The Demon sat by the hearth in its master’s basement after a long day of raiding and pillaging. Today was a let-down, it had not acquired more than a few measly souls from those who dared not to fight back; yet, it did come across a most mundane possession. A book, stolen from one Rhaenyra during her captivity.

Licking its talon and swiping open the book, it began to read.

“The Diary of Rhaenyra

(of no notable surname)”

Boring. It licked its talon and flipped several pages. Soon did the Demon's attention draw grown to the page, leaning its head against its elbow as its dozen fiery eyes began to read with intent. In particular, did the tale of Rhaenyra and her friend Efritz interest it. Snacking upon the flesh of its latest victim, the demon settled in for a night of reading by the fire.

“…I even went off with Lord Efritz to the NGS in Petra

 so I could show him my favorite play!”

“…Today I met a fairy with Efritz. At least I think it was a fairy, 

for it spewed fae dust and gave us berries. It was rather cute, this little fairy. 

Efritz lost money at the casino down in the Anchor in Rittersburg, 

I had to laugh at his expense.”
 

“…Did I mention Efritz bought me starjars? That was nice of him. 

I'll pay him back for them, but still, it was nice of him. He called me poor,

because I'd made a joke about him doing that for me and then he said '”Why would I do that?'”

Thought for a moment and said 'Oh you probably don't have as much money as me.' 

Which is true, but ouch, my feelings. 

[!] A frowny face is scribbled in the pages.”

“…People keep asking me about Efritz by the way for some reason? 

A girl named Naoise (who is somebody else but shhh you didn't hear that from ME journal) 

asked me about if I'd marry him. I never really think about marrying ANYONE. 

It's not as if I don't find him attractive, I suppose, but like I told

you journal. I have to be SUCCESSFUL in life to get any of my goals done,

 and I can't really do that if I'm busy being dreamy over a boy. Eugh!

Sometimes he's quite arrogant, but I don't know, 

I suppose I like hanging around him because he's a good friend. 

Even if he does think he's better than me..”

“I called Efritz handsome on accident earlier, Journal. 

Why did I do that?

I played it off pretty well, but do I REALLY think that? 

I mean, he has nice eyes I guess.”
 

“Ef won a tourney today and I gave him my favor! 

Then I beat him in a fight.  

He said my favor was the one only that truly mattered. I

I'm sure he didn't mean it like THAT, but. . .

ugh. I can't pretend it anymore, 

I'm hopeless, diary. He just. . .

he's really grown on me, like a tumor.
 

“I called Efritz handsome on accident earlier, Journal. 

Why did I do that?

I played it off pretty well, but do I REALLY think that? 

I mean, he has nice eyes I guess.”

“So I finally went ahead asked Efritz to court me. 

I don't know, I suppose when people ask me about him enough 

I realize I may have been the only person other than him who had been oblivious to it. 

It's not that I want other people to speak for me or decide how I feel, 

but. . .nobody really has managed to make me feel like Efritz has. 

He makes me laugh, he makes me smile, and he drives me CRAZY.

[...]

 He has declared us as courting now after speaking with his parents.”
 

“Efritz seems... off. I can't deny that it's felt odd lately talking to him. 

I can tell he's still himself in some ways, but in others he just doesn't feel like himself anymore.

 I wonder if it was something I did.”

“It's fine,

I'll be fine.”

The demon closed the book with one hand, dust and particles flying out as the flame nearby snapped to a cold sizzle. The demon brought its freehand up to massage the bridge of its nose before inhaling.

“Nothing quite like the tears of a failed romance to end the day. Perhaps I should find this Efritz, and...”

And then footsteps resounded outside the door. . . swiftly, the demon hid the book behind its back, two hands conspicuously keeping it hidden from anyone who entered.

The creature stepped into the study before locking eyes with the other demon, it looked around, its golden orbs staring at the flames then to the Rakaal.
“Want to talk about it?”

It asked

“About what?”
Responded the narrator.

“You were reading outloud.”

Reminded the intruder..

“. . .”

The Zar’ei stared at its fellow demon.

“I. . . will just. . .”
The creature slooooowwwlllyyyy closed the door behind itself before tiptoeing away after the door was closed, leaving the other Zar’ei to his reading.

The ghost stared vacantly out the window of the second floor of Alduun's tavern. Rigel's eyes swept across the street below, his mind churning as the harsh, cloudy sunlight split through the air through the window, bathing him in its uncomfortable heat. He couldn't have cared less even as the pain built. He gazed at the people talking and laughing in the street below, enjoying their lives. Lives. The very word caused the bile to rise in his throat. He gazed at them, the hypocrites. Laughing while his blood was on all their hands. Humanity could no longer be trusted or revered. They were dead to him now, as he was dead to them. He looked down upon them, just pawns to be mocked. And then he began to laugh.

Fury and pain

Rope to chain

Grey to black

So it begins.

OOC:

Issued the 286th Year of the Second Age by the office of

THE HIGH QUEEN 

As the summer months approach, so does that of a trip outside of homes. Thus, we welcome all to the event to mark such a shift of seasons with a thematic masquerade! Participants are expected to don a nature inspired outfit with a mask, as well as bring along a little trinket to give away to others. 

THE SOCIAL TOURNAMENT

Whether it be flowers, ferns or carved statues of nature’s make - most anything can stand as a trinket to give guests. Guests are tasked to make a token along with their themed outfit, to give to those they deem worthy of offering good and plenty conversation. By the end of the night, whoever holds the most individual tokens in their grasp - shall be given the title of  victor of this social tournament. Eligible of winning a mina prize or a tailored outfit of their choosing

HER ROYAL MAJESTY, Tari-Ashael Malôs Harren Arthalion, by the blessing of Aeradar, High Queen of Idunia, Chiefess of the Númenedain and the Tribe of Harren, Defender of the Númenaranyë, Sovereign of Alduun, Master of the Sharadûn, Protector of the Adunians, Knight of the Realm, Ascendant of Orodaeglir, Trailbearer of Tar-Númenetâr, Slayer of Gralhîw 

HER LADYSHIP, Elenydd Îdhaliel Sulcelia Glennmaer of House Glennmaer, 

Ascendant of Orodaeglir, The Tari’s Nárhînil

Issued the 281th Year of the Second Age by the office of
THE HIGH WIZARD

The Sanctum is an order of disciplined mages devoted to the mastery, understanding, and responsible use of magic. It exists to train those who possess not only talent, but the restraint and humility required to wield power with purpose/ This is not a place for reckless ambition or unchecked experimentation. The Sanctum stands for structure, accountability, and wisdom, shaping mages who seek control over chaos, and meaning over raw power/ Here, every member is both student and teacher, contributing to a living tradition built on shared knowledge, experience, and growth. Guided by sacred teachings and generations of practice, the Sanctum preserves the balance of magic and prepares those worthy to uphold it. In simple terms, the Sanctum exists to ensure that magic is not merely used, but understood, respected, and mastered.

The Sanctum seeks only the most disciplined among aspiring mages, those who possess not only talent, but restraint and humility. It turns away any who would recklessly pursue the volatile and corrupting depths of the void, for such paths promise power without permanence, and strength without understanding. Instead, the Sanctum cultivates practitioners who recognize that true mastery is not found in excess, but in control; not in dominance, but in intention. To them, magic is not a force to be conquered, but a responsibility to be carried with clarity, wisdom, and purpose.

In duty and responsibility, the Sanctum of Avalier, as an Order. . .
🟆. . . Stands against the rise of anarchist magi, who would wield magic free of structure, consequence, or accountability.
🟆. . . Serves as a fellowship of mentor and student, where knowledge, wisdom, skill, and prowess are exchanged.
🟆. . . Believes that magic must exist within a framework, following and guided by the doctrine, by the Epistle of the Magi.
🟆. . . Bears the privilege of being able to practice the arcane is an act of authorship, accountability, and great responsibility.
🟆. . . Believes that to wield magic without reflection is to speak without understanding, to eventually become lost to one’s own voice.
🟆. . . Aids in the Host of Idunia, through being the eyes through the infinite, the void.
🟆. . . Assists in the purging of magical corruption, cleansing the taint from the ailing world.
🟆. . . Must value above all, Mercy, Humility, Reverence, and Restraint. 

Yet the culture of the Sanctum is not built on doctrine alone, nor sustained by philosophy in isolation. It is shaped by generations of lived experience, by mages who struggled, failed, endured, and ultimately refined their craft through centuries of devotion. Tradition within the Sanctum is not rigid, but tempered. It evolves as each generation contributes its insight while honouring the foundation laid before it. Stories of miscast spells, of hubris undone, and of wisdom hard won are preserved not only as warnings but as essential teachings, forming a collective memory that binds the Order together.

At its heart, the Institution is a fellowship of teachers. Every member, from the newest initiate to the most venerable arch-mage, exists in a dual role as both student and mentor. Knowledge is not hoarded, but circulated, tested through discourse, sharpened through critique, and strengthened through shared pursuit. Instruction is not simply given; it is lived, observed, and embodied. In this way, the Sanctum becomes more than a place of learning. It becomes a continuum of understanding where growth is both individual and communal.

Like the High Wizard who leads them, they embody the enduring principle that the strength of magic is not measured by its magnitude, nor by the number who wield it, but by the integrity, wisdom, and mastery of those entrusted with its use.

Admission into the Sanctum is neither common nor freely granted. The Order maintains a deliberate, carefully limited number of members, ensuring that its ranks are composed only of those who embody its principles with unwavering discipline, integrity, and loyalty to The High Kingdom of Idunia. As such, entry is by invitation alone, extended only after a candidate has undergone a rigorous series of assessments, evaluations, and formal interviews designed to measure not only their capability, but their character. Those who seek entry may first be recognized as associates, individuals permitted to work alongside the Sanctum and observe its practices. While not yet full members, these associates are considered prospective candidates, their actions and conduct closely regarded as they move, in time, toward possible inclusion within the Order.

