babbysama

Battle of the Maw (Medieval Fantasy)

@TJByrum Could we potentially get the CS ahead of time?

Battle of the Maw (Medieval Fantasy)

I'm doooooooooooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn to clown with this.

Count me interested.

The Chronicles of Irenaea [Always Open] [Historiograhy-Based] [Low-Commital]

The Gastronomical Pleasures of Windbeach
High Elder Rewerturin Korkon Haggerit (160-170)

Although Windbeach has only in recent times become a sovereign nation in its own right, it has a long and storied history as one of the richest provinces of the erstwhile Empire. The Windbeachmen have ever been far-ranging mariners, plying the Near and Far Seas for trade, adventure, and fortune; this spirit of exploration is well reflected in their cuisine, which even in times of imperial dominion was well known. The chronicler Vicus once remarked, “Give me a cup of Yellowpoint red and a rind of Tolmen cheese and I shall know happiness.” Indeed, Windbeach red wine, renowned for its peculiar floral notes, rich, stout body, and capacity to withstand long sea voyages, made it one of the most widely distributed vintages in the Empire and the favored libation of the elite. The imperial patronage of the Windbeach vineyards spurred the development of larger and swifter ships. And the returning mariners, having tasted the spices of Modi in the great ports of the imperial heartlands, developed a keen appetite for the stuff, and began to desire to trade in it themselves. Thus was the trading aspiration and pioneering spirit of the Windbeachmen born in the crucible of technological advancement, and both were inextricably bound up with cuisine.

Benebub Baltrix Balderbee, ca. 162

Being chiefly a maritime province, the staff of life in Windbeach is fish, along with other varieties of seafood. The warm, relatively shallow waters of the Windy Sea teem with life, and offer up bountiful harvests to Windbeach fishermen. Perhaps the most common of all Windbeach dishes would be the humble fish stew, which is subject to infinite variation depending on seasonal availability and the creativity of the cook——it is said that every fishwife in Windbeach has her own recipe. The basic principle, however, is the same: rend the oil from a portion of fatback and duck sausage; sauté garlic, onions, and parsnips in the rendered oil until golden brown; deglaze with young wine, then add anchovy broth, a splash of wine vinegar, salt, spices (if desired; there are infinite mixes that are utilized), and a heaping portion of white beans (some like to include leafy greens and root vegetables to make the dish heartier; beans, however, are indispensable); let cook for some time, roughly six or seven hours; then, when the stew has cooked down considerably and the vegetables have dissolved, add the seafood of choice, usually some portion of white fish, fresh or dried, whole sardines, prawns, and blue rock crabs; bring the mix to a boil, and once the seafood is cooked through, serve. There are a number of common condiments for the stew: garlicky pepper sauce, garlic confit, a variety of herb sauces and pastes, crisped shallots, red basil, and many more. Another indispensable addition: a hunk of crusty Windbeach sourdough flatbread, and a glass of good wine (if it can be found) or crisp small beer. The stew is eaten at all hours of the day: breakfast after a night’s simmering for fishermen before going out for the day’s catch; luncheon, along with a number of salads and cold dishes; or for a late night dinner.

Although the noble fish stew is the most prevalent of fish dishes, the number of ways in which the Windbeachmen prepare the fruits of the sea are as innumerable as the stars. Octopus braised in beer and doused in white pepper; sea urchin infused porridge with grains of paradise; seaweed soup with shark fin and grain; crab roe, carrot and pork skin fritters; cold pickled swordfish; grilled eel brandied and set aflame; whole fried squid; gooseneck barnacles boiled and served in a sauce of butter, cinnamon, mace, clove, and a number of herbs; sweet clams with beans, sausages, and smoked paprika; prawns fried in garlic oil and smothered in pepper sauce; an infinite variety of recipes for steamed mussels; live octopus swimming in wine; squid ink bread, the famed “black” bread of the Windbeachmen; the grand panoply of preparations would be nearly impossible to catalogue. A common tavern nosh are whole pickled sardines (for the bold: pickled fish eyes), and a spread of goat cheese and sturgeon roe on flatbread is a favorite morsel in the afternoon.

