Tainga

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

Dɪᴇ Flüchtenden Wenigen Tʜᴇ Fleeing Few 4th of The First Seed, 282 S.A. ─◇─◇─◇──Ω──◇─◇─◇─ To the bandits who robbed the Viscounty of Angrenost, Your attack on the home of my closest friend was not unnoticed, nor was it unchallenged. You likely believed the timing gave you safety, the cover of night, the reduced presence, and the assumption that any response would be slow or disorganized. That assumption failed. You were not as unseen as you thought, nor as untouchable as you intended to be. You did not act without structure. Your movement suggests coordination, and your escape shows you understood how to avoid immediate pursuit. You knew when to leave, and you did so quickly. That was enough to prevent a full capture, however, it was not enough to prevent consequence. The dwarf that was a part of your group did not leave with you, in fact you abandoned him. He was encountered within the very tower walls, where he met my gaze and he was killed without further exchange. Or well, he was killed after telling me that you were all with him. Killed with no delay, and no opportunity for departure. You all must have seen me, didn’t you? Walking up the steps and you didn’t even give so much as a warning to him. You all just continued on by, knowing that he would likely be slain. His body has since been dealt with, pushed over the very cliffs of Angrenost. And his head was placed upon a pike outside our gates as a clear and permanent record of what occurred. If you wish to confirm this, you are free to come and see it for yourselves. If you do, you will bring a chest containing everything taken during your raid. Every item and piece of property stolen from Angrenost and its people is to be returned in full. Nothing is to be withheld, hidden, broken apart, or redistributed elsewhere. If any portion is missing, or if you attempt to conceal what was taken, the matter will not be negotiated further. Likewise, if any of you are found again within Idunia, within Angrenost, or within any lands under my people, you will not be warned. You will be treated as hostile intruders, and you will be dealt with accordingly and your heads set on pikes alongside your “brethren.” ─◇─◇─◇──Ω──◇─◇─◇─ Signed, HER EXCELLENCY, Athaenis of the House Vourkehardt, High Chancellor Emerita of Idunia, Eternal Steward of the Númenaranyë, Warden Emeritus of the Harren Court, Lawgiver of Harren, Mother of the Idunian Law, Founder of Grimday Day, Champion of the Lowland Grasp, The Lance of Idunia, Slayer of the Gilded Queen LORD, Castamir-Entâmar of the House Mithrenion, Templar of Saint Michael the Archangel, Second Sword of Angrenost, Knight of the Realm

Hᴏᴜꜱᴇ Vᴏᴜʀᴋᴇʜᴀʀᴅᴛ Dɪᴇ Sᴛᴜᴛᴇɴ Tʀᴀᴜᴇʀꜰᴇɪᴇʀ Tʜᴇ Mᴀʀᴇꜱ Mᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴀʟ 8th of The Snow’s Maiden, 282 S.A. ─◇─◇─◇──Ω──◇─◇─◇─ Wes Thu Hal, Be Thou Healthy. This is a greeting that has not been used in our family for a long time, but it feels right to use it now. A few of you have already heard the news, mostly those who were old enough to have known her. For the younger generation of Vourkehardts, this may be the first time you are hearing it. My sister, Vanya Vourkehardt, has passed away peacefully in her sleep. I send this message so the younger members of our family may know of her and learn her name, and in hope that my siblings—those still living but scattered across the world—will hear this and come home. To family and friends, please come to Idunia, to the keep of Ardrossil. Many of you didn’t get the chance to know her well, or to share a memory, or a laugh, or a drink with her. But I would still like you there. We will light a bonfire and return her body to the flames, so the embers of her being may rise to the Seven Skies and join the stars of our kin. And to memorialize her, I will speak of my sister, of who she was, who she became, and what she would wish for us all so that she will never be forgotten. Afterwards, we shall do what any family does when faced with a loss. Grieve. [FRIDAY MAY 1ST 8PM EST] ─◇─◇─◇──Ω──◇─◇─◇─ Signed, HER GRACE, Ser Saelind Elwine Ardirnien, Matriarch of House Vourkehardt, Duchess of Ardrossil, Templar of Saint Michael of the Archangel, Knight of the Dawn, High Treasurer of Idunia, Steward of the Númenaranyë HER EXCELLENCY, Athaenis of the House Vourkehardt, High Chancellor Emerita of Idunia, Eternal Steward of the Númenaranyë, Warden Emeritus of the Harren Court, Lawgiver of Harren, Mother of the Idunian Law, Founder of Grimday Day, Champion of the Lowland Grasp, The Lance of Idunia, Slayer of the Gilded Queen