Formal assessments for membership are conducted every [2] OOC months. These evaluations may take place individually or in small groups, depending on the nature of the trials. Each assessment is designed to test not only magical proficiency, but discipline, judgment, and alignment with the Sanctum’s ethos. Acceptance is not decided lightly. A candidate must earn the approval of both the High Wizard and the Tar or Tari, ensuring that their admittance reflects both arcane mastery and trust in their responsibility.

Those seeking to be Associates would find it easier to be claimed as an associate. Truly, the journey only begins there, whether it be a Mage or Spellblade seeking to take on their trials of membership, they must do the following. . .

🟆. . . They must undergo the Sacred Oath of Availer under the High Wizard of Idunia.
🟆. . . They must be a Citizen of Idunia who has sworn the Oath of Tar-Númenetar.
🟆. . . The Mage in question must recite the Creeds of the Sanctum by memory.
🟆. . . They must recall, recite, and adhere to the Epistle of the Magi.
🟆. . . Acquire three letters, accounting the arcane prowess and upstanding character of the mage, from: A Knight of the Host of Idunia, a Citizen of Idunia, and a sworn Numenedain of Idunia.
🟆. . . A member of high rank must administer a trial for the associate; finding their result either adequate or satisfactory will grant him the rank of member. For trials, High Rank members may refer to the Codex Regulae Sancti Interioris for trials.

M O R E   O N   T H E  S A N C T U M   O F   A V A L I E R’ S   C U L T U R E

SIGNED,

HIS ROYAL MAJESTY, Tar-Pharazôn Auranion Harren Arthalion, By the blessing of Aeradar,
High King of Idunia, Chief of the Númenedain and the Tribe of Harren, Defender of the Númenaranyë, Sovereign of Alduun, Prince of Númendil, Templar of Saint Michael the Archangel, Knight of the Realm, Master of the Sharadûn, Protector of the Adunians, Ascendant of Orodaeglir, Trailbearer of Tar-Númenetar

HER EXCELLENCY, Vivien Oláhún Aen Tarem,
Elder of the Aelweni council, The Dreaming Witch, The Second Merlin.

Issued the 281st Year of the Second Age by the office of
THE HIGH WIZARD

T H E   C U L T U R E

F O R E W O R D

Forged in the crucible of lived experience, shaped by generations of mages who struggled, failed, endured, and ultimately refined their craft and prowess of the arcane through centuries of dedication, was the culture of the Sanctum of Avalier established. Not built alone on doctrine, nor sustained by philosophy in isolation, the Sanctum succeeds generations of predecessors; a tempered formation that is built upon insight, innovation, and understanding that honours the foundation laid by Magi who came before. Every miscast spell, every act of hubris undone, every hard-won triumph of mastery is commemorated and remembered. They not only serve as warnings but also as living lessons, preserved as a collective memory that unites the Order of Mages. 

Apprentices echo the past from their mentors, teachers, and comrades, absorbing the wisdom and lessons of those who have walked the path before them. In this way, does the Sanctum emphasize itself as more than a school or guild; instead, it is a living continuum of knowledge, discipline, and shared purpose, where every mage contributes to an ever-evolving legacy of excellence and responsibility. 

Mages, however, differ widely across cultures, each shaped by distinct traditions and philosophies. And in this instance, within the sanctum, Idunian Magi differ: preserving a deep connection to their heritage, reflecting the Aduniac style of fashion and casting methods, creating a discipline and recognizable form of their arcanic practice. Beyond this, are these magi recognized individually, with no single culture or external influence that encompasses them in a single definition; each practitioner expressing their craft in ways that are personal, inventive, and often unique, making the world of magic a diverse and unpredictable tapestry. 

Thus, does the Sanctum of Avalier not only foster and nourish what is formed by the arcane in the present, but also honours and acknowledges the roots and innovation of mages past.

.

D A I L Y    L I F E

Life in the Sanctum is immersive, where mages and spellblades share workshops, libraries, and training halls, where study, experimentation, and mentorship are constant. Such a space is communal, fostering and encouraging the success of those who inhabit those spaces within their daily lives. Success is measured not by the raw power of these magi but through integrity, discipline, and wisdom. Mistakes are treated as lessons, and failure is embraced as an essential part of growth, where intention to strive for the better and improvement in craft is rewarded, and recklessness and overzealousness are punished. Every member participates in the cycle of learning and teaching, ensuring that knowledge is preserved, tested, and improved upon. In the Sanctum, Magic is not merely wielded; it is lived. 

Its culture emphasizes that in every action, spell, or decision, there is a weight that shapes both the individual and the growing world. Here, mastery is inseparable from responsibility, where growth is both personal and communal, forming a legacy that spans generations. 

Thus, do the mages of the Sanctum of Avalier adhere and follow in their four Creeds, not by law, but in lifestyle.
The Creeds of the Sanctum of Avalier are not laws to be enforced nor are they to be spoken mindlessly: if anything, they are principles of a lifestyle that a mage follows whilst in their discipline of the arcane. They provide clarity, stability and responsibility to those who wield magic, encouraging mages to flourish should they choose to embrace the lifestyle with open arms and mind. Mages of the Sanctum who internalize these truths not only find greater control in their arcanic craft, but a solidified foundation of the charge of a mage.

T H E   C R E E D S 

I. FIRST CREED 🟆 THE BURDEN OF MERCY
“Our magic is a burden, a tool, and an extension of ourselves. Let not this extension bring harm to the innocent or the unknowing.”

II. SECOND CREED 🟆 THE HUMILITY OF ORIGIN
“Our magic is a burden, a tool, and an extension of ourselves. We are not gods, nor ascended beings, we are humble seekers, children of GOD. Let us remember this in every step we take.”

III. THIRD CREED 🟆 THE REVERENCE BEYOND MAGIC
“Our magic is a burden, a tool, and an extension of ourselves. Let us not worship it, but see it for what it is a means, not an end. Revere the Creator above all, and seek repentance when magic is turned toward the enemies of Heaven.”

IV. FOURTH CREED 🟆 THE DISCIPLINE OF RESTRAINT
“Our magic is a burden, a tool, and an extension of ourselves. Let us not squander it in vanity or idleness, nor call upon it where simple means would suffice.”

B E L I E F S  &   P H I L O S O P H Y

Philosophically, does the Sanctum of Avalier stand firm in opposition to the anarchist magi who would wield magic free of structure, naive and arrogant, unthinking of consequence or accountability. To the Sanctum, the freedom of understanding the arcane is not without cost nor enlightenment; instead, it is but an erosion, the slow unravelling of both the self and world. Magic must exist within a framework, a structure, where with each spell cast, there is both intention and meaning. Their doctrine is guided by the Epistle of the Magi, drawn by the Holy Scrolls, which do not serve as law, but as a living compass, defending the moral, both the spiritual and existential responsibilities of every mage that resides under the banner of the High Kingdom of Idunia. These teachings emphasize that the practice of the arcane is an act of authorship upon reality itself, where each mage is accountable not only for their intent, but for the ripples that the will of their magic creates. To wield magic without reflection is to speak without understanding, and to become lost to one’s own voice.

To live by this philosophy is to not wield magic as a tool, but a form of authorship and individual expression within reality itself. Every action is deliberate, considered, and never separated from consequence, creating a constant inner discipline and habit that shapes their internal thoughts. Impulse, arrogance, and naivety are treated as a danger. Restraint and control become instinct. Wielding such power echoes as a practitioner’s patience, to become more observant in nature, to not take pride in spectacle but to honour precision and necessity. It is not a rejection of such a power, but a respect for their craft. To study it, understand it, and the authority and right of being able to use it at their will. Their confidence does not hail from dominance but clarity and certainty. 

Magic becomes not a practice where one is limited. Instead, a responsibility and privilege, to know and control the arcane.

O N   T H E   V O I D  &  M A G I 

The Void is a realm of nothingness, pure potential, from which magic is drawn, but it should be cautioned that it is dangerous and not meant for those of the Mortal Plane to disturb carelessly. In the beginning, there was nothing, and that nothingness is the Void, yet Aeradar, GOD, stood apart from it, yet in perfect relation to it, just as an artist is to a blank canvas. The Void was not GOD, nor equal to Him, but through Him, became the stage upon which existence could unfold. It is not merely emptiness, but the profound, endless, and vast multitude of possibilities, unshaped: a realm in which nothing exists, but from it, everything could. From this paradox, the Mortal Plane draws forth the arcanic practice of magic, the raw, untamed essence that magi have learned to wield: Voidal Magic.

Voidal Magic is the art of reaching into the boundless absence and giving it shape, purpose, and will, fuelled by mana. It is the act of calling something from nothing and willing it into our plane.

It is a tool and a BURDEN. . .

I. FIRST 🟆 BODILY DETERIORATION
It weakens the body. The mortal form was not designed to channel the strain of the Void. Flesh falters, bones tire, and vitality wanes not because the soul is harmed, but because the vessel is finite. We are merely mortal, and the harms do tax what is temporary, attempting to withstand the infinite. Furthermore, their minds are warped, making it challenging to seek their gaze beyond the unknown. Henceforth, mages are advised to seek advice and counsel, to learn how to navigate themselves and others.

II. SECOND 🟆 TEARING THE VEIL
It tears at the Veil, the sacred boundary set by GOD to shield the world from the formless abyss. Each act of Voidal Magic is a breach, a wound in reality, that must be carefully controlled, lest it widen beyond repair. Thus, by nature, it is the duty and responsibility of a mage to seal and heal what wounds GOD’s creation, lest it reap a greater consequence.

The Sanctum teaches that the void is not an enemy, but neither is it a friend. It is a force to be understood, respected, and feared in equal measure.

