Andustar

This revelation struck Albéric deeply, sorrow emanating from the wound that was his student's passing. Where exactly had he gone wrong? Was there a lesson or perhaps a measure of guidance that could have prevented this tragedy? Alas, he would never know, and the prospect he had so much hope for would be denied a true chance to shine. "Johanna... I'm so sorry..." The Knight clutched the talisman strung around his neck, his prayers offered to the comet-born Princess, now lost to the primordial seas.

[!] A series of flyers would be laid out on noticeboards throughout the realm. The Hungry Hippo Established: Circa. 1st of The Deep Cold, 61 BA. People of Portoregne, the Kingdom of Balian and all of Almaris! It is with great pride that we announce at long last the official grand opening of the Hungry Hippo Tavern, located in the heart of the Balianese capital of Portoregne. Eagerly supplied by the local region’s rich selection of vineyards, breweries and distilleries, this humble spot provides a vast range of beverages to choose from, whether that be a crisp wine, fresh lager, or a heart-warming whiskey. You will scarcely find a cheerier establishment to rest your weary feet! The establishment is located just beyond the front entrance to the city, open to the main square and primary canal within the city. With three floors and a broad layout, the seating arrangements are plentiful and we possess two rentable rooms for those seeking temporary accommodation. ~ Menu ~ Reduzzan Merlot 2 Minas Reduzzan Sauvignon 2 Minas Verdant Coast Cider 2 Minas Enderocan Lager 2 Minas Butterfly Tea 2 Minas Northern Isle Whiskey 3 Minas Marsanan Vodka 3 Minas Portoregne Spiced Rum 3 Minas In addition to serving as an inn, the Hungry Hippo additionally houses the Portoregne fighting arena. Located on the lower floor of the tavern, the chamber bears a spacious gallery, large enough to house a sizeable audience. We regularly hold fight nights in which the local populace and distant travellers may test their martial strength, or otherwise observe and place bets on spectacular entertainment. Furthermore, the champion of said events may purchase their drinks at half price, so long as they retain the title. One such event shall be hosted during our opening night, so if you feel confident why not have a go? We look forward to hosting you on this grand occasion!

Albéric sighed as he heard the news of the Vuiller's passing, murmuring a prayer within the chapel that evening. "Farewell, Father Ledicort. May you find deserved respite within the Seven Skies."

"There are some wounds that time does not mend. Some things that are best left unsaid..." Albéric mused as he heard of Vesta's departure. The one-armed hedge knight sat in the undergrowth, adding more wood to his campfire. "Farewell, Vesta of Vilachia. I hope you find the peace you long sought in distant lands."