Athaenis began to return home with the curse cured. The storm inside her finally broken and stilled. No more jagged urgings, no restless chaos whispering reckless thoughts she would never have entertained before. Her mind felt feather-light. Gentle. Whole. Outside, the moon had risen soft and silver, bright and bold between the newborn stars. She had stood there smiling at it, feeling something fragile and miraculous bloom in her chest. Everything would be alright. She could be herself again. Nothing would crumble in her hands. Nothing would wilt beneath her touch. Hope felt possible. She felt alive. Answers had unfolded in her mind like petals, blooming where questions once tangled, and she had rushed home eager to spill them. To family, to friends, to— The moment she crossed into Ardrossil, hope collapsed into silence. The air inside Ardrossil was wrong. Servants turned away when she met their eyes. Faces pale, eyes swollen and red rimmed. Grief had hung in the corridors like a fog. And she was all too familiar with it. Her heart had lurched. Another name to carve into memory. But who this time? Who had the Skies claimed now? She began to move, footsteps echoing too loudly against the stone, following the quiet trail of mourning until it led her to a room she already knew too well. Vanya. Her sister. Still and dead. The word rang hollow and enormous in her skull. Her gaze fell upon her sister, and time warped cruelly around the sight. She had not seen her in years, decades, even. And now she saw her all at once, and far too late. Age had touched her gently and then all at once. Silver threaded through her hair, lines resting softly at her eyes. Still, silent, and gone. And yet memory refused to stay buried. It dragged her backward to another room, another bed, another farewell. Their mothers face, younger but unbearably the same, turning toward her and beckoning her closer. Calling her forward to say goodbye before the dark could take her, too. Vanya wore that same stillness now. Auris moved closer without feeling the distance beneath her feet. Her sister lay tucked beneath blankets as though simply resting, hands folded neatly as if sleep might still claim her if the room stayed quiet enough. Auris reached for one of those hands and felt the cold truth settle into her bones as the mattress dipped beneath her weight. Her eyes never left Vanya's face, afraid that looking away might erase her entirely. With her free hand, she brushed stray locks from her sisters brow, desperate for one last unobstructed memory. And then the realization came, slow and merciless. The moon had not risen to give her hope. It had not climbed the sky for her healing, or her joy, or her newfound peace. It had risen as a lantern for the dead. A silent herald marking the moment her sister slipped beyond the world. She had stood beneath the sky and smiled, never knowing she was watching Vanya ascend to the stars to join the rest of their family waiting in the starry night. Her thumbs traced slow circles along the back of her sisters knuckles, and the dam inside her mind finally broke. Memories surged forward, bright and loud and painfully alive. She remembered the first time she met her, her younger sister, yet the eldest child of Baldric and Valeska. A smile tugged faintly at her lips as the chaos returned in flashes. Vanya storming through the Balian courts, small and furious, shaking the halls with a tantrum when Baldric scooped her up before she could petition the King for permission to open a candy shop. The outrage had been volcanic for it was a serious dream. She remembered Celia'nor and the breathless laughter from when the two of them darted through rooftops during endless games of hide-and-seek. She remembered the day they jousted, wooden lances clattering as Vanya charged forward with stubborn, blazing determination. Losing had never been something she had accepted. She was bright, fierce, and impossible to contain. And the titles, god the titles. Every new fascination became a crown she wore. She was the Lady pirate-cowboy-fairy-knight-princess-officiant-cow-bracelet-seller-crafter-ponytiff friend-magician-kazoo queen-acrobat-bird-ferret-comedian-jouster-storyteller-fighter-lawyer. She had been endless possibility. But somewhere along the years, that light dimmed. It had begun when Vanya stepped down from being heir. That was when the world seemed to fold inward around her. She retreated behind closed doors, appearing only in fragments with an armful of books pressed to her chest. Books she had written with fleeting smiles before even those small appearances faded into nothing. Auris felt the guilt bloom. Had she helped extinguish that light? Could she have reached further, refused the distance that grew between them? She wondered if something as simple as an invitation, an evening of Ludodain filled with laughter and warmth, might have changed the path. Vanya didn't even get to meet the children. Never got to meet the newer branches of their family tree. And now she laid here, silent and unreachable. The weight of it pressed in. Only two of the ten remained, everyone else had slipped beyond the veil of years. Auris felt the shape of the loneliness settling around her like a shroud. She would carry this grief largely alone while her sister joined their father, their mother, her twin Vandrake, and the rest of the siblings waiting in that same quiet, promised place. For no current Vourkehardt alive would grieve her. For no one else knew her. A touch at her shoulder pulled her back to the room. It was the first time her gaze left her sisters face, drawn instead to the parchment placed gently into her hands. The will, and beside it, a single poem. The last words Vanya had ever written. The ink blurred as she read, her voice shaking as she replied. I reach for thy hand in return, dear sister. Yet I find it not. You have passed on, and I must live on. For the rest of that night, Auris spent the time in her sisters room. She had stayed by her sisters side.

