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THE LION’S SHARE “VA VE MAAN.” Issued by THE VISCOUNTY OF NOVKURSAIN On this 30th day of Tov and Yermey of 506 E.S. HERE BE THE WORDS OF VISCOUNT WALTER WEISS, The Vikomital House of Weiss, dutiful to the military affairs of our kingdom in all things does hereby part a gift unto the crown: A sum of three thousand two hundred minae, alongside fifteen hundred and twelve units of iron to assist in paying for the logistics and salaries of our brave brothers and sisters in arms and to arm all appropriately to the fullest extent. May we continue to serve the crown, the kingdom, and the security of its people dutifully and with courage until the end of days. Krusae zwy Kongzem; Va ve Maan. IV JOVEO MAAN, The Honorable, Lord Walter León Weiss, Viscount of Novkursain, Baron of Zvaervauld, Lord of Staalgrav, Lord Palatine, and Marian of the King’s Own Retinue. Her Highness, Veronica Isabella Weiss, Princess of Hyspia, Curator of the Crown Jewels, Armsman of the Brotherhood of Saint Karl.

Heir’s Ascent As written upon on this 10th of Malin’s Welcome, 157 S.A From The Exilic Kingdom of Númendil and the Lordship of Caladras "Fair shall the end be, though long and hard shall be the road.” To the Denizens of the Lordship of Caladras, Her Grace, Tar-Caraneth Aryantë of the Royal House Arthalionath of the The Exilic Kingdom of Númendil, and the Esteemed Númenedain of the The Exilic Kingdom of Númendil, In the embrace of duty and the passage of time, I, Elerríon Saoren Seregon, humbly pen this missive to convey a rather monumental decision that has weighed heavily upon my heart and conscience. It is with a blend of nostalgia, gratitude, and profound trust that I hereby declare my abdication from the titled holdings of Caladras and as Lord of Caladras, and with it, the mantle of leadership that encompasses House Seregon. The echoes of history reverberate far beyond these stone walls, each telling its own tale through shared endeavors, challenges, and triumphs that have defined my life and this community. Through the turning of seasons and the forging of bonds, we have thrived as a united House under the guiding hand of the Exilic Kingdom. Yet, as the river of time courses unyielding, it demands recognition of its inexorable flow. To this end, I have pondered long upon the legacy of our House and the torch that lights our way into the future. In the realm of inevitability, I have found solace in the knowledge that the essence of Caladras, its spirit and resilience, shall persist in capable hands. It is with unwavering confidence that I pass the mantle of Lordship to my eldest child and the esteemed heir, Lóriniel Arabella Seregon. Lóriniel, my daughter, inheritor of our legacy and the new Lady of Caladras, I place the trust of Caladras into your capable hands. May you lead with wisdom, compassion, and the unwavering commitment that defines the Seregon lineage. To the noble denizens of Caladras, I extend my deepest gratitude for your unwavering support and camaraderie. The bond we share went past titles and shall endure as a cornerstone of strength in our collective spirit. In acknowledgment of the vital role played by the steadfast Castellan, Ellisar Aevaris, I express my profound gratitude. Ellisar has been a wealth of support, a guardian of our traditions, and soon an unofficial regent during this period of transition. His wisdom and dedication have fortified Caladras and ensured the continuity of our noble line. As I step into the twilight of my stewardship, I do so with the knowledge that the flame of Caladras burns brighter than ever. May the coming days be filled with prosperity, unity, and the echoes of a realm that has stood the test of time. In enduring fellowship, Ser Elerríon of House Seregon, Seneschal and Steward to the White Court of the Númenaranyë, Huntmaster to the White Court of the Númenaranyë, Captain for the Royal Guard of the Númenaranyë, Templar of the Aengul Malchediael, and Knight of the Realm

On the government of the Wards NOMINATIONS FOR THE 4TH GOVERNMENT OF THE WARDS OF WHITESPIRE Issued and Confirmed by the Cabinet on the 14th of Horen’s Calling, 1952 TO THE CITIZENS OF THE ROYAL CAPITAL, Under the august decree of His Majesty, King Edmund II of Alstion, the wheels of governance in the esteemed Royal City of Whitespire are set in motion. In full alignment with the official proclamation delineating the Governance of the Wards, it is with great solemnity that we extend an invitation for the submission of nominations in anticipation of the forthcoming 1952 elections for the Wards' Government. THE WARD REPRESENTATIVES, serve as the entrusted emissaries of the populace of Whitespire. In the upcoming 1952 elections, three deserving denizens of Whitespire shall be elected to aptly represent and preside over the affairs of the esteemed Royal Capital. Their noble mandate entails the advocacy of citizens' concerns before the esteemed City Council, coupled with the formulation of fresh legal statutes and protocols for inclusion in Table III of the venerable Lex Aaunica. THE LORD MAYOR, entrusted with the leadership of the Municipal Government of Whitespire. Their pivotal role encompasses the initiation and stewardship of the Municipal Government, as well as the diligent maintenance and enhancement of the Capital's infrastructure. The ballot shall yield the election of a singular, worthy Lord Mayor in the forthcoming 1952 elections. In pursuance of candidature, one is hereby eligible under the following stipulations: • Possession of citizenship within Whitespire • Adherence to the tenets of Canonism • Absence from the Cabinet and Privy Council of Aaun • Exclusion from the realm's peerage, unless a resident within the confines of the Capital To those inclined to self-nominate, a booth designated for candidacies is now stationed within the central square of Whitespire. Instructions pertaining to the nomination process are furnished therein. CONFIRMED AND AFFIRMED, HIS EXCELLENCY, Fernand de Lewes, Chancellor of Aaun, Baron of Virdain

Caladras Joust of St. Malcolm of Fjordhem As written upon on this 6th of The Amber Cold, 154 S.A. From The Exilic Kingdom of Númendil and the Lordship of Caladras "Fair shall the end be, though long and hard shall be the road.” To all of those in Aevos who champion of the Right and the Good against Injustice and Evil, THE JOUST OF ST. MALCOLM OF FJORDHEM To celebrate the consecration of our Temple of St. Malcolm of Fjordhem, The House Seregon shall host a joust upon their Lordship. Knights and squires of all realms and their people are invited to either watch or participate in this grand joust. The skilled artisans and merchants of the Exilic Kingdom of Númendil are highly encouraged to bring wares out to showcase and sell. The Champion of the Joust shall receive a 200 mina prize, with second place earning 100 and third earning 50. (OOC: Mechanical Joust) TIME AND PLACE The jousting shall take place in the Lordship of Caladras within the Exilic Kingdom of Númendil. The Lordship is host to a lists within its domain, on the early days of The First Seed, 155 S.A. OOC: 5 PM EST, Friday the 17th of November Coordinates: 811 170 497 Midlands Warp at CT SIGN UP To participate in the joust, please fill out the form below: OOC NAME: IRP NAME: DISCORD: Lord Elerríon of House Seregon, Lord of Caladras, Seneschal and Steward to the White Court of the Númenaranyë, Huntmaster to the White Court of the Númenaranyë, Captain for the Royal Guard of the Númenaranyë, Templar of the Aengul Malchediael, and Knight of the Realm Lady Cálienë of House Seregon, Lady of Caladras, Steward to the White Court of the Númenaranyë, Physician to the White Court of the Númenaranyë, Serjeant for the Royal Guard of the Númenaranyë, Templar of the Aengul Malchediael, and Knight of the Realm Ser Ellisar Angrenor of House Aevaris, Castellan of Caladras, Templar of the Aengul Malchediael, and Knight of the Realm

[!] Small missives were scattered across Aevos. The symbol of Babblebrook stamped upon them. This is a message to any remaining descendants of the Musin Knights of the Cheese Table, who's grand search for the king who will unite Musinkind was made aware to me just the other night. My name is King Patches of the Musin Village of Babblebrook, and I extend my hand out to you in greeting and invitation to my village. I would like to discuss with you this prophecy I've been told and to request your aid in building up Babblebrook and making our kingdom better for our people. I don't know if this will reach you, but if it does, please come to Dunwen. I'll be sure to try and welcome you as best as I can. Kindest Regards~ Patches King of the Musin