THE AFFLICTION OF ACRE Circa. 14th of Malin’s Welcome, 1923. FOREWORD Citizens of the heartlands, nobles and commoners alike. I write to you bearing a warning of rising darkness in the East, within the borders of the former Barony of Acre. It is a disease that has been allowed to fester amidst the political intrigues and war, seeded by a common enemy that seeks to render all of us low, no matter what nation or creed we align ourselves with. A few months ago, a group of like-minded companions from Barrowton and I received whispers of strange developments in Acre, to which we responded by venturing there ourselves. We found the land repopulated with refugees from Adria, intent on escaping the violence of the most recent civil war. Yet, the village had been devastated by a recent murder, and our company soon discovered evidence of a conspiracy. THE AFFLICTION One amongst the villagers was a contact of the Mori’quessir and had taken to fostering a monstrous arachnid with a sinister goal in mind. The monster in question seemed to be the mother of a much greater brood, producing spiderlings that seemed capable of infesting the village near enough in its entirety, right under the noses of its dwellers. But still, it was worse than that, for these spiderlings could also infest the bodies of the recently deceased and wear their skins like camouflage. We believe the afflicted initially found their bodies infiltrated by the parasites whilst asleep or otherwise distracted. They then proceeded to kill their host by consuming and hollowing out the insides, including the muscles, bones and vital organs. However, this did not appear to significantly alter the afflicted’s mannerisms, for they seemed to continue with their everyday activities, implying that the swarm within could emulate, to some degree, the behaviours of the one whose identity they have assumed. Examples ranged from an elderly wood miller to a six-year-old child. Additionally, the lack of internals did not appear to hamper the afflicted, with the swarm within seemingly capable of replicating the functions of both bone and muscle. Any signs of necrosis were also absent, indicating that the swarm can preserve their shell for a lengthy period of time. Yet, the facade was not flawless. Friends and family of the afflicted noted a tendency towards anti-social behaviour and reclusiveness. Furthermore, once they became aware of us getting closer to the truth, the afflicted became feral and resorted to violent attacks upon all the unaffected in their immediate surroundings, whether they were strangers or family. The writings we uncovered of the Mori’quessir associate also suggested that the afflicted were compelled to spread the parasites to new hosts, thus multiplying their numbers. However, given how quickly the condition spread throughout the village, we can assume it is a rapid process and have reason to believe the intention is to soon spread beyond the borders of Acre to the rest of the heartlands. RECOMMENDATIONS The afflicted are difficult at first glance to distinguish from their otherwise healthy counterparts, which brings me to my recommendations and probable methods for countering them. Due to being comprised of skin and little else, they are highly susceptible to damage, with breaches to the skin barrier appearing to compromise their functionality. With this in mind, a medical examination of one suspected to carry the parasites, similar to that carried out upon suspected darkspawn and vampires, may prove a successful method of revealing them. However, such an act may ultimately trigger a hostile reaction. The best method we have found to combat these monsters is fire. Setting them alight will destroy the skin barrier and thus the cohesiveness of the parasites. Grievous injuries inflicted by cutting weapons may also prove effective in compromising their ability to manoeuvre. To prevent the spread of the afflicted from beyond Acre, and in order to prevent the development of further Mori’quessir incursions in the East, I call upon all nations to establish an effective quarantine of the land and monitor the activity within its borders. This is not a time in which we, the denizens of Almaris, can afford to stand divided. We must put aside our petty differences to combat the greater evil that threatens us all, as we have many times before, or risk annihilation and all we have built falling to ruin. SIGNED, Albéric du Lac

The Knight-Errant received the news of Laetitia's parting with a heavy heart. Having known her since the earliest days of his adolescence, Albéric remembered the woman as a kind and selfless figure, always keen to make people happy. She would be terribly missed... "Farewell, dear friend. Give my regards to my father and may peace be with you."

How are you doing today?

Awesome work as always, Sander!

Albéric du Lac smiled as word of his commission's completion reached his ears. "I look forward to seeing Garedyn's work firsthand!"

Albéric's heart was heavy with grief as he received the news of the King's passing. "May your find peace in the Seven Skies, uncle. Give my regards to my father."

Albéric du Lac acknowledged the High Pontiff's death with a solemn prayer at the roadside, knelt before a saintly shrine. "May you find safe passage unto the Seven Skies, Your Holliness."

"As if there was any doubt. One can hope the witless wyrms will be put to the sword in due course," stated Albéric du Lac upon reading the missive.

"Another betrayal, orchestrated by my aunt no less..." Albéric du Lac lamented as he read the missive, hand trembling with restrained anger. "Worse still, Charlotte sought to indulge in kinslaying. Why must my family continue to disgrace themselves?!"

Albéric du Lac read the missive with intrigue. "At last, the wider realm acknowledges the threat. Best they know the whole truth of what to expect..." He saddled his steed, preparing for the ride to Karosgrad.

Albert of the Lake. A young knight-errant making his way across the continent.

Please answer this question. Had these screenshots been available at the time you were discussing Charlemagne's appeal, would he have still been unbanned, or would you have prioritised the safety of this community? Frankly, I believe the lifting of his ban was a woeful mistake that sets a terrible precedent. It almost feels like the administration is hesitant to re-ban him due to not wanting to appear indecisive.