Issued the 280th Year of the Second Age by the office of THE HIGH QUEEN Lo, what a rare delight it is when the people of Idunia are granted a spectacle such as this. Not long after the golden coronation of my beloved Tar-Pharazôn, we made our way to the grand ballroom of Minas Aradar, where candles flickered in anticipation of our arrival. Faces turned, eyes brightened, and I offered a nod to each as you followed the path behind the throne, into the light of the hall. And what a wonder awaited within. Music, soft and lilting, curled through the room. Carrying the dancers as they traced their arcs across the floor. Gowns shimmered, laughter sparkled, and the light caught upon jewels and hairpins alike, scattering brilliance in every direction. The air hummed with anticipation and delight, a celebration truly worthy of the coronation of our King. And yet… I confess, my own heart carried a purpose beyond mere festivity. In the brief time I have held the mantle of Tari, I have come to understand how few duties truly lie before me. I scoured the chronicles of those who came before me, seeking guidance in tradition, in wisdom, in the sparks of brilliance left by past Tari… only to find emptiness. A void I could not abide. So, on the night of the Caladengîl Gala, I chose to change it. I entered the room with eyes that danced from one corner to the next, pausing finally at a seat placed against the wall, from which I could survey all. Together with the High Chancellor, I conceived something new, something I dare say is delightful. Every Queen, I have discovered, requires her ladies in waiting. Not as ornaments, mind you, but as companions. Guardians and architects of influence. They are to be trusted hands in times of ceremony, protectors of our children, and co-creators of the spirit of the court. Yet in our halls, there have been none. Of course, I understand why. Why would we? There was no need. Our women are trained from birth to lead, to excel, to carve a place for themselves in the world. Scholars and merchants, warriors and knights. Ambition is in their blood, devotion in their bones. And I, too, am of this ilk. I do not seek to fill my court with those who cannot, or will not, carve their own path. Who exist merely to perform for praise. No. I am calling forth something different. The women I summon shall embody courage, facing hardship and pursuing what is just. They shall carry compassion as armor, acting with kindness even when no eyes witness. Confidence shall temper their words, clarity their purpose, authenticity their hallmark. They shall uplift, inspire, and kindle a flame that spreads far beyond these walls. A living symbol of the values we hold dear, and of what our people may aspire to be. They shall be Nárhînil. My Nárhînil. As I took my seat at the head of the ballroom, all eyes seemed to follow me, though none dared to speak. My gaze swept the dancefloor, lingering on the women who had assembled for this most curious of evenings. My daughters stood before me, their own judgmental gazes mirroring mine, sharp and unyielding, yet amusing in their scrutiny. The air was alive with music, soft, lilting strings of violin weaving through the chatter. The hour grew late, the sun slipping behind the horizon while the moon rose to lend silvered witnesses, and it was then that the choosing of the Nárhînil began. One by one, seven women of Idunia stepped forward, a line of brilliance and beauty arrayed before me. “What makes your vassal differ from others? And what beauty is found in the vassal, as a part of the High Kingdom of Idunia?” Mereid Callaghan, the most humble, hailed from Tir-Glas. The eldest among them, she carried with her a calm steadiness. Humility seemed to follow her like a shadow, a gentle reminder of the origins and values that define us. With her presence came a quiet certainty that anchored the room Tilidhil Hartwyck, whose hands had known toil and hardship, hailed from Angrenost. A doctor by trade, a scar etched across her face, she exuded resilience tempered with approachability. She