The Citrine Guard Established 1948 “As our village sports no gates so must we be its shield, As our Clergy wander the world so must we be their cloak, As undeath marches upon the land so must we be the gold that banishes evil.” Mission The mission of the Citrine Guard is to first and foremost protect our humble Lemon Hill, its denizens, and the clergy. Be the threat mortal, voidal, undead, or demonic in nature, the Citrine Guard is to stand at the ready for the Hill’s defense. We fight for no King or Kingdom, insteading wielding our blades for GOD. The Chain, the Ranks of the Citrine Guard The command of the Citrine Guard is symbolized by a simple iron chain. Each link, whether at the top or bottom, is vital to the overall structure of the organization. Whether one’s rank is that of Grandmaster, the leader of the Citrine Guard, or Recruit, Enlisted or Band of the Flaming Iris, each link must be carefully maintained. The Band of the Flaming Iris The Band of the Flaming Iris houses the knights of the Citrine Guard, men and women trained in the chivalric tradition to keep virtue and the tenants of the organization at heart. I. Grandmaster of the Flaming Iris The Grandmaster is the overall leader of the Citrine Guard, responsible for commissioning the officers of the Citrine Guard and bestowing spurs upon the worthy. The Grandmaster’s foremost duty is to Lemon Hill, protecting the demesne with their own life if necessary. When a Grandmaster dies or retires, their successor is to be chosen of the Knight-Commanders. Ser Morgan of Angren, 1948 - Present II. Knight-Commander of the Flaming Iris The Knight-Commanders serve as veteran officers of the Citrine Guard, capable of commanding both the Citrine Guard and the knights of the Flaming Iris. In the Chain of Command, they are second only to the Grandmaster. Dame Valda, 1948 - Present III. Knight of the Flaming Iris A knight of the Flaming Iris is to be a seasoned warrior trained in the chivalric tradition. They are to uphold the virtues of their rank at all times, for which they are permitted to bear a coat of arms of their own. In the Chain of Command, they are equivalent to a Man-at-Arms. Enlisted I. Sergeant, colloquially known as the “Lemon Sour” Sergeants serve to direct men in battle and maintain discipline in the ranks. They are to be proven soldiers more than capable of commanding their comrades. II. Man-at-Arms, colloquially known as the “Lemon Head” Man-at-Arms serve as the proven veterans of the Citrine Guard, capable of holding their own. May command lower ranks at the behest of a Sergeant or lack thereof. III. Militiaman, colloquially known as the “Lemon Levy” Militiamen are the backbone of the Citrine Guard, drilled and disciplined to be entrusted with the crest of Lemon Hill upon their tabard. Their purpose is to follow the orders of their Sergeant and serve as the mainline infantry of the Citrine Guard. IV. Recruit, colloquially known as the “Lemon Drop” Recruits are the initial enlisted of the Citrine Guard, to be trained and made into Militiamen within the span of a year. Billets Billets sit outside the traditional chain of command, existing as positions vital to the function and armament of the Citrine Guard. Any soldier may be assigned a billet, regardless of rank. I. Quartermaster The Quartermaster works to ensure that all men are armed, armored, and provisioned within the Citrine Guard, directing the alchemists and blacksmiths to accomplish this goal. II. Alchemist Alchemists work to ensure that alchemical supplies of the Citrine Guard are well stocked and the production of potions and elixirs. III. Blacksmith Blacksmiths work to ensure the Citrine Guard is equipped with proper steel and the maintenance of our arsenal. IV. Medicae Medicae work to bind the wounded of the Citrine Guard, be it with sutures or alchemics, tasked with preserving cherished life. Pay Enlisted I. Sergeant Room and Board A daily portion of meat and a lemon A daily portion of beer at the Red Roof Inn Arms and Armor A horse 15 minas a year II. Man-at-Arms Room and Board A daily portion of meat and a lemon A daily portion of beer at the Red Roof Inn Arms and Armor A horse 10 minas a year III. Militiaman Room and Board A daily portion of meat and a lemon A daily portion of beer at the Red Roof Inn Arms and Armor 5 minas a year IV. Recruit Room and Board A daily portion of meat and a lemon Training “Know us by our tabard.” Those seeking to enlist should contact either Ser Morgan of Angren (househelvets) or Dame Valda (Jtit#9196). Alternatively, one may apply by replying to this posting in the following format: Application Name: Age: Race: Username: Discord: https://discord.gg/hkpt7R6gqt

An Open Invitation - Life Awaits As written upon on this 12th of Malin’s Welcome, 152 S.A. From The Exilic Kingdom of Númendil and the Lordship of Caladras "Fair shall the end be, though long and hard shall be the road.” To all of those in Aevos who champion of the Right and the Good against Injustice and Evil, In the heart of the Exilic Kingdom of Númendil, next to the ancient Kingswood, where the shadows dance with the sunlight filtering through the leaves, lies Caladras – a stronghold carved from the stone of the realm itself. We, Ser Elerríon of House Seregon, Lord of Caladras, and Ser Ellisar of House Aevaris, Castellan of Caladras and Taras Ilsa, extend a solemn invitation to those in search of refuge, purpose, and belonging. Why Choose Caladras? A Refuge of Solitude: Caladras stands as a bastion of Númenedain security amid a world in turmoil. There exists a somewhat rural attitude whilst being a short distance from the Kingdom’s capital city of Númenost. Here, rolling fields meet the towering and dense woodlands. The gentle rustle of leaves and the song of birds offer a refuge from the chaos and Darkness that rolls through the realm. Shared Endeavors: In the quietude of our mark on this realm, those of Caladras and the Númenedain work together, cultivating the land and fostering a community where the Virtue of labor mingles with the earth. A shared sense of purpose binds us, transcending the mundane and that of racial bonds. Faith Amidst Mixed Company: In reverence to the Creator that sculpts these lands and all that is, many of those in Caladras practice the Canonist faith, deeply rooted in the Holy Scrolls. A temple stands as testament to the kinship of all, where Virtue and the Good and Just of His flock reside. The Lordship extends its welcome to the Virtuous, even if faith and the Canon is not in your beliefs. Guardians of the Northern Reaches: With a vigilant levy and steadfast guards, Caladras shields the northern parts of Númendil from the unknown. The security of the Númenedain is ensured by the watchful eyes of the Royal Guard, the Confessors, and the Rangers. Through our mortal hands, and the light of the Creator, we embrace comradery through shared defense. Kinship Beyond Blood: Within our hearths, bonds of kinship are forged. We celebrate the diversity of our community, where shared laughter, solemn prayers, and quiet moments of understanding weave the tapestry of our collective identity. Opportunities Await! No matter your walk of life, be it a skilled artisan, aspiring squire, diligent farmer, studious scholar, or a protector of hearth and home, Caladras shall welcome you. Here, amidst the Heartlands and the Númenedain, you may find not just a place to dwell, but a purpose to uphold. If any of this pulls at your heart to seek, or if you simply seek to learn more, the invite is open for the reasonable, Virtuous, or otherwise good-natured to visit these lands. Send writ to Ser Ellisar or Lord Elerríon. Come, join us in the heart of the Númendil. Let Caladras become the sanctuary you have long sought. Lord Elerríon of House Seregon, Lord of Caladras, Seneschal and Steward to the White Court of the Númenaranyë, Huntmaster to the White Court of the Númenaranyë, Huntmaster and Ranger Captain for the Royal Guard of the Númenaranyë, Templar of the Aengul Malchediael, and Knight of the Realm Lady Cálienë of House Seregon, Lady of Caladras, Steward to the White Court of the Númenaranyë, Physician to the White Court of the Númenaranyë, Serjeant for the Royal Guard of the Númenaranyë, Templar of the Aengul Malchediael, and Knight of the Realm Ser Ellisar Angrenor of House Aevaris, Castellan of Caladras, Templar of the Aengul Malchediael, and Knight of the Realm

An Occult Ritual In the Cathedral of Albarosa Blessings and peace be upon GOD's faithful, I want to sketch you a picture of what I encountered today. Early in the morning, I got up and got dressed before walking to the Cathedral of the Four Exalted nextdoor for my morning prayer. Immediatly upon entering, something struck me as... off. Usually, after one of the deacons lights all of the candles in the cathedral upon nightfall, many of these candles will still be burning in the early morning. However when I entered today at twilight, the Cathedral was unusually dark. The only candles I could spot lit, were sets of candles in the wings of the cathedral, below various icons of Saints that hang there. As I wandered over to them instinctually, they seemed perfect normal at first. Then I was dumbfounded. The icons of Saints above the candles were not depicting real Saints at all. They depicted figures by the names of 'Zeer', 'Graiyon', 'Sylvester' and 'Harman'. Not knowing quite what to think of this, I stared at them for a moment before deciding I'd deal with it after morning prayer at the altar. As I approached the altar though in the first gloom of morning light coming through the vast stained glass window, I spotted something upon the ground before the altar. Upon closer inspection I suddenly found myself standing in the midst of a large occult pentacle; a daemonic five-pointed star symbol, and what's worse it seemed to be stained onto the tiles not with chalk or paint, but with blood. The gasp I made at my discovery must've been loud enough to startle the sleeping, because suddenly I heard a soft bleating coming from the moody corner behind the baptismal font. This bleat was soon answered by responding bleating from behind the altar and the sarcophagus, as a fivesome of horned goats made their presence apparent and approached me. Curious at first, but soon stubborn and aggressive, trying to attack me by headbutting. Five goats surrounded me then, as I stood on a pentacle of blood made before the altar in a cathedral with depictions of strange 'saints'. What has happened in this Holy building, this Home of GOD? What kind of occult ritualistic practices were committed here during the night and who is responsible? I will have these strange daemonic evils, these horned animalistic servants, the fake saints and the pentacle removed and purged, sure. I will also have the cathedral re-consecrated, sure. But who did this and why? I seek answers and aid, and for this I turn to GOD's faithful flock. If you have any information regarding who might be responsible for what happened or what kind of evil sorcery is at play here, please let me or any other members of the Church know. No evil may deface the House of the Lord unpunished, so let us work together on enacting GOD's justice. By the Grace of GOD, Signed, His Eminence Father Arnaud Constantine Novellen, Pontifical Vice-Chancellor, Cardinal of the Canonist Church, Archbishop of Albarosa, Bishop of Buron, Pastor of the Crownlands.