Albert Salvian, the eldest son of the Petra - now Knight of the Realm, pondered long and hard on what could have been had reason prevailed. The memories flooded back. One day he had taken himself to his parents' study, glossing over a book detailing the expressive works of heartland poets. The next thing he knew, the palace had erupted with wrathful cries as numerous soldiers took up arms. Soon after, he was brought before his father, Constanz, whose gaze fell upon his son with what could only be described as doubt. “How can you be sure that the boy is yours…?” A faceless advisor muttered in a less than discrete voice. Anxious amongst the crowd and beset with a stammer, the eldest son could only look on as events fell out of his control. The stability Albert so desperately craved he found in caring for his younger siblings, the crisis demanding he stepped up for their sake, even if that meant taking a beating from a duo of opportunistic bandits. The boy also took it upon himself to write a public missive, desperate to prove that he was indeed his father’s son and in opposition to his mother’s contracting of foreign mercenaries. A year of war dragged on and the boy’s innocence crumbled. Good men and women died upon the fields of Moere, and soon he bore witness to the death of Constanz himself, slain in single combat by the Haeseni Prince. All while his mother looked on, cheering as her new lover’s blade pierced the Duke’s heart. The sight had scarred itself into Albert’s memory. Now another civil war plagued the heartlands, the fires of ambition consuming the lives of the innocent. “Has the world not had its fill of chaos?” The young knight asked aloud. Yet, there was no answer, only silence.

"Quite the mess you've gotten yourself into, cousin..." Albert stated, frowning as he read the missive. "Still - 'stoned to death'...? That sounds rather excessive."

Albert Salvian was perturbed, for the beast he had bore witness to all those years ago had at last freed itself from its bonds. "Such a terror cannot be allowed to roam free across the realm. I will ride to Amaethea; they shall have my sword and lance in these trying times."

Albert Salvian looked proudly upon his younger brother's project. "You never fail to impress me, Arnaud. I look forward to the release of more decks in the future."

The activity system is an RP strangler that kills communities. Recently my own group was faced with the dilemma of either vassalise under a nation or be essentially made a non-entity going into the next map. We climbed out of a civil war with a decently sized playerbase and unique culture, bearing every intention of rebuilding. Yet, we were informed that due to the nature of activity checks and so forth we would be unable to acquire land come the transition. With that knowledge on hand, many people ultimately went on hiatus, disheartened that they could not rebuild independently without the administration breathing down their necks. To me it looks like instead of wanting to promote a unique and enjoyable experience the administration are more concerned with a numbers game, propping up only the largest nations to encourage player retention via RP quantity. But there is a problem with this model in that inevitably people seek to branch out and develop their own projects of quality, often times starting off small in their efforts. As we have already established they are punished for this ingenuity. How can you expect a flower to bloom if it is immediately trampled the moment it sprouts from the soil?

