The world of Handon had been at relative peace for decades, tragedy came as it always did but left just as any guest who outstayed its welcome. Great and lesser houses enjoyed the comfort of a supportive king, long cooperation, and few conflicts. What the youth of the coming age did not know was that this time was to come to an end. Not only would the peaceful, static life style that they had to come expect in their isolated nobility but the world they never knew beyond the occasional glance at a map and numbing lectures by tutors too will change.

Clouds cloaked the oncoming night, swallowing all in darkness besides some budding, village lights burning with the tenacity of timid glow worms. The keeps walls moaned as the rain battered against it. Guards retreated to their barracks in order to not slip constantly on the rounded blocks, secure in the knowledge that if there were a force marching outside it would be cemented in slippery mud. Reports will come in days later than even in the deserts, an unnatural rain had flooded sand in dangerous waves down all its mounds and hills.

This night will bring three things with it, the first is the storm, the second is Merin decision to come, the third is...well...

a letter...

It was a blissful morning as the first rays of sunlight trickled through the heavy canopy of the Slene Mangrove as the heart of the Riene Swamp began to beat with life. Fishermen sleepily climbed into their canoes armed with spear and net. While the platform farmers wore the same expression but armed with shovel and hoe, gradually perking up as the golden rays brushed over them. Mothers barked at children, anxious to go play in the serene still water or attempt to catch the largest toad..instead of doing their expected chores. The land's famed herbalists were set about their work as well as sweet smelling smoke drifted from the Hall, as young apprentices almost tripped over each other as their masters demanded ingredients stocked or not for their next batch of 'miracles'. Overseeing the organized chaos from the 'throne' was a fragile-looking woman with brilliant jade eyes clad in a concealing net-like outfit covering her frame from view from her throat down. Throne would be the apt word to call it in more 'polite' circles, but in reality it was the remains of the Great Serpent used by said woman's mother in the event that would happen as another failed raid by the outside world.

The snake's jaw seemed to be posed ready to swallow the woman or be bared as a silent threat, while its spine curled about the base of the throne gave it added height to observe the room. While its scaled hide covered the seat back of the throne, gleaming scales peeking out behind purchased furs. A crone-like elder tapped her cane impatiently across the floor in a half-hearted introduction as her voice croaked out "Where is that girl. She knows the news brought right?". A noncommittal hum escaped the woman as her attention was distracted by the much louder group that entered the shadowed hall. Men and women clad in reed, hide of beast and reptile alike armed with all manner of weaponry. The only one looking out of place and a bit sickly was a messenger clad in travel clothes as he chuckled weakly at the jesting manner of his companions. The lighthearted mood turned quiet as the shrouded woman rose from her seat, as her hands grabbed at the messenger's face.

Said messenger flushed surprised at the sudden contact and intensity of the woman's stare, but his tongue failed him to protest. That would be the wise decision as the Lady Noire clucked her tongue at his companion's in disapproval "You poor man, what did my stupid husband and his warriors drag you into after this passed eve". Sheepish expression crossed a few faces as the troops grumbled excuses about needing to train and such to avoid the disapproving gaze of their mistress, the only man remaining was by far the largest and still amused apparently. A wry smile curled on his scarred face as he stated boldly "Nothing too dangerous, my lovely dragon..put away your burning gaze..". Lady Noire glared at the comment before clicking her fingers at a few healers to tend to the pale messenger before turning away to return to her original seat. Her path was halted as her husband embraced her from behind rumbling out "Do not be angry with me. The lad will live..Ikle..". A tsk escaped his lover as she turned to press gently her fingertips against his scarred throat "I know that, Wen. It's not you I should be angry with..but with this news..the king sees fit our only child to her marriage..an outsider of our ways..much less our traditions". Soothing his wife with a kiss to her ebony hair as Wen muttered "We do not have say in this matter I am afraid...besides she will not be alone in this entire debacle..our guest will be arriving shortly..".

Marriage was a serious matter in the Reines Swamp beyond the implicit family ties and alliances..it was a matter of life and death. Death could easily take a non-committed couple without a second glance. Yet, the rewards of happiness and dedication were worth the risk as the Lady and Lord Noire began to ascend the wooden stairwell of the Slene Mangrove away from the busy hall hand in hand. A more intriguing pair had never been seen before their coupling. Lord Wen Noire had been a mere Hunter that happened to earn the favor of Lady Ti'Nia (Ikle's mother) after presenting the corpse of that very same throne serpent with the daring request to court her eldest daughter. Ti'Nia was a shrewd woman accepting the gift stating it was fine, but worthless gift. What good would her daughter have for a mere corpse. That answer came when as if fought off raiders dancing to Ti'Nia's call. So, courtship began and the rest was history. Ikle had been blessed with magic..to answer the call of beasts and sink into their skins. Her favored Skin was that of a delicate Dragonfly..to match her apparently delicate but tenacious demeanor and occasionally fiery temper. While her husband Wen had the scarred, but built form of a warrior; his facial features handsome in a worn sort of way as scars lined his face. A large scar over his right eye with a strange patterns like a wave, the apparent remain from the bite of the serpent that won his mother-in-law's heart. While his daughter inherited his love of the Swamp and curious nature with dripping sarcasm.

The couple came to a halt at the end of the stairs as a few thick branches of the Mangrove curled unnaturally about one another to form a make-shift circle. Pristine water rippled as morning activity of the pond's favored residents milled about, the feathered forms of Crane's pointed beaks dipping into the watery depths pulling up the slippery forms of wiggling fish. The Cranes themselves were the newer resident of the Mangrove as chicks had begun their hatching process, resulting in hungry mouths to feed and an ample feed source. Multiple colored feathers were fluttering about the place; coal black, snowy white, earth brown, speckled salt and pepper..and most curiously a sky blue shade. The owner of said unusual feathers was a mere puff ball of baby feathers perched quite happily in a lap, being hand-fed bits of fish. Alarm calls went off as the protective birds huffed over the new visitors, before falling unnaturally silent by a mere flick of the young woman's wrist as golden orbs glanced up from the needy chick before Ti'Dama sighed "Mother, Father..you know the birds aren't fond of strangers..". Her father laughed before gesturing to the lavish pond "Strangers with deep pockets it seems..endless bellies to feed..regardless of how..charming..they may be..". A chick had happened to waddle over begun pecking his his reed sandals..it was quite adorable judging by the soft giggle that escaped her normally stoic mother.

Ti'Dama gently placed her cheeping companion back in his nest before rising to her feet. Her attire was a mix between her two parent's style. Her legs were covered in the scaled snake-hide and her feet were wrapped in soft, but sturdy fibers aside from her bare toes digging into the wet soil beneath them. Her stomach and arms were uncovered revealing her pale, but wiry strength on the surface. Her chest was covered in a mix of hide and the net-like material her mother wore..dipping down to her mid torso in a plunging style but doing an apt job. Short ebony locks framed her face, cut short just below her chin with a few soft feathers in it by accident. Evident by her body, she was not a stranger to physical labor as her hands were scarred and rough..from magic usage. While the most distracting feature of her front was her eye color of warm honey or cold unfeeling amber.Golden veins spread out like feathers just to her temples, catching in the right light. While on her back it was another story pale flesh mingled with the ebony Mark that started as the Crane's wing brushed against her shoulders as if about to take flight, while its frame focused on her spine as it's left foot rose from the waters of her lower back. Her House's Sigil and her chosen Mark, her culture demanded it be shown at all times..that cloth of any sort never hide it for it would bring shame. The ebony ink signaled one important status above all...her candidacy for marriage.

"Our guest will be arriving shortly, my little bird. You will be welcoming her. Is that clear?" came the sweet, but stern voice of her mother as Ti'Dama's answer was a short nod before turning her attention back to her flock. Her parents knew that was at least an answer, and departed back down the stairs. Her guest was at a puzzle for her mind as she had never left the humid, but familiar waterways of Reines Swamp. The Verolin Family was once..a less reputable house, but had changed their skins of late it seemed..with only a single daughter to offer for the King's service. Silently thanking whatever Gods were listening for keeping her in the Swamp instead the stone monstrosity she could only imagine the Stormhold was..from the frank literature that her House had managed to acquire. Aside from the notoriety of the Verolin's history and famed stronghold, Ti'Dama felt the cool ripple of nervousness in her core as she was not exactly fond of strangers, much less ones from beyond her Swamp. Rubbing her throat out of habit in a display of nerves as Ti'Dama resigned herself to leave the comfort of her flock down the moss-covered stairs of Mangrove. A friend would be a welcome thing if she was forced to travel for that dreaded fate that awaited her..Marriage.