O N   A V A L I E R
Mercy. Humility. Reverence. Restraint. 

Legends speak softly, carried upon the wind, through forgotten halls, through mountains traversed by an Ancient Wizard who once walked the breadth of the lands, once known as Aegis and Vailor. Footsteps left no empire, no throne, no monument of stone; and yet, he exists in mere tales and stories, exchanged over eons through tongue. Whilst scarce, they scatter like embers through generation, kept alive not by certainty, but by reverence. 

Few claim to follow his path, and fewer understand it.

To the common telling, he is remembered as the archetype of the arcane master: A figure cloaked in flowering robes, crowned with a pointed hat, bearing a tome and staff alike. A wielder of immense knowledge, a scholar whose quill danced across parchment, birthing tales of heroes, rising against darkness - not merely a participant of magic, but an embodiment. The Great Caster. The Wiseman. A myth shaped by the imagination of those who seek to define power through image.

But these tellings are not false; instead, they are incomplete.

A Master of the Arcane, but equally a Servant to Wisdom. Avalier is not a figure of worship, nor an icon to be exalted. Instead, he is an example: The Guide. A Scholar, not consumed by knowledge. He is remembered not for his dominion of the arcane, but for restraint, for intention. Where others seek grandeur, the greater power and dominance over the arcane, instead, he models balance, responsibility, and humility of the privilege of harnessing the void. He was a favoured idealist, embracing both the structure and wonder, and the idea of the ‘true mage’. Whimsical and mysterious, threads of the same tapestry, he understood that magic was not merely a force to command but a language through which creation beyond imagination whispered its presence. 

For many who believe in Avalier, whether as man, myth, or divine instrument of sorcery, many chase his image, but in truth, do they value the truth: A true mage is not measured by what they can do, but by what they choose to do. 

Mercy. Humility. Reverence. Restraint. 

R I T E S ,  C E R E M O N I E S  &  T R A I N I N G

In past years, mages would stick to themselves, isolated in towers, researching and pondering about the future, where the world had accepted the practice of the arcane, a mere daydream, an intangible hope. However, the Sanctum take mind to their abilities, and believe that aside from what they learn, the practice of honing their magic and their comprehension of it. Like a knight training with his weapon to hone movement by muscle memory, a mage and practitioner of sorcery must take their time to understand their limits: mentally, physically, and magically. 

Thus, do the magi of the Sanctum of Avalier hold the following responsibilities and practices:

(Warning some of these trainings are still in development)

Below details the responsibilities of the Order of Magi, through the Sanctum of Avalier. . .

M O R E    O N   T H E   S A N C T U M   O F   A V A L I E R
[LINK HERE SPOILER]

Furthermore, do they take on the practice of wielding a conduit through which their will is manifested and refined into a given form; whether it takes shape through a grimoire, wand, stave, or more unorthodox instruments, mages use these ‘items’ as an extension of themselves, which elevates their control and intent, to materialize it into reality. The creation of these conduits is deeply unique and personal from mage to mage: beginning by gathering materials of significance, fragments that resonate their essence, studies, and life journey. These components are not chosen at random, but with careful consideration, where each face is a facet reflecting their individual identity and magical inclination. Once collected, it is then forged or assembled by the mage’s own hand or by a skilled artificer, where the Arcane Crystal, a rare construct, is formed from the mage’s own mana, serving as the core focus, binding to its wielder, a reflection of the mage itself. Not only does this Arcane Focus become a symbol of their discipline, understanding, and mastery, but a manifestation of the path they have walked, and the power they have learned to control.

The Sanctum of Avalier’s Culture is steeped in Rituals, where each ceremony reinforces the values of
Mercy, Humility, Reverence, and Restraint:

V. ACTIVITIES 🟆 OF THE ARTS & CONTROL
Mages find themselves not only in need to both train and master their art, but also, in lesser ideal forms, be capable of comforting and dazzling the public. Whilst spectacles of their magical feats are not for the likes of boasting, they can serve the purpose of lifting the spirits of many during periods of woe. Performers, much like bards and jesters, may use low or lesser spells to conjure a variety of spectacles. Though across it, the emphasis of control weighs heavily. In every celebration, ceremony, and event, the Sanctum of Avalier reinforces identity, as in everything, and each spell is another lesson in discipline, intention, and shared understanding - forming a unity between the communal strength of magi. 

Thus, are the following activities conducted culturally by the mages, witches and wizards of the Sanctum:
 

SIGNED

HER EXCELLENCY, Vivien Oláhún Aen Tarem,
Elder of the Aelweni council, The Dreaming Witch, The Second Merlin

Issued the 281st Year of the Second Age by the office of

THE HIGH WIZARD

Throughout the descendants of our kind, God has revealed to us the great marvels of the outer realms. Through His boundless power, He has shaped beings of countless forms and species, each speaking and sounding in ways unique to themselves. In His design, He has woven diversity, wonder, and above all, us. Within the ancient scrolls, it is written that God created the world and, in that first moment of order, He separated our realm from the Void. Upon beholding His creation, He called it Good. Yet one mystery remains beyond our understanding: if the world is His work of light and life, then what place does the Void hold within it? What truth lies hidden in that endless darkness?

In our pursuit to unravel such an enigma, we seek those rare individuals who, through extraordinary effort and brilliance, devote themselves to the study of these mysteries. They guide, instruct, and defend this land and educate the finest and most radiant of our lands and those beyond them.

Thus was established the highest seat of wisdom and arcane mastery; the office of the High Wizard, known more simply by the ancient title: MERLIN.

“A Mage does not command the arcane; they listen to it, question it, and bend it only when the world itself dares to be wrong.”
-Aelthir Vaelion 

There exists no recorded history, nor any recollection in ancient archives, of a magician, seer, or mystic who has ever borne the title of High Wizard, Witch, or Mage. Yet now, as the whimsical forces of Idunia’s magical plane grow ever more vivid and tangible, the world itself seems to prepare for such a figure, an individual capable of perceiving and understanding the grand design that governs magic in all its forms. 

The High Mage of the Harren Court is not merely a wielder of arcane power, but a soul defined by humility and an unyielding hunger to comprehend the mysteries of existence. They hold a steadfast belief that all manifestations of magic, no matter how subtle or grand, fall within the scope of their responsibility. It is their solemn duty to seek knowledge, unravel truth, and offer wisdom in counsel to the High King of Idunia. Yet with such responsibility comes restraint. The High Wizard must move with grace and cordiality, never overstepping to the point of disruption, nor interfering with the natural unfolding of events. They are, above all, a listener; attentive, patient, and deliberate in both thought and action.

In essence, the High Mage stands as the living embodiment of magic itself: a reflection of its balance, its wonder, and its discipline. They are not only a master of the arcane, but the very ideal of what it means to be an Idunian Mage.

T H E   H I G H   W I Z A R D ’S   D U T Y

It is the solemn duty of the High Wizard to educate, guide, and safeguard the realm of Idunia from the perils of uncontrolled magic. Through their knowledge and vigilance, they stand as a bulwark against arcane catastrophe, ensuring that the forces of the unseen do not bring ruin upon the lands and their people. Among many shields and spears, the High King deploys against the ill-spawn upon the battlefield, the High Wizard stands apart. Though capable of wielding immense power in times of war, their foremost purpose lies not in conquest, but in counsel. 

The High Wizard must. . .
🟆. . . Swear fealty to and swear the Sacred Oath of Avalier and the Oath of  Tar-Númenetar to the High Kingdom of Idunia.
🟆. . . Recite the Creeds of the Sanctum by memory.
🟆. . . Recall, recite, and adhere to the Epistle of the Magi.
🟆. . . Have a profound understanding of the paranormal and the arcane.
🟆. . . Utilize their gifts to provide insight into the mysteries that cannot be answered by mortals alone.
🟆. . . Be a scholar, to provide their knowledge to stand as a guardian of the High Kingdom of Idunia.
🟆. . . Stand and take the charge as the bulwark against the encroaching dangers of the void; whether in the form of Voidal Hollows, Tears, or other aberrations born of reckless or forbidden magic.
🟆. . . Stand in the preservation of Aeradar’s creation and will.

They stand not only for the kingdom, but for the preservation of creation itself: the protection of the faithful, the safeguarding of mortal descendants, and the enduring will of God. In all things, the High Wizard is the balance between power and restraint, an unwavering protector against both the chaos of magic and the darkness beyond it.

“The Sanctum does not shape those who enter, it reveals them, quietly stripping away pretence until only truth has the courage to remain.”

— Caelis Thorne

An institution of the High Kingdom of Idunia, with a commitment to mages disciplined with restraint and humility, The Sanctum of Avalier, with the High Wizard overseeing and presiding, cultivates practitioners of the arcane, who seek to understand and demonstrate true power rooted in control, wisdom, and purpose. Whether regarded as a guild, enclave, or sacred order of the High Kingdom, it is not defined by its size or number of magi; instead, it is defined to stand against the rise of anarchist magic, which wield the arcane without structure or accountability. Teachings derived from the Epistle of the Magi, drawn from the Holy Scrolls, those of the Sanctum of Avalier seek such as a compass and an ethos, a reminder of the moral and spiritual responsibility of every mage within the High Kingdom.

Yet the culture of the Sanctum is not built on doctrine alone. It is shaped by generations of those who lived, experienced, and refined their magic through centuries of study, failure, and mastery. The Institution is, at its heart, a fellowship of teachers. Every member, from initiate to arch mage, is both student and mentor, contributing to a legacy of shared knowledge and disciplined growth.

To embody the principles, just as the High Wizard does, is to hold themselves to the standards of integrity, wisdom, and mastery against those who corruptly wield it.