Benebub Baltrix Balderbee, ca. 162

But Windbeach is not only a place of broad coastal plains and windswept promontories. The interior rises in verdant, low-lying mountains, terraced hills where the famed “Yellowpoint” grapes are cultivated, and deep river gorges. Here the climate is cooler, though the infamous Windbeach summers still strike the whole country dumb for three months out of the year. The food here is heartier, and, as is only natural, has a greater focus on meat and vegetable dishes, though the influence of the sea is still keenly felt, for no part of Windbeach lies outside of eighty kilometers from the coast. The Sweetfall Valley, known for its rich earth, is for all intents and purposes the agricultural center of the country. Wheat, barley, and beans are cultivated in abundance, along with great groves of almond, hazelnut, pistachio, chestnut, olive, apple, citrus, fig, plum, and apricot. In the hills, goats and sheep are herded, and every farmer keeps pigs and chickens; cattle is quite uncommon, for there is so little room to graze them. Pork especially is the prince of meats, and of supreme quality due to the pigs’ diet of chestnuts and whole wheat berries. And just like fish, it is prepared in an unreckonable number of ways; of particular note, however, are the prime sausages and exquisite hams made by the people of the Valley. Chickens, ducks, and other fowl are likewise abundant, and some of the most famous dishes of Windbeach are poultry preparations originating here. Meats are most often stewed in alcohol (wine or beer), as is the Windbeach wont, along with nuts and dried fruits, or grilled or roasted over an open flame. A wide variety of goat and sheep cheeses are made by the hillfolk, which are exceedingly fine in quality and incorporated in a vast array of dishes, particularly in vegetable preparations and cold dishes, or served alone with pickles and fresh wildflower honey. Unlike the coast, the interior does not often use spices, relying on the quality of their meat and produce and the twin flavor giants of garlic and onion.

The number of famous dishes are legion, to the point that the interior, rather than the coast, is known as the gastronomic heartland of Windbeach. Whole fried eggplants stuffed with duck eggs, almonds, dried figs, and pork cracklings and drizzled with honey; stewed sheep’s brains spread on bread with roasted garlic and soft cheese; pork trotters stewed with chickpeas and sausage; white bean paste with pork cracklings, scallion and pepper, used as a dip for bread; pork tripe stewed in red wine with bacon; sparrows, drowned alive in wine, roasted and eaten whole; roasted chicken rubbed with olive oil, garlic, fennel, rosemary, chives, and ground almonds, stuffed with oranges, green olives, and onions; spicy chicken feet braised in beer; duck braised in beer with prunes and stuffed with chestnuts; duck tongues stewed in honey; cold pig ear salad with garlic oil; pork cheeks braised in wine with turnips, chickpeas, and figs; fried lamb’s testicles or goat’s livers, a common tavern food; stewed spinach with mace, lemon, chickpeas, and goat cheese, one of the few spiced dishes widely eaten; mashed chestnuts with butter and goat cheese, a common side dish; chickpea flour flatbread; and finally, the famous whole roasted suckling pig or whole roasted lamb or goat, a necessary dish for any feast. All these and more are amongst the pinnacles of Windbeach cuisine.

It is said that the people of the Sweetfall Valley, “Eat well, drink well, fuck well, and die young.” This author can attest to all of those assertions.