The Hall was almost uncomfortably crowded on the sides as varied people jousted each other for a better position. Silently picking her way through the crowd as she ignored the chiding of the Elders for her late arrival, before bending to be eye-level with her seated Mother. A gentle pat on her cheek meant her tardy nature was forgiven as Ti'Dama patiently waited for the fluttering net to adorned on her head. It was similar in style to her mother's; marking her as a Noble. The soft netting covered her head down to her throat concealing her facial features like her mother's making her golden eyes seem to shine even brighter against the dark material. Exhaling as the fabric brushed against her pale lips, her standing father nudged her to bear with it. Even her Father was dressed to impress as his bone dagger adorned his waist, it's tip a blaze green. A warning sign like the beast that once held it..poison. While around his throat was the jagged fangs of swamp beasts of renown. A warrior and Witch mixed..resulting in the reluctant Shapeshifter to their right, her mother sat on the Snake Throne in respect in was her blood that made her 'Noble' and Ti'Dama's father to her mother's left in a proud display. This was the House of Noire, long would their blood reign in the foggy Reines Swamp..least something happen in the coming months.

The savannah sun was high in the sky as Cheick climbed the many steps of the palace, sweat running down his bare chest. Behind him, the city of glass was in full afternoon bustle, all motion and commotion as peddlers hawked their wares in the impromptu marketplace that had sprung up around the palace ages ago. Each individual stall and shop had probably been their for more than a hundred years, and every merchant could probably trace his mercantile lineage back generations, and would do so with pride. That was the way of things, in the land of the Bosanda - everything was old.

Cheick had been practicing in the training yard down the street when the summons from his father had arrived, calling him back to the palace. In other lands, he knew, those of noble lineages lived lives separate from their people, but that was not his family's way. A Bosanda must train his skills alongside his people, that they might know him should the day come when he must lead them into battle; and knew him, they did. Slung across his shoulder was his great sheathed broadsword, a gift from his sister; in his other hand he held the letter that had summoned him here.

His father was waiting for him in their usual meeting place, the "family study" - a small room packed with bookshelves and scroll racks, dominated by a single wooden table in the center. Cheick had had many a lesson in this place, and though he would never admit it, it was probably his least favorite room in the palace. His father was seated, scanning a piece of parchment, a soft smile on his gray bearded face.

The smile broadened when the old man looked up and saw Cheick enter. "My son," the Lord Bosanda said, "I am glad that you yet come so quickly, when a foolish old man calls. Does your training go well?"

Cheick brought a hand to his heart and bowed his head. "I believe I am improving, father."

"Very humble, from the man whispered of as the finest warrior in the land!" Lord Bosanda chuckled. "Master Kada tells me your studies of heraldry are much improved. Tell me, do you recognize this banner?" He gestured to an open scroll across from the table.

Cheick leaned forward to peer at the symbol - a black bird on a red background, wings spread wide. An easy question, seeing as it belonged to one of the Ten Houses. "It is the Phoenix, father. Of House Laventis, in the north."

The door opened again, and Aya stepped inside. Cheick's sister, she was as tall and dark as he was, with long black hair styled into the locks of one of the old mystics. She waved her hand and the door closed behind her, and the sorceress cocked her head at her father. "You summoned me?"

"I summoned both of you," Lord Bosanda said, rising slowly to his feet and passing the letter he had been examining to Cheick. "A message arrived from the King last night. He has declared a mixing of the lands - for two months, one of the children of House Laventis will be living among us, to teach us something of their people and learn something of ours." He paused, then shrugged, a cheeky grin on his face. "Also, hopefully, to marry one of you."

"House Laventis?" Aya wrinkled her nose at that, trepidation audible in her voice. "A blood cult. Their gods are -"

Lord Bosanda cut her off sharply. "They will be our guests, and they will be treated as such." His voice softened, and he looked somewhere past his child. "'Though there are but Four Gods, in their wisdom they have seen fit to give man many ways of being,'" he said, quoting a passage from a holy text of the faith that had grown increasingly popular in modern times.

For his part, Cheick had been scanning the king's letter in silence. "Do we know who they will send?" he asked.

"Ah... no," Lord Bosanda said, shrugging. "House Laventis has seven living children, though they're not all of age to be sent. The family heir is... Ariella, I believe her name is. Said to be a clever girl... and also quite lovely," he said, poking a wizened finger into Cheick's chest playfully. "In case, I tell you this because I want you two to handle the visit. Organize the welcome, their quarters, entertain them... all of it. I don't intend to do a thing. Since your mother... passed, it seems time that you two learn to handle the job."

Cheick nodded. "I understand, father. Will Ajak be helping us?"

Lord Bosanda waved the question a way. "Ajak is a child yet. Let him be so." The old lord grinned and started towards the door, grabbing his ornate glass-decorated cane from the wall as he went. "I'll leave you to plan, then. My garden is calling me."

After their father shut the door behind him, Cheick and Aya shared a long, silent look. "I don't know how to do this," Cheick admitted after a moment, the ghost of a smile crossing his face.

Aya laughed long and loud, and settled down at the table next to him. "I believe we have a great deal of work to do then, brother."

Bugs. They were everywhere, and it was up to a single, tiny blonde to combat them all. At the first buzz, her hands shot out, not to attack, but to shield the delicate features of her face from the horrors that came. A few microscopic mosquitoes landed on the sleeve of her dress, being the fearless blood drinkers they were, yet their attempts to sink their needle-like proboscis into the young girl's flesh were in vain. Her raiment was too strong! The thick, pink dress that adorned her skin reflected the insects' assault and before too long, they gave up on their search for blood, meandering back into the fetid air to search for new prey. For now, the blonde had won. However, danger lurked around every corner of the Rienes Swamp.

Peachie Verolin, daughter of Marquis Phillip of the East Marches, sank into the hard wood of her seat. Misery was etched into her face, dreading every moment she spent inside this infernal place. She hadn't thought it would be this bad. Dreams of a wondrous wilderness filled with delightful, happy creatures had been the girl's thoughts of this place when she had first heard that she'd be on an expedition to visit with House Noire. Where her eyes had been clouded with delusions, her father's had been aware of the potentially treacherous landscape his darling daughter was headed. Daddy's disdain with the crown's decision was made known with a polite letter asking for a change of scenery, lest he lose his only child to a cursed bog. Unfortunately, no revision came, and here Peachie was, pleading for her two months to be over with already.

"Do they eat people here?" her pleasant voice asked the other two people in her carriage. One of them, an aging, ashen haired Knight named Castor Ereban, shook his head silently. Castor had long been her father's friend and a loyal vassal to House Verolin. While he was nearing his 60th birthday, the man had a keen mind and an even sharper blade, though he wasn't particularly talkative. As Phillip's most trusted, he was here to keep Peachie safe and to advise her, by decree of the Marquis. The other figure, a large red haired woman clad in an even frillier dress than Peachie's, scoffed at the girl's words as she fanned herself. "I have no doubt, Lady Verolin. Anyone insane enough to live here must certainly resort to cannibalism. As your father said, House Noire is nothing but a bunch of savages. How the crown even tolerates them is beyond me." Delilah Lowborn, Peachie's Housekeeper and aunt, spoke. While she was kin, Delilah was a bastard, the product of a coupling between the former Marquis Xavier Verolin and a serving girl, and as such had no claim to nobility. However, her father grew close to his half-sister in their younger years, and these days, she enjoyed luxuries not normally seen by half-bloods.

"I hope they don't eat me... I don't think I'd taste very good." the young woman muttered before silence dawned on the small company. Outside of her carriage, her ears listened to the clopping hooves that carried the King's Knights, all great warriors that would ensure a peaceful visit. Between them and Castor, Peachie had every reason to consider herself well protected, certainly warded enough to shoo off any cannibals. Still, she was worried. Not just about the swamp's perils and the denizens within it, but the mere fact she was expected to act as emissary. What did she know about House Noire? Absolutely nothing. The subject seemed ill explored, and most everybody within the Stormhold had little good to say about the House. With such a meager amount of information to go off on, how was she expected to act in this new domain? What would happen if she damaged relations between her own House and House Noire? The questions were endless, and anxiety crept up on her like a stalking phantom.

Several hours later, and Peachie finally landed her feet on the muddy ground. Her finest shoes were ruined in an instant as the blonde trudged toward what Castor had called the Hall, though it looked nothing like what she imagined. Not only her shoes, but her hair was a frizzy mess, untamed and wild, her make-up had long disappeared, and the bottom of her dainty dress was picking dirt. Unfortunately, there was no time to salvage her appearance, much to Delilah's vocal chagrin. "No proper Lady should have suffer through such a tragedy!" the older woman exclaimed under her breath. Castor sighed behind her, perhaps being the most worldly and accepting of their company. He alone knew what these people were like, yet he made no inclinations as of yet to offer his wisdom up. As they entered the strange, natural realm, it felt as though all eyes were on her and the Knights that followed. It made sense for the Hall to be as packed as it was, considering the uniqueness of such an event, but that made it no less intimidating.

