Gutz

ʅʊɦɮ¤ʅ ɱαשɦɛʅ ɮ¤ ʊɦʋ’ʅשɛ ɮʊȶɛαչɦ TO ACCREDIT THE WIND IN OUR SAILS ♫ ♩ ♬♩ ♫ └─────────────────┘ To those of Celia’nor, With utmost pride and joy, Clan Val’taelu heralds the completion of its new vessel: enagok'bhun, which will be henceforth referred to in Vel’luah alphabet as ɛռαɠ¤ӄ'ɮɦuռ. After the passage of years, the final plank is laid, signaling a new chapter for our Clan. Long ago, Val’taelu arrived in the lands of Aevos on a ship not of our own making, nor by our own choice. Cast aside by our ashen brethren of Ramasar, we now refuse to fade into the annals of history. Instead, we choose to forge ahead, embracing security and hospitality as our guiding lights. This ship, a symbol of our Clan's rebirth, now belongs to us. We, Clan Val’taelu, wish to formally express our gratitude to both Celia’nor and House Amador, who hails from the Kingdom of Haense. We thank Celia'Nor for allowing us to dock the boat on their land in this publication. On the other hand, we thank House Amador for their labor in building the vessel itself. Without both parties’ aid, the ɛռαɠ¤ӄ'ɮɦuռ would have yet to raise her sails. չ¤ɮ ȶɦɛȶ’ʊչɦչɦɛʅ, May the tides be kind, AITHLIN VAL’TAELU Taluhn Yokeryma of Clan Val’Taelu MIRASUL OF VAL'TAELU Tyuth’vehm of Clan Val’taelu, Dialectician in Practical Green Production, Hoarder of Intrinsics and Items. AMARIA VAL’TAELU Tyuth’szyr’mo of Clan Val’Taelu DEYANIRA VAL’TAELU Tyuth’kasy of Clan Val’Taelu

Murtagh Amador lies in his retirement bed, lamenting the good ol' days where he ran about Haense shirtless-- tattoo on display.

Mirasul Val'taelu hums as he re-enters Celia'nor from a business trip, a pack of coin he had scurried off to collect fisted in his hand- evidence of such leave from home. He had work to do, much of it-- yet he loved every second of it. "After the loss of Nor’Velyth, the conservation of 'ker culture is bigger than just my own Clan. I just hope my ashen kin may recognize that as well." he would muse to no one except himself.

A ker with striking emerald eyes gazed out from his perch in an undisclosed outlook. The ocean, a perennial fascination, captured his attention once more. It always seemed to come back to the ocean, but this time Clan Val’taelu would depart by ship of their own volition. And Mirasul couldn't help but grin at the thought. "Onto greater endeavors," he whispered before resuming his packing.

A flame- an eternal one. That was the motif of House Amador, as the Phoenix was a creature wrought up from cyclical regeneration. However, when Olessya's eldest daughters were born, instead of pride and maternity, she felt a pang of shame. Weren't they the continuation of House Amador? Weren't they the female first-borns she had longed for to defy her Sedanian mother? Were they not a timestamp on her tenure as matriarch of a fading house? She knew she couldn't offer her dotres a normal life. The burden of carrying the flame would inevitably fall on her eldest, Nataliya, and Olessya had made sure the girl understood the weight of that responsibility. But what of Liridona? Little, dear Liridona - as Olessya denoted her in her thoughts. A flameless being, a tool to perpetuate the regenerative cycle of their House. She would do what every other noble Haense-woman had done: forge alliances through marriage and joyfully bear children. This was her burden, to blend into the ash and soot amongst the flame. Yet here Olessya now sat, enveloped in a pearlescent glow, gently swaying in her oak rocking chair. The brown-haired girl, the Gem of Amador, appeared, and Olessya's lips tightened as she struggled to voice her regrets and apologies. She had suppressed the spark within this child, and when she wasn't looking, it ignited. No amount of apology, though she had tried, could mend this rift. The shame from their first encounter-- where Olessya first looked at her babes-- resurfaced, weighing heavily upon her once more.

