| Winter Solstice
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| Letter from Fjolfrin |
| Message sent to Message to everyone in Old Gods |
| The frigid winds of winter tore through Jedinchel, the Roof of the World. They howled through the narrow passes and plunging valleys. Fjolfrin was no stranger to the cold but up here, high above the trees bellow, it seemed vicious. He felt as though it stalked him; relentlessly. The rising sun offered only a brief respite. It’s small slivers of warmth quickly cut away with the wind’s frozen bite. He threw another set of furs around him, strapping them tight across his chest. He could barely move but at least he was warm; warmer than he had been anyway.
Fjolfrin gave an aching grunt with each step. It was midday now, the seemingly heatless sun high above him. He shivered at the thought of coming night, paused, and took a drink from his small keg. “Ahhh…What would we do without you?” He said to himself. “You’ll keep us warm won’tchya?” With a smile he patted the keg and placed it back into his bag. “Alright you…,” He said shaking his fist to the uppermost peaks of Jedinchel, “We’ll make ya ours soon!” He gave a laugh but stopped short, something didn’t seem quite right.
He had become used to the droning of the wind, but there was a different sound coming from behind him; painful, longing moans… |
| Fjolfrin (Tribune of the Old Gods) |
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| Letter from Eowyn Doesire |
| Message sent to Message to everyone in Old Gods |
| In A Quit Room inside the Private Dwellings of Queen Éowyn.
Light from 8 candles flicker in the deeping darkness of night. 4 candles on a tall candelabra to the left and 4 more to the right. A shrine of small wooden figures sit upon a long narrow table in front of the Doesire family heraldry. The figurines vary in quality and weathering. Sitting upon her knees before the shrine is the current Queen of Thalmarkin. Her youthful voice echoes in the chamber as she raises a small saucer into the air. A prayer to the old ones to bless the sacred wine. As words end and a quiet once again falls the Queen remains still for a few moments more before lowering the wine for a small sip. Setting the remaing wine saucer down upon table in front of the newest statuette of a plump round woman. A tear streaks down Éowyn's cheek. Drawing out a long reed coated in incense Éowyn extends out her hand to light the incense in the closest candle. A quiet song fills the room as Éowyn raises up smoking incense into the air filling the room with the scent of honey.
Placing the reed in a small unseen hole it stands perfectly upright allowing an even burn. Lowering her head to the ground as the litany ends Éowyn scouts backward upon her knees. Quietly Éowyn retreats to the entry way were she pauses and looks upon the newest figurine.
"I miss you, Mom." Éowyn whispers to the statuette. "I hope I've made you proud. I'm Queen now. Watch over me as you have always done and guide me once again with your wisdom." With a Long silent gaze Éowyn turns and leaves. |
| Eowyn Doesire (Queen of Thalmarkin) |
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| Roleplay from Nerta the Weaver |
| Message sent to Message to everyone in the Old Gods |
| Winter Solstice In Binoaramet - Possible home of the Twinkling Trickster
Stars dance behind the veil of light, while snow crunches in the dead of winter.
An arctic roar responds to the slice of a spear, and the furious shaking of the lumbering beast splashes ichor from the wound. Ice bursts where it lands and a few drops kiss a chitin covered cheek.
Chittering at the sting, the dark figure dodges writhing limbs and scuttles around the armoured cuirass hand over hand. The thrashing thing had been wounded in dozens of places by the spear, but still stood.
A crushing claw narrowly misses the skittering figure, but clips the haft of her weapon. Vaulting along with the blow, she pounces toward the serpentine neck as the spear flickers into the darkness.
The strain of holding so many Grafts was starting to take its toll. She had to finish, and soon...
Landing with a cloud of frost, she bites at the gap in the thing's gorget, spilling ichor across her grotesque expression. Her jaw numb, she bites again and, while the beast writhes, brings a blade up to deflect an axe blow.
Climbing and biting. Slashing and dodging. Her jaw is stained with ichor and ice before the thing finally collapses with a shudder.
The slender figure looms over her kill before letting out a hissing call mixed with clicks.
"Witness! I defy Fate and claim this beast's power!"
Carving into the Ice Queen's champion under the dancing light of the stars, she eats the frozen flesh and shudders at the taste of raw magic. |
| Nerta the Weaver (Foederati) |
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| Roleplay from Soren Navaar |
| Message sent to Message to everyone in the Old Gods |
| No matter where he traveled today, Soren somehow ended up back at the temple in Seven Rivers, or just outside the ferry over to The Sick. A grim shadow hung over him by the third trip between them, and with nothing at the temple, he had finally resigned himself to checking out the ferry.