Where was her daddy when she needed him? It should of been him addressing the people in this room, not her. Alas, Peachie sucked down her fear and approached the central family, whom she could only assume were the leaders of this place. Perhaps it came down to her unfamiliarity with the culture her, but everyone in the room looked the same in her eyes. The people here lacked the vivid and bright colors, as exemplified by her own pink dress, that the nobility of her kingdom wore to separate themselves from the lower masses. Nonetheless, Peachie mustered up the brightest smile she could and strode forward with confidence. She was her father's daughter, the new face of the reformed House Verolin, so they would receive her personality in full.

"Hiya! I'm Peachie Verolin! It's nice to meet you all! I don't know a whole lot about this place or your House, but I hope you can teach me while I'm here. I also hope we can all be the best of friends!" Her introduction was anything but formal, and in the background of the room, Peachie swore she heard Delilah smack herself in the face. Proper etiquette had never been her strong suit nor did she intend it to be. Her words were meant to be simple and concise, albeit laced with an exorbitant amount of naivety. Curtsying, the beaming blonde's azure eyes met with family's gaze, silently praying they didn't use some manner of witchcraft to strike her down her and now.

Arceus Kallidus Kyros slowly roused himself from sleep within his bedchambers, very dimly lit by small crystal lights to ensure limited visibility in the pitch darkness of the room at night, glossy lights flickering around them on the black Obsidian walls of the room. The Obsidian Tower was Arceus' home, and he had grown to like the dark and warm nature the volcanic glass of the precisely shaped halls lent to the place, even warmer to those of the sorcerous talent who could sense the power which these old and precisely carved halls had observed and drank in over the centuries.

Imported mahogany, dark or clear glassware, silverware, black leather, and furs were the main sources of other texture in the rooms and halls, along with the deep black and red embroidered curtains and drapes that fit over the windows of the tower, the primary colours of Arceus' House. A pair of which adorned his room, snuffing out the outside light of moon or sun. With a flick of his finger from his bed, Arceus parted the curtains neatly, their ropes snaking around the heavy fabric to find purchase on hooks behind them, letting in a flood of sunlight into the room with the dawn, the rays of light flowing across the room in front of Arceus' bed.

Casually getting up, he walked over to a nearby wardrobe, where he began getting dressed. Most houses in Handon would utilize servants for such work as properly dressing a Lord or Lady, and ensuring they were presentable, but with in House Kyros, they were expected to make themselves presentable, what with their magical talents making such a need for servants redundant for such trivial functions. Within minutes he had his clothes sorted, golden pentacle straightened around his neck, his hood upon his robes lowered as he set about checking his face. The scars may be long-since healed, but they hardly did anything to make Arceus smile as he looked more like a victim of a wolf or bear attack than a powerful Lord and Arch-Magus. Utilizing a prepared basin beside him, Arceus washed his face and hair before straightening it out with a small comb.

Raising his hand, his staff, a magnificently carven runed black stave of mahogany with a great red ruby fixed within its top flew to his palm from beside the bed. This staff had been won by him after he'd defeated his brothers for his throne, and it obeyed his will by sacred rite, as it had his father, the blood of Kyros said to have been poured into the very core of its making. Whether myth or truth wasn't entirely known to the modern generation of Kyros descendants, though it had an uncanny affinity to the ruler of the House and was a mighty tool nonetheless.

His morning ritual done, Arceus stepped over to his windows to look out upon Cathal, his province. Gor Ithios stretched out before him below, but far further away were the rolling hills and farmlands, scattered woodlands, rivers, and distant mountains of his middling domain. Middling in everything but its penchant for producing some of the finest Sorcerers, magic items and services in all the world. The day looked to be another beautiful one, with everyone just waking up to start their business.

A knock came to the door of his room. Breaking Arceus' fixation on the world below.

"Brother Arceus, are you decent?"

The young voice that echoed lightly and dimmed through the door was recognized immediately by Arceus as his younger brother Gerion. 14 years old, yet the youngest son of their father had been bold enough to stake his claim to the title of Arch-Magus. Naturally, his inexperience failed him where is passion drove him, but Arceus admired his tenacity enough to make his younger brother his page until the young man went off to the Academy for his formal education, which was admittedly approaching soon. Arceus replied to Gerion as he turned and walked towards the door, his leather boots tapping the stone floor lightly in between the rugs he had covering it as he walked.

"Yes, Brother Gerion."

Gerion opened the door. He looked like a far more younger and far less sacred Arceus, though his fair was less stylized and still very boyishly cut. He wore simple Black and red embroidered robes with no hood, a symbol of his rank within the House compared to the more individualized hooded robes of the established Sorcerers.

"Gerion, you know the customs, we may be brothers, but I am Arch-Magus. I forgive your lapse since we're in private, by I won't tolerate such formality in public or among other family at court."

Gerion swallowed a bit and blushed nervously, his pride had taken a beating during the duel and took much of the bravado he had out of him, leaving mostly just a desire to serve, though he always felt bad when he made a mistake.

"Apologies, Arch-Magus. Shall we?"

"Lets."

The two departed Arceus' room, their footsteps echoing softly through the darkly surfaced but well-lit halls of the Obsidian Tower, with candles having been lit during the day and sunlight following it through various windows, the place was hardly shadowy at all, revealing the sharp edges of the eerily silent carved halls of volcanic glass. They walked in silence, Gerion ahead while Arceus trailed behind, the Arch-Magus putting his hood up as they approached the throne room.

The throne room was a vast circular room of inlaid runes on the floor and carven throne of Obsidian, carved for a person to sit within it without immediate discomfort, but also hosting no cushions or pillows. To the immediate left sat a similar throne, and above it all were the Kyros colours and banner with rays of light being reflected in from massive shafts above.

The room itself was mostly devoid of people save for two at the moment, Arceus' uncle Thamiel, and his brother Eamon both in their own robes, with their own staffs slung over their backs. Two of his Courtiers of prominence, the for his wisdom, the other out of necessity and respect for his ability. They bowed slightly to the Arch-Magus as he and Gerion entered. Thamiel began.

"Arch-Magus, your brother Eamon and I come before you prior to court's beginning with news you must be made aware of prior to its commencement."

Arceus raised an eyebrow beneath his hood, the young man leaning slightly on his staff as he stood beside the twin thrones talking to his relatives and courtiers both.

"What news begets such action?"

Thamiel began, the older man carefully choosing his words.

"We have received word that a mixing of Lands is taking place to herald King Merin's 99th birthday which is in two months, in which the Houses have been drawn by lot to host, or attend another for the purposes of -"

Eamon interjected abruptly. His face having become harder as their uncle carried on without getting to the point fast enough.

"Our House has been chosen to have the illustrious privilege of hosting the beast-people of Gerlang!"

Arceus turned sharply to regard his elder brother, Gerion gasped beside him, and Thamiel looking over at him with a slight frown, but not really seeming to be pleased with delivering the news either. Arceus thought carefully before replying.

"Do we know of which House is coming? The royal family?"

Thamiel calmly responded while Eamon's face only seemed to grow harder.

"We don't know, my Lord. What we have seems to imply you'd be informed today in person by a messenger of theirs, or the King's, maybe even both."

"You cannot seriously be thinking of taking this post, brother?! Our House is an proud and mighty lineage, and yet King Merin sees fit to have us choose our potential brides out of monsters?"

Arceus' gaze was icy at Eamon. It wasn't long ago he had fought him for the title of Arch-Magus.

"Remember yourself, brother, and let me handle whatever comes out of Gerlang. I know not what the King's play is, if this was even his own will, but I will be damned if I sully our House's honour in his eyes by poorly hosting the representatives of a noble family, foreign though they may be."

He took a step forward and leaning towards his brother, power seeping into his voice as the ruby on his staff glowed and his eyes lit with flicks of ruby-red light.

"Nor shall I tolerate being embarrassed by relatives who refuse to obey their Lord's will and seek to sully the name of our house out of personal pride."

Eamon backed off, but the rebellion was not totally quelled in his eyes. Thamiel only looked on speechless as his nephews continued their little feud. Arceus looked away, toning back his power as the sorcerous light left his eyes and his staff. He turned regarding Gerion who was nervously looking on as Arceus himself went to seat himself in his throne, calmly putting a cap on the private discussion.

"If there's nothing else you two wished to inform me off, call the court into attendance. Gerion, see if the kitchens have made breakfast if you please, I'm starving and think I'll need a clear head at today's court."

"Father, you cannot be serious!" Ariella raised herself from the ground, dusting snow from her ground length robe. "You expect to send me off to the Savannah? To live with House Bosanda?! Where they depict their so-called Gods as silly ani-"

"Ariella! You will hold your tongue or so help me I will call upon Xeion to cut it out!" Her father's booming voice cut her off, his icy glare making her feel like a small child.

Ariella knew not to speak, so instead she stood still and met her fathers gaze with equal disdain, feeling warm pigs blood slide down her fingers and stain the snow beneath her feet. Just minutes before she had been enjoying her regular morning ritual praying to the Gods, decorating herself with the blood of a sacrifice for guidance. It had been a nice quiet morning in the open field under the great willow tree, it's long leaves covered in ice. And to think, she thought today was going to be a good day... why hadn't the Gods warned her?