was both strength and solace, the kind of person to stand as rock and refuge, yet soft enough to invite trust and companionship. Experience had carved her but elegance had followed close behind. Genevieve d’Artagnan, who held the pride of a lion, hailed from the Barrowlands. Youngest out of them all, her presence shimmered with bright directness. She carried herself with endearing boldness, a living testament to familial pride, reminding all present that even youth could shine with clarity and purpose. Eugenie Cecile, graceful and deliberate, hailed from Petra. She spoke not only for herself but for the weight of her lineage, tracing back to Saint Emma and the Queens of Petra. Titles rolled from her lips like a cascade of history, each word steeped in the honor and dignity of those who had come before her. She embodied purpose, and the past itself seemed to rise with her presence. Aurelian Greye, a master of both elegance and weaponry, hailed from Ildon. Unlike the rest, she brought a blade to her introduction, and I could not hide my delight. Her pledge was evident in every measured word, recounting the resilience of her people after demons had attacked their shores. Strength and honor walked with her. “For those who do not run from that which crumbles, but clings to the dream, rebuilds it back up.” Sylfrid Colborn, practiced and poised, hailed from Kazan. Confidence poured from her, measured yet effortless, as she recounted the proud history of her people, the Scyflings, and the loyalty of Kazan itself. Every gesture, every inflection carried intention. And when she spoke of her family motto, Family Through Fire, the words rang true. Uniting pride with devotion, elegance with substance. Sofia Euler, who was the most charming, hailed from Adria. She approached with deliberate poise, a banner of her family balanced atop her head, and she spoke with both wit and grace. Soft at first, her words painted a picture of the land and its beauty, before she revealed two precious books of her own creation. In that moment, her pride in her vassals and their world became tangible, a gift I knew I would cherish long after the evening ended. Greatly was she amusing. “What makes a Lady of Idunia the most admirable indeed?” It was in these answers, these expressions of strength, grace, and ingenuity, that I found myself smiling with pride. My daughters whispered and pointed, each calling attention to those who had caught their favor. I confess it would have delighted me to grant all seven a place in my court, yet such indulgence would serve neither ceremony nor purpose. To earn my favor, one must first win the favor of the people. Only then can she uplift them in return. Among the seven, one stood luminous above the rest, winning the people's favor and, with it, my own. ───────── Sofia Euler of Belgrade ───────── Illustrated by Lady Medliel-Isilmë Lominziliel Mithrenion 280 S.A. It was she who had won the people's favor. It was she who had spoken with honesty and courage, revealing herself fully before all. She had shown her work, her heart, her spirit, and in doing so displayed courage, compassion and confidence without pretense. And in her words there was authenticity. An understanding that we are all complex, made of light and shadow, of admirable virtues and less desired flaws alike. It was she whom the people had chosen. It was she they entrusted with their hopes, their admiration, their vote of confidence. And it is she who shall be the first of my Nárhînil. For she has won my favor in turn. In her hands now rests a red chrysanthemum, the mark of a Nárhînil, a flame maiden. With it, she joins my court, not merely as a companion, but as a living inspiration. She shall uplift others, guide them to kindle their own fires, and help those flames bloom as she has. May her strength remain steadfast, her heart unwavering, and may her flame guide all whom she serves and lead. Well done, my Nárhînil. 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 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.

