4th of Sun’s Smile, 1777
SONS OF PERSUS
In the time of Pertinax rule, and for many years afterwards, the princedom of Pronce - the luxuriant retreat of gardens and palaces that served as a palatial retreat for many an aged Horen - had never been anything more important than a place of relaxation through antiquity. These clumsy deep-sea galleons of old, fitted in the sails of purple and black of their ancient ensigns, would lie becalmed, retreating for decades while the modern clippers of claimant empires forged ahead by flaps of their sales. The story goes that within the memory of the older of these late imperials, their ship was the pinnacle of Renatian engineering, the grand interior lauded to be fit for the emperor that used it for transport across the seas. The wide deck a semi-circular and unroofed temple to engineering and the sea alike, it would be outfitted with a retinue of soldiery. The only sign of that old imperial life upon the ship, visible from the dockside as it pulled into the great northern ports, was a stout purple-clad bureaucrat with his boot stood firm atop the bowsprit as if guiding the great vessel by the small turns of his head across the bay. The thick, elderly man, remained pompously communicative to the deckhands and pilot-captains that circled about the ship. Three envelopes, sealed with the purple stamp of that old empire, were raised high in his grip, a sprig of purpled antirrhinum pressed into the wax.
"These three gentlemen" He boomed with an antiquated opulence, "must be delivered this message. Under providence I am owed the privilege of not delivering them myself. And I-” he warbles on, his whiskers moving with the encouragement of a large sigh, tossing a sack of money into the hands of the nearest pilot, a grey-eyed mali’ker with his head shaved beyond a mohawked strip down the middle, who took to his tender with some haste to deliver the missive to the three dragonblooded recipients scattered across the land; Oliver Helane, Antonyus Helane and Junius Helane in turn. It was with an upright quietness that he took to his ship, heading out from the dockyard with equivocal haste to he had entered it, a small frown to his face in response to a gloomy thought or some unpleasant sensation that he could not put word nor name to. He never detached his eyes from either the sextant or the sea ahead, his fee paid and course set.
The letters were delivered within a week.
To whom it may concern.
After watching my brother, ‘Emperor’ Peter III, bite the bottom step of Rubern prior to having his head stomped upon repeatedly by the late Duke Godric - I took it upon myself to celebrate my brother’s death, unaware of his ability to somehow survive such a blow.
During my celebrations, I toured Arcas and met many fair maiden - all of which birthed sons as a result of our encounter. I've never been adept with numbers, instead focusing my schooling on the true pursuits of men as soldiery and martial skills, but my approximation of sons birthed as a result of my celebratory tour is around 40,000. If this letter reaches the lands of Arcas, let it be known that these three of my legitimate, favored Sons are true Dragonsblood; and have my full permission to use the former family-name of ‘Horen’.
I hope that many may join me in these distant lands in a not-so-distant time.