M O R E   O N   T H E   S A N C T U M   O F   A V A L I E R
 

T H E   A V A L I E R ‘S  P A S S I N G

"Pour ceux qui veindront après"

In ages past, it was customary for students to inherit a spell or sacred artifact from their former master upon the completion of their training, most often at the moment of the master’s passing. In this act, the torch of knowledge was not merely handed down but ignited anew, symbolizing the continuation of wisdom through successive generations. This tradition endures across many orders and disciplines, and it remains a defining rite in the succession of the highest seat of Wizardry.

Upon the death, removal, or honourable discharge of the High Wizard, a sacred rite known as the Availer’s Passing is performed. This ritual, rooted in the ancient example set by Availer for their descendants, serves as the conduit through which will, knowledge, and wisdom are entrusted to the next bearer of the mantle.

Upon the death, removal, or honourable discharge of the High Wizard, Avalier’s Passing is performed in which . . .

🟆. . .  The High Wizard, or the High King or Queen, selects a student or individual mage among the High Kingdom of Idunia to inherit the seat of the Chamber of Wizards.
🟆. . . They must have already sworn fealty to and sworn the Sacred Oath of Avalier and the Oath of Númenetar to the High Kingdom of Idunia.
🟆. . . Upon the selection of the individual, the ceremony begins in which a Hat is bestowed upon the mage and the Sacred Oath of Avalier is sworn, in completion; in such will the individual take the charge of the High Wizard and the title of MERLIN.

In the instance that more than one is selected, a trial must be completed to filter and choose the best candidate for the position.


T R I A L S   O F   A V A L I E R ' s P A S S I N G
A small peek as to some trials done to mages who become the High Wizard

Within this section lies the line of the High Wizard. It is predominantly used to keep track of the past individuals who hold the seat and charge of Merlin, as the seat is not easily given up; a high wizard may be removed or replaced with someone more capable upon the word of the High King, or even after they have lost their lives in service to the kingdom.

THE HIGH WITCH OF THE HIGH KINGDOM OF IDUNIA
Vivien Oláhún Aen Tarem, Elder of the Aelweni council, The Dreaming Witch, The Second Merlin.

SIGNED,

HIS ROYAL MAJESTY, Tar-Pharazôn Auranion Harren Arthalion, By the blessing of Aeradar,
High King of Idunia, Chief of the Númenedain and the Tribe of Harren, Defender of the Númenaranyë, Sovereign of Alduun, Prince of Númendil, Templar of Saint Michael the Archangel, Knight of the Realm, Master of the Sharadûn, Protector of the Adunians, Ascendant of Orodaeglir, Trailbearer of Tar-Númenetar

HER EXCELLENCY, Vivien Oláhún Aen Tarem,
Elder of the Aelweni council, The Dreaming Witch, The Second Merlin.

Issued in the 286th Year of the Second Age By the office of

THE HARREN COURT

To the Citizens of Idunia, and those of the allied nations, and the residents of Azuras,

It has been through the ages of Barrowton to the High Kingdom of Idunia that the revelry and activity of jousting has ever been a prominent practice among the Idunians. Whilst originally such entertainment had once been a practice of those of the Knights, through the likes of their chivalrous acts, it is now commonly practised between all ages and rankings, as a form of merriment: whether it be a cause for celebration, or simply to lift the spirits of the Realm’s people. 

Let it be proclaimed across the realms, by the Will and Patronage of the High King of Idunia, Tar-Pharazôn, that a grand Joust is to be held in the fairgrounds of the capital of Idunia, Alduun!

This grand event shall be held on

FRIDAY, MAY 29ND - STARTING AT 7 PM EST!

T H E    J O U S T

STARTS AT 7:15 PM EST

Hosted by His Lordship, Rónahón Vourkehardt, this tournament shall be held to the standard Idunian rules!

From the acts of chivalry and honour, it is encouraged by all to joust in favour, whether it is to declare it for the intentions of a sir or maiden’s hand, or for the righteous and honourable House or Kingdom. Boldly proclaim it, for those who succeed in their jousting feat shall truly be honoured amongst all present at the festivity.

SINGLE ELIMINATION!

• One knock-off per round!
• Re-attempt until someone is knocked off.
• No second chances!

A betting pool will be set up to allow betting!
 

Betting shall be conducted by His Lordship to wager on who shall reign over the contestants at the revelry. Those who shall bet amongst the pool can wager a minimum of 20 mina. Those who lose their bets may not bet again and will ultimately lose what is wagered. Should more than one win in the pool, the total amount shall be split amongst them. It is advisable to play and bet wisely, not recklessly!

PRIZE

150 Mina for the Grand Winner!

Whoever wins amongst all those present in the tourney, presenting their jousting skill and prowess, shall be granted a gracious 150 mina and be rewarded with a statue within the fairgrounds in honour of winning! Though, should someone win the next tournament, they might find their statue replaced...

Contact Rónahón Vourkehardt BEFORE 12 PM EST May 28th to sign up!

Signed,

HIS LORDSHIP, Rónahón, of the House Vourkehardt, Shepard and Master of Commerce of Tir-glas, Thandor of the host of Idunia, Ascendant of Orodaeglir

HER LADYSHIP, Lady Tîlîdhil Hartwyck, Master of Revelries of Idunia, Maiden of Angrenost, Physician of the Alduun Hospital 

I remain here, amidst your greatest bastion. 

I remain, and so does the darkness I have seeded, beneath the moon of this wretched plane.

Is this the best of those sworn to destroy me? How far you have fallen since my days among you.

Perhaps you need impetus to do your duty? Some form of incentive to hold true to the oaths your wretched lot swore?

I will provide it.

A life shall be ruined, each saint's day. Loved ones taken. Bodies mutilated. Pain announced with shrieks of agony and the tears of the weak. 

This shall continue until you find my corruption, and finish my test of your ineptitude.

Draz-Vorzuth.
Creation of Draz-Kulzattar.

The Bat.

And to that I sneer. For why should I fear those who cannot even keep their own home safe from the touch of my corruption? Why need I look upon your amassed weaklings with anything other than scorn and contempt, for even in the very heart of your shining realm, Idunia, you are yet still found wanting.

I have placed darkness within your home, fools. An experiment, to test your people’s might where they claim to be strongest. For more than a year now, my touch has festered behind your Alduun walls. For more than a year I have waited. Waited to see your righteous comeuppance, to watch as your light burned away the power of a singular agent of the Black Church, where it was strongest.

And yet I am here.

The darkness remains. 

And what’s worse?

You added doors to my path to it. Perhaps even knowingly leaving my corruption to stagnate and fester within your very home.

So tell me, great once-Exilic Kingdom. Tell me, agents of the betrayer aengul Malchadiel. Tell me, Tar and footman alike.

Shall you seek me, find me, burn me out? Or shall I linger, to make things even worse? To scar and maim more of you as testaments to my might?

Come.

Find me, for I rest by this corruption.

Come, now that you needed aid to do what you swore to.

Draz-Vorzuth.
Creation of Draz-Kulzattar.

The Bat.

[The below is not to be taken IRP, just an idea of what you're after]

I, Charlotte of House von Schwanstein, submit this notice in response to the claims made by Kurai-Kuni and the Archduke of Petra. It should be known to all that no investigation was started, no questions were asked, and no names summoned for testimony. The Archduke’s public declarations of my misdeeds are without base, made known to me only in his Public Declaration. The Sorvian guest taken into my family’s manor was at no point mistreated or abused. There are witnesses to this fact that I have gathered statements from. If any investigation had been done, they would discover that the Sorvian was entirely unharmed.

She was at no point held captive, told she was held captive, or barred from exit. She was at no point physically kept against her will, nor was she at any point threatened with violence. While I do confess to asking her to stay, perhaps a few too many times, she was never harmed or asked to perform any task outside of being the friend of myself and my sister.

In response…

Reports have been written on this matter, and witness statements have been gathered. These will be delivered to the Tar and-or Tari of Idunia in the hopes of seeking justice for the slander against myself and my House. I seek a proper trial, or for the name of me and my family to be cleared of all wrongdoing.

TO PETRA
My home. My father has served you for as long as I can remember. Due to the lies told about me, publicly, and the reaction to them, it is difficult to know who among you truly ever appreciated the work my family did in serving and protecting us all. I know I am too young to count my own deeds among those of my father’s, but I am disappointed in how easily you forget everything he’s done.

TO KURAI-KUNI
I paid your tax quickly, and apologized just the same. I believed I had offended you so badly that I wrote and asked the Admiral for guidance with my behavior. I’ve since come to understand that my asking for friends for my still recovering sister is not a crime. What I do not understand are the whispers you shared among yourselves while I was apologizing. Do you truly believe a fifteen year old girl could hold a Sorvian against their will? If so, I welcome you to prove it, as I prove my innocence.

TO THE TAR/TARI

I beg you please forgive the short notice of my intent to seek you out for justice in this matter, but I did not wish to elicit more slander from the offending parties. I have made this public so that ALL are aware of my intent to see that justice is found. I have also done this to show that I have nothing to hide, unlike those who accuse me of such misdeeds. I seek a proper investigation into this matter, as they should have done, to discover it false.

IN CLOSING

Regardless of the verdict of this trial, I have no desire to return to Petra nor reclaim my titles.

1. I ask that these lies be named, and a trial called to clear my own.

2. If this cannot be done, I ask that the Archduke be required to post a public retraction of his charges.

3. If this cannot be done, I ask that Kurai-Kuni post a public retraction of the charges, returning the ‘Mon’ spent to them in tax for a crime I never committed.

Let this stand as my public denouncement of your claims against me and my House.

Signed, 

Charlotte von Schwanstein

(Attached to the bottom of the missive is a copy of THE REVOCATION OF SCHWANAU)

If you have received this letter, know that Father Mirion-Angbar of the House Zimrabâr should be considered deceased in law and in history. You are entitled to the following.