La Dorada A HYSPIAN SONG Written by Sofia of Hyspia Queen-Dowager of Haense and Princess of Hyspia It is with the construction of my birth lands once more that I take up my quill and ink once put down for good. Inspiration roars its head and waits for no one. Much like when I was all but a young girl penning a song for our city of Silver, I pen one now, in congratulations for our City of Gold. May Hyspia prosper, growing brighter and more passionate than ever. ♪♩ The City of Silver is long since gone La Ciudad de Plata hace tiempo que desapareció It has not become copper or bronze No se convirtió en cobre ni en bronce. Listen to our Hyspian song! ¡Escuchad nuestra canción hispiana! Color and passion mold our walk El color y la pasión moldean nuestro caminar Laughter and dance fill our talks Risas y bailes llenan nuestras charlas Cobble sounds beneath our horses hooves Los adoquines suenan bajo los cascos de nuestros caballos. How we cheer for the Princess Ramona! ¡Cómo animamos a la Princesa Ramona! Blessed by DIOS! Bendecida por Dios! We wondered, we wondered Nos preguntamos, nos preguntamos Would we ever see this day? ¿Veríamos este día alguna vez? The independence of our Viceroyalty! ¡La independencia de nuestro Virreinato! We cheered, we cheered Celebramos, Celebramos As we made our way Mientras nos encaminamos To a place of certain beauty Hacia un lugar de gran belleza Color and passion mold our walk El color y la pasión moldean nuestro caminar Laughter and dance fill our talks Risas y bailes llenan nuestras charlas Cobble sounds beneath our horses hooves Los adoquines suenan bajo los cascos de nuestros caballos. How we cheer for the Princess Ramona! ¡Cómo animamos a la princesa Ramona! Blessed by DIOS! Bendecida por Dios! Our Viceroy Cesar I Nuestro Virrey César I Brought us under Haenses turf Nos trajo bajo el yugo de Haense And made the City of Silver Y fundó la Ciudad de Plata Now generations later Ahora, generaciones después We, the Hyspian people Nosotros, el pueblo hispiano. Get our letter Recibimos nuestra carta Of elation from silver to another de euforia de plata a otra Giving us the City of Gold Dándonos la Ciudad de oro ♫

Alone Amidst the Icy Peaks: A Lone Journey into the Northern Wilderness - An Odyssey to the North by Faelion Arather -= Introduction =- The snow-capped peaks of the northern mountains have always held a strange allure for me. Over the years, I've embarked on several short expeditions into their icy embrace, each time feeling the thrill of the unknown tugging at my heartstrings. One of these journeys, undertaken in the esteemed company of the valiant Sir Onon, still lingers vividly in my memory. However, the story I'm about to share is not about those fleeting escapades in the northern wilderness. No, this tale belongs solely to my most recent and the most protracted expedition into that glacial expanse. As I sit down with quill in hand to chronicle this adventure, I find myself ensconced in my humble abode within the beautiful city of Lurin. Outside, a gentle breeze rustles the curtains by my windowsill, carrying whispers of distant lands. Yet, beyond these city walls, an unforgiving world of ice and snow awaits my return. For this journey, I am alone, armed only with my wits and instincts. The companionship of Sir Onon, his wisdom, and his steady hand are absent on this journey. It is my hope that this record will serve as a testament to a descendant's unyielding determination in the face of nature's harshest trials. Within these pages, you will not encounter recollections of past expeditions or traces of shared adventures with companions. Instead, I shall detail the ordeals and triumphs of this solitary voyage, where Faelion, yours truly, confronts the unknown with nothing but unwavering courage and a resolute determination, amidst the gentle winds of Lurin. -= Chapter 1 =- The first day of my journey to the north was marked by a series of peculiar encounters. While I ventured deeper into the grassy landscape, my heart raced with dread upon witnessing a grim spectacle that sent shivers downs my spine—an eerie, grotesque, lifeless tree stood sentinel in a vast grassland, adorned with the macabre remains of countless souls. In that chilling moment, my heart pounded with a mixture of fear and urgency, compelling me to mutter a silent plea to myself to leave the place with haste. With great caution, I pressed forward, putting as much distance as I could between myself and that unnerving sight. After several hours of traveling, I arrived in an area of rolling hills, where the landscape stretched out like an ancient tapestry. In the distance, I spotted a distant hamlet, its simple and rudimentary walls hinting at an insular community likely wary of outsiders. Following my instincts, I chose to avoid any possible conflicts and proceeded with my journey. Continuing my journey, I drew near to a relatively lofty mountain range, which naturally demarcated the southern rolling hills from the northern expanse. The peaks of these mountains were concealed beneath a dense shroud of clouds, creating an almost surreal atmosphere. The biting cold permeated my bones, an unrelenting reminder of the north's harsh and unforgiving nature. Desiring relief from the bone-chilling cold, I sought sanctuary within a grove of trees that offered a welcome shelter. Here, nestled among these gnarled branches, I felt I had at last arrived at the northern frontier. With a weary sigh, I readied myself by donning my winter gear, bracing for the unrelenting cold that lay in wait in the northern territories. -= Chapter 2 =- On the second day of my journey into the cold and unforgiving northern realm, I pressed onward, determined despite the relentless cold that seemed intent on testing my resolve. As I forged ahead, a surprising and intriguing sight suddenly unfolded before me—a gleaming golden cross, marking my entrance into this enigmatic northern territory. My curiosity was immediately aroused, and I couldn't resist examining the unusual etching on the cross-a delicate flower in full bloom, its petals intricately etched and elegantly shaded in various shades of gray. This vivid contrast against the bleak surroundings left me both perplexed and captivated. It stood out as an unexpected symbol of beauty. After hours of relentless trekking through the snow-clad northern wilderness, I reached the recognizable boundaries of The Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska. It had been a considerable period since I had last stepped foot in Haense. Once again, I ventured into the kingdom, where the biting cold was both relentless and unforgiving. The harsh climate made visibility difficult, and the sharp winds constantly forced me to adjust my course. Notably, the capital city lay shrouded in spikes of ice and snow, with massive boulders hewn from the same frosty substance. These boulders, hollowed to create passages, obstructed the bridge leading to the city. The streets of Haense, once familiar to me, appeared dramatically transformed, almost unrecognizable. The capital of the Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska had shifted from a muddy and dusty landscape into a land shrouded in ice. Furthermore, the streets were eerily deserted during the night, casting a chilling and unsettling ambiance over the city. It was a stark departure from my previous memories of the place, leaving me to ponder the mysterious transformation that had taken place. Venturing beyond the capital, during the same night, I drew near to the towering walls of a formidable fortress. The biting northern wind gnawed at my skin, and my eyes began to feel parched. With each step, it grew increasingly difficult to breath in the dimming light of the waning day. With each deliberate step, the snow yielded beneath my feet, emitting a satisfying crunch. The wintry breeze from Snow Lake caressed my skin, causing my breath to materialize in the chilly air. Just outside the open castle gates, a hospitable sign extended a greeting, displaying the name "Isaakev." Upon my entrance into the castle, a warning sign cautioned me about the long, winding stairs that lay ahead. Ascending these stairs, I arrived at the castle's courtyard, perched high atop the castle, and I began to explore the expansive, empty grounds. As I approached what appeared to be the castle's keep, my attention was drawn to a statue dedicated to an individual named Alex. The inscription at the base of the statue read: "Alex 19⬜⬜[... THE FOURTH WALL IS SHAKING...]⬜⬜⬜2 Gone, But Never Forgotten." Within the castle's keep, I came across a room that seemed to serve as a small throne room. At the entrance to the throne room, two statues stood tall. The lapidary of one statue read: "Stephen I, or Stefan (Naumarian: Stefan Karl), became Haense's King in 1610 after his election in the National Duma at the age of fourteen, following the Greyspine Rebellion and the Second Battle of the Rothswood. As the lone surviving son of King Marius from the House of Barbanov, he transformed Haense into a potent Empire vassal through strategic alliances, despite his controversial Imperial involvement. His legacy mingles progressive Haeseni reforms with his intricate role in Imperial dynamics." The lapidary of the other statue bore the words: "James II, or Jakob (Naumarian: Jakob Marius), is the most infamous of the Ludovar patriarchs, most notable for his work in the Brotherhood of Saint Karl and the Ludovar Trial. The trial meant the end for the Principality, and Jakob was soon castrated on false charges. Later, the verdict was overturned with new testimony coming available. He was returned his knighthood, and the remains were returned to the House, but the House of Barbanov-Ludovar has never quite recovered." Following my exploration of the history-rich castle grounds and absorbing the stories engraved in stone, I chose to find solace within the silent halls of Isaakev. There, within the imposing fortress's calm and seclusion, I rested, rekindling my strength and determination for the demanding journey into the harsh and relentless Northern territory. -= Chapter 3 =- On the third day of my journey through the snow-covered expanse, my travels brought me to what appeared to be a hunting cabin nestled in the wilderness, a humble and inviting structure standing alone in the vast, white landscape. Intrigued by the cabin's rustic charm, I couldn't resist the urge to pay it a visit, even though it appeared unoccupied. As I explored the cabin's immediate surroundings, I couldn't help but appreciate the cozy and inviting atmosphere it exuded. After a brief exploration, I carried on, eager to venture deeper into the frost-covered realm. Not far from the hunting cabin, I chanced upon a town situated in the heart of Snow Lake that was in the midst of construction. Curiously, there seemed to be no apparent access to the town, and apart from the ongoing building efforts, there was little else to hold my interest. I moved on, continuing my journey through the cold and desolate wilderness. Time swiftly slipped away, and after numerous hours traversing the unforgiving white expanse of the north, I came upon peculiar structures that starkly contrasted with the snowy plateau. Upon closer examination, I was met with a haunting scene—frozen blood, scattered bones, and a grim tableau of the aftermath of an unknown ritual. It was evident that this place had served as a site of sacrifice. An unsettling chill crept down my spine as I indulged my curiosity with a thorough inspection. Quickly, I departed from this disquieting place, eager to avoid becoming entangled in any potential ritualistic activities. As the third day neared its end, I arrived at a solitary walled fortress perched high on a snow-covered mountain deep within the icy realm. As I approached the fortress's gate, I couldn't help but notice that it was firmly sealed, and a sign indicated that pilgrims were required to don a veil for entry. I surveyed my surroundings, but there was no sign of any life, and I strained my ears to detect even the faintest sounds in the prevailing stillness. Employing a spyglass, I scrutinized the walled fortress, and it became evident that it had been deserted, reduced to a mere shell of its former self. As the day reached its conclusion, I opted to explore the vicinity of the isolated fortress, and there, I found a poster advertising a hunting cabin named "The Honing Doe Lodge and Retreat." It was at that moment I realized that this was indeed the very hunting cabin I had encountered earlier in the day. As night descended, I took refuge in a modest shack on the fortress grounds, preparing to pass the night, pondering the concealed mysteries within this northern land. -= Chapter 4 =- At the crack of dawn, on the fourth day of my journey, I arose, brimming with enthusiasm to resume my exploration of the northern wilderness. Equipped with my trusty spyglass, I scanned the terrain extending farther to the north. It seemed evident that I was drawing near to the recognizable mountain ranges denoting the northern border. Deciding to alter my course, I redirected my gaze toward the west, recalling that past these peaks lay the northern sea and an uncharted island I had yet to explore. Venturing westward across the frozen wasteland, I made the deliberate choice to veer off the beaten track, opting for an off-road route instead of following the existing road. I hoped to come across interesting sites and discoveries off the well-trodden path. During my expedition, I encountered an armor stand standing alone in the midst of nowhere, a patch of frostvine clinging to some intriguing ruins, and dense copses of trees. Soon, I reached the boundary between the snowy plains and an area rife with volcanic activity. I turned to the east, intent on further exploring this vast expanse. Nonetheless, my heart's yearning led me to explore the northernmost island. I ascended the rugged mountain ranges and descended to the opposite side, making my way to the spot where the two lands were closest. Utilizing my reliable 'portable' boat, I traversed the sea to reach the island's shores. As I gazed through my spyglass, my initial impression was that the island appeared uninhabited. However, upon further inspection, I soon discovered signs of habitation on the other side. Driven by curiosity, I made my way to the village I had spied from a distance. As I approached, I couldn't overlook the imposing, thick, black walls encircling the village, which left me pondering their intended function—likely constructed to conserve warmth in the unforgiving northern climate. My attention was also drawn to some peculiar red shrubs emitting steam from what appeared to be berries. This unfamiliar sight made me exercise caution, leading me to keep my distance from them. Upon my arrival in the village, I was greeted by one of its residents who kindly offered assistance. I gratefully declined and explained that I was but a simple explorer, traversing the northern reaches of Aevos. In return, I asked about the name of the village and discovered that it was known as Aeltarys. Extending my appreciation, I readied myself to proceed with my exploration, informing the resident of my intentions to explore the rest of the expanse. As I prepared to take my leave, the resident of Aeltarys offered a word of caution, advising me to be vigilant in the wilderness due to the presence of perilous creatures on the island. I expressed my gratitude for the warning and bid the resident a sincere farewell. "May the radiant flames in your heart guide you along your path," I said before departing the village, extending my best wishes as I embarked once more into the snowy expanse. -= Chapter 5 =- On the fifth day of my journey, I found myself in a place that held a painful memory from a past expedition—a treacherous high-peaked mountain, perpetually shrouded in thick clouds and surrounded by large, jagged ice shards. As I ascended, the unrelenting polar storm of The Mountain seeped through my being, chilling me to the core, and my blood seemed to freeze within my veins. Then, a mysterious and supernatural disembodied voice resounded, commanding me to go away. Feeling the imminent danger to my life and heeding the commanding voice, I decided it was no longer worth the risk to scale this treacherous mountain. While descending from The Mountain, I observed a sequence of black banners that appeared to delineate a path along this side of the ridge, implying the existence of a trail. Intrigued, I decided to follow the trail marked by these banners and eventually arrived at a bridge leading to the opposite side of the ridge. Regrettably, the bridge had collapsed, forcing me to opt for the longer route in order to reach the other side. Upon reaching the other side of the ridge after the bridge's collapse, I was confronted with a staggering and disheartening sight. A once-vast settlement now lay in ruins, its structures fallen into the frozen wasteland. The overwhelming sensation of being watched gnawed at me, and I felt a mysterious pull emanating from The Mountain. The relentless snows and the unrelenting winter storm of the north continued unabated, pelting the land with hail and snow. Campfires mysteriously extinguished under seemingly ideal conditions, and the wooden fortress of the town had been reduced to rubble. The entire place exuded an eerie aura of surveillance by an unseen presence lurking in the snowdrifts, scrutinizing every step I took. As the howling winds cried out like distant banshees, cold breaths seemed to graze my neck within the midst of the blizzard. I stood on a trail that led to the bridge which had collapsed, marking the ascent toward The Mountain. The battered banner of The White Mountain obscuring a red sun, seemingly frozen in both time and space. The remnants of tools, clothing, and signs of a once-thriving civilization were strewn haphazardly throughout the forsaken settlement. As I surveyed the remnants of what had once been a formidable fortress, I couldn't rid myself of the uncanny sensation of being under scrutiny. In subdued whispers, I extended my heartfelt condolences to the souls who had perished in this tragic place. Pushing eastward, into the unexplored territories, I came across an intriguing sight: a set of golden gates perched atop a mountain, seemingly placed in the midst of nowhere. As I drew nearer to the gates, a [REDACTED] stared at me, its wings gracefully flapping. It radiated an enigmatic and contradictory aura, one that appeared to simultaneously mock and convey a sense of sorrow above the grand entrance. Opting to evade any potential confrontation, I paid my respects to the perplexing scene before me and pressed on with my expedition. Gradually descending from the snowy mountains, I eventually came upon a settlement unmistakably in the process of construction. The materials used for the construction seemed foreign to the surrounding expanse, potentially imported from afar. A thorough examination of the architecture indicated that it was the work of Dwarves. Even though there were no workers present during my passing, I silently wished them success in their ongoing construction endeavors. Descending further from the snowy mountains, I ultimately reached the snow-covered plains, marking the point of transition between the snowy desert and the taiga region. Having thoroughly explored and mapped the entire northern territory, a sense of accomplishment washed over me. I decided to bring my expedition in the north to a close, deeming it a successful and comprehensive endeavor. -= Afterword =- From the earliest days of my youth, I was captivated by the countless tales of adventure and exploration that filled the pages of books. As time passed, my curiosity continued to drive me, kindling dreams of venturing into the mysterious unknown. The decision to pen this book was born from the sincere hope that its readers, whether young or old, adventurers or explorers in their own right, would glean valuable insights from my personal experiences recounted within these pages. My journey across the Northern expanse, with its challenges and triumphs, transcends age, gender, and race. It serves as a testament to the power of curiosity, reminding us all, regardless of our background, to remain curious and embrace the boundless opportunities for discovery that life has to offer.

