Briarwood Family/Gwendolyn/Briarmarch

Letter from Wassgandr Felsenbach

(Personal message to Gwendolyn Briarwood)

Brave Gwendolyn,

With great pleasure, I extend my heartfelt congratulations on your inaugural victory. It is a triumph that shall forever be etched in your journey, a testament to your valor and leadership.

In regard to the looming threat of the beasts in Garuck Udor, I harbor no illusions of an easy conquest. Yet, I beseech you to consider a noble objective – to alleviate the suffering of the hapless peasants who endure the menacing onslaught of these creatures. While I do not anticipate unmitigated success, even the felling of a few of these beasts would provide respite, diminishing the peril they pose to the innocent lives dwelling in Garuck Udor.

This endeavor may demand multiple engagements, necessitating your return to Askileon for recruitment and rearmament. With each encounter, however arduous, you shall gradually chip away at their numbers, curbing the menace they inflict upon our realm.

Undoubtedly, this challenge will be an ardent trial, yet it shall also constitute a priceless lesson that will empower you to surmount adversity in the years ahead.

May the light of Lux Nova be your guide,

Wassgandr Felsenbach
Heliacal, Empyreus of Luria Nova
Royal of Luria Nova
Duke of Eternal Radiance
Margrave of Askileon
Priest of Lux Nova

Roleplay from Gwendolyn Briarwood

Message sent to all nobles of Luria Nova (25 recipients)

Gwendolyn: Briarmarch

Amidst the eerie aftermath of the battle, where the scent of blood and the echoes of conflict still lingered, Gwendolyn, a figure shrouded in armour and enigma, perched upon the lifeless carcass of a slain beast. The dark ichor that once stained her countenance had been cleansed, yet traces of it clung obstinately to her arms and armour. Her visage remained an emotionless mask, as if emotions were foreign concepts beneath her.

With calculated detachment, she unfolded the missive that bore the emblem of the Helical, ruler of these lands, and read its words. Her gaze, piercing yet distant, took in the field and the ranks of her unit, the Blackshields, who awaited her enigmatic directive. An exhale, devoid of warmth or sentiment, parted her lips. "Thy words offer little comfort, Helical. But if it is thy command, so be it."

Pushing herself lithely to her feet atop the beast's form, Gwendolyn surveyed her assembled soldiers, a tableau of loyalty and solemnity. Her voice, flat and inscrutable, disrupted the air like a gust of wind. "Gather."

Her command drew the unit to her, a sea of expectant faces awaiting her cryptic proclamation. As whispers meandered through their ranks, Gwendolyn's voice sliced through the emerging turmoil. "The Helical commands. We March. Garuck Udor."

In response, a tempest of dissent erupted, a chorus of apprehension and fervent protest. Death, futility, and the spectre of a suicide mission loomed in their cries.

Gwendolyn's hand moved with deliberate precision, her sword drawn from its sheath, its metallic hiss slicing through the clamour. "Silence," she commanded, her voice lowered to a menacing undertone. The Blackshields, trained under her unyielding will, fell into a strained silence, though the Sallowtown Spearmen's murmurs still simmered like embers.

In that moment of stillness, Gwendolyn raised the Helical's missive like a solemn decree, the inked words inscribed in her memory. "It is Thy duty. Lurian Soldiers. We are the Realm's shield."

But scepticism lingered, a persistent shadow that danced in the eyes of her followers. Gwendolyn's sigh was a mere wisp of sound, a sigh that held within it worlds of weariness. She looked skyward briefly before uttering cryptic phrases, foreign syllables tumbling from her lips like a forgotten incantation. "Majak svern dout seoylic kagh waphic ekess wer ksenya di luyos. Anyui wer relgr jaka kagh grada wer elk aulkhori. Yth geou jikmada wer fueryon. Si declare vi Briarmarch."

At the utterance of "Briarmarch," a shudder rippled through the ranks of the Blackshields, like a current through iron. Fists met armour, a chorus of resonant thuds, as they hastened to retrieve a peculiar set of masks – iron renditions of an elk's skull adorned with silver thorns. One amongst them, bearing a mask of gold, offered it to Gwendolyn, a gesture of reverence. She accepted before placing it upon her own visage.

Captain Elvira emerged from the assembly, curiosity burning in her eyes. "What was spoken? Why these masks?". Gwendolyn's gaze pierced through the mask's hollow eyes. Her response was a mere murmur, as cryptic as the rest. "Briarmarch. A tradition of loyalty absolute. To ignore all peril to themselves until their task is done." Elvira's disquiet was palpable, her query aimed squarely at Gwendolyn's own fate. The noble lady's gaze, unflinching, met Elvira's, a silence echoing the question before her words fell, stark and chilling. "Yes."

After her pronouncement, Gwendolyn's orders unfurled with a frigid resolve. The Sallowtown Spearmen were dispatched to the hills, tasked with hunting down the remnants of the beasts in Ciarin Tut. Come eventide, the march to Garuck Udor would commence, even if the cost was the lives of her steadfast soldiers.

Gwendolyn turned away from Elvira, her attention reclaimed by her Blackshields, each adorned in the elk skull masks. Her voice, unfeeling yet unwavering, cut through the air. "Briarmarch declared. Until the beasts' end. The Winds' mercy scant, but we shall march regardless."

A resounding thump of chests filled the void, voices blending in a harmonious pledge. "Briarmarch answered. Lives and souls surrendered. Lady Gwendolyn, of House Briarwood. Until the beasts of Garuck Udor fall."

And so, beneath the weight of oaths and the shadow of impending conflict, the scene unfolded with an eerie symphony of unity. Gwendolyn's voice, as emotionless as ever, sealed their pact. "Bound. Until victory, or death."