Benebub Baltrix Balderbee, ca. 162

But one would be remiss to speak of the gastronomy of Windbeach without mentioning their fabulous desserts. Just as the rest of Windbeach cuisine, the sheer number of desserts boggles the mind, and the Windbeachmen have an infamous sweet tooth. But with such fine honey, such sweet fruits, such creamy milk, such alluring spices, how could they not? Most Windbeach cuisine is made up of stews, roasts, soups, and braises, with a few odd fried dishes here and there. However, Windbeach desserts are known for being rich, slathered in honey, lavishly spiced, and, at least a great deal of them, fried. There a vast number of sweet fritters, mostly sticky with honey and splashed with sheep’s milk cream: carrot fritters, fig fritters, pumpkin fritters, hazelnut paste fritters, almond paste fritters, prune fritters, goat cheese fritters, sheep cheese fritters, and on and on. Fried chickpea flour rounds with honey, cinnamon, cardamom, and pistachio; fried dough balls stuffed with prunes and drenched in cream and sweet wine; deep fried pistachio cakes laced with orange flower water, nutmeg, and spread with plum compote; goat cheese cakes with cloves, sweet wine, and honey; these are just a few of the rich, and, at least in the opinion of this author, stomach churning Windbeach desserts.

But there is lighter fare to be found, much preferable after a gargantuan Windbeach repast. Richly spiced goat milk custards with duck egg yolks; cool fruit puddings; pistachio and almond flour sweetmeats; apple or apricot cakes; whipped goat cheese with orange blossom water, cinnamon, and slices of blood orange; simple compotes, jams, and fruit pastes served on bread or with cheese; and, reserved for the wealthy and the powerful, fruit and wine ices, made from blocks of ice brought in from the high ranges of Aedria, which are said to be of a quality unmatched anywhere in the wide world.

And, as is typical in Windbeach, dessert is always washed down with a glass of fine, sweet wine, or the famous Windbeach plum brandy, the perfect end note to a perfect meal. Such are the gastronomical pleasures, and life in general, in the pleasant country of Windbeach.

Benebub Baltrix Balderbee, ca. 162

The Chronicles of Irenaea [Always Open] [Historiograhy-Based] [Low-Commital]

An Encounter at Sea and the Raid on Old Boot
King Wolfheart Lami Ynndyron of Anxwe (72 - 145)

In the name of the Wolfheart, Ynndyron-King, Lord of the Liana Hall of Anxwe, Raid-Captain of Aeserd and the Far Seas, True Lord of Greenmountain and its principalities and client territories, Blessed Spear of Jax, the Wolf, and Odo, the Elk, mighty Prince of the North-and-of-the-West-and-of-the-Rivers, dread Warlord of the Greenlands, Lord of All Trees, Blood-Prince, most fabulous King of the line of Ynndyron, I write this to enlarge your glory, which already is sung to the very peak of Greenmountain, to the stars themselves, to the very branches of Rud Tree-Father's silver trunk, and upwards to resound in Heaven amongst the cooing of the fountains of Ibasa. I offer unto you the sacrifice of ten white deer, along with the measly portion of my own humble blood, sweat, and tears shed in toil over the making of this manuscript.

This work was begun by my father, the venerable Thwildirod Leafsinger of Red River, who no longer walks this earth, but who instructed me in all the arts of writing, of verse, of lore, of balladry, and of history. And the work shall continue by the hand of my son, Dirhal, and by his son, Yewd, and by all the sons of the line of Leafsinger so long as we might enjoy the favor of the mighty lords of Ynndyron and persist upon this earth. It is my noble father to whose glory I also render the sacrifice of ten white deer, for every man is ruled by two lords, his liege lord and his father, both dreadful and benevolent in turn, who guide us as surely as the polestars of Heaven.

Ynndyron! Greenmountain! I beseech you to turn your eyes to Heaven! See there writ the deeds of your noble Lords and Kings! It is the stars to whom I have turned for guidance, whose timbre I have struck, whose illumination imbues the words of this holy work, to whom I now raise my eyes having accomplished the work of chronicling of the Wars and the deeds of Wolfheart, King of Ynndyron, the toil of my life.

Blessed Wolfheart, I offer this work, myself, my sons and my house, to your mercy and grace. Do with us as you will.