Into the Depths of Beleth: The Lost Temple of Teo'Camaxli - An Adventure Log by Faelion Arather Entry 1: The moment I beheld the Temple of Teo'Camaxli for the first time, a profound sense of awe overcame me. It loomed majestically above the cascading waters of The Jungles of Beleth, a sentinel guarding ancient enigmas, its towering silhouette visible from vast distances. Nature had recaptured much of its structure, yet the temple's enduring presence remained undeniable. It exuded an energy that elevated my very spirit, infusing me with boundless wonder and an insatiable curiosity. Approaching closer, I could discern a mysterious aura in the air, a resonance of some bygone magical force. The temple's decayed wooden palisades and serpentine walkways, testament to time's inexorable march and the relentless jungle, intertwined haphazardly across its façade. The true moment of wonder arrived at dawn. The temple's zenith served as a focal point for the sun's initial rays, casting a brilliant illumination upon the plateau, akin to a celestial lighthouse. For those fleeting minutes, it seemed as though the heavens themselves bestowed their radiant blessing upon this ancient sanctum, revealing its concealed secrets. Entry 2: Today, I ventured deeper into the outer precincts of the Temple of Teo'Camaxli. Although I found no apparent ingress to the inner sanctum, my resolve to explore every facet of its exterior remained unwavering. The intricately chiseled stone motifs held a mystique that captivated me, and an unshakable conviction whispered that this place held profound significance. As my exploration persisted, I couldn't escape the intrigue of the Alchemical Signs of Aether, Air, Water, and Fire adorning the corners of the highest level. They concealed an enigma, I was certain of it, waiting patiently to be unraveled. Entry 3: The further I delved into the temple's exterior, the more profoundly I sensed its mystic embrace. With each stride, the atmosphere grew heavier, and the echoes of those who had tread this path before me reverberated in my senses. The very stones seemed to preserve memories of a bygone era, and I stood as an intruder within their sacred domain. Before me stood an imposing stone portal, bedecked with intricate carvings and adorned with glistening gemstones. It was apparent that this door represented the temple's core, yet it remained impenetrable. My fingers traced the cryptic symbols etched into its surface, but their intent eluded me. Entry 4: Today, I persisted in my exploration of the Temple of Teo'Camaxli's exterior. While the passage within eluded me, an unshakable conviction told me that there was more to this place than met the eye. The stone carvings and enigmatic symbols held a significance that eluded my grasp. Standing once again before the sealed stone portal, reverence washed over me. It was as if this door safeguarded the temple's most profound secrets, and my determination to unearth them remained resolute. With a deep breath, I pressed my hand against the chilled stone and silently prayed that one day, the concealed mysteries would yield to my unwavering pursuit.