HOUSE DE LYONS “Do Not Provoke the Lions” The House de Lyons is a knightly family of Heartlanders, initially hailing from the Province of Endaen, upon the continent of Aeldin. Although previously rendered an obscure name following its exodus from the distant continent, the bloodline has since reemerged in the realms of men, aspiring to uphold honour and chivalry above all else. ~HISTORY~ Foundation ~ 15th Century By Louis Edmund de Lyons; Circa. 1568. At the onset of the Imperial Age and the establishment of the Horosid Dynasty, the northern territory of Aeldin was steadily brought into compliance by the rapid expansion of the heartland armies. Among those subjugated were the native Harrenite clans of the region of Endaen, brigandish folk thought by outsiders to be little more than uncivilised rogues. The Empire reluctantly spared the bulk of these clans from the sword, on the condition they swore oaths of fealty and pledged their martial strength to aid in future conquests. Yet, as occupational forces withdrew in wake of establishing a provincial government, the stringent control of hardened generals gave way to weak-minded bureaucrats. Rebuffing the counsel of interventionist advisors for a laissez-faire approach, the new Governor of Endaen permitted the Harrenites to continue practising their barbaric way of life, believing it would facilitate long-term amicable relations. So long as the Imperial tithe was paid, their inclination for plundering the border territories would be tolerated. Clan Scrymgeour stood as one of the oldest Harrenite bloodlines of Endaen and were among the most powerful too. Adept skirmishers who proved lethal in lightning warfare, Imperial censuses suggest that from the territories they controlled the Clan could muster nearly three thousand riders. Donagh Scrymgeour, their petty lord, was swift to take advantage of the Governor’s incompetence, ordering his men to ransack merchant caravans and isolated hamlets, so that their coffers might overflow by winter. But ever an avaricious opportunist, Donagh foolishly perceived the decadence of the Empire’s nobility as total ignorance, attacking sanctioned state convoys and withholding tributes to the crown. Furthermore, when the provincial government sought to treat with Clan Scrymgeour and procure a diplomatic solution, the Harrenites openly mocked and dismissed the olive branch as a farce. At last, acknowledging that an example had to be made of such blatant defiance, the Governor of Endaen declared Clan Scrymgeour traitors and in open rebellion. The aftermath of a Harrenite raid; Unknown Date. With an entire province taking up arms against his Clan, Donagh surmised that survival depended on defeating the Imperials in the field before they could muster a substantial force, thereby reopening negotiations in his favour. The Scrymgeours took to the lowlands, harrying rural populations and setting ambushes along the main roads to the provincial capital of Langford, thereby depriving the army of able-bodied recruits and provoking a premature advance. In the following weeks, an Imperial regiment was hastily dispatched into the countryside to give battle to the Harrenite reivers, seeking to end their revolt. Leading the retribution force was a young knight-errant hailing from the Heartlands, Sir Lyonel de la Foret, who had previously distinguished himself in the eastern Imperial campaigns. A significant portion of Lyonel’s army were veterans of the long-winded war for Aeldin’s unification - five hundred heavy cavalry and just over a thousand men-at-arms. But just as Donagh had hoped, this force stood at barely half the size of his own host. The reivers beckoned Sir Lyonel into their country, rallying their combined might in sight of the Scrymgeours’ own ancestral seat. Donagh was confident in securing a decisive victory, his banners gathered in full force before the numerically inferior Imperial host. The three thousand Harrenite riders positioned themselves upon the foothills of the nearby river valley, staring down the Knight-Errant’s armoured front lines, who had adopted a defensive formation just beyond the shelter of a coniferous forest. Sir Lyonel understood the severity of his disadvantage and so took to establishing perimeter trenches with sharpened stakes upon his flanks. The thick surrounding foliage also served as cover, allowing the Knight-Errant to disguise his smaller host’s movements and seek refuge from the projectiles of the Harrenite light cavalry. He was well aware that in order for Donagh to have any chance of truly vanquishing him, the rebel lord would have to meet him directly in a contest of arms. All that remained was to wait, for whilst Clan Scrymgeour were ferocious warriors they lacked discipline and were easily roused into a frenzy. Patience would win the day - the Empire could wait. Sir Lyonel engaging Donagh Scrymgeour and his bodyguard; Circa. 1490. War horns sounded at the break of the following day as Sir Lyonel’s sentries spotted movement along the ridge. Just as the Knight-Errant had anticipated, bloodlust and a yearning for battle had enticed the Scrymgeours to make the first move, a third of their army advancing. The well-formed Imperial host stepped just beyond the treeline to face the Harrenite vanguard, their tower shields and pikes aloft as the many cycles of javelins and arrows were absorbed by the front line. Retaliating, Sir Lyonel’s archers released volleys unto the hill slopes, catching the lightly armed riders in a hail of death. Scores of reivers fell from their horses, wailing and dying as their lord looked on in apprehension. With his host decimated and morale wavering, the last strand of Donagh’s caution snapped. Believing his weight in numbers would see him prevail, the Harrenite lord ordered forth the entirety of his host, over two thousand mounted warriors galloping forth to strike the Knight-Errant’s lines with all their might. The Imperial centre buckled, but maintained its coordination, their polearms holding back the full brunt of the enemy charge, littering the ground with mounds of corpses. Yet despite their losses, the Scrymgeours were fully committed to the battle, determined to break their adversaries no matter the cost. Alas, Sir Lyonel made the final move, his own heavy