Haxwas Leafsinger of the Red River, Chief Chronicler of the Court of Ynndyron, 126

This I saw with my own eyes, for in those days, though on in years, I was still able to carry a spear and ride an elk and ply the waves and give battle, and my father yet lived.

King Wolfheart had only recently been anointed as lord of the realm, but he was full of war-lust, and desirous of a spear-meeting, with whom it was of no consequence. But he did not yet wish to cross spears with Thanesrow, for he had greater designs for them which he was not yet willing to enact. And so, wanting to shed blood and offer up homage to Odo and Jax, he devised a war against the Oaklanders, and it was thus:

Some fisherfolk of ours, unbeknownst to us, had some years past been shipwrecked in one of the Channel’s infamous tempests on the far side, where the Oaklanders, thinking them to be pirates or spies, had taken them into captivity. This is the custom of not only the Oaklanders, but in Ynndyron as well; I recall only a year or so past some fisherfolk from the Meadland foundered off the rocks of Yvander and were impressed into servitude for having encroached upon our fishing grounds. These fisherfolk, having lived some time in the Oaklands, had found the leafy women to their fancy, and forsook their fatherland, and offered up their labor to King Greenshield; but not all. Recently, some gallant patriots, having broken the yoke of the Oaklanders, fled back across the Channel to friendly shoals, where they requested audience with the King and told him of these grave tidings. He said that the majority of them lived in the village of Old Boot.

Then Wolfheart drew up a letter to his cousin King Greenshield, and related these events, and expressed his grievances and desire for these folk of his to be returned to the bosom of Ynndyron. After some moon’s turning, however, no reply came to Anxwe, and the King was wroth. But secretly, with his councilors and retainers, he spoke hotly of his appetite to war with the Oaklanders, and plunder their fat keeps and rich coasts. Pyndwal the Mantle urged caution, however, saying that the Oaklanders were known for their martial prowess, and their fearsome axe-lords that were skilled in the felling of trees and men at the trunk, and their war-druids who spoke thunder and conjured fire in the bellies of their drums. But Wolfheart laughed at Pyndwal, and called him milktoast, and said that he feared nothing in the world save for the gods and a long life.

“To live longer than one’s time is the deepest of sorrows. A man’s body, previously beautiful and hardy, becomes drooped and decrepit, and in the end he cannot even lift a spear or lie with a woman or drink beer till the stars fall down. One becomes unwanted and unneeded, and full of bitterness at the way of things, and everyone around him begins to think, ‘When will he finally die? When will that old man let the rest of us have our turn?’ And when one does finally die, they will say, ‘It was his time.’ No! Let me die at the time of my choosing and not at the appointed hour, in the magnificence of youth, with a strong and stout body, spear in hand and full of beer, after having seeded fresh sons in my lady’s belly! Let death do as it will with me! Let me die when it is not my time, when I elect to die, in glory and in war!” so said the King.

We knew that they were the words of a young man full of fire and lust, drunk upon youth, without sons or wives, but still we cheered, for we too desired to live as he did, without care or fear of death.

So the King, receiving no reply from his cousin Oakland-King, proposed a raid, in which we would abduct the wayward fisherfolk and bring them back into the fold, and claim much booty in the process. And thus Wolfheart called upon his warriors and spear-masters, his councilors and retainers (including, I am proud to say, myself) and had built new longboats, their boards blessed with the elk blood and the seed of the elk-shamans, which is said to make a ship sail more swiftly and hold itself more stoutly upon the waves. On the third day of the third month, we rode out from Anxwe to the port of Loxwich, where our boats awaited us. We rested for one day, arraying ourselves for war and feasting the King. On the fifth day of the third month, two bells past midday so that we could arrive at midnight on the far shore, we launched our boats from Loxwich.