"...abide by God's law as interpreted and written by the church for many hundreds of years," an elderly man echoed in his solitary retirement abode. He had never married himself, as the Canon law's direct—and still apparent—prohibition had made it so. "It's a pity for those who attempt to speak for GODDAN and impose their own morality on scripture simply because they hold power to." He tossed aside the provided copy, adding aloud then before sipping his brew, "GODDAN instills in eam a love and compassion for mea fellow man. Ea see no sin in that, ag will keep my religion a personal matter between mea'self ag GODDAN—as is the nature of religion in itself. Ea do wish the same could be said by those of the Church' ag its clergymen who speak so loudly with pens in hand"

In a remote, secluded location- far removed from Haense society- Murtagh Amador resides in his retirement abode. Here, he watches over his distant flock of sheep, tending to the plants he kept surrounding his dwelling with weathered, wrinkled hands. His gaze narrows as it falls upon a particularly new wee lamb, a sense of premonition stirring within him. He would later pray that night for the well-being of his kin!

A Mali'ker with eyes of a peculiar green sat engrossed in his work on the docks, deftly manipulating fabric and string with a slender pinner of cactus dangling from his lips. At intervals, he would pause to secure loose strands of hair, nip at the string he wove, or otherwise draw a large mass of smoke from the joint. But at a certain point, his gaze fixated on the ocean ahead, filling with bitter thoughts of his clan's discardment. Upon their arrival to Aevos, he had ventured into the new land with utter disdain-- but now reunited with his kin once again, he saw the importance of security. Mirasul Val’Taelu vowed to secure their triumph-- whatever that may be-- within his lifetime, a certainty burning within him.

A generous gathering of mina was swiftly ensconced within a sack, accompanied by an assortment of curiosities-- ones that only an elf of elcetic-nature would hoard with purpose. Mirasul had assured Aithlin of his arrival in Nor-Velyth by the next sun-rise. Yet, he found himself delayed by several days, much to the consternation of the enigmatic 'ker. Nevertheless, he now hoisted his weathered bundle of trinkets over his shoulder, extinguishing the fire he had been seated beside, and set forth towards the Moonlit lands-- the new home of his kin.

"ah shite" Murtagh Amador would squint at the page, taking a very long time to process the words written. He'd squint at his bank account, wondering how much his aedymamej was worth in coin.

Murtagh Amador delicately placed his hairbrush aside, opting instead for the weight of his glasses in his palm. He'd tenderly wipe the smoke that clung to the air before him, placing his spectacles upon his nose-- his attention fixated upon the portrait of his niece. Thus spawn a duality of emotions upon his features: sorrow and pride. "Ah- tha' gown.." he'd then marvel, his eyes adhering to the dressings donned, depicted in meticulous strokes. He'd study a minute more before leaning back, casting a thoughtful glance towards his closet-- where a multitude of patterns, needles, and fabric lay neatly stacked. "Fitsk dlum ze Birodal..." he'd intone, a incantation heavy with scorn and patriotism. For a girl so young, the martyr bore upon her shoulders the weighty duality of Haensei pride and bygone trauma! Nevertheless, the old man would stand and pick up his needle.

A loud "O' MEA GODDAN" could be heard from within the Amador keep, perhaps from a proud Murtagh Amador.

Murtagh Amador, slumped at his desk after a long bender, looks over the missive through his hungover stupor. "Goddan, yam OLD ag this kiddo's damn grown!" He'd exclaim after a long moment of trial and error to read through the passage.

In a realm not tethered to Aevos, The Conflagerate pressed a youthful palm to her breast. She breathed immortal life into her heart, a youthful fire once again untamed, burning steadfast. She raised her palm aloft then, a match ablaze in her grasp, its glow a testament to the trials of her youth - some victorious, some fleeting. Gazing upon the unwavering flame, she whispered, "During mea time, Ea kindled embers of triumph ag let others wither into the night." Her eyes remained fixed on the eternal light, "from the embers of mea being, from the ashes of our forebears, may our House endure." The woman released the match then, its descent a sibilant serenade to the Seven skies- dissolving into the gentle winds that caressed the ears of present Amadors. "From ashes, we rise," she intoned. And with those words, Olessya Amador turned away, crossing the threshold into the next planes untouched by suffering, where modest elation flowed alongside exuberant serenity.