The willow tree they stood under was sacred in their lands, only to be used by the nobles, and the base of the tree was covered with dried blood. Legend had it that the Gods were attached to the tree and would always be listening to those who prayed beneath it. Xeion was their mighty God of mischief, chaos, destruction and death - to speak his name aloud, especially under the sacred willow tree was certainly a bold threat. Normally they did not speak the Gods names, unless they truly wanted their presence. Thus, Ariella and Lord Dederick Laventis stared at each other in a silent stand off.

Finally after what felt like an eternity Ariella's father let out a bewildered sigh and turned his eyes on the sacred tree. "House Bosanda is a good, respectable house Ariella. You will go, it is the King's wish as it is mine. The letter from the King is in my study if you wish to read it." Lord Dederick turned to face his daughter again, a frown on his aging bearded face. "Lord Cheick would make a fine husband."

Ariella practically rolled her eyes into the back of her head. Nonetheless, she could not fight him on this. She was stubborn, but not dumb. "Yes, father." She spoke through her teeth, bloodied hands curled up in tight balls at her sides. "I will... pack my things."

As she turned to walk down the stone pathway to their castle, she heard her father, "You will act proper and courtly, as well."

---

Clara,

This place is dreadful. I use to think that Crescent Bay was a wasteland, but I have to admit that I prefer it over these sand-filled lands. The sand is everywhere! It gets inside everything. EVERYTHING, CLARA! Pray to the Gods for me, ask them to grant me the strength to make it through these two months. I am not sure if they will be listening to me this far in the south...

I miss you, your warmth. It's awfully hot here, but I would still hold you close if you could have joined me. Being a Phoenix, I didn't think I would be bothered by the heat, but I believe it's made it worse on me. The sun is harsh...

I meet with Lord Cheick soon. Wish me luck. Thinking of you always,

Ari.

Ariella put her feather ink pen back into its case and closed the black bottle of ink, looking over her short letter to her lover back home. The handwriting was a bit of a mess, as the carriage she rode in wasn't exactly the smoothest to write in, but it would have to do for now. Nervously chewing on the edge of her bottom lip, Ariella folded up her letter and sealed it with crimson red colored wax. She pressed a stamp of her family's insignia into the wax and left it to dry on the seat next to her.

Her mind raced as she stared out of the carriage window, examining the architecture of House Bosanda's land. Everything was so foreign here, and she would stick out like a sore thumb as soon as she stepped foot out of the carriage. "Damien, I hope you're at least watching over me. Grant me your strength... your wisdom." She thought, sending out a silent prayer to her deceased brother. If things had gone as planned, Damien would be living another life, unaware of who Ariella was... but she still thought of him as if he were still there to guide her, despite how much it went against her families belief system.

"Miss Laventis, we have arrived."

Ariella's stomach twisted in knots as she heard the coachman call from up front. She took a deep breath as she waited for the coachman to open the carriage door. "Proper... Courtly." She thought to herself just as the door slid open, letting in a stream of sunlight. Squinting against the sunlight, Ariella took the coachman's hand and stepped out of the carriage. Looking forward, she was at the front of the main castle and what looked to be the Bosanda family waiting in greeting.

"Lady Ariella Laventis, House Phoenix of Crescent Bay." The coachman announced her presence, bowing deeply to her and the Bosanda family.

Forcing a tight smile, she met eyes with whom she assumed to be Lord Cheick. "Pleased to be here." She lied, bowing her head to the family in respect.

Llewelyn was... tired.

While their holdings weren't quite on opposite ends of the map, with the northern passes of the mountains inaccessible this time of year it meant that the fastest way to reach The Rainlands was to ride the Twinstreams into the center of the continent, and then march the rest of the way. The journey alone would not have been so bad- and indeed Llewelyn had been excited at first, an opportunity to finally leave home and see what the rest of the world had to offer- but the adventure had been dampened somewhat the death of his father.

He was no longer heir to House Ap'Cledwyn, but ruler of House Ap'Arthmael.

And so the days before his departure had been spent in preparation of assuming his lordship over the Shattered Mountains, and renegotiating with the many bickering factions of each tried to secure more favorable terms of service to their new liege. When all was said and done Llewelyn had been more eager to leave than ever, taking only two more actions before setting off.

First: he placed his mother in charge of the Shattered Mountains as his steward while away, with any important matters to be forwarded to his advisor Malcholar by Korlanthe's Tower.

Second: He sent letters to each of the Great Houses, accompanied by gifts. He knew that there was no history between his, or any of the houses currently ruling over Handon. At worst, he would provoke offense and learn from the misstep, and the possible benefits far outweighed that risk.











For House Vidokar, he would serve as the letter personally, and carried the gift with him on his journey across the continent. A journey that was thankfully almost at an end.

"Wa dae you look sae down? We're finally out ay those blasted mountains!"

"Yeah, lighten up, maybe we can finally fin' you a guid wife. Ah hear these lands are fertile, you ken!"

From the right and left of Llewelyn came this assault on his mood, a welcome one in spite of himself. Aillig and Coira Syndwaelin, his bodyguards since boyhood- and likely his closest companions. The husband and wife had been with him for almost two decades now, serving as both his guardians and instructors in the art of combat. Better teachers could not be found in Handon- nor could mouthier ones.

"I'm here for business, not pleasure. I can look for a wife after I've been ruling my lands for more than a few weeks."

"Fin' ye a guid wife is business! Gettin out those wee jimmies an' burds..."

The woman deftly turned her head so it was her covered eye facing Llewelyn's glare as her husband burst into laughter on the other side of him.

And people wondered why he was graying young.

Still, he was enjoying his trip away from home. The Rainlands had a climate far more agreeable to human habitation than the Shattered Mountains, and the sheer population of the place seemed to speak of that. It felt like they had seen more people on their journey through just a small section of the territory than in the entirety of his domain. It might had been worrying if he had ruled anywhere else- but invasions were not something the Shattered Mountains feared.

He just hoped House Vidokar would be easier to deal with than his own retainers.

The heavy rains had ceased for a time, allowing fragrances of the flora around Three Towers to infiltrate the mighty structure. Edmund Vidokar had looked down at the letter from King Merin. He loathed the man and had not seen him since the last time they argued and if he saw him again it would be too soon. Breathing in the aroma, it cleared his mind slightly as his gaze averted to Sapphire Eye with its numerous fishermen working its pristine waters. His eyes undeterred as footsteps encroached closer to his chair. The heavy steps filled will the light clangs and clunks of metal upon the marble balcony. Stopping next to Edmund, emitting an aroma of sweat as two men now looked over the massive sprawling lake.

“It seems that we’re hosting the young lord Llewelyn Ap'Arthmael.” Biting into a bitter wedge of foreign cheese. Washing the sour taste with a sweet red wine, before his company Ser Lormen Vickers had spoken aloud.

“A shame about his father, if anything the people of the Ap’Arthmael are a diligent and steadfast lot. Your daughters are devout priestess or too young for marriage, leaving only one. The gods are a cruel lot to pair the young lord with Richelle. Perhaps his family’s knack for patience will yield to your daughter’s iron will. She is currently on route as for your demand” Lormen exhaling slowly, taking in the lakes gleaming beauty.

“Richelle will do as I say regardless.” Grasping his amber topped cane, pushing down to lift himself, walking slowly to the balcony edge. His limp had grown considerably in the passing few months, with possible gout to make the situation worse. Edmund being too proud would never let a soul see him weak and infirm. His friend and commander of the guard walked with him, trailed only by a lighter set of steps in the distance.

As a break in Richelle’s mid-morning training session, she climbed the tower to her father’s private terrace as per his summons from Ser Vickers. The reason for the summons had eluded her though. Banditry had been at an all time low and there were no vassal houses squabbling. Perhaps it was business regarding the king. As rare as that was though, the notion was dismissed.

“I have arrived. What need do you require of me father.” Richelle arrived at her father’s private balcony. Finding her father Edmund and Ser Vickers at the edge. Taking only a few steps after speaking.

“By King Merin’s decree, we are to host the young high Lord Llewelyn Ap’Arthmael for a time. It is the intention of the king to intertwine the great houses together. It seems you are the only one of my daughters that is qualified.” Edmund saw it clearly hit a nerve with Richelle, waiting for her to lash out at him.

“When the thunder god Korman comes down and kisses my ass.” Lashing back at her father without regards of the repercussions. It felt like a knife had been taken to her soul. She’d decided never to marry, a fact she’d made very clear since an early age.

“YOU WILL DO AS I DAMN WELL TELL YOU!!!!” Edmunds' voice roared enough that the peasantry outside the gates heard and cowered. Slamming his fist into the stone of the balcony with a force that it made his daughter feel as if she were a child again. “You can act, behave and dress as you normally do. But if he does take fancy to you and if I come to an agreement you will marry the man. Is that understood?” Edmund stood quietly at the edge, his fist still unmoving from the stone.