GLORY TO MY ADMIN!!!! After sitting ontop of a mountain for years.. what do YOU think a purpose of an admin is...

GLORY TO MY ADMIN

The eldest Vourkehardt settled at a table, a missive laid before her. Her attention flickered, yet she skimmed the words, a gentle smile curling at her lips as she read her sons missive. "...Well done, Veyric. I shall see to it that I am there." Auris had promised quietly.

Everything. Everyone wants her character to come back.. but im glad she's GONE!!!

Dont make me choose... But I will say I hate Daphne with a burning passion.

Issued the 276 Year of the Second Age by the office of THE CROWN When I was a child, my mother would often tell me of the legend that was Ser Uther Pendraic and his ascent of Mount Alkayaban. That climb marked the beginning of Numendil. She spoke of the battles he endured against the Sharudun, of the hardship that nearly broke him, and of how closely death followed at his heels. Upon that mountain, his faith was tested, and the man who ascended it returned not merely a Knight, but a King tempered by trial. My mother would then speak of the Oath. We all know it. We hear it before we can walk, it is spoken so often it feels like a second pulse beneath our very ribs. She told me how Uther upon reaching the summit stood between the heaven and the earth, looking out over the land he meant to defend. And there, before Caladhril, he gave voice to the oath that would bind us all should we wish it. The words first spoken upon that height are the same the Numenedain still carry. These words that call us to let our deeds be better than those who came before us, to stand as foes to His foes, and to live beneath the watchful gaze of Aeradar. The Oath of Tar-Numenetar. I have longed to take the Oath since the first night I heard the story. As a child, I imagined a mountain of my own, earned by my own steps. I wanted to feel the cold bite at my cheeks, the snow tangled in my hair, and the thin air burning in my lungs. I wanted the climb to hurt, my legs trembling and still carrying me upward. I dreamed of standing upon my own summit, the light breaking over me, to ask one simple question: Do you swear it? I wished to become a Knight. To stand between the dark and those who cannot stand for themselves. To be the shield where others would falter. And I had wished, more than anything, for my parents to see it all happen. But tragedy struck, as it always does. When I was barely six, the voyage that brought us to Azuras took my parents from me instead. By fourteen, the wilderness had raised me more than any tutor or Knight ever could. I learned the language of hunger. I had learned the sound of fear as I had moved through the trees at night. The mountain I had once imagined and dreamed faltered and vanished to become survival from one dawn to the next. Yet even in those years something small and stubborn refused to die. A thread of gold would appear in the corner of my eye. It led me at last to Alduun, the capital I now call home. I did not know then that my childhood dream was not gone, but rather, was only waiting for a breath. In the market square beneath the cold rain, that breath came. A presence stood before me, wrapped in golden light. And in that moment, the path I thought had ended began again. “God has great plans for you, little one..” Her voice was gentle and certain, but in a blink she was gone. No fading steps. No retreating shadow. Only rain.. And absence. What little faith I had left in myself, in the world, and in Aeradar stirred again. First a flicker. Then a flame. Not long after, I became a page beneath Ser Frederick Euler, an honor I could never have reached without my dearest friend, Prince Vârdamir Arthalion. In time, I rose to squire. From there, new trials emerged before me. The destruction of Haelun’or. Seeking ways to shelter the homeless and the orphaned. Defending our very gates from the evil that preyed on the innocent. With each trial, that small flame within me swelled into something fierce and steady. And at last, its light turned my eyes toward the gates of our capital. To the mountain of Orodaeglir. To my Alkayaban. The winds moved around me as I stood at the gates, watching the path that cut upward through the stone and into the sky from the summit. It had urged me forward, a thrumming call. I knew then that this was not the dream I had as a child. It was no longer about proving I could endure the cold, or survive the climb. The vision before me had widened. The mountain was no longer mine alone to conquer, it stood as something greater than my own longing. There was something beyond it, the mountain simply the first step. Then at the edge of my sight, that familiar golden light stirred again. When I turned, I saw him, my beloved Pharazôn. And in that quiet moment, everything became clear. We rode without delay. Banners bound tight, stakes and canvas