I was on the King’s boat. The sea was calm, eerily so, for it was the month of tempests and convulsions of air, and none but fisherfolk dared to ply the waves at this time for fear of foundering. But Wolfheart was not afraid, and said that this would be to our advantage. There was little wind, and thus we rowed furiously, making no progress. By sundown, after four bells of labor, we were but a quarter of the way across, and the men were near exhausted. The pilot suggested that we had been snared in a contrary current, but being familiar with the currents of the Channel, he was skeptical. Pyndwal, taking his spear in hand, roared that the men at the oars had not been laboring hard enough. But the King calmed him, and said that every man had given his all, were all soaked with sweat and panting fiercely, and that none had failed him. The horn was sounded, asking where the other boats were, and they all reported that they too had been caught in this queer current.

But we could not tarry. After a brief respite, the horn was sounded again, and were once more underway. But after two bells of rowing, we had barely progressed, and the men were dead tired, having spent their strength for six bells without result and in contrary seas. The King called for the other boats to pull alongside us, and there a moot was held to determine the cause of our delay. None presented itself, though many ideas were bandied. Finally it was decided that we let loose our sails, and await a wind that would allow us to move, whether it be towards the far shore or no. And thus we waited, to no avail. Horns of beer and ale were drunk, and songs were sung, and there was a festival atmosphere. Libations were poured out to Iga, God of the Winds, and prayers offered up to Odo and Jax; but no matter what we did, no wind filled our sails. At midnight, the men began to doze off at their posts, and the King declared that we would try the oars again in the morning unless a wind rose in the night, and ordered a watch to be set. And so we slept at our oars, bellies full of beer, exhausted from the day’s work.

Then, in the depths of the night, we awoke to a cry from the watchmen and, I swear upon my spear, we beheld a sight not of this world but of the Other: a longboat, glowing with pale blue light and crewed by phantoms, pulling up alongside us, a figure conjured from the stars themselves. Strange music emanated from the craft, pipes unlike any I had ever heard and drums deep and terrible like the howling of a storm. Those of us who did not cower in fear raised their spears, and threatening the approaching ship, but the phantoms merely laughed; suddenly our implements flew from our hands, and were suspended in the air.

The ghastly music ceased suddenly. A ghostly voice called out, “What manflesh trespasses upon our domain? Know you not with whom you contend?” And a hoary spirit, red bearded and stuck full of arrows, set his boot up upon the bow, and struck our boats with a spectral whip, whereupon we were all pulled by some unseen force to dock alongside them.

Wolfheart, unafraid, presented himself at the bow of our ship, and hammered his fist upon his breast and replied, “And you, phantom, know you not with whom you contend? I am Wolfheart, King of Ynndyron, Lord of the Liana Hall of Anxwe, Raid-Captain of the Aeserd. Was it you who has barred our passage across the Channel? If you relent now, we shall be merciful, for in my land we respect the dead.”

At that, the phantom guffawed, and let out a riotous laugh which hurt his belly, and the crewmen laughed along with him. Holding back chuckles, he exclaimed, “Ha! You, a king? There is no king in Ynndyron! You are hardly more than a mewling pup, still hungry for his mother’s teat!”

But Wolfheart shook his head, “Say what you will, phantom. The blood of Umbrix the Anvil flows through my veins, and a hundred thousand warriors are at my beck and call. All the isles of Ynndyron I have as my domain, and all the waters of the Aeserd. You, phantom, are the trespasser, not I. The lord of these waters wishes to pass. How old are you, how long dead, that you have not heard of the deeds of Ynndyron? How mighty you must hold yourself to be, to speak thus to a king. Move aside, phantom, or you shall know the meaning of my wroth.”

The phantom laughed once more, but now he was of a foul mood, for he had much pride, and took no insult lightly. “And how mighty you must hold yourself to be, wolf pup, to speak thus to your better. I am Gilgabeld Sweetwaters, Lord of All Oceans, who reigns still beneath the earth. Knew you not who I was, lordling? What feats I performed when the world was yet young? Has Ynndyron lost all reason?”

