that was the lesson. Not perseverance, Patience. If there was a lesson to be learned, at all. "Come along, Serana. He'll come back when he wishes to – He always does."

A Radiant Renaissance 13th of the First Seed, Year 178 SA Dear Denizens of Aevos As many of you have come to know, we of Murkwater are a folk who value coin and clear cut deal over religion. For greed bears its merits, it brings a common honor, and understanding of personal want and growth. Yet there are other paths, other ideals that share this model. Take for example, the Path of Umbrage. The Sacred way of the Old Dark, that for near half a century now, has come to be spread in a diminished setting. Its words not made manifest, its ideals of expansion and magical renaissance. Not made manifest, for its herald lays languishing. Idle as one can be, and without proper vision for the future. The title of Herald of Umbrage, has been left destitute and lacking. Those who practice such, and those who learn from its teachings, left lost or worse. Doing nothing. It is why I, a wander who sees not through the lenses of zealotry, but through the gaze of an artisan. It is as an artisan, and wielder of the Darkened Art. That I take back that, which has been left in the hands of the Mystics. Whereby the title, Herald of Umbrage, returns to those who innovate and expand that very original art. It is with such, that I challenge you, Aranur. For the very title you bear, that which is the Herald of Umbrage. I give you a single Grave Week to respond to this challenge, otherwise I shall take this title, and use it to forge a more radiant future for my craft and kin. Let our Renaissance begin Signed Reynard Pharamir Delmar, The Lord of Crows

"I treated this mans head wound." A one Catherine de Lewes would mention to those around her.

Maiteas would read the letter before reciting a prayer, he had learned for his Uncle and then checking his pockets for one mina. . .

Upon a visit to Castle Vissingren, and seeing Annette's name spelled correctly on the paintings and the garden, Adalfriede made an amendment to her writing.

I didn't describe it too well but basically, think of it as a ghoul situation. They are more related to undead than actually demons. It just the souls that possess them aren't the undead version of that person, just more of a vessel or host for the demons on the other side.

Maerryl reads the missives. Anger, confusion and disbelief plaster her face, "Wha' the bloody hells is goin' on?!" She picks up her things and heads deeper into the city.

Cool lore but slight question, these are demons of presumably the moz but can only be created and tamed by necromancers?