gathered in my arms as we passed beyond the gates of Alduun. We crossed the Angcelume, rode through the green breadth of Tir-Glas and veered just beyond Ardrossil until the forest opened before us. There, at the threshold of the path that would carry us up to Orodaeglir, we dismounted. The first banners laid upon the trees were those of House Arthalion, their colors steady against the brown bark. Then we stepped beneath the trees, beginning our ascent. As a child, I had wanted the climb for reasons that belonged only to me. The sting of the cold air, the burn in my lungs, the pride of knowing I had endured it. I imagined the ascent as something personal. Something that would prove I was worthy to follow in Uther’s footsteps. But the mountain began to change that understanding. I did not climb to imitate him, nor to prove myself alone. I climbed because the path had led me here… though I was only beginning to understand why. For the higher I had climbed, the more a question thrummed in my mind. Rising with each breath. For what am I doing this for? For whom? It was there that I felt my past walking beside me. Those memories did not drag at my heels, they pressed at my back. I remembered the loss that shaped me, death so near it had once felt ordinary, and the life I had known in the wilderness. But more than that, I thought of the deeds I had inherited from the generations before me, from my mother and father, and the burden to make them better. Beneath that weight, I felt my resolve begin to falter. Their absence pressed down on me, a sorrow that never dulls, but rather only aches. I thought of all they had done to bring me to this path, and for a moment the climb felt too great. They were supposed to be here. Yet, when I lifted my eyes I saw how the trees began to thin, light filtering through the branches. I knew then I could not stop. I could not yield to the small, quiet failings that live in every heart. The wish to turn back. I had always imagined such faults belonged to tyrants and monsters, distant things. But I began to realize how easily they take root in any soul, even my own. I pushed on, taking hold of the banners of House O’Rourke and striking them into the earth where the small clearing had opened up. When I had turned, I had expected the journey to have been long. It felt long. But all I could see was the short stretch of trail winding back below. It was only the beginning, and yet I realized then how much had already been given to me. The path. The climb. The person standing beside me through it all, and the people likely to follow. The chance to stand here at all. At that moment, I understood something simple. It was enough for me to continue on. With Pharazôn close beside me, we pressed onward until the path ended at a sheer face of stone. The sun was sinking from the sky, surrendering its light to the rising moon, and the mountain offered no gentler road. We would have to climb. Our hands found the rock, fingers searching for what little crevice the cliff would give as we hauled ourselves upward. Only then did we feel the foolish weight of the armor we wore. Every movement dragged against us, testing our strength, our breath, our will. One wrong step would have sent us tumbling back down the mountain. In that peril, our thoughts turned not to fear but to the faith that had carried us this far. The courage placed within us for moments such as this. Each grip of the stone, each strained breath upward, all just a step toward fulfilling the role we had been entrusted. By the time we had reached the top of the cliff, night had fully settled around us. The moon's light poured over the open ground, and the stars stood above. Sharp, countless, and watchful. It felt as though Aeraadar’s gaze was upon us. We kindled a fire at once, its flames rising against the dark as a beacon of rest for those who would come after. Its glow pushed back the shadows and held firm beneath the sky. Against the trees, we raised the banners of House Glennmaer. The fortress stitched onto the canvas a reminder of the station of which Aeradar has charged me. When I turned to look behind me, the earth I had started from was gone from sight. No roads. No gates. Only treetops below and the wide stretch of sky above, ash and smoke from our fire thinning into the wind. For a brief moment, it felt like a sanctuary set apart from the world. But there was no turning back to measure how far I had come. There was only forward. The path ahead was the longest stretch up the climb. The air sharpened as we rose higher, fog and bitter wind gathering around us until the world itself seemed to vanish. Sight of the ground below was swallowed, and the summit above was lost to the grey. The wind howled in our ears, and when we finally reached the ridge, we found ourselves fighting against it. Hands clasped together so we would not lose one another in the storm. We