To House Zimrabâr | @Hanrahan

To Burin Zimrabâr | @Onion

To Prince Vârdamir Arthalion | @Cupper

To The Temple of The True Faith | @Nooblius

SIGNED UNDER SIGHT OF GOD

Mirion-Angbar Zimrabâr,

Priest of the True Faith, Patriarch-Emeritus of The House of Zimrathôr

A Stallion's Hunt

After speaking to Lady Azruphel about his final task to become a full ranger- to hunt a dangerous animal from the list she gave him and deciding to go after the largest animal on the list, a moose. Veyric goes about the arduous task of gathering up the supplies needed. First, he went out and gathered the necessary weapons to hunt large game: a crossbow and a large supply of bolts and bolt heads; then he gathered enough basic rations to last him at least three months. Two wheels of cheese, several boxes of dried meats, and a large quantity of bread. Then, after filling his bag with his supplies, he made for the library to research the basics of his target, a moose. Finding out they live in colder climates, he goes around the Idunian vassals to gather from several places the necessary clothing to prevent exposure to the elements and being too cold.

Gathering his pack and his bedroll, Veyric sets all his supplies on Ember, his trusty steed. Setting off to the north from Ardrossil, he follows the roads until he reaches Norland, where he leaves the roads and goes into the forest on horseback. He travels several days roughly north, where he decides to set up a more permanent base to hunt from. He finds a cliff face at the bottom of a large mountain; travelling along the base of the cliff face, he finds a small cave just big enough to house him and Ember with some room to move around. 

Leading Ember into the cave, Veyric retrieves his lead from the side bag on his saddle. Finding a large but relatively thin pillar at the back of the cave, he hitches Ember to it by wrapping the lead around the pillar and attaching it to Ember's bridle. Then, Veyric goes around the cave and gathers some stones to make a small circle in the middle of the cave for a small firepit. Finishing the firepit and grabbing his hatchet from his bag, he heads out and down into the treeline to retrieve the various supplies needed to start and supply a fire for a few days. Returning to the cave, Veyric arranges the supplies by the firepit but far enough where there is no danger of a spark setting it ablaze. Looking out the cave entrance and seeing the sun beginning to set, he turns and sets up a small fire before taking his flint and iron and setting a spark into a bundle of kindling and gently blows into it to set the embers to be strong enough to light the rest ablaze.

During the first week of residing in the cave, Veyric gathers supplies from the woods around the cave. He gathers red berries from bushes that resemble the ones around Ardrossil that he gathered when he was younger, the mushrooms that he read were safe to eat, and the various fruits and vegetables that resembled the examples in his field guide. 

During the second week, Veyric went out to try to find a trail left by a moose, preferably a male moose. He tracked along a nearby trail, along the side of a pond, and finally along a small ridge. Alas, he was unsuccessful in finding a track to follow.

During the third week, Veyric finally managed to find a set of hoof prints in the mud. He carefully follows the hoof prints for quite a long distance, over hills and through glades. Finally, after miles of following the trail, he comes across a male moose. Quickly, Veyric hides behind a nearby tree, hoping not to be spotted by the moose.

Veyric carefully sets down his bag, and pulls out his crossbow. He, as quickly and as silently as he can manage, cranks the crossbow to arm it. He loads a bolt, before stepping out and aiming the crossbow at the middle of the moose's chest.

TWANG!!

The bolt hits the moose between the ribs directly in the heart. The moose collapses to the side, into a nearby tree. Seeing this, Veyric gives a noise of victory after weeks of wandering these woods and finding nothing, he finally has his prize!

Veyric moves quickly to grab his pack and runs up to the downed moose. He retrieves the rope from his pack and strings up the moose from a strong branch of the tree. He carefully begins the arduous task of field dressing the moose. Removing the pelt and the legs, then cutting deeper, he cuts open the stomach and removes the innards. He disposes of the legs and innards in a pile nearby. Then, Veyric wraps the remains and drags them the long distance to his cave.

Finally arriving at his cave, Veyric begins to break down the moose further. Cutting huge pieces of meat to carry back with him, he disposes of a large portion of the bones and what he can't bring with him in a small clearing outside the woodline, giving back to nature the meat and bones he doesn't need.

Bundling everything he is bringing back with him into the pelt, he rolls it all up and ties the bundle to the back of Ember's saddle. Veyric leads Ember out of the woods, then he hops into the saddle and begins his long journey back home.

THE ROYAL COURT OF IDUNIA

Issued in the Year 285 of the Second Age

In the name of His Royal Majesty Tar-Pharazôn Arthalion

People of the High Kingdom, esteemed allies of the West, and all denizens of the realm: We are convened here under the sacred authority of LORD GOD for the fifth Royal Court of Idunia. We shall make evident the structure of our High Kingdom as we continue our march amidst this period of prosperity and peace-times. Even so shall we continue to make evident our vigilance for enlightenment, for learning, and to convene our efforts in scholarly prowess.

ON THE MATTERS OF THE REALM, THE CROWN DECREES:

The structure of the Harren Court and the High Council shall be elaborated upon, with requirements candidacy for open positions being announced and those eligible being evaluated.

The Sanctum of Avaleir shall have its ethos further refined and announced, with those interested in pursuing the talents of the arcane having guidelines to endeavor such. Too, shall the practice of Clericism be further emphasized and elaborated on.

Warriors who have been properly assessed and have shown that they are worthy of their keep shall be elevated to the status of Knighthood. In this regard, they are to be branded with the Ring of the White Tree to boast of their martial-earned titleage.

The traditions and artifacts of our High Kingdom shall be expanded upon, with the Oath of Tar-Númenatâr reaching its two-hundredth swearing alongside other similar announcements of our venerated heritage.

Beyond these principal points established, further subsequent announcements are to follow within the Royal Court. It shall be a demonstrably crucial gathering and the people of Idunia shall have their moment to petition to the Crown therein.

“The twenty-first year after the fall of the holiest city, the Lord’s Aengul Artifai descended before Harren and spoke with him. The Aengul said ‘Harren, you are chosen for the vocation of your father. Come, and receive the Lord’s prophecy.’“

Book of Scattering, 31 - 32

Signed,

HIS ROYAL MAJESTY, Tar-Pharazôn Auranion Harren Arthalion, By the blessing of Aeradar,
High King of Idunia, Chief of the Númenedain and the Tribe of Harren, Defender of the Númenaranyë, Sovereign of Alduun, Prince of Númendil, Templar of Saint Michael the Archangel, Knight of the Realm, Master of the Sharadûn, Protector of the Adunians, Ascendant of Orodaeglir, Trailbearer of Tar-Númenatâr 
 

HER ROYAL MAJESTY, Tari-Ashael Malôs Harren Arthalion, by the blessing of Aeradar, High Queen of Idunia, Chiefess of the Númenedain and the Tribe of Harren, Defender of the Númenaranyë, Sovereign of Alduun, Master of the Sharadûn, Protector of the Adunians, Knight of the Realm, Ascendant of Orodaeglir, Trailbearer of Tar-Numenetar
 

The ranger apprentice had walked the road twice before deciding to take the hunt.

The first time, he listened. The second, he looked.

By the third, he understood.

Something was wrong.

The forest should have been alive with sound; birds in the canopy, small animals in the brush, but there was nothing. No movement. No noise. Just stillness. A cart sat abandoned further down the road, one wheel broken, its draw-horse dragged off into the trees and left half-eaten.

Whatever lived here wasn’t afraid of people.

That was enough.

He stepped off the road and into the treeline, pulling his cloak tighter around him as he went. This wasn’t about pride or proving anything. If the road wasn’t safe, more would fall victim.

He found the tracks near a stretch of soft ground by the bank of the creek.

They were big, too big. Deep enough to press hard into the soil, the weight carried forward like something built to lunge. Claws dug into the earth ahead of each step, long and visible.

The ranger apprentice crouched beside the print, careful not to disturb it. Still fresh. The edges hadn’t crumbled yet.

He didn’t follow it directly. Instead, he moved alongside the trail, stepping on roots and stone where he could. The signs were easy enough to read, broken branches, bark scraped away, the kind of damage only something large and careless would leave behind.

Then he found the stag…

It had been torn open, not cleanly killed. Meat ripped away in uneven strips, half of it left behind.

The ranger apprentice frowned slightly.

“Not hungry,” he muttered. “Just killing.”

That made it worse.

He took a moment to prepare before going further.

His bowstring was tight. He checked each arrow by hand, making sure nothing was loose or bent. His throwing knives came out next, just long enough to test each edge before he slid it back.

From his pouch, he took a bit of ash and rubbed it into his hands, then across his neck and jaw. It dulled his scent, helped him blend in. Not perfect, but better than nothing.

He tested the wind, feeling it against his face.

Good.

He adjusted his path, keeping it in his favor.

By the time the light began to fade, the ranger apprentice knew better than to keep moving.

Hunting in the dark against something like this was a good way to die.

He found a spot just off a low ridge, where the ground dipped slightly and the trees grew thick enough to break his outline. Not on the trail, never on the trail, but close enough that he wouldn’t lose it come morning.

He didn’t build a fire.

Instead, he cleared a small patch of ground down to the soil, brushing away leaves and loose debris so nothing would crack beneath him. His bedroll stayed tight and minimal, tucked against the base of a tree where his back would be covered. One side protected, the other open to watch.

From his pouch, he scattered a thin line of ash and crushed leaves around the camp’s edge. Not enough to be seen, just enough that anything passing through might disturb it. A simple warning.

He checked the wind again before settling in, making sure his scent would carry away from the beast’s trail, not toward it.

Even then, he didn’t sleep fully.

One hand rested near his knife, the other near his bow. Every sound, every shift of branch or brush, pulled him halfway awake. It was a habit more than a choice.

The forest stayed quiet.

Tracking like this wasn’t about speed.

It was about patience.

He followed the signs for hours, moving slowly, stopping often. Sometimes to listen. Sometimes because the forest felt… off.