While diligently organizing the Centurion's reports, your meticulous efforts come to a pause as you stumble upon a substantial document that immediately seizes your focus. Centurion: Faelion Arather Activity: Off-duty Encounter The encounter with [Redacted] unfolded as follows: The first time I met [Redacted], he spoke in cryptic phrases. He wore a perpetual grin and openly displayed his metallic claws. [Redacted] often spoke about death and a concept he called "greater death." He even urged me not to fear him, as he claimed not to embody the death he discussed. Cautiously, I observed [Redacted]'s countenance, which seemed to radiate with a golden glow as I instinctively stepped back. In response, [Redacted] attempted to draw nearer to me. As I maintained my distance, a sudden flash of pain struck me when [Redacted] projected a golden lance of light through my head. My vision was flooded with strange imagery: a vast darkness, a massive lizard, an abnormally large bat, and an indescribable squirming mass of flesh. I also heard voices, though their meaning eluded me. They uttered, "Near to us. Far from us." The images eventually collapsed, leaving me in a void of profound darkness and emptiness. The pain in my head gradually subsided. Gasping for breath, I found myself on all fours, retching, unsure if it was a vision or a complex illusion. As I slowly recovered, Tiwari approached me to inquire about the situation. Weakly, I recounted my experience to Tiwari, who subsequently confronted [Redacted]. I remained too overwhelmed to recollect the specifics of their exchange. While regaining my composure, I noticed [Redacted] brandishing a pure-white, opaque blade, its edge pointed at Tiwari. As [Redacted] advanced toward Tiwari, I swiftly raised my shield to block his path. Positioning myself between [Redacted] and Tiwari, I lost sight of Tiwari's actions behind me. I distinctly remember Tiwari cautioning [Redacted] against any rash moves. [Redacted] stepped back but began to emit an intense radiance, with flames swirling around his form and coalescing near the tip of his blade. In my peripheral vision, I observed that our confrontation had drawn a growing crowd of onlookers. Tiwari scolded [Redacted] for challenging a Centurion Officer and expressed disbelief at his actions. Another voice from behind me ordered [Redacted] to back off. Fearing further escalation, I firmly grasped my lance with my free hand and warned [Redacted] that his actions could lead to a criminal charge. [Redacted] complied but redirected his magical energy towards the direction of a retreating spectator. A towering column of flames soared harmlessly over a spectator's head, dissipating approximately 10 meters away into thin air. With continued efforts to de-escalate the situation, the incident concluded without further trouble.

THE FIRST CRUSADE OF REINMAR A REPORT ON EVENTS LAST SAINT’S DAY Issued by the HAUPTMANN OF REINMAR On this 13th day of Joma and Umund of 496 E.S. TO THE PIOUS MEN AND WOMEN OF REINMAR AND WHOMEVER THIS MAY CONCERN, A most momentous event took place on the last Saint’s Day in the year of our Lord. After the concussion of the dual weddings of Helfgott - Berkhoven and Helfgott - Burke. The mad Necromancer Funnybone and his ilk graced Reinmar's firm towers with the blood of man and beast alike in a show of their disgusting cruelty. However, within the walls of Reinmar was the truest form of faith before GOTT. Men and women of multiple races from across Aevos had come to support the most holy union of the two happy couples. So when the party guests, as well as the brides and grooms, saw the cruel action, all quickly ran into action. Under the loose command of Hauptmann von Reinmar but mostly with the Lord’s divine grace on them, the diverse group of Canonist forces engaged the foul darkspawn who had foolishly remained bear witness to the Lord’s wrath. NOTED PARTIES HOUSE OF WEISS Lord Walter and his Wife Marian Weiss, Who had come to the wedding, lived entirely up the name of the ever-zealous House of Wiess, both of them joining the front line against the heretic shield wall. With Walter landing, an important hit on the dark spawn with the House Holy Blade. KNIGHTS OF SAINT JUDE The Knights of Saint Jude appeared in force at the battle, taking the bulk of the front line against the enemy shield wall. Their most holy force held the line against the dark spawn line for the bulk of the battle, aided by other good men of Canonism. And prevent their taint from moving even an inch closer to Reinmar once the battle began. The Landser would like to express their utmost respect for the knights of Saint Jude and their desire to work together again, as their order in battle was exemplary. We were also honored to see a new faithful join their ranks after the battle. LANDSERS VON REINMAR The Landsers von Reinmar, including all four of those who had their wedding just prior, stood fast alongside their Waldenian Brothers, with Particular not to a very amusing fireball fired by Oberlandser Mage Arthur Burke, which caught the scum Funny Bone causing him to eventually flee the battle screaming. 'Put it out! Put it out!' as well as Leutnant Avya Berkhoven, who slides the massive head from the bear-sized flesh golem. Overall, the Landsers all conducted themselves well according to their roles. Using properly combined warfare with magic, alchemy, and slayer-steel brute force. FORCES OF MINITZ The Forces of Minitz, including their templar, managed to break into the center of their formation, with their templar blasting and shutting down any more range attack from the Iblees forces. The Prince of Minitz Ferdinand Barclay, standing and fighting alongside his cousin, his Princely Grace Manfred Barclay, the second. PERSONAL MENTIONS Laurissa von Haense for her efforts in targeting the most dangerous of the enemy and going to great physical lengths for our holy cause. The House of Colborn, while they may not have intended it, sent a very big soldier in a small package. MESSAGE TO THE FAITHFUL Canonism won the battle this day, but the war rages on as Iblees forever attempts to corrupt our world. So never let your sword dull or become ignorant to corruption, for he who rests rests. Wer Rastet, Der Rostet. With the glory of Gott's victory in your hearts. I encourage you reading this missive to remember we are Gott's blades, and our one true enemy is Iblees. So, never turn your back on your fellow canonist, no matter their secular allegiance. Now, all good canonists, go with Gott and steel yourselves against corruption! CLOSING PRAYER Saint Edmond, model of all knights, possess me not with fear; grant me peace and strength in the hour of battle. Let God think not on my faults but on my potential. I swear that if I come through this day with courage, I will strive to embody the honour that thou didst: I shall show clemency to the prisoner, give succour to the widow and spare the peasant. Amen! GOTT MIT UNS, ,Hauptman of Reinmar Thank you to @Petsch2k@Trey@Balthasar for playing the baddies and giving everyone a fantastic event!

-=+=- THE KROVAVAYA SVAD’BA MENU -=+=- [!] A Sakcharin Catering services booklet made of thick paper and stitched leather lies open to the front page in your hands. Golden trim details the menu and a flourish of text rests upon the top line: The Krovavaya Svad'ba Menu. Underneath, several sections are written in Common with bold, precise strokes of ink. -=-=- Alcoholic Drinks -=-=- De Beurre Sours From all appearances, it would seem almost akin to an iced coffee, creamy and caramel in appearance with grated tonka beans over top. The drink itself is whisky poured over gomme syrup, lemon juice, egg whites and liquorice bitters over ice. While the drink may seem like it would taste sour entirely, it would have a rich, nutty vanilla flavor with hints of sweet and spice alike when served. The Aigre Liquor This beverage is a deep purple in appearance, citrus vodka, lemon juice and a parfait liquor is combined in a shaker of ice before it is strained into the cocktail glass and garnished with a lemon spiral. An alcoholic beverage with a citrus taste. -=-=-Non-Alcoholic Drinks -=-=- Raevir e Auvergne This beverage is made with strawberry juice alongside boiled lingonberries, giving it a vibrantly colored appearance. Diluted with water, and sweetened with sugar and honey alike, this drink would cater to the ultimate sweet tooth among us. Bonheur Bliss Tea From all appearances, the liquid is frosty, pale and pink - and creamy as well. The tea is made from a mixture of pressed green and black tea, brewed with melted butter, salt, and goat's milk. Nutmeg and peppercorn is stirred in, the sweet in appearance tea having a salty and tart taste alike. -=-=- Appetizers -=-=- Blini e Creme Fraiche This Raevir-Auvergne fusion consists of thin pancakes made with buckwheat flour, warm to the touch with a nutty, toasty flavor to accompany it. Creme fraiche is dolloped over the top, the heavy cream sinking in with a dash of sea salt. It is further topped with caviar and garnished with dill, allowing for a tangy appetizer for one to try. Escargot e Raevir This dish consists of snails boiled over a Raevir vodka, herbal butter alongside shallot, garlic and parsley. Tomato sauce with a mixture of red wine is drizzled over it, giving it a crimson appearance. Upon the side is toasted bread puff, with a dollop of the same herbal used above upon the side for use. -=-=- Main Courses -=-=- Pissaladière e Salmon This Raevir-Auvergne fusion dish consists of charcoal smoked salmon slow-marinated in vodka for many hours, allowing the added flavors to sink into the meal. It is served with an Aurvergne-style onion tart topped with olives and anchovies alike, the tart aiding in soaking up the meal that is to be eaten. Julienne au Vin This classic Auvergne dish is one of chicken slowly braised in red wine, the meat melting off of the bone and stripped away to be added to a mushroom julienne base. Sliced mushrooms are baked in a creamy cheese sauce, adding the Raevir twist to the meal being prepared - and making the meal more akin to a soup. -=-=- Dessert -=-=- Tarte Crème Tatin This Raevir-Auvergne fusion dessert is one with a rich custard base, with a layer of caramelized sugar - followed by a fruit caramelized via use of butter and sugar. A pie crust is added upon the top, making the upside-down caramelized custard tart. A supremely sugary dessert, achingly sweet.