An hour later, Soren found himself setting foot on the cursed swampland of Seven Rivers, alone, and grumbling to himself. If the Trickster wanted to lead him along, he may as well see what would happen. It'd be his own cursed luck if he died here. Step after step, he trudged forward, boots sinking in slick muck and lifting out again with a wet pop all the while stalked by silence. This continued until, exhausted, his boots found stable dirt. He wanted to collapse on the ground right then and there, tired from the slow struggle to get this far. An easy death. Unfortunately, curiosity got the better of him. Wherever the Emperor was leading him, he was determined to see it through to the end...
Another hour or so passed. It was hard to tell by just the position of the sun, but it had to be about mid day, but the true marker was the old stone building he came across. Having come into this part of the region several times now, he usually knew when a building was safe and when it wasn't, but this one was questionable. The stone steps were peeking up from the earth and the door had turned dark from moisture. Assuming what he sought was inside, Soren made a test of the structure. His leg came around at full force as he kicked the door in, wood splintered away, long since having given up on supporting anything. Nothing fell. Not stones stirred, just the crash and rain of what could barely be called wooden bits.
Not even dust stirred, held down by moisture, and the cobwebs that danced as he passed only gave the slightest of efforts before returning to rest. The building was once a townhouse, probably the home to a local leader or a well off farmer. No stairs or second floor existed, but a frail ladder to a loft suggested some storage. There were several rooms, but not one had a sign of what may have lived there in the past. A turned over chair, an empty barrel, a table. Everything had to have been carefully packed up to leave so little behind, or the place had already been cleared out several times by thieves. Why had the Emperor brought him to this place?
He paused before a window to look outside. Was I even supposed to come in here? Golden eyes peered back at him from the reeds. A black snout and a whirl of fur as it bolted into the woods. Black Jaw? Did the legendary grim wolf truly exist?
Growls filled the air. Multiple, and Soren flinched as he realized what had happened. The wolves of the swamp had followed him inside and were hungry. Turning, looking for an out, he realized the room he was in had little to offer. A single bookshelf, a couple of windows, and only one doorway. Closed windows offered a bit of protection as he decided to act, pushing the bookcase to the doorway. It proved harder than expected, not budging despite his every effort. Claws scratched the floor as he counted at least three wolves in the room nearby. He had to block the doorway. He shoulder checked the door as he heard a howl from across the house. Nothing. Move! Move Damn you! He bit his tongue trying to not yell aloud. Now he tried to rip the shelf from the wall, desperate for some kind of cover.
Crack! Crick... Crcik... CRACK!
The shelves began to tip over almost in slow motion as once more he could rely on the rotten wood. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and as the first snout poked its way into the doorway to check the noise... YELP! A whine and a cry as the wolf's nose was clipped with the shelf as Soren slammed it into place. It wouldn't last, but it would by him time. Heart racing he looked around again, eyes resting on a small alcove that hadn't existed before. A growl sounded from the edge of his hearing, but Soren focused instead on the small indent. A shelf, and a box. Small, metal, rusted. A banner hung behind it, a black flag with a white paw that looked like it would fray the second he touched it. "A Melite safe house," he wondered aloud as he reached out for the box. Nothing appeared trapped as he grabbed the lock and twisted. Rusted through, it broke into smaller pieces that clattered to the ground as he opened the box.
A vision of the Sennex glaring him came to mind. He didn't know over what. That list was too long. Instead, it was her letter that re recalled as he reached into the box and withdrew a silver signet ring. Now he had to get out of here. Happy Solstice indeed... |
| Soren Navaar (Count of Seven Rivers) |
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| Firbalt
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| Important Event for The Old Gods
Follower Grante Le Monte has constructed a new temple in Heen & Tor.
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| Letter from Nerta the Weaver |
| Message sent to Message to everyone in the Old Gods |
| The Dalesmen are keeping busy piling up rocks I see. I wonder if any wish to join I protecting and patrolling all this new area as another Guardian. |
| Nerta the Weaver (Foederati) |
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| Letter from Ryosuke Guile |
| Message sent to Message to everyone in Old Gods |
| Senex,
We are busy doing far more than just piling up rocks.
There are many things afoot within the Arcane Republic, and the expansion of our faith into Duke Grante's lands is a necessary step towards one of our current goals. With the merger of Obia'Syela complete, Duke Grante and myself find ourselves directly countered by two Dukes of the Obean faith within our own realm. Given Duke Grante's stance on magickal applications on a daily basis, it further complicates my own interests and delays the advancement of my arcane studies. This is in no way a negative thing, nor an attempt to slander the good Duke, it is merely an observation on the state of things. I am devoted entirely to the betterment of our species, quite unlike my former Guardian, the rogue Prince Woelfen. I will not apply any magicks without the consensus and agreement of those who follow me. Whilst I am Hierophant, that means the entirety of Irondale as the realm has put me in good faith, in charge of things. If I am not in continuance in this post, and am solely relying on my positions as Duke of Prisma Noctis, as well as Margrave of Firbalt, then I shall pursue my personal magickal agenda a bit more freely. As I am currently the Ruler of the Republic, I would feel remiss to follow my own rather selfish interests.