At one point, he realized he hadn’t heard anything for several minutes.

No birds. No insects.

That was when he knew he was close.

The clearing ahead looked like something had tried to tear it apart.

Trees were snapped or bent, the ground churned into mud. Another carcass lay in the center, already starting to rot.

The ranger apprentice didn’t walk in.

Instead, he circled around, checking the wind again before climbing an old oak at the edge. From there, he had a clear view of the clearing without exposing himself.

He settled onto a branch, nocked an arrow, and waited.

Time dragged on. The light started to fade.

Then the wind shifted.

He tensed.

The beast stepped into the clearing slowly, like it had all the time in the world.

At first, it was just a shape moving between the trees. Then it came into view, larger than any wolf he’d ever seen, shoulders high, body thick with muscle. Its fur was dark and rough, its body marked with old scars.

This wasn’t its first fight.

The ranger apprentice didn’t rush the shot.

He watched it move. Waited for the right angle.

Then he drew and released.

The arrow struck deep into its side.

The beast let out a low, angry roar and turned instantly toward him.

Too fast.

It charged the tree, claws digging into the bark as it tried to climb. The ranger apprentice dropped before it could reach him, hitting the ground and rolling to his feet with another arrow ready.

He fired again. Another hit, but it wasn’t enough.

The beast kept coming.

There was no time for a third shot.

He moved to the side, using a fallen log to break its path. The creature smashed through it like it was nothing, splintering wood as it came.

So he drew his knife.

When it lunged, he didn’t run.

He stepped in.

Close enough to feel its breath, to hear the snap of its jaws just past his shoulder. He drove the blade up under its jaw, where the fur thinned, pushing hard.

The beast fought back, thrashing, its weight slamming him into the ground.

He didn’t let go.

He pushed deeper until the fight finally left it.

For a moment, he just lay there, catching his breath.

Then he carefully pushed the body off and stood.

The clearing was quiet again.

He got to work.

First the arrows pulled free and cleaned, plucking heads from broken shafts. Then the skinning.

He worked slowly, carefully. A good pelt was easy to ruin if you rushed it. The blade slid under the hide as he separated it from the muscle beneath, taking his time to keep it intact.

It wasn’t clean work, but it was necessary.

When the hide was free, he set it aside and took what else he could, teeth, claws, anything useful.

The rest he left.

By the time he made it back to the road, it was dark.

The ranger apprentice carried the pelt over his shoulder, its weight steady and real.

The road was quiet again, but this time, it felt right.

Safe.

He didn’t stop to admire it.

Didn’t need to.

There would always be another stretch of road. Another problem waiting.

And when there was, he’d be there, same as always.

Not for glory. Not for thanks.

Just because it needed to be done.

Issued the 284 Year of the Second Age by the office of

THE HARREN COURT

To the honoured citizens of Idunia, learned scholars, wandering bards and all who yet find solace in the written word,

Let it be known across the realm that by the will and patronage of the Scholarium of Alduun, a gathering of verse and voice shall soon be convened within its hallowed halls. In an age where blade and banner oft claim dominion over men’s deeds, we turn instead unto the quieter, yet no less enduring, power of ink, tongue and thought.

By proclamation of Lady Zora-Isílphël Euler, MASTER OF TOMES, in solemn collaboration with Lady Tilidhil Hartwyck, MASTER OF REVELRY, it is hereby decreed that a POET’S NIGHT shall be held within the Scholarium of Alduun. This occasion is intended as both a celebration and a contest. An evening wherein those gifted in the art of verse may present their works before a gathered court of discerning minds.

Within this assembly shall sit a panel of well-minded judges, drawn from the learned and the trusted of Idunia, among whom shall preside the Master of Tomes herself. Each composition shall be received in earnest consideration, weighed not by station nor silver but by the merit of its craft: the elegance of its phrasing, the depth of its sentiment, the clarity of its vision and the strength of its voice.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 27TH –  STARTING AT 5 PM EST!

────────────────────────────────────────────────

It is the intent of Lady Isílphël that this gathering shall mark the beginning of a renewed tradition within the Scholarium, wherein such evenings of discourse, recital, and artistic endeavour may become a cherished pillar of Idunian culture. For knowledge without expression is but a sealed tome, and expression without witness is but a fading echo.

Thus, let quills be prepared, parchments be filled, and minds be opened to inspiration’s call. Let those who dare step forth do so not in fear of judgment but in pursuit of glory through word alone.

May the verses spoken within Alduun echo long after the candles have been extinguished, and may those echoes carry the spirit of Idunia into ages yet unwritten. 

────────────────────────────────────────────────

T H E   P E R F O R M A N C E

COMMENCING ROUGHLY 5:15 PM EST

Each poet shall, in turn, be invited to take the stage before the assembled court and recite their chosen work. Whether spoken with solemn grace, passion, or theatrical flourish, each participant is free to present their verse in whatever manner they deem best befits their words, before a panel of esteemed judges and gathered guests alike.

────────────────────────────────────────────────

T H E   M E R I T S

ANNOUNCED AT THE END OF THE NIGHT

To the victor of this esteemed gathering shall be granted honours befitting their achievement. The laurels of triumph shall include:

A reward of one hundred fifty (150) mina, bestowed in recognition of their mastery, A stone effigy of their likeness, to be placed within the Scholarium of Alduun as a lasting memorial to their craft. And most notably, the eternal title of “The Poet Laureate of Alduun” - a distinction henceforth to mark them as foremost among poets within this realm.

SIGNED,

HIS ROYAL MAJESTY, Tar-Pharazôn Auranion Harren Arthalion, By the blessing of Aeradar,
High King of Idunia, Chief of the Númenedain and the Tribe of Harren, Defender of the Númenaranyë, Sovereign of Alduun, Prince of Númendil, Templar of Saint Michael the Archangel, Knight of the Realm, Master of the Sharadûn, Protector of the Adunians, Ascendant of Orodaeglir, Trailbearer of Tar-Númenatâr

HER LADYSHIP, Lady Zora Isílphël Aurelia Euler, of the noble House Euler, Master of Tomes of Idunia, Physician and Surgeon of the Alduun Hospital, Otholran of the Host of Idunia

HER LADYSHIP, Lady Tîlîdhil Hartwyck, Master of Revelries of Idunia, Maiden of Angrenost, Physician of the Alduun Hospital

A search for knowledge

3rd of Malin’s Welcome 284 Sa

[!] 

A notice would be posted across the taverns and noticeboards of the High Kingdom of Idunia and the Empire of Man.

Hello! My name is Didac Salazar, and it is my wish to become a veterinarian. For several years, I have devoted myself to the study of animals and their care, and having recently seen my twelfth birthday, I now seek to further my learning under proper guidance.

I am looking for a learned master, one skilled in the healing of all manner of creatures or deeply versed in the ways of the animal kingdom, who might be willing to take me on as an apprentice.

All details and particulars will have to be discussed in person, with my father in attendance.

Should this be of interest to you, Please send a bird to Didac Antonio Salazar and I will endeavour to make an appointment with you as quickly as possible!

Signed by,

In loving memory of

A Mother, Wife, and Daughter.

With solemn hearts and a shared sense of duty, Marcel Godfrey Temesch, Head of House Temesch et Martiel, extends this invitation to all friends, allies, and those who held her in esteem, to attend the funeral of Sybille Maddelena Temesch.

Sybille Maddelena lived a life of quiet grace and steadfast devotion to her family. Her passing leaves a silence deeply felt within her household and beyond, yet her memory remains woven into the lives of her children, family, and close acquaintances.

Those who held her in affection, respect, or closeness are invited to gather in mourning and remembrance. The service shall be conducted in dignity and reflection, followed by a time where words may be spoken, prayers offered, and memories shared in her honor.

The funeral will be held in a chapel outside of Alduun. We will gather in Alduun thirty minutes prior to the ceremony.

Personal Invitations

The House of Greye, and their people.

Countess Sloane Patchakutiq and her people.

Alysanna Maya Rostova, and her family.

Viscount Caspian Colborn, and the House of Colborn.

Adriana Verbena, Mother of Sybille, and her Family.

Franz, and The House of di Spinasacra.

 

Anyone else wanting to pay respect to the deceased may make an appearance as well.

We ask that all guests dress themselves appropriately for the occasion.

Signed,

Head of House Temesch et Martiel, First born son of Sybille Maddelena Temesch

Issued the 283 Year of the Second Age by the office of

THE HIGH QUEEN 

“We leave in five.” I called the order from the saddle, tightening my grip on the reins as my horse shifted restlessly beneath me. I rode slowly along the gathered line, forcing myself to meet the eyes of every soldier and knight who had answered the call. Veterans stood beside newcomers, all gathered to face the same enemy. The corrupted bear. A demi-god, people called it, a creature as vast as a mountain and as relentless as a storm. Once sacred to the druids, once loved and revered, and now a walking ruin that left nothing living in its wake. I had faced it before, more than once, and every time we had ridden home defeated. The weight of those failures pressed heavily on my chest as I surveyed the host, but I pushed the doubt down. Not today. Today had to be different.

I turned in the saddle and looked over the assembled warriors from Alduun, Petra, Adria, and Ildon. My gaze settled on Ûrihîn Euler, the man who had first drawn me into this war years ago when the threat rose in the Grove of Kurai-Kuni. Back then, I had been a princess riding at another’s command. Now I led the charge, and the realization settled in quietly but firmly as I looked across the men and women who trusted me to guide them into danger. The air felt wrong that morning, far too still and quiet. When I lifted my eyes to the sky, I realized there were no birds overhead. The day was bright and cloudless, yet the silence pressed in like a warning. Somewhere deep inside, a certainty formed that this would be the final battle. Fate had been moving toward this moment long before I ever joined the fight, and now it waited for us at the end of the road.