WHAT IS LOST IS FOUND "Mom-killer." "Womb-Wrecker." These were the words that Grigoryi grew up with, words that would become as commonplace as greetings. There wasn't a day in his childhood that he went without these words. If only his father Ailred had known, maybe he would have stopped Grigoryi and Boris from being bullied by their older siblings; it's not like they asked their mother to die in childbirth. Those words came from Rhys, Stefaniya, and basically all of his siblings except Angelika. Yet, everything was Grigoryi's fault. He was expected to apologize for everything but never once received an apology for those years of unrelenting torment. The young Ruthern grew more estranged from his family daily, often sitting on remote rooftops just to have a moment alone. Yet, Boris fell in line. Somehow, he wasn't weighed down by all the trash thrown onto him from birth; one twin was successful while the other walked the low road. There was only one thing he looked forward to as he grew a little older: a glimpse at his first crush. Vasilia was so.. real. He tried to socialize with her for once, no matter how distant or cold he was. Unfortunately, nothing could happen there. Grigoryi discovered they were direct cousins, so his hopes were dashed harder than shattered glass. She got married and was shamed by many for what life threw at her, yet he was happy she found love. Grigoryi was always outside Vidaus or locked away in his room. He hated being there; he hated that no one was stepping in. Childhood was flying fast, and Boris had joined the BSK. Grigoryi went the other route, going so far as to drop an egg on the top of the Lord Marshal's head and pose as Boris; it didn't succeed very well, but at least Grigoryi could outrun the guards. He was an enjoyer of chaos, as cliché as it would sound for a hated child. The young boy even helped smuggle alcohol out to other kids, though he knew better not to get hooked too; that's how he met Vasilia. She managed to stop those young kids from drinking alcohol. The boy nearly ate gravel with how hard common sense smacked him. Though no longer a troublemaker, Grigoryi continued to grow up cold and distant. He was always watching, always listening. "NO! VY ARE LYING!" Angelika screamed at Grigoryi before her blonde locks sought safety in Rhys' embrace. "What in Godan's name are vy doing?" Rhys scowled at his younger brother, his hand patting the top of the blonde's head to calm the crying child. "Ea was telling Angelika ve truth, Rhys. Vy pretend to be ve loving big borsa, ag yet what did vy do just now when her mamej died? Ea heard vy two by Madalene's casket, calling her a [wench], saying that vy were happy she died." Grigoryi clenched his fists, upset that he couldn't get Angelika to see the truth, that this family was a horrible one she should not get attached to. A family of backstabbers, smiling snakes. Ever since Fenika passed, they seemed to hold this bitterness. "..Vy were hoping she would niet make it to be Seven Skies to be with papej." "Don't lie. Vy hated Madalene!" Grig spat out, knowing he was telling the truth. Rhys scowled, his brows furrowing in disdain as the funeral wrapped up outside. "Everyone back to ve keep, except Grigoryi." Grigoryi threw down his gloves in anger when they exited the palace. Fenika's death had affected Ailred so badly, yet his eldest children could not see how much Madalene loved him and how much she helped him. Years passed, and Grigoryi found his success in doll-making in Urguan. Due to the war in the area, the cold young man took on a pseudonym: Greg Ruthers (unaware of the history behind the name 'Ruthers'). The dwarves loved his dolls, as crazy as that might sound. They often requested dolls made of Yemekar or dolls of themselves to give to their kids, though he didn't question it. He was a success until he lost everything. Grigoryi tried to be useful as a Ruthern. Even if he disagreed, he would marry a noblewoman, though his heart was already hardened. The noble bloodlines of Haense were too intertwined, diluted, and inbred. Grig could contribute the muddled bloodline as the cause of the temper and arrogance of half the nobles he met. He decided to search for nobles in allied nations, starting in Elysium. The night started rocky. Grigoryi could not find a suitable noblewoman, and some of the commoner women were unhappy with him despite his attempts to make it right. He stood on the balcony that overlooked the rest of the masquerade until he felt a graceful pair of hands on his back before finding himself shoved over the railing. A few servants carried the injured man to the clinic, pressing the rag against the crack in his head. The masquerade continued into the night without him. It would be almost a week before the injured man could step outside the clinic, but something was different about him; it was weird to see such a negative guy smile. The man giggled aloud, his laughs interrupted by the grimaces of pain as he held his bandaged head. He gazed down at the Mondblume, who was walking the man around Elysium. She pursed her lips, stopping the amnesiac to look him over. "I know you remember nothing, but you need a name." She gently patted his shoulder. "Your eyes are so blue. They remind me of water.. so I'll call you Lev." The woman smiled wide before taking out a small, leather-bound journal and handing it to him. This moment was special. Lev had never received a gift, at least not one he could remember. "Ea canniet decide what Ea love more, ve gift or mea new name!" The man smiled, holding the journal close to his chest as Amelia departed. Daily, he doodled in the journal things that haunted his dreams to make sense of them. [Missing Poster - FOUND MAN] Lev gently knocked on the minister's office. Minister Aylin de Astrea was such a nice lady. This motherly figure had almost adopted the Ruthern ever since he lost his memories. Lady Aylin was pouring over paperwork before looking up at him. "..Is there any-" "No.." She interrupted, not wanting his disappointment to last much longer. "I'm sorry, we keep contacting the kingdoms and their nearby nobles, but.. no one has reported a missing family member." Lev quietly nodded afterward. He didn't understand. He wondered if he had family or if his family would rather he stayed a cold case; maybe the minister was looking in the wrong kingdom. Lev worked away, sweeping the tavern in his spare time. He'd been left in Elysium so long that he gave up every hope. The nobleman was finding it hard to make a living in Elysium, given all the raids and killings at the hands of the orcs and ferrymen. He was sweeping the entrance to the tavern when a horse stopped in front of his path. The strong woman looked down at him, examining his features. "Who are vy? Ea would recognize those features from anywhere. Vy are a Ruthern, nie?" Tavisha dismounted her horse, looking over the bewildered man; he thought this day would never come. Lev quickly set his broom aside, beckoning the dame to his small house. "Do vy recognize any of these, balyzm.. Ea dream about them many nights, but they are never clear." Lev would carefully set down somewhat abstract paintings. It was the crude recreation of their family portrait used to hang in the duke's throne room and a crude painting of the red keep surrounded by the harsh snow. Tavisha looked over them, her suspicions growing stronger that she was right. He could finally go home. Lev stood by the funeral pyre. Though he had no idea who died, he wanted to pay respects. When all was said and done, and the Haensers returned to their day, the man noticed a woman alone. Though never a fan of blondes in his youth, her presence caused his heart to pang. Lev took off his coat, offering it on the freezing shoulders of the beautiful woman. "Vy aren't from around here, are vy?" He grinned before dipping his head to her. "Non, was it that obvious?" Sylvie pulled the heavy coat around her tightly, shielding herself from the harsh winter. "It was a long walk from Balian." Lev put his arm out. "Ea hate this cold too. If vy like.. Ea could escort vy back to Balian. Being alone on ve roads with all ve bandits is very dangerous." Sylvie took his arm, unaware that this was the man she was betrothed to marry all those years ago. Grigoryi clenched his fists softly, looking up at Rhys. Grig was trying hard to remain calm, but his expression faltered, upset, confused. "Ea waited for years, lost in the west, hoping that Ea had a family that would come for me. Why did niebody come?" "Vy were an adult, Grigoryi. Adults sort themselves out." Rhys scowled, beginning to depart. Rhys was old, reduced to using a cane; perhaps karma had come around. Grigoryi's heart sank. No matter what he said, Rhys remained silent. "Mea memories are gone, everything I knew is gone. Vy are ve only one left alive, tell me who Ea am! Why do vy have niething but silence?!" The old duke shook his head, and that knowledge remained with him to the grave and seven skies. The pair wanted to marry and fix up Sylvie's old family manor to the east. There was just one thing to do though, and that was to confront the new patriarch of Ruthern; Rhy's son. Mikhail quietly looked down at the two of them, Sylvie and Grigoryi. The young duke rubbed his chin. "Vyr past does niet matter, aedypapej. Vy are here now, ag whatever happened between vy and mea papej is forgiven now." He looked between the two adults standing beneath him. "Ea will let you live here, pick a farmhouse. Vy wanted a homestead? Vy can work ve fields." Grigoryi softly raised a finger when Mikhail finished. "There is.. one other thing. Ea would like to wed Lady Sylvie, vy are mea duke. Ea would need vy approval." The Ruthern quietly kissed Sylvie's forehead, looking down at the red infant in her embrace. Lev was amazed such a small bundle could bring such a multitude of feelings. "Eja, little one.." He quietly whispered, gently taking little Vasilia's hand around his finger; little Vasilia Louise vas Ruthern. She would be the first of three. Her two siblings would follow in the coming years: Juliyus Ailred and Cecilya Petra. “She’s only just arrived, yet I can't wait for her to grow.” Their family was complete, even if the farmhouse was a little cramped. After completing her walk of humility, Angelika arrived at Haense in her sack clothing. People lined up on the side like it was an event. They didn't care about the person, just that they got to throw all sorts of things. Grigoryi frowned, pushing his way between people to try and follow the procession. He felt guilty; she shouldn't be the only one up there. Grig was guilty of sleeping around before he was married, but he was too scared to walk the same path Angelika took; he was a coward and ashamed of it. Seeing her head as bald as an egg, Grigoryi followed suit that night. He took his path of shame and shaved his head in solidarity. Grigoryi threw the hay bales into the duke's storage. The work was hard, having to harvest, bale, and stack. It was tiring for his aging body, but deep down, he was happy to be useful. He could just undo whatever past he had. After all, no one who remembered his past remained alive by now, like a curse to keep him from knowing himself. At least he had a new past. This generation and the ones after it only had interacted with a sweet and nervous Grigoryi. In some sense, he had been reborn. The aging man opened the door to the small farmhouse, only occupied by his beloved. Vasilia started a new life in Balian, Juliyus was off sailing, and Cecilya was enjoying married life with her family. An empty nest, a sign of success, but a lonely sign nonetheless. Destruction and death were inevitable, but it was still a shock to the descendants as the Mori emerged. Their demands and their brutality never seemed to stop. They kept getting closer. First, it was Amathaea, and then it was like a domino effect; one by one, more lands fell. Grigoryi, despite all the memories in this decrepit farmhouse, left and took his wife into the city. He figured they would be safe from the Mori behind the impenetrable red walls that kept Karosgrad safe. What is the point of memories if you're not alive to cherish them? It was one of the smallest houses in Haense, but it was safely nestled deep within the city. This home was theirs, a private little hovel with what they needed to get through the difficult times. There was so much going on, and it was as if the world refused to slow down and take a breath. It refused, and yet amidst all the chaos, humanity had yet another war. Grigoryi couldn't believe it, Adrians and Haensers fighting. If the rumors were true, but the old man was unbelieving. How could two cousins of culture turn on each other like this? Perhaps it was meant to be a generational clash between Adria and Haense; it had been this way since the War of the Two Emperors when the Koeng allowed Adria to burn to the ground. However, he couldn't recall whether it was Marius I or II. With each hearsay and parchment he received, he used it as fuel to heat their small home. It was useless; humanity was only safe when united. That was the only good thing about the Mori. They united everyone. Grigoryi had grown sick, and eventually, his smiles couldn't hide his deterioration. The medics didn't know what was happening, but something was slowly destroying Grigoryi. Sleep eluded him, and pain ran rampant through his body. He tried changing his diet and following folklore and wives' tales, but there was no change. It overwhelmed him, and he could not travel far from their little house. It pained him greatly to miss Ceceliya's wedding, as he would have given anything to be there. He hated this, being unable to walk his daughter down the aisle; his privileges of being a dad slowly disappeared. He would find relief sometimes, but it normally came from the powdered drugs often sold in Karosgrad's sewer. The Mori's victory was inevitable. Humanity and their fellow descendants were uprooted from their homes once more. Grigoryi looked up at the red family keep, filled with sorrow. Even though his late brother might have been the last one with the key to Grig's identity, he hoped there might have been answers in that keep. The old Ruthern had only seen his family's portrait so far, as he couldn't walk deeper into its walls to discover more. Still, now he was truly going to lose it all. Any clue to who he used to be, any clue on what his family was like, he had to abandon it. He sent his wife along with the first evacuation party, as he wanted to grab a few of the family's memories to take with them. Savoy was so crowded. No matter how long he looked, he couldn't find his wife. He found his granddaughter, though, deciding to stick beside her to try and keep her calm during this chaos. Grigoryi salvaged a few materials, and soon enough, he was knitting a small doll for her made of various patches of fabric. It wasn't as pretty as the Haeseni Girl doll, but it was made special. “Here, nie girl is complete without a little faithful friend by her side.” The man handed the patchy doll over. He remained beside the campfire for as long as he could- but his dose of sewer drug was running out. Grigoryi could feel the pain creeping up his body like a hive of ants overtaking him. The old man wished his wife was here to show her what a spitting image her granddaughter was. They came with the storm, the Mori. Not even Savoy could keep the descendants safe for long. The ground broke open, the storm beginning to rage on as they attacked. People fled below ground, no matter what the depths brought. Grigoryi ran towards the opening, but he was stopped short by a sharp pain ripping into his back. The Ruthern looked down, his hand trailing over the bolt that stuck out of his stomach. The silence was deafening, his ears roaring as the screams gradually flooded back in. Everything happened too quickly. Grigoryi woke with a small gasp, glancing around the makeshift clinic. His pain was mostly gone, probably subdued by what little medicine the medics had left. The man reached down to look at his stomach, stitched up, and wrapped it with improvised bandages. The bolt was gone, but not everything was healed. Grigoryi felt himself slowly worsening as the days passed. It was an internal bleed but so slow that it hadn't been caught. He released himself from the clinic and nearly jumped to follow everyone to the new world. The descendants emerged from their blue refuge, overflowing into Aevos like a broken dam. Many people never realized how much they would miss the little things until they lost everything. Birds were just birds, but to hear them sing once more- their song was unlike any other. The sky was still the sky- but today, the sky had never been more beautiful. GRIGORYI DEMITRIUS VAR RUTHERN 1833 - 1927 (SA 37 - SA 131)