In regards to the pursuit of a new Guardian for our geographic region, given the new temple infrastructure gifted by Irondale's own Duke of Land's End, what might be the requirements for one to undertake such a position? I am quite sure that there are suitable candidates within the Arcane Republic, but I am unable to recommend one without further details. These damnable Divine Seasons that Overarch all of mankind complicate and confound many matters, even if they are merry and enjoyable!
That being said, I do wish everyone a happy Divine Holiday season and a joyous time with your families, and loved ones!
Strength and Honour,
Vox Noctix |
| Ryosuke Guile (Hierophant of Irondale) |
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| Letter from Nerta the Weaver |
| Message sent to Message to everyone in the Old Gods |
| So piling up rocks, as part of a contest with the Heralds, and each other?
Wonderful.
Look Ryosuke, Guardians protect people. How they do it is up to them.
I kill monsters, Balin catches bricks and communes with animals.
You can build all the lore houses and meeting halls you want, but they'll sit empty if there's no one to help the people.
I hope your winter solstice goes well. |
| Nerta the Weaver (Foederati) |
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| Letter from Ryosuke Guile |
| Message sent to Message to everyone in Old Gods |
| It most certainly does not feel as though that was a genuine well-wishing. Your snarky attitude is duly noted, Senex. Remind me to avoid bothering speaking within these halls in the future. Obviously, taking my time to explain matters of Irondale means naught and is nothing but a waste of my time and energy.
Enjoy your, whatever-you-wish-to-call-it.
Strength and Honour,
Vox Noctis, |
| Ryosuke Guile (Hierophant of Irondale) |
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| Letter from Nerta the Weaver |
| Message sent to Message to everyone in the Old Gods |
| Your majesty,
Do not mind the weaver. She's just cranky from being on the road for a month and a half visiting empty temples. In point of fact she'll be in Firbalt tomorrow. I'd say you two can discuss matters in person, but she's generally not one for words.
Either way it sounds like Irondale is very interesting right now. I look forward to seeing the sights and hearing of this festival of yours once she, shall we say, has a chance to rest.
Until later,
Sennex |
| Nerta the Weaver (Foederati) |
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| Letter from Soren Navaar |
| Message sent to Message to everyone in the Old Gods |
| A pair of letters arrives for Nerta with a small box containing a silver seal ring.
The first letter is a short missive, while the second is several pages of drawings, still improving from the first ones he sent her some time ago, detailing his adventure and climactic battle with the wolves.
Nerta,
I'm looking into the seal of office, but I did find an old Melite safe-house in Seven Rivers this solstice. It was strange, like I was forced to go there. This was inside and may fit the bill until we can make something newer or find an original.
Regardless, I hope you are well and safe. It's been some time since I last saw you.
Sincerely, |
| Soren Navaar (Count of Seven Rivers) |
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| Roleplay from Nerta the Weaver |
| Message sent to Message to everyone in Firbalt |
| Standing in the shadow of yet another statue, the cloaked woman glances down the boulevard at the countless relics of old. She'd visited a lot of cities over the last month and a half, but this one was proving to be the most, urban.
It made her skin crawl.
It doesn't take long for her loitering to draw the attention of the local constabulary. The crisply dressed man in blue seemed keen to ensure the surly wayfarers doesn't disturb the merchants and points her toward the temple.
Hunched and rubbing her arms as she passes gardens filled with festive celebrations, Nerta's well worn appearance seems quite out of place in the pristine and orderly city. The ragged stains of frozen ichor from her battle in Binoaramet didn't help matters. Maybe she could find a bath and a tailor. |
| Nerta the Weaver (Foederati) |
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| Roleplay from Nerta the Weaver |
| Message sent to Message to everyone in Firbalt |
| Birdbaths weren't Nerta's style, so the garden city had little for the wanderer. She did find the temple though, and a familiar figure coming down the steps.
"Well well, so all the scribbles might be tue after all. Fancy clothes like those I guess you're a Baron no longer."
Eying Ryosuke, the woman in a tattered cloak leans on her spear and wrinkles her nose.
"Did you ever make it to Wudenkin?" |
| Nerta the Weaver (Foederati) |
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| Letter from Ryosuke Guile |
| Message sent to Message to everyone in Old Gods |
| I must admit some surprise to see a swords challenge brought to my home. I shall see you at dawn, Senex.
You have now accepted the challenge from Lady Nerta Unti, Dame of Agyr, Priestess of The Old Gods.
Meet her in the same city with an academy to resolved the training match.
I hope you've not gotten rusty!
Strength and Honour,
Vox Noctis, |
| Ryosuke Guile (Hierophant of Irondale) |
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| Letter from Nerta the Weaver |
| Message sent to Message to everyone in the Old Gods |
| Leave him out of it. I just want some practice. |
| Nerta the Weaver (Foederati) |
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