“Yes, father.” His voice brought back the memories of utterly powerless Richelle had been in her youth. Clenching her fist, it hurt seeing how her father had bashed at the stone.

“Good, now see everything is done to make sure a man of Llewelyn's position is aptly taken care of. Nothing spared, he is our guest. Also, a dozen Thunder Knights to escort him from the city gates to our castle. Understood?” Squinting to Richelle conveying the message clearly. Edmund hated to repeat himself.

“It will be done father, as by your will.” Taking a bow and leaving quite promptly to allocate the resources of her father’s house to accommodate the High Lord of Ap’Arthmael. It was this moment that Richelle truly hated her father. Only going this far out of respect and fear of him. It seems her destiny was already written for her.

“Ajruna please help me.” She murmured going back down the stairs. Attending to the matter of accommodating what might be her future husband.

"And thus, your Lordship, we ask that you find this student guilty of breaking the Fifth Law of Magic: Thou shalt not attempt to raise that which is dead."

Arceus was sitting in his Obsidian throne, perfectly straight, his staff in his right hand, and a small half-eaten plate of fruit and sweet-meats on a short table beside him with a silver goblet of wine. The court which had hours before been mostly vacant barring him, his brothers, and his uncle was now packed with courtiers, relatives, and guards all throughout. Kyros family members and retinue were wearing the house colours, while everyone else wore the colours of their respective houses if they belonged to any.

Petitioners had been seeking his audience all morning, mostly petty issues like property disputes or remuneration for damaged property in some magical or alchemical experiment gone awry, but now was a criminal case of high prominence. Civil matters were mostly handled by local magistrates, but a violation of any of the Laws of Magic was an offence to be ruled upon by the Arch-Magus himself. Violations being uncommon, they still bore heavy weight and could bear black marks on a Sorcerer's future if they were found guilty of them. They weren't cases for say a duel going wrong or a explosion in a potion mixer blowing out a building because of incorrect calculation, but for deliberate attempts at performing magical acts or studies that went against the very laws of nature, were just plain unethical, or could cause serious damage to reality and therefore the province and Kingdom at large if done incorrectly.

While the paperwork was long and convoluted on the subjects and why they are banned, they essentially banned the practices of: Necromancy, Chronomancy, Mental Slavery, the summoning of and/or collusion with particular magical entities, and Blood Magic involving an unwilling human sacrifice. The violation of any one of the laws of magic by a Cathal sorcerer branded one's name as anathema, and could bear heavy criminal punishment up to and including execution.

In this case, a student at one of the Academies had been caught attempting to practice Necromancy by the Magisters. Their case was quite compelling, though the student feigned ignorance of the laws and their specificity. To complicate matters, the student was a son of one of the higher noble families of Cathal, House Orpheus, and could see it as a slight against their house to have one of their pre-eminent sons locked up as a Warlock within the Brass Citadel or executed.

In any case, Arceus had reached his decision after short internal deliberation, with the court's eyes all upon him for his verdict and sentence.

"Upon hearing all sides of this case, I am ready to pronounce my verdict. Unless there are further witnesses to come forward on either side, please speak now . . . ? No? Then I find Percius Thaddeus Orpheus guilty of practicing Necromancy. I find his claim of ignorance of a law that should be known and clear to all Sorcerers from before they even begin their academic studies lacking, and find no issues with the Academic Magisters' case. In regards to sentence, while it is a serious offence, I am not blind to the ignorant wiles of young Sorcerers slowly finding their powers and thus will not impose supreme penalties, but I will impress upon the young man and his House, the seriousness of the crime he has committed. I therefore remand the Acolyte Percius into the custody of the Magisters until such time as they have decided upon a suitable Shadow for the young man, as I proclaim the sentence to be that of the Doom of Salteroth, and any noble House in attendance that is not directly tied to this case may have one of its members apply for the position if they so wish. Thus is my ruling as Arch-Magus of Cathal."

The Court had erupted into excited murmuring the moment Arceus had pronounced the verdict, and had only intensified after the sentence. Arceus had essentially granted mercy upon the young Sorcerer-to-be, with strict provisions. The Doom of Salteroth was named after one of Arceus' ancestors, Salteroth Grimaldus Kyros, 4th Arch-Magus of Cathal whom had created the sentence as a means of showing mercy upon a House that had committed a violation against the Laws of Magic but not of a severity that deigned immediate action. It essentially put the accused under probation, they would be monitored by a Sorcerer of another House of good standing for any violations of behaviour from the Laws of Magic. After a set period of time, the doom would be lifted, and the earlier crime would be forgiven. But any infraction, even the slightest, and the monitoring Sorcerer would have the authority to execute the accused immediately. It was the perfect sentence for not only showing mercy upon potential sympathy cases, but also a way of diverting the onus of potentially executing a noble family's son onto another noble family who would also be desperate to be seen as prime examples of upholders of justice among the wider Cathal nobility. In short, the perfect situation for House Kyros.

Arceus tapped his staff loudly on the floor of the court, marking his words as final. The Magisters escorting Acolyte Percius bowed before him, and even the young Acolyte bowed his head, tears in his eyes but thankfulness written on his face before he was escorted out of the court.

The day was hardly over though, and the anticipated messenger from the King or Gerlang had yet to arrive to herald what would likely overshadow even this story as the news of the day, House Kyros hosting a House of Gerlang. Arceus wasn't looking forward to giving that speech, but until it arrived, he'd focus on the now.

The latest petitioner ushered into the room was introduced to the court as a servant of Llewelyn of House Ap'Arthmael, High Lord of the Shattered Mountains, and peer of Arceus' in terms of political power, albeit a recently ascended one like himself though his appearance wouldn't show it, if his uncle's information on the man and his family's condition was correct. The foreign Lord's servant spoke, his accent clear for all to hear.

"Noble Arch-Magus of Cathal, my Lord presents to you a gift upon you and your house, with the hopes of fostering goodwill and diplomacy between his House and yours. I come bearing his own words in writing, as his Lordship is away courting, but you are welcome to receive his gift."

Arceus gestured to Gerion, whom left his spot near the Obsidian throne and took the sealed letter from the servant, reading it aloud to Arceus and the court from his older brother's side. Arceus kept his composure hidden beneath his hood, though he stood up afterwards, placing his staff to the side by his throne as he stepped toward the servant personally. The box which held the finely carved new staff which was presented to him as a gift by the Lord of the Shattered Mountains lay neatly packaged within. With one hand, Arceus levitated the staff out of the box and into his grasp where he admired the ornate runes and fine craftsmanship. He turned to the servant.

"Tell your Lord, his people, and the respected Mages of Korianthe's Tower I am pleased with the gift, and that I would happily accept his offer of diplomacy and goodwill, as well as see it reciprocated in my own way. Herne Alchemical Refinery shall set to producing a case of elixers for the Lord and his family's usage. Ones that should help calm his nerves and ease his racing mind, that he may be spared at least a few more years with us, so long as he uses them in moderation. They shall be accompanied by my brother, Eamon Servius Kyros, the only sorcerer who is second to none in all of Cathal besides myself in ability and knowledge. May he be my diplomat to the Shattered Mountains."

At this, Arceus turned back to his throne, fresh staff in hand before giving it carefully to Gerion to put aside while he took up his own again. His smile hidden behind his hood, but his brother Eamon's incredulity plastered on his face looking at his brother on the throne from his place alongside it. The day was still long, and potentially bad news incoming, but Lord Ap'Arthmael had just provided him with the perfect opportunity to remove him of his annoying brother for a while for a task he'd be loathe to refuse.

The air in the hall was ripe with anticipation as a few on-lookers began the telltale sign of gossip throughout the crowd. Apparently her guest and her entourage would be the talk of the Mangrove as her apparent companion for the next two months emerged. It was hard to keep her face neutral as the girl before her was slip of thing in some monstrous attire of pink..never had Ti'Dama seen such a brilliant color aside from the occasional water lily. Would it be expected of her dress in such uncomfortable-looking clothes..so frilly and restricting. She had a touch of sympathy for the girl as her hair appeared unruly from the humidity. Even her apparent chaperon looked as if she had just stepped in dung..or was it just the unpleasant expression on her face that made her seem so..rude. A few mummers of her father's men were apparent admiration of the grizzled-looking man, a warrior judging by the blade at his waist. His expression seemed alert, but comfortable it seemed he had traveled around a bit.