[!] All through Aveos through each town and village even scattered in the wind was a missive written on a thin paper sheet that smelt of slightly of cookies to grace a reader’s nose “Good morning, afternoon, evening, or even night reader. Did you know that you are invited to a grand picnic in Babblebrook, Dunfárthing? No this isn’t a joke this is your invitation to come and sit with the weefolk and us even weer friends of theirs, the Musin! This gather is to take place in ten stone days. It will include plenty of food and drink and we invite you to bring your own special dishes along with fishing and at the end a competition using nothing but junk and scraps that you must create something new and original out of for a prize of 50 mina and I will pay your taxes on a property you own for that year. We look forward to seeing you there.” -Sincerely, Ser Do’Spuds Loa’chil

[!] This information is not public IRP knowledge.

Written by Catriona Eilidh Baruch The Trolls of Billy Goat Grove is a cautionary fairytale, inspired by events earlier in this Saints day and by Lord Arn Colborns warning on the trolls who will come and trade their children for our own!

Small, tightly wound letters fill the missive - seen upon black as midnight paper. “Exalted Horen and Saint Julia, behold us prostrate at your feet, learning by your most noble example. Through God our Lord, grant us peace and harmony, and, through the abundant graces God hath given to you, bless us in times of need and plenty alike.” My Dearest Brother, the Duke of Stran, Ser Istvan Ivanovich and my Honorable intended, the Baron af Brasca, George af Brasca, I am writing to you with a heavy heart, as I find myself torn between the brother I grew up with and the man I have come to care for. As you are aware, the Baron George af Brasca has sought my hand in marriage, and his proposal has left me with a difficult decision to make. I care deeply for each of you, and I find it unbearable to think that a dispute over my affections might lead to a result no one wishes to see. I implore the both of you, with all the love and sincerity that resides in my heart, to approach this situation with humility and a commitment to humanity. The prospect of a duel, a clash of swords, is a time honored tradition - one I would dare not stop. This letter is simply to request one thing of the both of you, so I may look forward to the duel instead of lamenting it with bated breath. I ask you, my dear brother, to consider the profound bond of family that we share. Our relationship is a treasure beyond measure, and I cannot bear to see it strained or severed over a matter of the heart. Baron George, your intentions have touched my soul, and I have come to appreciate the depth of your character. Please, look to our growing bond and consider my plea. I beseech you both, whether win or lose, to offer not harm to the other. The terms set were that of the winner having the ability to request what they wish, and as I know you are both honorable individuals, I know you will accept my plea. As the winner, offer no cruelty but instead dignity and respect, considering the feelings of all involved. I am confident that the love and compassion you have shown me can extend outward and to either side. My heart aches at the thought of causing strife between the men I care for so deeply. I trust in your wisdom and goodness, and I pray that you will heed my plea for a humane and harmonious resolution to this upcoming duel. “God, who alone art perfect Charity, if I should speak, think or do things in unkindness today, rebuke me, but, before that, strengthen my own meekness and mildness, that I might be the font of Thee.” With all my love and gratitude for your understanding, Her Ladyship, Viktoria Helena Ivanovich, ward to the Princess Adeline of Aaun @Pork@WaveLincoln

A Reunion of House Seregon and elSullas Talonnii As written upon on this 10th of Malin’s Welcome, 144 S.A. From The Exilic Kingdom of Númendil and the Lordship of Caladras "Diligence in the face of ignorance.” "Fair shall the end be, though long and hard shall be the road.” To the Esteemed Members of the Sullas Talonnii and those of House Seregon, as well as Friends of either Family, Miven Caerme'onn- @westcarolina Eonan Norvayn @thumperjack Valmir Arvellon @drusus We hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits. It has been far too long since we last gathered together as one family, united by blood and bound by love. With the blessings of this Autumn season upon us, and the readmittance of Elerríon into the Sullas Talonnii, we extend our heartfelt invitation to you all for a grand reunion in the Lordship of Caladras. The bonds of family are some of the strongest and most cherished in our lives. As we have each pursued our own paths, our hearts have remained forever connected by the ties of blood and kinship. It is our deepest desire to once again come together, to share stories, laughter, and memories that span the years. Caladras, the beloved bastion of House Seregon, stands as a testament to the resilience and strength we hold dear. It is only fitting that we gather within its walls to celebrate the enduring legacy of both the Sullas and Seregon families. The reunion will be a time of joy and festivity, filled with activities to suit every age and inclination. Whether you wish to indulge in hearty feasts, engage in friendly competitions, or simply bask in the warmth of family, there will be something for everyone to enjoy. Mark your calendars for the appointed date, and make your way to Caladras, where our gates will be open to welcome you with open arms. Let this reunion be a testament to the love and strength of our families, a time to celebrate the past and embrace the future. We eagerly await the moment when our family gathers once more, under the banner of unity and love. maehr'sae hiylun'ehya, Friday, September 8th @ 7:30 PM Eastern Lord Elerríon of House Seregon, Lord of Caladras, Seneschal and Steward to the White Court of the Númenaranyë, Huntmaster to the White Court of the Númenaranyë, Ranger Captain for the Royal Guard of the Númenaranyë, Templar of the Aengul Malchediael, and Knight of the Realm Lady Cálienë of House Seregon, Lady of Caladras, Steward to the White Court of the Númenaranyë, Physician to the White Court of the Númenaranyë, Serjeant for the Royal Guard of the Númenaranyë, Templar of the Aengul Malchediael, and Knight of the Realm

[An artist's peaceful rendition of Astrid and her son, Matthias] The day Astrid Parvana Rosiliya Colborn was born was a stormy one, with her first impression on the world was a blood-filled cough. Weak lungs and poor health plagued her youth, though it never squashed her devotion to music. Her first instrument, the violin. Her first song, a wheeze. Thankfully, as days went on, her health and skills improved. She performed, played, and taught through her melodies. Sadly, every song must come to an end. The day Astrid’s voice could no longer reach her highest note was a grave one. The woman declined until she was once again bedridden, trapped to the very pillows that imprisoned her childhood. Pale skin, sunken cheeks, and a frail figure signaled the worsening of the woman’s condition. There was no cure, and the doctor assured her of little hope. Still, her song was not finished. She craved a family. The day Astrid’s pregnancy announcement was greeted by a frown from her doctor, she knew she had a choice. She was weak, and only had the strength for one person. Her or her child. The choice was obvious, and she shut herself back into her pillowy prison to keep what little strength she had left. The day Astrid Rosiliya Colborn Barclay's child was born was a sunny one. A warm afternoon, with colorful birds littering the sky. Rays shone down on Matthias' rosy cheeks as he slumbered peacefully. Peace. Peace. A peace Astrid longed for as she rested her head. Peace. Peace. A peace Astrid recieved. ---------- The woman’s remaining time was filled with writing. Lots of it. Some songs, some notes, but especially a lot of letters. Messages to everyone that had impacted her life. Dear Mamej, Dear Papej, Dear Carolus Colborn, Dear Brendell and Nikolai Colborn, Dear Anabel Colborn, Dear Konstanz Barclay, Dear Virgil the Darkspawn, [A portrait of Astrid's final moments]