cavalry charging forth from the reserves. Divided into two formations, their lances emerged from the tree line and smashed the flanks of the Harrenites. Bogged down by the broken ground and compacted like a shoal of sardines, the lightly armed reivers had no room nor time to reform their lines, falling victim to the brutal doctrine of Imperial shock warfare. A thick melee erupted, crushing those unfortunate enough to have been caught in its epicentre. Only a few hundred clansmen were so lucky to escape the whirlpool of terror. Donagh was not amongst them. Confronted by Sir Lyonel himself, the lord of Clan Scrymgeour met his end upon a cold steel edge, the Knight-Errant’s longsword cleaving the reiver’s head clean from his shoulders. Leaderless and utterly defeated, the Harrenites could do nothing more than limp back to their castle, from which Donagh’s household had witnessed his downfall. In the hours that followed, Sir Lyonel’s host pressed onwards to surround the now sparsely defended fortress, over which a flag of parley was raised. The rebellion was at last over. For his prowess in battle and efforts in restoring stability to the province, Sir Lyonel was awarded the former holdings of Clan Scrymgeour, which in due time the populace would dub Lyonesse, in his honour. What remained of the local Harrenites either faded in obscurity or bent the knee to their new liege lord. In time, tales of a knight with the strength of a lion thrice over spread throughout Endaen; a reputation that prompted Lyonel to take the beasts as his personal sigil. A legacy that, alongside his name, would be passed down for generations to come. A Lyonen knight, patrolling the bogland of Endaen; Circa. 1563. A Reflection ~ 20th Century By Arthur Hughes de Lyons; Circa. 1906. In exploring my family history, I have come to realise regrettably that vast swathes of our records remain either incomplete or have vanished entirely. For example, precisely when we departed from the continent of Aeldin remains a matter of debate, and there are no details as to how we found passage to this side of the known world. My hope is that in time, by uncovering additional records, or through the voluntary aid of other Aeldinic bloodlines, I may yet be able to shed more light on those time-lost generations. Regarding my own thoughts on what I have managed to piece together, though it is somewhat sparse on specific details, my ancestor Louis seems to have written a believable account of my family’s foundation and progenitor. It is corroborated by similar records from that period, indicating that a campaign of expansion was indeed being prosecuted by Imperial forces, though to what lengths I cannot be certain. Yet, returning to the topic of our exodus, I will acknowledge that our time as landed lords within the province of Endaen most likely ended in a drawn-out period of violence. Ironically, much like the Scrymgeours before us, House de Lyons challenged the imperial bureaucracy's effectiveness and dared to question the provincial government's fitness. Our honour, desire for autonomy and devotion to chivalry sowed doubts regarding our usefulness to the Empire; a corrupt establishment having little need for those unwilling to be pawns. From my personal experience of the known world, I realise that humanity has on many an occasion fallen victim to vain pride and ambition, with wicked men carving out vast realms at the expense of all moral decency. There will come a time that I am no longer able to guide my household and must leave our family legacy in the hands of the next generation. But it is my earnest hope that those who take up that mantle of responsibility remain true to the chivalrous virtues and knightly valour of our forefathers. The House de Lyons must never again bear steel in the name of an Empire, for the very concept has proven anathema to integrity and self-determination. We must be better and recognise that mankind may yet prosper without being coerced into submission beneath the shadow of a singular oppressive banner. ~CUSTOMS~ The Legacy of Lyonesse By Arthur Hughes de Lyons; Circa. 1906. The House de Lyons has traditionally served as a knightly family, aspiring to maintain chivalrous virtues and honour above all else. Both men and women of our bloodline are expected to achieve, if not strive towards, Knighthood or Damehood so as to ensure our martial origins are not lost to the ages. We have not always succeeded in this endeavour, for many years having faded into obscurity amidst the intrigues of the realm. But alas, titles alone are not a measure of one’s virtue, for it is a purity of the heart that determines whether one is truly worthy. The day a child of Lyonesse has shown that they can bear steel with restraint, they are gifted a weapon of their own. Furthermore, a knight is characterised not only by their strength at arms but also riding into battle on horseback. For when a child of our bloodline is able enough to walk, they may yet be capable of riding and caring for a steed of their own. Throughout the generations, this has instilled a sense of duty and teaches the youth that life must never be taken for granted. All must be capable of doing their part, should they seek to earn anything, respect in particular. With the passage of time, we have also taken to adopting new traditions. My lady wife, Juliana Rosemary of the House of Vernhart, showed me that one may yet wield a pen with as much grace as a sword. To accommodate this worldview, my own children shall receive falcons for the expressed purpose of bearing missives, as part of their tutoring in performing civil matters. With this, I hope they may better serve the realm from a domestic perspective when they come of age. Yet, perhaps our most significant custom is the words of our family: “Do Not Provoke the Lions.” They serve as a warning to those who might seek to take advantage of our hospitality and defile the virtues we hold so dear. There have been many occasions in which a knight of the House de Lyons has taken up steel in defence of our family’s honour, willing to engage in single combat if it means settling a dispute. Trial by such means is a revered custom, for ultimately it is GOD who favours the victor, and so our ultimate fate lies in his blessed hands.