And then, looking him up and down once more, we gasped and were amazed, for it was as he said; indeed it was Gilgabeld, the renowned pirate-lord, who more than a millennia past had terrorized the Greenlands, and who is known to us through the Lays of Yolanda. He had finally been slain by Yod the Hungry with his mighty bow Greengut, and only after he had been struck by thirteen red arrows.

The King, bowing his head in deference, said, “Forgive me, dread Gilgabeld, for my error. I knew not that I parlayed with the Lord of All Oceans, Terror of the Greenlands, whose name lives in infamy.”

“That is more like it,” Gilgabeld said, twirling his ghostly beard, “That is the proper respect to be shown to the lord of the waves!”

“Yet, most terrible Gilgabeld, I must ask: why do you waylay us? We are in haste to reach the far shore, where we intend to throttle the village of Old Boot. You are familiar with it, I imagine?”

“Familiar with it? Oh yes, quite familiar. Once I slew all of its menfolk, and took all of its womenfolk as concubines, and the little ones as galley slaves. It is a good anchorage, and rich with good trees for felling and sweet springs. Pretty women, too,” replied Gilgabeld, chortling, “But you simply cannot pass, little lord, for you have not paid the toll. Once you have, I should be glad to tow you to Old Boot.”

The King smiled despite himself, “And what, oh horrible Gilgabeld, is the price that you would have us pay?”

Gilgabeld was deep in thought, and paced back and forth, stroking his beard all the while. Finally, he grinned broadly, and leaned towards the King, “Despite your size, little lord, you have impressed me. Thus, I shall be merciful. The toll shall be all of your hearts. My men and I are mighty hungry, and it has been long since we have had anything to eat. You may keep your souls, the usual fare, though they be more filling and sweeter of taste.”

The King sighed deeply, thought for a moment, and replied, “Well, we cannot contend with you, as you have taken our weapons from us, and if you cannot be persuaded, then we shall have to relinquish our hearts.”

We cried out in disbelief, and lamented, for we could not believe that the King had surrendered himself to the phantom so easily and without a fight. But Wolfheart was crafty, and already had concocted a gambit to liberate us from our fates. He called out to Pyndwal, “My gracious lord, bring to me a horn of that sweet ale, so that it may be the last thing that I taste before I depart from this earth.” And Pyndwal brought the King’s drinking horn.

Wolfheart raised the horn to Gilgabeld in toast, and said, “It is not so terrible a thing, to be slain by Gilgabeld Sweetwaters, Lord of All Oceans, Terror of the Greenlands. I offer this toast in your honor.” And he drank deeply.

Gilgabeld eyed the King with great interest, and said lustily, “Long has it been since any ale passed our lips.” The King, sighing happily and smacking his lips, replied, “Oh, is that so? Would you like some, oh wretched Gilgabeld? We have ale aplenty, though if you do indeed intend to take our hearts, we shall cast it into the sea.”

Then Gilgabeld was wroth. “No!” he cried, stomping his feet, “How foolish could you be, to waste so much good ale! How stupid! I forbid you to toss out that ale!”

But the King merely shrugged his shoulders and replied, “Your price is our hearts, not our ale. You may have the former but not the latter, for it is very precious to us. You may drink of it, but only if you leave our hearts. We think their value to be equivalent.” And this was very artful of the King, for he knew that in the Lays of Yolanda it was said that Gilgabeld esteemed beer and ale above all other drinks, and treasured them, and went out of his way to get them.

“Or we could take you, souls and hearts and ale and all, without striking such bargains,” snapped the phantom. Then a splash was heard, for the King had given a sign, and some casks of ale were thrown overboard into the dark waters. The pirate-lord roared and beat his breast, and hurled a spear from the air towards the King’s boat at a speed faster than the eye could perceive. A great hole had been opened in the hull, and the cold seawater began to flood in, and a great many men fell in and drowned.