The Illness of The Countess of Emalyne ( art by 28idle ) Within the cavernous cysts below the lower forests of Veletz, the Countess of Emalyne had finished to spin a broth of remedial liquids, the boiling spine of its kettle red-hot by means of the hearthfire wherefrom it had been unearthed seconds before. Her freed hand raised a silver ladle to her cheek, clicking 3 times against the spot where the bone of the jaw met the neck- an action of habit -and lowering to chance a whiff of the steaming mixture. She could feel the illness evaporating from her for just this moment, when the heat consumed her aspects and drowned the morbidity pervading her. The burning scent of her skin’s grip ‘round the ladle’s handle did not deter, as the stones of her health desired livening warmth. After years of sitting in ill-begotten flaccidity, heat was all she could feel on this earth. The sunlight had begun to hurt, yet the cloak of the fire within these dark caves instead healed. She had sworn to several that, at times, the flicker of moonlight against her cheek mixed with the kiss of a burning candle radiating beneath her index finger charmed her mind to lucidity. Hans had searched far for medicines to soothe the endless fainting spells & drying coughs, as well as the affectations of the head, the clamping of the stomach, the reddening & grating of the skin. . . all failed, only serving to amplify the weakness of Suzana’s aging humors. With each child it worsened; her contamination capitulated with Janek, who was born bleeding uncontrollably from the nose, as so often the Countess did in the black of night. In a night of mind-numbing tremors that left her of poor psyche & rationale, Suzana’s ailing body was compelled to tremble its way through the trees of the alderswood. She came upon the cave where she now stood, alone with bodily sweats acting as the water of her eyes. The lit fire within had called to her, and sans the hesitancy that a person with a fear of death might inhabit, the Countess had strode forth to discover it untended by any. Seeking desperate repose, she descended to the unkindness of the cave ground, and later awoke to find her pain numbed. Persisting on the curative properties of this specific pyre, Suzana had begun to return to the subterrane dwelling on each midnight since, should sickness not immobilize her entirely. Thus, she dubbed this cave the wielkapli (great giver). 1937 On every night whence she made the journey up the Eagle’s Peak, the Lady Suzecht would endeavor to collect twigs and fallen branches in her leather satchel to fuel the wielkapli’s bonfire, that which had become her foremost confidante. However, these wee articles were soon exchanged for more sacrificial items: a nest of beetles, a hummingbird’s egg. . . futile life would be surrendered as ember in exchange for her recovery. Most recently, she’d had her guardsman heft a cauldron of silver to erect above it as a pot from which to incense meltwax balms from the critters she’d plunder from the canopies. Yet when it became known to her that it had not been only her life that had been robbed of its early delights, the orange, blue, and scarlet of that inferno grew cold to her. The Lady hungered for a heat like fever. How to achieve it, she could not gather, but from this day forth, she would begin to boil & brew until such a solution was found to her. Sleet fingers dripped with the blood of a pig, falling like droplets of rain to hiss as they hit the foam.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The Song Sparrow ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ I. Introduction II. Crew Rankings III. Culture and Traditions IV. The Privateers Oath ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ I. INTRODUCTION The Song Sparrow is a crew of independent privateers who sell their services to any who might want to buy it, be that a trader in need of a shipment being made, or a city looking to hire a vessel to protect their shores from invading nations. While they believe in helping their fellow man from time to time, the crew of The Song Sparrow are no strangers to misdeeds as well, and will plunder other ships and opposing nations, should someone hire them to do so. At it's core, The Song Sparrow was still formed by two outcasts who turned to lives of thievery in order to survive. Joining The Song Sparrow is far more then just setting sail for the fun of it all - on this ship, it's a way of life, and in to survive one must have the courage to look danger in the eye and spit back at it, they must have the knowledge of how to sail the open sea, and they must have the passion to live a life of freedom and independence, answering to no one but their Captain. While freedom for all rests among their core values, one must still be willing to take orders in battle and follow them accordingly, else risk being thrown overboard. If you, or someone you know, is a sea-fairing individual come visit the crew of The Song Sparrow, currently found at dock 3 in Lurin found towards the very back of the city. The Song Sparrow is always looking for brave men and women of the sea to set sail with and while our crew may be small, we treat each other like family. Join us, and set yourself free with one of the finest sailors to grace the high seas, Captain Vicnan Hawkins. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ II. CREW RANKINGS CAPTAIN Vicnan Hawkins QUARTERMASTER Wilamen Macloed HELMSMAN Balkas Balo LOOK-OUT Amir Gonzalez MASTER GUNNER Adrian Falker Heskynne SEA DOG -VACANT- NAVIGATOR Adela Proudbottom SURGEON Marol Malthengolv SHIP WRIGHT Masayoshi DECKHANDS Rafi -VACANT- -VACANT- -VACANT- IF YOU HAVE ANY OTHER SKILLS THAT YOU BELIEVE MAY HELP OUR CREW, DO NOT HESITATE TO SAY SO! ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ III. CULTURE AND TRADITIONS The crew of The Song Sparrow take sailor culture very seriously and partake in many activities that honors the culture of sailing the open seas. DRINKING GAME: GROG & HORSESHOES One of the favorite drinking games of Captain Vicnan Hawkins, Grog and Horseshoes is a rather simple game to play. Two sailors take a pile of horseshoes and try to toss them around wooden poles set up on the ship, should a sailor MISS, they are required to take a swig of Grog. Should one sailor successfully get a horseshoe around the pole, the opposing sailor must take a swig of Grog. The winner is whoever successfully gets all six horseshoes around the wooden poles, the loser is then required to drink an entire tankard of Grog. THE HYMN OF THE SONG SPARROW While the crew of The Song Sparrow take part in singing many sea shanties, the favorite of the ship is one Vicnan wrote himself after he stole his first boat. Where can you find pleasure? Search the world for treasure? Where can you sail the open sea? Make all of your dreams come true, and drink until your face turns blue... It's here in the ocean! Yes, you can sail the open sea! Here in the ocean! And you can drink until you pee! In the ocean! Come on now step aboard and take a stand! Right here in the ocean! THE SEA LEG CEREMONY When a new sailor finally receives their sea legs upon the ship, Captain Vicnan Hawkins takes it upon himself to congratulate them in taking their first major step in becoming a successful privateer of the open sea. He does so by holding a small feast and gifting the new sailor with a golden earring, which is believed by many sailors to prevent one from drowning. It is a small ceremony but one the Captain takes quite seriously. FEASTS Among many other things, the crew of The Song Sparrow loves to host large feasts upon their ship. Whether it be in celebration of a victory in battle, or to honor a fallen comrade, the crew will always find an excuse to host a feast. Any and all who are friends of the crew may join where they may partake in the food and the Grog. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ IV. THE PRIVATEERS OATH Before officially coming aboard and joining the crew of The Song Sparrow, every sailor must take this oath and uphold it to the best of their abilities. I. I shall not steal from a fellow privateer, and will only steal from non-privateers. II. I shall remain loyal to my fellow crew members and my captain. III. I shall never harm an innocent woman or child. IV. I swear to protect my ship and my crew until the sea takes me. ANYONE CAUGHT BREAKING THIS OATH OR ANY OTHER LAWS OF THE SEA WILL BE APPTLY PUNISHED BY THE CAPTAIN HIMSELF! ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ APPLICATION OOC INFORMATION Minecraft Username: Discord Username: RP INFORMATION Persona Name: Age: Race: Applicable skills: Affiliations:

Fox cubs Orphanage I am proud to announce that as of today the orphanage of helios after half a year of construction Is now opening its doors. We are now prepared to take in children from ages 0 to 17 During the orphanage's construction I have already been left with three infants one toddler and one ten year old. They were left at the orphanage over the past couple months. Potential parents are welcome to send me a letter to come visit children. I would like to reiterate that the purpose of this orphanage is to keep these children safe and sound, fed, and educated. In this mission we will now be accepting donations of materials, food and toys for the children. I wish to make their environment and time here as peaceful as possible. We will accept all children big and small so do not hesitate to bring any lost or abandoned children to our doors or send me a letter if you find one. Children are our future and they’re potential is boundless we must protect and guide them. Fox cubs orphanage is a place for them to grow and learn and just BE children. With that said I bid the people of Helious and Aevos a good elven year It is my hope that the fox cub orphanage becomes a safe haven for children all over aevos Signed, Aspin A. Munnel

Orphanage of helious Over the years I have come to the realization that there are many needs in life. Food, water, education, and protection, The need that I come back to most tho is the same one i needed so long ago. A Home, A place to be safe and sound and away from all the dangers that Surrounded me. A place to come back to where there is always food and a bed. A place where I would be educated without having to worry over where I would go to sleep that night. I see a need for a place where Orphans, such as I once was, to be Protected, fed, sheltered and educated till they can be Matched with a set of Guardians or a single guardian who wants to build a family. Or until they have become adults and are then old enough to make their own homes. Therefore I am proud to announce the coming of an orphanage in Helios where all children that are lost, scared, alone, or hungry are welcome. no matter where they came from, who they are, or what they are. The First Orphanage of helious, Fox cubs orphanage, will accept them. the Grand opening of Fox Cubs Orphanage Will be announced as soon as possible. I will be building the orphanage with my own two hands. Once it is finished we will start accepting children Immediately. Signed, Aspin A. Munnel