I trusted in Aeradar’s design. My host trusted in me. And I had to bring them home.

With a snap of the reins, our horses surged forward. Hooves thundered through the gates of Alduun and onto the winding road toward the ruins where the beast had made its lair. As we rode, one thought lingered stubbornly in my mind. For years, the creature had been spoken of only as a monster, a giant bear, a corrupted god. But never by name. Even the druids spoke of it with sorrow and hesitation. It felt wrong to march to kill something that had no name. Even corrupted, even hunted, it deserved that dignity. So as we rode past the scars of our previous defeats, that of the ravine carved west of the Grove, the shattered remains of the Grove itself, I finally gave it one. Gralhîw, The Corrupted.

[!] A depiction of  the ruins by Tari-Ashael

The ruins came into view at last, and with them the rest of the gathered host. The Empire of Man stood ready beneath the banner of Her Imperial Highness, Joan. The sight of her brought an unexpected sense of relief, the tension loosening slightly in my shoulders. For a brief moment, the weight of command felt lighter. That calm did not last long. Waiting rarely brings comfort before battle, and conversation fell away quickly as the reality of what lay ahead settled over us. My thoughts drifted home to my daughters. Astarmë, Sîdhiel, and Calanis. In past battles, I had written letters promising my return. This time, I had written nothing. The certainty in my chest told me I would come back to them. Around me stood soldiers from every corner of the continent, each with someone waiting just as mine were. That knowledge steadied me.

When those of Kurai-Kuni and the druids arrived, the host swelled to more than thirty warriors, and the moment for reflection ended. Orders spread quickly as the army divided to surround the ruins and prepare the assault.

“Idunia, with me to the south.”

“We head east.”

“By your orders, Joan. Men let us set out.”

I led my group south toward the treeline, where two cannons had been positioned to strike the beast if it approached. Four cannoneers moved into place while the rest of us remained mounted, forming a defensive line. Ûrihîn Euler to my right. Sir Therin, Calthûnor O’Rourke, Astrid, Taurel, Mornòmagor Euler, and Vydnyr to my left. It was they who had followed me into battle, and they who have earned my utmost respect. As I lifted my shield and scanned the forest, the trees began to tremble. Animals burst from the brush in sudden panic. Birds, squirrels, anything that could flee… until the forest fell into a suffocating silence. 

“Ready yourselves for an onslaught of bears, it is keen on sending them.”

We remembered the last battle all too well. Cubs had come first, then mothers, and finally the monstrous creature that had destroyed our defenses. I believed we were prepared this time. I was wrong.

Through the trees I glimpsed Gralhîw’s wounded form. Blood poured from its fur and soaked the ground until a towering pillar of crimson energy erupted from the earth. A wave of corruption rolled outward covering the earth in blood, leaves darkened and sagged under the weight of it. The soil beneath us softened into a wet, sickening mire that squelched beneath the hooves of my steed. My heart clenched as I watched the same corruption that had consumed Gralhîw spread through the earth itself. For a moment my eyes dropped to my horse, fear tightening my chest. Would this blight claim her too? Would I be forced to send her away before it was too late? The risk was clear, but the battle was already upon us. I chose to keep her beneath me and raised my voice so the line could hear. 

“Steady yourselves and protect the cannons. If Gralhîw comes this way, we hold our ground so that the cannons can damage it for as long as they are able to.”

The answer came quickly. Shapes burst from the treeline and rushed the cannons in a flood of muscle and violence. They had once been bears, but little remained of what they had been. Their hides were gone, their bodies reduced to exposed sinew and dripping muscle stretched over bone. They moved with frantic, bloodthirsty purpose, mindless and relentless. Six charged from the right while many more surged from the left. I drew Alscarch and spurred forward to aid Ûrihîn, trusting the rest of my men to hold the opposite flank.

But then the forest broke apart. My gaze lifted, and my breath left me as something vast moved through the trees. Trunks snapped and toppled as Gralhîw stepped forward, maw wide, paws shaking the ground with each step. The rumble of its voice rolled through the forest like distant thunder. Fear struck deep and immediate.

Gralhîw, The Corrupted. A frightening sight.

[!] A depiction of  Gralhîw, The Corrupted by Calthûnor O’Rourke

I forced my attention back to the creature before me as the first clash erupted. A wall of ice surged from the ground beside my horse, impaling a charging beast and saving one of the cannoneers. The cannons were already being readied, their crews moving with desperate speed. Ûrihîn struck first, his blade sinking deep into one of the monsters. My swing followed, finishing the creature as it collapsed in front of his steed. The victory lasted only a heartbeat before another beast hurled itself at me and tore me from the saddle.

I hit the ground hard, air leaving my lungs in a sharp cry. Claws shrieked against my armor as the creature snapped at my face, its breath hot and foul. My vision darted upward and I saw vultures circling overhead, already waiting for the dead. I refused to become one of them.

“FORTH!” Ûrihîn’s shout cut through the chaos. I slammed my shield into the beasts skull. Its answering blow struck my shoulder, denting plate and cracking bone beneath. Pain exploded through me just as the cannons thundered, their roar drowning my cry. I drove my blade into its throat until the creature collapsed beside me in a torrent of blood. 

The world blurred through pain and exhaustion, but the battle raged on. I forced myself upright, wiping blood from my helm, my shield arm trembling under its weight. Ûrihîn lay pinned beneath a cluster of beasts, and I pushed forward with a shout, cutting on down before another crashed against my shield. Cannon fire thundered again, and when I looked toward the treeline, I saw Gralhîw retreating north-west, bleeding heavily.

“OH YOU GET BACK HERE, BIG GUY!”  Vidnyr’s voice rang out as a tornado tore into existence and chased the fleeing beast, hurling debris against its back. For a moment I stared in disbelief before the sound of only three cannons firing snapped me back to the field. One cannon had fallen, but not ours. We had held the line.

When the fighting eased, I stood among corpses with blood pooled around my boots. My armor was soaked, my shoulder burned with every breath. Ûrihîn’s leg was broken, and I hauled him upright, shouting encouragement to the rest of the line. 

“Well done, Idunia! The fight is almost over! Find your courage and keep fighting!”

The southern cannons were still intact. Their crews moved quickly, hands steady despite the carnage around them, swabbing barrels and hauling powder into place. With Gralhîw now out of range, their attention shifted to the towering pillar of sanguine energy that still pulsed at the edge of the treeline. “Oi! Shoot at that thing!” The shout carried across the clearing as I helped Ûrihîn back toward the center of our line. My gaze lifted briefly toward the northern sky. A massive storm cloud churned in the distance, dark and restless, its shape twisting in a way that reminded me of Aevos and Orsathiael. I swallowed hard before forcing my attention back to the forest. For a moment the battlefield had gone quiet. Every bear we had faced lay dead at our feet. And yet, the silence did not last.

“Aid is needed here! Check your wounds and prepare for anything else that might be coming our way! We hold the cannons until we can't!”

The answer came almost immediately. From the treeline emerged a sight that froze the breath in my lungs. An army of bears, easily seven times the number we had just barely survived. They did not charge. They marched. Slow, steady, and perfectly in step and stripped of all animal instinct. The cannoneers rushed to load another volley while the rest of us struggled to remain standing. Ûrihîn leaning heavily against me as we both reached for potions, his whisper cutting through the air.“We're not ******* fighting that in this state.” And I knew him to be correct. Many of us were wounded, barely able to lift our weapons. Yet we could not abandon the cannons.

“Protect the cannons… And begin to pull back. Stay together, keep your guard up.”

The advancing horde stopped abruptly just short of the cannons. Crimson energy erupted once more, wrapping around the creatures and sinking into their exposed muscle. Their bodies swelled and tightened as the corruption strengthened them before our eyes. We had no chance of meeting them in open combat. The cannons fired at the crystal, the blast shattering nearly half of it. There would not be time for another volley. “SHOOT THE CRYSTAL!! YOU MAGES, WHATEVER YOU ARE DOING, DO IT AT THE CRYSTAL!” 

One mage answered. Flora gathered and compressed between his hands, twisting into a dense sphere that hardened into a spinning bone drill. The air vibrated as it launched forward and struck the crystal. Time seemed to slow as we watched it bore into the remaining mass. Then the pillar shattered. The crimson energy vanished in an instant. The bears froze mid step and one heartbeat passed, then another. Blood poured from their bodies all at once, draining into the earth until the clearing fell silent. The southern front was over. 

Laughter had bubbled and escaped me before I could stop it. We had survived. The battle still raged elsewhere, but I knew the outcome had already been decided. Gralhîw, The Corrupted would fall in mere moments. 

“Well done, Idunia!”

Sir Therin began tending to our wounds as we rested at last, my eyes fixed on the distant storm clouds and the sounds of the battle beyond our sight. Then the forest fell silent as a terrible cry echoed across the ruins. Gralhîw’s death scream stretched on and on for what felt like eternity. Around us, the corpses of the bears began to change. Flesh withered and vanished until only bone remained. And from that did we move quickly to rejoin the others at long last. 

There we saw the aftermath. The Shugo drew his final breath, his final words being spoken to his people. I dared not to interrupt. The vultures circled the enormous corpse of Gralhîw, already tearing at what remained. The storm had vanished. The corruption had faded. The battle was over, though the cost was heavy.

But at last we went home.

Signed,

HER ROYAL MAJESTY, Tari-Ashael Malôs Harren Arthalion, by the blessing of Aeradar, High Queen of Idunia, Chiefess of the Númenedain and the Tribe of Harren, Defender of the Númenaranyë, Sovereign of Alduun, Master of the Sharadûn, Protector of the Adunians, Knight of the Realm, Ascendant of Orodaeglir, Trailbearer of Tar-Númenetâr, Slayer of Gralhîw

 

“Where Commerce Unlocks Prosperity”

⚜️ Public Statement 

Guild Strategic Meeting Summary ⚜️

The Guild hereby releases a summary of matters discussed during a strategic meeting held on the previous day, attended by multiple Guild members, including the Guild Master, Vice Guild Master, and the Guild Owner.