stood firm as the mountain tried to drive us back. In that biting wind I understood what it meant to stand against the darkness that threatens what we guard. Not to bargain with it. Not to yield ground to it. But to hold firm, whatever the cost. I grabbed hold of the banners of House Marsyr, and drove it deep into the snow before me, standing defiant against the storm. A sign that we would not break, and that the charge entrusted to me would endure. Ahead, the northern path climbed toward the summit. Waiting. The summit came into view as dawn began to break, pale gold spilling over the horizon. We pressed on together, though the snow had grown deep and heavy, stealing strength from every step. Each stride demanded will. And still, we climbed. Pharazôn reached the summit first. The banners of House Arthalion were set into the crown of the mountain, their colors catching the newborn light. I lingered a few paces behind, breath clouding in the cold, heart striking hard against my ribs. For a moment, I hesitated. Then he turned to me and held out his hand. “Come Ashael, stand beside me.” The golden light I had once imagined pouring down from the heavens was there at last, warm across my face, bright upon the snow. I did not hesitate. I stepped forward and stood beside Pharazôn. Together we turned toward the horizon. The sun rose higher, casting warmth over the peaks and valleys of Aeradar, revealing the beauty and burden he had entrusted to us. And I knew then why I had climbed. But the summit was not the end. We had not carried only banners and canvas up Orodaeglir. The climb itself was never my sole purpose. Tucked carefully within a pouch was a living promise. With us, we bore the seed of Caladhril’s sister, yet unnamed and unclaimed by history. A small, unassuming thing. And yet, I held within it a future. We had not come merely to stand at Orodaeglir’s height. We had come to plant it. In the beginning, I wanted my own Alkayaban for reasons that now seem small. I wished to prove myself Numenedan. To taste triumph. To feel that I, too, could endure the test of faith and stand taller for it. But the mountain reshaped that desire. When I looked to Pharazôn, I no longer saw only the summit behind us. I saw the road ahead. I saw a future where I would stand as Idunia’s Tari, and I understood that such a title is not an honor to be worn, but a charge to be carried. My ascent was never meant to end with me. It was meant to begin a mission. To embolden. To kindle courage where it lies quiet. To teach others of faith. Together, we knelt down on the highest ridge and turned east, toward Alduun, its distant form held beneath morning light. Our hands broke through frost and ice. Scraping until the cold gave way to soil. Our fingers numbed, nails darkened with earth. A hollow was made. Into it, we placed the small seed. "It shall be tended to, so that it will thrive here. Each of these folk, who shall be ours, will make to climb upon the mountaintop and tend to it, becoming all the more Numenedain with each step risen." We pressed the soil firm around it, sealing it against the cold. Snow gathered in our palms and melted beneath the blessing of the sun, seeping down to nourish what had just been entrusted to the mountain. And we gave the seed a name. Caravas. Meaning Autumn’s Root. When Caravas reaches its full height on Orodaeglir, those of House Arthalion who have yet to swear the Oath shall make the ascent as we did. They will climb through snow and wind. They will stand before it. And into its living wood, they shall carve their names. When Caravas stands tall in its full strength, any who seek to become Numenedan, any who would take the Oath for themselves, shall ascend Orodaeglir. The climb will give them space to look back upon their road, to measure the weight of the vow they are about to carry. The mountain will not make it easy. Your lungs will burn. Your legs will tremble. The wind will test your resolve as surely as any blade. But when you reach the summit and the golden light meets your face, the oath shall be a burden understood. And when you descend from the height, your breath spent and spirit steadied, you will gather at the great trunk of Caladhril. There, we shall be waiting. There, you will speak the Oath of Tar-Numenetar. Find the banners. Begin your trail. Complete your ascent. Signed, HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, Pharazôn Auranion Harren Arthalion, Crown Prince of Idunia, Prince of Numendil, Templar of Saint Michael the Archangel, Ascendant of Orodaeglir, Trailbearer of Tar-Numenetar HER ROYAL HIGHNESS, Ashael Malôs Harren Arthalion, Crown Princess of Idunia, Princess of Númendil, Ascendant of Orodaeglir, Trailbearer of Tar-Numenetar

Ashael smiled the suns smile upon reading the rite. "Well done, Bishop!" She'd cheer upon Iudas' work.

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