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5th of The Deep Cold, 1772


Christ

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A certain, totally sane Dark Elf name Mal’ikru is licking a wall.

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The Commander of the Seaguard calls the troops to war.

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Rin Dulcis would sigh heavily, staring across the water to Vitenna, wishing things were different before going to prepare his supplies.

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Aurea readies her blade in preparation for the upcoming war.

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The Prince Of Vitenna, last thought to be lost at sea, finds this missive on his journey back to the principality. He looked in shock at the words penned upon this sheet of parchment, desperately glancing about the dense jungle to which he had found himself captive to. The young prince, covered in rags, ran aimlessly for hours, days, even months, trudging through the wilderness. All hope was lost, but he finally recognised a familiar sight. His gaze set upon the coarse sands of Korvassa. His hand wandered towards the scabbard by his waist. He drew his dagger, continuing on his way until he finally found what he searched for. Home.

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