The next words that came out of her guest's mouth were bubbly and pleasant..almost too sugary to even hear as Ti'Dama's mouth twitched hidden by the veil concealing her face. While her father's face was clear amusement at the girl's forward nature as his men chuckled at the girl's introduction. Such an enthusiastic introduction was unheard of in the Swamp as her people were a more suspicious lot of strangers..but given the girl's appearance she would at least win points with her father for her dedication to put on a happy face. While her mother was practically beaming as Peachie's demeanor, possibly hoping her nature would help rub off on her quieter daughter. As the shock of the bright dress wore off the crowd, let set off another wave of whispers as the Lady Noire rose from her seat..disrobing the net-like robe. It was tradition of her House to bear one's soul in truth of the guest..but it was still a sight to see. Beneath her robes was attire similar to Ti'Dama aside from her lower half and arms. Her entire torso was inked in black-scales down both sides of her stomach down to her bare feet. Her arms were covered in a translucent fabric revealing more scale-like tattoos this time in a brilliant silver like an insect's wings with black spacing.

Pale feet brushed against the moss-covered floor as the matron of the house showed the girl a gentle smile before stepping almost all to close to her revealing her true eyes. Compounded like an insect's each one seeming to be looking in a different direction but still that piercing jade color as her voice finally broke the silence "I hope you feel welcome here, child. I am sure my daughter will be most willing to teach you our culture and ways. I do hope you will do the same for her".

A gruff throat cleared as her husband came up to stand next to her giving her a light bow as his voice rumbled out "Forgive my wife. She can be a touch excited when meeting..outsiders. I am the Lord of Noire, you may address me as Lord Wen and my dearest wife is Lady Ikle". A laugh escaped her mother as she gently patted the girl's hand before stating "Ikle, is just fine. Lady Peachie..I have never been one for titles you see. I see you have fallen victim to our land's tiniest predator..do not worry our healers will give you a special ointment to fend them off..". Gently dropping the girl's hand as Ikle turned her gaze to her shy daughter before beckoning her forward as the girl looked away pretending to be distracted. Strangers had never been her forte..much less such haughty seeming ladies of..'true' nobility. Unfortunately for her, introductions would be made..with or without her protest as a loud hissing sound came from the crowd as the busy hall hastily parted for the source of the sound. It was a massive alligator with brilliant white scales like the stars in the sky, even it's eyes were a milky white aside from specks of grey as it's large claws scraped against the floor as it lumbered to the stalling heir before the sound of a tail slapping against her bare back echoed in the hall. A hissing sound escaped the heir as she hunched over from the force as the beast became a beautiful woman, black nails tightly grabbing the heir's ear as her voice hissed out akin to the gator's greeting "Stupid nestling, did you go deaf since we last visited..". The heir merely shook her head no as her teacher released her grip before lightly shoving her in the right direction.

Gently removing her veil as her golden gaze displayed her utter irritation despite her expression being as calm as still water. Waving her hands towards waiting servants as their hands grasped bowls filled with herbs and incense approaching the waiting group as Ti'Dama rubbed her throat nervously before gently grabbing a handful of the herbs and taking a deep breath. The faint scent of smoke mingled with the offering as she gently waved it over the guests as she circled the group before her voice rasped out "May the Swamp guide your steps and ward you from danger. May shame fall on the House Noire if you be lost to it's depths..". It was a serious oath her people took in ensuring their guests safety and comfort. Internally she was ready to the cry at the thought of having to become her new companion's shadow..given one misstep could mean another letter to her father..of mourning. Returning the slightly smoking pile to a nearby servant as Ti'Dama gave a dip of her own before announcing calmly "My name is Ti'Dama..heir to the House Noire..I look forward to your companionship..Lady Peachie. I am sure your own upbringing has valuable insights into the world..I am afraid my..own education hasn't been as clear in that..".

It was the honest truth as the mere thought of being clad in a frilly outfit to be paraded about like some fine beast for sale. Much less attempt to dance with a perfect stranger sent a shiver down her spine. Her upbringing was one of survival and to listen to her blood's call to magic..courtly manners and love had taken a backseat to that. A soft laugh came from the background as Madam Ama circled around both her student and her new guest, it wasn't one of welcoming but almost predatory sizing up the new nestling to be under her care. Madam Ama was one of the Witches of the Swamp and took haughty pride in living up to the rumors of the land. Her hair was a piercing white like her scaled Beast form swinging freely down to her bare feet. Her toe nails were edged and as black as night clicking on the floor with each step. Her attire was less concealing too as her simple robe was tight fitting furs slit up to her mid thigh held together by vines twined together. The visible flesh of her chest and stomach were curiously rough-looking as if rough to the touch as her black lips smiled revealing surprisingly pointed teeth. Halting in her inspection as her voice hissed out a bit mocking "This is to be the snow chick I will be observing along with the silly nestling..Very well. You, snow chick and stupid nestling..follow me. I will show you to your quarters that will be shared. Yes, you will be sharing..do try to fight me on this..it will be your last words...besides the gifts from House Ap'Arthmael have been placed there already..and I will not have the servants hold their chores to accommodate your whims..".
A softer voice broke the Madam's triade as Ikle gave a faint smile to both girls "Ah, forgive the Madam Ama and her..brunt nature, she will be your escort about the Swamp and guardian. She is one of our..renowned Witches and has been Ti'dama's teacher since her youth. Do not worry child..her tongue is much more fierce than her bite..". A hoarse chuckle escaped Wen as he barked out "Well..her bite is still a thing to behold..Ikle..I should know..". His throat bore a scar from her reptile jaws as a pointed nail poked it as Madam Ama snipped "You did not heed my warnings to stay away during her time under my care..you deserve that scar..". Wen merely shrugged his shoulders before clapping a friendly hand on the grizzled knight "Now you seem like you could use a drink..do not worry for your charge..she is in good hands". Giving a small bow to the guests before retreating to his waiting warriors who began gently poking fun for insulting the scaled and ill-tempered Witch.

While Ikle gave another encouraging smile before turning her attention to the waiting relative on her face "Your quarters shall be next to the girls..if you need anything..please do not be afraid to ask. Now do excuse me I must attend to a few impatient merchants and the like..my husband is not one for such affairs it seems". Gently patting Peachie's hand and gently cupping her shy daughter's face before turning away as she seated herself back on the snake throne swarmed by her waiting visitors. Only four remained as Madam Ama clapped her hands together before turning away "Now that the..greetings are over, if you would please follow me..Snow Chick and Nestling..and..whoever the lady accompanying you is..seems she isn't too important to be without introduction..". Her voice became a bit colder as her words bit "Unless she isn't willing to follow the savage. Such tricky advanced technology..stairs are. Perhaps keep your danity lips closed...in this Swamp..you could say few things sneak past a Witch such as myself..". Word traveled quickly through the Swamp..ears were everywhere..but it was better to hid such news behind mystic..

Without waiting for a retort, Madam Ama headed to the nearby stairwell with Ti'Dama on her heels with a burning face in a mixture of embarrassment and shame. Eventually the group made their way up the moss-covered stairs climbing higher and higher as the air seemed to cool down away from the murky waters. The walls weren't covered in paintings or trappings like a proper noble but with climbing vines and flowers branching off from them..peaceful in a way. While a heavy curtain of furs and vines made up the door to the shared quarters as Madam Ama opened it for the two before waving off the third party member "Your room is the one to the right..if you are seeking rest.". The Witch saw nothing to be gained to play mocking niceties to a unwelcome guest as she presented the room. Well, the sitting room as comfortable chairs waited around a sweet-smelling brazier burning incense to give the room atmosphere. Valuable furs waited for a host as Madam Ama took a seat before rumbling out "Lady Peachie, if you prefer that in private..your quarters are to the left..do remember to close the netting around your sleeping area least the bugs disrupt your sleep. Ti'Dama yours are to the right..". Her instructions were interrupted by the sound of giggling and loud footsteps as a trio of youths suddenly burst through the doorway and clung to the cold woman teetering all the while. Each child looked different from one another aside from their eyes..the same piercing white color as their mother as questions poured from each mouth in rapid succession "Mama, Mama, who is the pretty lady!", "Do you think she plucked water lilies for days to make her outfit..Mama I want one of like it..".."Think she will catch fireflies with us..or help me find the biggest frog?".

A loud hissing sound similar to her entrance escaped the Witch as her brood fell silent "Hush children..I am sure the Ladies have no wish to hear your questions. The pretty woman is Lady Peachie..do not pester her Silke..Misha..I am afraid you will have to wait thousands of springs to collect that many water lilies..Piko..if you ask politely on another night..". For the first time, the Witch's voice was warm and gentle as she found herself pulled by her children eager to go play, laughing under her breath as her expression attempted to remain serious and failed. Her departing words were sterner commands "Ah, your gifts from the House Ap'Arthmael's Lord Llewelyn are underneath the chairs..and be ready to break your fast as soon as the sun rises..we will giving our honored guest..a better sight of our land. Sleep well..". More words seemed ready to be said, but against three children..the mother was helpless but to give in their requests. An uncomfortable silence settled over the sitting room.