The meeting was convened to review the current trajectory of the Guild and to outline potential developments aimed at ensuring stability, efficiency, and long-term commercial growth.

Merchant Guild Meeting

The Guild hall was quiet that morning. Elsewhere, the city was divided between two separate events: on one side the nobility, on the other the wealthier merchants. Inside these walls there were no ancient titles and no music for dancing—only wood, ledgers, and people accustomed to weighing value.

Martino, the Vice-Guild Master and the Kronwerk Guild Owner, arrived on time.
“Good morning, Miss o’Nico.”

Cinnamon, the Guild Master and tireless organizer, looked up from the documents.
“Good morning, Martino. Did you arrive without trouble today?”

Sigrid, a high elf and owner of the Guild, joined them shortly after taking the time to open the smal window of the meeting hall, to let the smoke from her cigar out
“Yes, and what is going on today with the petran's?”

Martino nodded to Cinnamon
“I arrived just fine, thank you. And I must say, it is a wonderful sunny day.”

“That’s good,” Cinnamon replied. “While many are rushing off to the ball, we need to address the topic of today’s meeting.”

“Then let us begin,” Sigrid said, wasting no time.

Cinnamon took the floor “We are meeting to start collecting ideas for the creation of a unified license and a shared list.”

Sigrid looked at her closely “Did you speak with the IBA?”

“Yes,” Cinnamon answered. “We agreed to first gather our ideas separately and then compare them. For now, we need to decide what to track and how.”

Martino spoke up, practical as ever “As for what to track: name, date, profession, affiliation, and license status. As we already do, we should maintain both a temporary and a permanent version.”

The elf paused for a moment “Have you seen the Adventurer's badge? I have seen a few around. It might be a good idea to have something similar. And I will not go to them without something in hand.”

“I agree,” Sigrid said. “We can use the current license as a temporary one and prepare new ones to be checked.”

“That is a good start,” Cinnamon nodded. “Badges remain a design choice, but we could test them in the future. We also need to keep track of roles within the Guild, since some members will carry specific responsibilities.”

“Roles?” Sigrid raised an eyebrow. “We are merchants, not noble's”

“Categories,” Cinnamon clarified. “Novices and experienced members. Nothing more.” Martino continued.
“As for the process: members should be able to register at any officially recognized Guild location. The location that registers them would be noted. All information would be collected in a shared archive. The license would be created using a specific form and made official with the location’s seal. If the license expires, the member must return to the location where they registered.”

Sigrid nodded, then sighed softly “I like it, though it is not easy to maintain Guild locations everywhere.”

“That is why,” Cinnamon said, “all updates should be sent to the central archive by trusted individuals, such as a Guild leader or the person responsible for the location.”

The elf crossed her arms “And if they do not update it promptly? Or if something is forged incorrectly?”

Martino did not hesitate “We could make advancement an initiative of the member themselves, through a written request. That way, even if information is outdated, it is not lost, and the merchant is responsible for obtaining a new badge.”

“In any case,” Cinnamon added, “a badge would not contain all the information held in the list. Only the essential details. Lists change more frequently.”

Sigrid considered this. “The issue of distance between locations remains.”

“Then each location will keep an updated local log,” Martino concluded, “to be compared with the official one.”

“That will do,” Sigrid said. “It is sufficient.”

Cinnamon closed the documents “There will also be an archive for older information, allowing changes to be traced back. For today, however, I believe we can stop here. I propose opening a suggestion box so members may submit their ideas.”

Sigrid nodded “That is a good idea.”

The meeting ended without ceremony, yet with the shared sense that, far from balls and titles, something tangible had just begun to take shape

Closing Paraphrase – Guild Resolution

In light of the matters discussed, and acknowledging the practical limits of distance and administration, the Guild further resolved to establish two official Guild Posts within the Kingdom of Norland.

The first post shall be founded in Mechanikas, serving as a hub for industrial trade, documentation, and merchant registration.
The second shall be established in Wylnmore, extending Guild presence into regional markets and ensuring access for traveling merchants.

These posts are intended not as symbols of prestige, but as points of function and record, reinforcing the Guild’s commitment to structure, accountability, and continuity—values built not on inheritance, but on labor and proof.

HER LADYSHIP, THE GUILD OWNER

Sigrid Shadebloom, Guildmaster of the Merchant’s Guild, Officer of the Mechanikas Branch & Member of the IBA

MADAME, THE GUILD MASTER

Viny'Ox o'Nico, Portmeister of the Cultural District of Chambery, Master of Cuisine at the Petrine Court of Autumn, Owner of the Barrelmouse Brewery

HIS LORDSHIP, THE VICE GUILD MASTER
Martino von Kronen, Of House von Kronen,Vice Guild Master of the Petras commerce guild, Owner of the Kronwerk Merchants guild,

Kinsman to the Massimo Line

Issued the 282 Year of the Second Age by the office of

THE HARREN COURT

With the curtain closing on two decades of war, there is at last peace within Azruas. The tidings have been gracious to bless these lands with years of plenty following the war’s end, and thus has it become apparent that a festival is in order. It is during the month, The Sun’s Smile, that the High Kingdom of Idunia invites all of those who call her hills home to her capital of Alduun to bask in such merriment. 

This day marks the first HARREN DAY, wherein we celebrate such a joyous victory!

HARREN DAY is a festival that celebrates those who fought for us and beside us, to remember those who have memories told in their name, and a day to remember HARREN!

SUNDAY, MAY 3RD –  STARTING AT 5 PM EST!

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T H E   M A R K E T

BEGINS AT 5 PM EST UNTIL THE END OF THE FESTIVAL

There shall be an open-air market where many might spend their coin and where merchants might sell goods. This can vary from the crafts of artisans to the smithing talents that go from vassal to vassal.  The Alduun Tavern shall be open for those who indulge to share a glass with strangers and friends alike. Furthermore, will the stall that has sold and created the most minae within the fest be recognized for their prowess!  

If you would like to have your wares sold at a stall, please send a letter to Tilidhil Hartwyck or Veyric Vourkehardt stating what you will be selling and if you are selling for a vassal or opening a personal merchant stall. The stalls are available for all but can be opened per vassal as needed.

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T H E   A U CT I ON
BEGINS AT 5:30 PM EST

During the festival, there shall be an auction in which donations and merchandise from the Royal Family and the Houses of Arthalionath, House d’Artagnan, and many more are up for bid. The proceeds from this auction shall go towards Alduun and her continual beautification. Rare treasures shall be displayed for purchase during this time, items that might not be seen again. 

If you would like to donate items for said auction, send a letter to Tilidhil Hartwyck.

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T H E   D U E L
BEGINS AT 6 PM EST

In celebration of our victory over the Orcs and Dwarves, a theatrical presentation of HARREN and KRUG’s legendary duel shall be presented within the palace of Minas Aradar. This duel shall take place before the steps, near the open square market, honouring the historical moment of the Harrenites. Bear witness to living lore realized in glorifying detail in the midst of the festivities!

SIGNED,

HIS ROYAL MAJESTY, Tar-Pharazôn Auranion Harren Arthalion, By the blessing of Aeradar,
High King of Idunia, Chief of the Númenedain and the Tribe of Harren, Defender of the Númenaranyë, Sovereign of Alduun, Prince of Númendil, Templar of Saint Michael the Archangel, Knight of the Realm, Master of the Sharadûn, Protector of the Adunians, Ascendant of Orodaeglir, Trailbearer of Tar-Númenatâr

HER DISTINGUISHED EXCELLENCY, Lady Medliel-Isilmë Lominziliel Mithrenion, High Chancellor of Idunia, the Moonlit Maiden, Squire of the Order of the Silver Stag & Iron Guard, and Daughter of House Mithrenion.

HER LADYSHIP, Lady Tîlîdhil Hartwyck, Master of Revelries of Idunia, Maiden of Angrenost, Physician of the Alduun Hospital.

HIS LORDSHIP, Rónahón, of the House Vourkehardt, Shepard and Master of Commerce of Tir-glas, Thandor of the host of Idunia, Ascendant of Orodaeglir.

This Missive lands in the mailboxes of all of Angrenost and is posted on all noticeboards in Idunia

Composed On the 17th of Sun’s Smile, 282 SA

Hail!

You are Cordiadilly invited to a Rodeo to be held at the Fairgrounds in Alduun!
 

Co-Hosted by Rónahón VourkeHardt and Angrenost, the evening will feature a horse riding contest and a bull riding contest!

The winner of each contest is to receive a prize of 100 Minae and a Max Horse!

Details of each contest will be explained on the day of the event!

Food and drinks are being provided by the Angrenost Tavern!

Wear your travelling attire, pick up a funky hat and come on over!

This night will include:

• Games!
• Drinks!
• Food!

So, come to Angrenost’s first Rodeo!

Time!
 

Location!

Alduun’s Fairgrounds!

Signed,

HER ROYAL HIGHNESS, Azruphêl Corweth Aranuiriel Mithrenion, Iron Princess of the Númenaranyë, Viscountess of Angrenost, Gwaithrîn of the Host of Idunia, Slayer of the Gilded Queen, Founder of Grimday Day, the Hearth

HIS LORDSHIP, Rónahón, of the House Vourkehardt, Shepard and Master of Commerce of Tir-glas, Thandor of the host of Idunia, Ascendant of Orodaeglir

As Angruth rested beneath the crimson canopy, he leaned against Artio as he had done countless times before. The old bear’s graying fur brushed against his armor, a quiet reminder of passing years.

He glanced down at him, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Artio… I remember when you were just a scraggly little cub,” he murmured. “Barely big enough to stand. I had to feed you milk.”