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Left - House Pinemaw 

Right - Port-County of Dúnkeld 


By Order of the 1st Sovereign of the Port County of Dúnkeld

12th of the Grand Harvest, 1970 I.T


Information leading to the identity and potential capture of one or more individuals who sign their names with a imprint of their hand in black ink will be rewarded with a bounty of 250 Minae, or items of equal value. These individuals are responsible for laying the seeds for potential discord and conflict in the Shire and abroad. 


Victims of Blackhand signatures are highly recommended to present their letters to a proper authority in Dúnkeld, as they may provide clues to who the signatories identities may be.


Texts Sampled:

Hark, Pinemaw. What's the point in trying? You've been beaten to a low, you cling to moribund titles and swear fealty to lords and thains that are not of your own kind. You have betrayed your race of Malin, and why? What's the point in doing that? Does it make you feel happy?

You disgust me, genuinely. You are a rodent, and how I deal with rodents is to smash their windows, to break them down, to make them suffer and cry.


[!] A basic hand-drawn impression of the basic shape of a black-ink handprint, it is not a direct copy of an actual handprint, and thus cannot be discerned


Ah, so you've disinherited yourself from your own Barony, and given it to a spawn of Horen. Why? I've read in missives that you gave it to the spawn of the same people wishing you harm, and then that spawn was disinherited for even accepting your title.

Just similar to the Settlers of the Gardens to your North, and the Caravans roaming in your Southern holds, I wish you nothing but the worst. But what sets me apart from them, is that I have the actual capability to give you great harm. I've harmed your family, I've split them with my letters, and it feels good. 



[!] A basic hand-drawn impression of the basic shape of a black-ink handprint, it is not a direct copy of an actual handprint, and thus cannot be discerned




Sovereign of the Port-County of Dúnkeld,

Unlanded Countess of Old Pinemaw, The Silver Quill, Laird in the Kingswood,

Defender of the Rozanian Realm, Ellie Ambrose Kagura-Maelstorm-Aurelius-Pinemaw



Inspector of the Port-County of Dúnkeld,

The Favorite Sorvian of Lurin, Bestfriend of Ellie Pinemaw,

Most Spoiled Construct in Aevos, Kleptomaniac, Holder of Deranged Ideas,

First Ever Sorvian Mage, Claimer of Free Land,

Best Lawyer in the Business, Moss Mawce Kervallen

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The newt skims over the paper, humming happily despite the contents of the page. His hand dips his quill into the green hued ink before signing off on the page. 

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In her own Barony, Scarlet Kagura picks up the missive that have made its way to her desk, catching her attention. The elf would only skim through the missive briefly yet it was enough to cause her brows to knit. The writer of these hateful letters was quite bold, who are they to mingle and mess with family of Kervallen and Kagura with their silly and disgusting threat of a letter. Scarlet would lean against her hand and think, how would she go about this...she certainly would not sit back and let this continue to her beloved families.



OOCly, those letters are hateful. Whoever is writing them, you need to relax. There's people behind those characters and you may or may not be hurting someone emotionally with those words.


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Deep underground, in the dug out caves of below Urguan, Aurora Kervallen sits on the chair at the desk she shares with her beloved. She reads the missive with furrowed brows while securing her gauntlet on her arm.


"Seems unnecessary to use such harsh words inside a missive, but to each their own..." She hums in thought. She'd then fold up the missive and place it upon another stack of discarded missives. "My time is strung thin, there are more important things that need my attention right now." 


The woman secures a pair of purple hued, Ferrum giggles to her head and clips her cloak around her neck, the midnight material flowing down her back. Walking towards the crib in the corner of the room, she uses a soft voice to speak to her three year old son. "Ready to go see Papi, Evander?" 


The boy in question, looks up with a sparkle in his eyes, clapping his hands ecstatically. "Yaaaay! Papi!" He exclaims in his toddler tongue.


Heaving her son out of the crib, Aurora then turns around and walks out the bedroom, the future unknown and a battle to fight.


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"T'oug't yeh meant teh murderer o' teh Gold'ands. . ." A dwarf mumbles, his voice hoarse from days working in the forge

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