Rubbing her throat as Ti'Dama sat down in one of the chairs before clearing her throat. Her voice was a bit hesitant and shy as a flush graced her face made more evident by her paler complexion as she rambled "Do forgive Madam Ama..she is a more stricter guardian..but means well..as for her children..I am afraid you will be seeing a few more of them around as courtiers and..'practice' for patience and..readying for motherhood. A visible flinch passed over Ti'Dama face as she said the word motherhood. " Thankfully all seven of them have inherited the demeanor of their fathers..you see Witches have the tendency to be..free-spirited..and unattached..to pass on their magical talent..and Madam Ama's brood is one of the larger ones..a bit overprotective at times..if almost too patient..". Her rambling came to a hasty halt as another blush came over her face in realization of her prattling was possibly unwarranted and obnoxious as her hands grasped the package before gently opening it admiring the careful bundle of herbs..while her fingers traced the delicate craftsmanship of the pipe. Her father would appreciate it..and her mother's healers..the herbs. Glancing up with a curious expression " I wonder why the Lord has sent such gifts..surely courting a stranger without meeting them first is..improper..I am afraid I do not know the customs of such a land..What do you think Lady Peachie..". Placing the pipe on her lap as her rough fingers traced in anxiously before asking politely..but almost without feeling "I hope your trip was little trouble..how was it?..".

Cheick held his breath as the carriage pulled up to the great stone steps of the palace. His sister Arya stood at his left side, dressed in the traditional headdress and robe of a royal sorceress - at his right was his brother Ajak, in an ill-fitting cape and breastplate. Behind him, Cheick's father rested a hand on his shoulder and smiled, old and wise and sad.

The Honor Guard of Bosanda flanked the staircase, thirty warriors armed with greatswords and dressed in steel greaves. In unison, they fell to one knee as Cheick stepped forward, his arms stretching wide as the carriage door opened.

"Lady Ariella Laventis, House Phoenix of Crescent Bay," the foreign coachman announced.

Cheick's voice boomed out his well-rehearsed speech. "My lady Phoenix, of frost and flame. Your arrival in our lands brings the people of Bosanda great joy. I am Cheick, commander of these armies and heir to the glory of my house, and by my decree you shall be welcome in these lands."

She looked him in the eyes - good. This one was not intimitated by grandiose displays. "Pleased to be here," she said, and a wry grin appeared on his face. She was lying - they had that much in common, at least.

Cheick lowered his arms, and his soldiers rose. "Your possessions will be brought to your quarters - if you would please follow my sister, she will show you to them. You may ask her any questions you like - our home is open to you. I have business I must attend to, but it is my hope that you will join my family for a meal within the next hour."

"It did not look so large from a distance."

It was a statement half of admiration and half of wariness. The tone of both a tourist and a warrior sizing up a potential rival. Bluewater Rush seemed to dwarf Ferry's Rest, itself the largest city in the Shattered Mountains. Not that this was any real surprise- the mountains certainly provided for their people, but food was still much harder to come by, and settlements rarely grew larger than could be sustained by the surrounding land. Bluewater Rush though? It seemed as if the surrounding land could support all of Handon and more.

It would be a worrying sight if he was here on less pleasant business.

For their part, the Syndwaelin couple kept quiet and took in the beauty of the land, lost in memories of their mercenary days. The Rainlands had a tendency of late to push for conflict, and soldiers for hire gravitated towards the potential paychecks. Surely if their duty wasn't to guard their liege the two would already be at the lake's edge, indulging in a sailing hobby that was impossible in their homeland.

As the gates of the city drew closer Llewelyn felt a hand rest on his shoulder, and he didn't even need to see the bandages to know who it belonged to.

"I know you are not expecting conflict, but perhaps it would have been wise to take more guards."

"We knew the king would be providing us an escort."

"Yes. But it seems as if our hosts have provided an escort of their own."

Even with his bandaged eyes, Malcholar's magical sight was far greater than Llewelyn's own. Traffic had slowed considerably from the gate his escort was approaching, and in the place of caravans stood armed soldiers. Their mail gleamed in the absence of the heavy rain that had plagued much of his journey, and marked them as something far more than the city guard. No, these were knights belonging to House Vidokar itself, the Thunder Knights. It didn't look to be more than a dozen, but...

"You do not trust them?"

"Trust is not something a man of your position should indulge in too often."

With that, the hand receded from his shoulder, and was replaced with a hearty slap on his back from the woman to his right.

"Dornt worry! Mah guidman and Ah can take a doen aye those shinin' horseboys with ease!"

From his left came the familiar laughter of her husband, although it was less carefree than it had been earlier in the day. No doubt he was already judging the strength of the escort against the welcoming party. None of them expected any foul play, but they were all too experienced to ignore the possibility. Behind him, the knights from the capital stayed silent, content to do their duty and nothing more. Considering Edmund Vidokar's conflicts with the king, they had been ready for conflict from the moment they stepped into the Rainlands. In front of the group rode a single bannerman, with the flag of House Ap'Arthmael below the flag of the Capital, clearly identifying the party to all around.

Upon reaching the gates one of the knights rode forward just as a light rain began to fall again.

"Honored Lord Ap'Cled- Arthmael of The Shattered Mountains, please accept the hospitality of House Vidokar and allow us to escort you through the city."

The slip of the tongue didn't bother Llewelyn in the slightest- it was after all almost unheard of for house names to change in Handon, he had encountered more than one diplomat over the last few months who had made similar errors.

"We accept the hospitality of House Vidokar, and thank you Sir Knight for guiding us through such a grand and unfamiliar city."

With the formalities exchanged, both parties joined together and the sounds of the countryside became drowned out by the sounds of the city as they made their way through Bluewater Rush.

And towards the looming castle of Three Towers.

Ariella raised a brow as Cheick quickly handed her off to another and then disappeared behind castle doors. Was Ariella that much of a strain on his eyes that he had to leave immediately? This was going to be a wonderful few months, if so. She nearly laughed out loud as she met eyes with the woman at his side, the one he called his sister. She didn't look exactly pleased by the exchange of responsibility either. Ariella held her gaze on the tall woman, a smile that looked more like a smirk held on her lips. The woman did not return her warmth. Instead, she motioned for Ariella to follow her and turned without hesitation to lead Ariella into the castle.

"Oh, Sir Bennett," Ariella turned to face her coachman "I left a letter inside the carriage, could you please make sure that gets sent before you depart, or deliver it to Clara yourself." She flashed him a genuine smile, "Safe travels." She trusted Sir Bennett and had known him since she was just a girl. He was a good, hard working man. Her father would be happy to have him returned to the north, no doubt.

With that, she spun back around and picked up the edges of her long black dress to hurry up the stairs after Cheick's sister. "I still have no idea what her name is." Ariella thought, trying to go back in her mind to remember what her father had called the children of Lord Bosanda. She hadn't been interested when he was telling her about the lands she would be visiting for some time. That may have been a mistake, but she'd never admit it out loud.

Quietly, she followed behind the dark and stoic woman in front of her. She couldn't seem to be bothered to try to make any small talk, but Ariella preferred it that way. No need to go pretending that either of them were truly happy for Ariella to be here, or that they were friends. As they walked down long corridors, Ariella took note of each of the rooms they passed by. Her icy blue eyes took in as much as they could and filed the layout of the castle away in her memory, though most of the palace's doors seemed to be closed off. Perhaps she could do some exploring. Cheick did say their home was open to her.

"This is where you'll be staying. We will let you know when dinner is served."

"Thank you." Ariella could barely get the words out before the woman left her behind. House Bosanda was certainly a flighty bunch, weren't they? Some hosts they were. "Father would have reamed me if I were to leave our guests by themselves within the first fifteen minutes." She thought, on her high horse about how she would have done things better. In reality, Ariella would have most likely been one of the coldest people there if someone had been invading her home unwelcome.

Her new bed chambers were impressive, though the window facing the east let sunlight directly onto the bed which would become annoying in the mornings. Especially in this hot weather, she might as well melt to the bed. Either way, at least they didn't toss her into some slave corridor. Speaking of, the servants of House Bosanda quietly collected her things and left them in her room beside her bed. They greeted her formally and bowed their heads to her respectfully, one asking if Ariella wanted him to hang up her clothing for her. She agreed, thanking him, and told him that she would be back in a little while. He looked at her in a confused fashion, but Ariella just winked at him as she slinked quietly out of her new room.

"Let's see..." She looked down the hall that Cheick's sister had taken her down. There were a few rooms of interest that she passed, but first, Ariella wanted to find the study that she had seen during their walk. She hurried down the hall, hoping no one of importance would catch her just yet. Eventually she would be caught, of course, but she wanted to have a little fun first. Her black heels clicked against the marble floors, making her escape not so quiet, but it didn't seem that anyone was paying attention at least. She passed a few doors first, three of them closed and locked - she gave their door knobs a little jiggle to make sure. Perhaps they were other bedchambers? Who knew...

"Ah-ha!" She stopped as she reached the large open doorway that lead into a great study, filled with books to the brim. Glorious! Ariella had read nearly every book they had in the library in her castle, so hopefully they had something new here. At the very least, she would have somewhere to waste time until she was able to go home. Her fingers lightly brushed across the booked, her eyes scanning each of the book titles as she walked around the room. Some she knew, though most of the others she did not recognize. Even better.

Turning, she noticed an open book in the middle of the room on a table. She sauntered over and curiously flipped the book over to look at the title. "The Four" Ariella rolled her eyes. She knew who "The Four" were and she thought them all ridiculous. She turned the book back over and began flipping through the pages. Her father had told her a bit about the so-called gods here and she laughed. It seemed silly to imagine gods as animals, though the people of the East Savannah seemed strong in their beliefs, just as the people of Crescent Bay were strong in theirs. Amused, though interested, Ariella took a seat at the table and began skimming over sections of the book. Maybe she would get a better feel for the people of the Savannah if she knew more about the "gods" they worshiped.

A beam of sunlight shone lazily between the heavy velvet curtains of the empty drawing room, now pulled apart to expose the tall windows. A figure sat by one of them, her face barely illuminated and her flushed, delicate fingers methodically working a needle back and forth through a silken cloth. Already dressed for travel, she waited.

It wasn't long before a door opened. There were several seconds of uncertain silence, to which Mjarre did not react, and a small "um"...

"Eloquent, Your Highness, but perhaps using words will serve you better?" Mjarre did not look up from her work but a playful smirk tugged at her lips. Her younger brother scoffed, but then straightened his back and held his chin a little too high.

"Mother calls for you. We shall be leaving shortly." he said stiffly, his still childlike voice comically formal. The princess stood up and joined him in the doorway, not a twitch in her face betraying the suppressed giggle. Merin - named after the soon retiring king of their neighbours in honour of his generosity to Geriang - had just turned twelve and their parents were beginning to insist upon him behaving more like a prince than a young boy. He would be accompanying her on the visit to Handon, "to hone his courtly manners" as Eressi had put it when she proposed the idea. Mjarre knew for sure that he was even more nervous than she was about the journey. She found it hilarious.

"Lighten up, Merin, you're not the one getting married off!"

The boy glared at her and this time she did not stifle her chuckle. He'd inherited their mother's soft golden eyes that made it impossible for him to look intimidating.

The stone halls, richly decorated with paintings and tapestries, but hardly anything else that could get in the way, were much more difficult to navigate today. The castle was bustling with activity as the last of the preparations for their departure were made. The two of them, however, did not hurry on the way to their mother's private library, savouring each step on the soft, dull red carpet that they wouldn't see again till their return. The queen could wait. She was a patient woman.

She was waving a newly written letter in the air as they entered, attempting to speed up the drying of the ink. Her imposing walnut desk was consumed by a scattering of parchments, documents, crumpled paper and quills. She liked to be Involved.

"You called for me, mother?"

The queen seemed startled but she smiled warmly.

"Ah, my dear, just on time!" she neatly folded up the parchment, tucked it into an envelope and sealed it, stamping her ring into the wax. She turned to Mjarre once again and handed it to her, "This is to announce your arrival to our generous host. Be a dear and send a bird to Gor Ithios, I'm sure the Lord Arch-Magus would prefer to be informed in advance."

Mjarre nodded a small bow and tucked the envelope away. She watched the tendrils of her mother's hair delicately unfurl as she stood from the ornate chair and walked over to her cabinet. The queen carefully took out a small lacquered box, beautifully carved with an intricate floral pattern.

"And this, you will deliver personally. It would be unbefitting of a royal guest to arrive empty-handed."

The princess held the box gingerly and bowed once again. Her mother smiled affectionately and placed a warm hand on her cheek.

"Good luck, sweetling. I am sure you will bring great honour to Geriang and our house...Take care of Merin."

With this, they parted. Soon the procession accompanying them set out on the long journey to Handon. A large, brightly coloured parrot flew overhead.



"To Lord Arceus Kallidus Kyros, Arch-Magus of Cathal

Lord Kyros,
I hope this letter finds you in good health. Please accept my congratulations for your inheritance of your noble father's title - I understand it was hard-earned.
As we both know, I presume, His Majesty King Merin of Handon has generously invited us to participate in the events surrounding his impending retirement. I recently received a letter from him to inform me that it is your noble house that would be hosting the delegation from Geriang. I hope my daughter - Princess Mjarre, and my son - Prince Merin, can count on your hospitality, and that you will find their company agreeable. I do pray we are not causing too much of a disturbance to your affairs.

You have my gratitude.

Warm Regards,
Shakti of House Dionaea, Queen of Geriang"



Clouds piled overhead as the delegation neared the city. It would rain soon. Despite the gloomy weather Mjarre found the view quite breathtaking - she'd never been to this part of Handon, only the capital once or twice. She and Merin sat in the ornate carriage, deep red and bearing the royal crest. Her hands were yet again preoccupied with embroidery - a flock of birds that created a strange twisting pattern - though her eyes often wandered outside. The carriage was flanked by rattlers - large lumbering beasts with shiny nut-like carapaces on their heads that twitched and chittered constantly. Their arms ended in long sharp claws. Mjarre imagined they must look even more fierce to the handonians, who weren't used to the sight of them. Other creatures trailed behind and up front. She hoped they wouldn't upset the locals too much before they reached their destination...

Court proceeded into the late afternoon in the Obsidian Tower of Gor Ithios. Arceus only called a couple breaks during the sessions, but lunch was served there in the court, a platter of fruit and chesse with salted pork and a glass of water was what he took and nibbled at as he went about the daily business. His brother Eamon's fury was still emanating from where he sat further down the line in the room, but he'd calmed down slightly.

Finally, after several more petty disputes and cases, that which Arceus knew was to come up, came up. A messenger bearing his house's colour presented himself before the court bearing a brightly coloured parrot and letter it carried with the seal of House Dionaea, the Royal House of Geriang.

Arceus gestured to his uncle Thamiel, who took the letter and opened it, reading its contents before Arceus and the court.

As the Arch-Magus predicted, the room exploded in activity, mostly outraged and nervous reactions by courtiers, petitioners and noble Magi alike. Calmly Arceus stood from his throne, and with one swift moment of focus, channeled his power into his staff, slamming the butt of it against the floor of the court, the resulting soundwave of released energy resounded like a great gong throughout the room and wider tower, and brought all commotion to a silence as the Arch-Magus spoke.

"Peace, everyone. Are we not Sorcerers, and the loyal servants of King Merin? It is the will of the King to accept the people of Geriang into this mixing of lands, and we must abide by it. I understand many of you have qualms about hosting those whom in many circles would call monsters. But we should not think of it as a slight to our honour, but rather a test. We are not merely representatives of our houses or our province here, but of all of Handon as well, and thus the responsibility of impressing a foreign power fell upon us. If we disgrace ourselves by being bad hosts to a foreign people, how would we look to the other houses, or the King himself?"

One particularly flustered Sorcerer called out from the crowd:

"Fuck the King and his thoughts on the matter! He's not here, you're merely playing his lackey and letting these beasts disgrace us!"

Arceus turned to face the offending Sorcerer, his eyes and staff flicking with red power.

"I pray that you merely made an error in judgement sir, for you or anyone else tries to speak such openly treasonous words or insults towards this whole affair, I can assure you I'll have no problems blaming the whole affair on you and your house before subsequently seizing all of your properties."

That shut the Sorcerer up quick, and made most of the rest of the audience who started to become more active again, subdued.

"This is my will on the matter. We shall prepare to host the Royal Family of Geriang's representatives immediately, and I shall want it done as well as if it were any House of Handon attending. My illustrious House shall oversee much of the preparations anyway, all I require from most of you are your shares of the supplies and upkeep for it, and more importantly, for you all to be on your best behaviour. I shall not tolerate being embarrassed by ANYONE within the bounds of Cathal who calls themselves a resident, and that's a promise. Besides that, cheer up everyone, its an excuse for a major festivity in honour of our King with a foreign who seek to do the same, if you cannot enjoy the company, than at least find some way to enjoy the event. Who knows? Perhaps they'll have more in common with us than most with Handon, given our own dispositions."

At this, Arceus returned to his throne, signalling the end of his proclamation, and runners began sprinting out of the throne room as soon as they wrote down Arceus' orders, or abbreviated forms of them to the various Houses of Cathal, to ready the way through the countryside to Gor Ithios ahead of House Dionaea's arrival and send out calls for general preparations to begin. Arceus sighed into his throne, reading over the letter again, the Royal House seemed to understand his position as much as he did. He harboured no disdain for the people of Geriang, his concern was power, and the means of obtaining it, and the Royal House, even that of a foreign nation like Geriang could always prove valuable towards such a goal that petty prejudice couldn't be allowed to stand in the way of such opportunity. And he'd be damned if he was going to look like the only fool in all of Handon who couldn't properly host a Mixing of Lands.