But Wolfheart, wreathed in starlight, was not moved. Sighing, he said, “I have insulted your pride, great Gilgabeld, and for that I apologize. But I have thought of a way to satisfy both of our desires.” And he made a sign, and the men, now drenched, rolled some casks of ale to the King. He perched himself upon one of them and, crossing his legs as if he had not a care in the world, he continued, “I propose a wager, abominable Gilgabeld, a drinking contest. In your time you were known for your bottomless belly. In a thousand years your tolerance has not waned, I trust? Let us see who is the greater man, for what greater contest of manhood is there, even greater than contests of arms, than contests of drinking? If you are the victor, atrocious Gilgabeld, you may take not only our hearts and our ale, but our souls too, and have a great feast. But if I am the victor, imp-like Gilgabeld, then we shall keep all, and you shall tow us to Old Boot and leave us be thereafter. What say you to that?”

And Gilgabeld laughed, and slapped his belly, and all of his oarsmen fell into fits of hilarity. Finally settling down, wiping spectral tears from his eyes, he replied, “You have just consigned yourself to doom, little lord. No greater drinker is there in all the world than Gilgabeld Sweetwaters, Lord of All Oceans. I could outdrink Idd himself, if he had the stones to challenge me! Fine, I say! Let us drink till the stars fall down, and may the better man triumph!” Then, he leapt into the King’s boat, and the water flowing into the ship was suddenly staunched. The King laughed heartily, and roared, “Aye, may the better man triumph!” A drinking horn was procured for the pirate-lord, and all the oarsmen took up their horns too, and golden ale was poured all around, and a great toast offered up to the gods of the seas and the winds. Then the first horn was drunk, and the contest begun.

“What sweet ale this is! How divine! How glorious is its fragrance! Oh! How I have yearned for the taste of ale upon my lips once more!” exclaimed the pirate-lord. And the King, drinking deeply and sighing noted, “It is the finest ale of Ynndyron, brewed in the halls of Anxwe for the lips of lords alone.” And he topped off his horn.

“But let us not bandy words, fell Gilgabeld, for we are in haste and yearn to reach the shores of Old Boot before dawn breaks.”

And the second horn was poured and drunk, and the third, and the fourth, and so on, until ten horns had been drunk by both man and phantom. By the eleventh, the phantom, even glowing blue as he was, began to grow red of cheek and slurred of speech. Wolfheart, though scarlet, held his ground with princely bravura. The eleventh was downed, and the twelfth, until finally the thirteenth was poured. The two toasted, drank, and once finished, Gilgabeld, the Lord of All Seas, dropped upon the boards stone drunk. It seemed that in a thousand years his tolerance indeed had waned. A cry was thrown up by the King and his oarsmen, and another round drunk by all. Some of the ghostly oarsmen floated swiftly over to our boat and pulled their lord up, but to no avail; the contest was done, and Wolfheart declared the victor.

Stumbling about, the phantom finally collected himself and addressed the King, slurring his words all the while, “Wolf-King, you are the victor, though I would sooner damn my own bloody boots than say that you are the better man (both crews were confused about the meaning of this remark, and why he held his boots in such high esteem). We will tow you to Old Boot, and leave you alone thereafter. But grant me one request, little lord: leave me with some of that sweet ale, so that we might drink of it to quell our aching hunger, and dream of life.” And the King nodded and said, “You shall have all that we have, if you keep your word and tow us safely to Old Boot.” And so our boats were lashed with spectral cords to the great longship of Gilgabeld Sweetwaters, and with the speed of ten rushing elk we set off towards the far shore of the Channel. And the King, having put on a noble effort, fell down to the boards, drunk as a dog. We cheered for him, and drank his glory, for he had saved all of our lives.

We arrived off the shore at Old Boot in less than one bell. It was still dark, and the stars were out, and dawn was yet far away. As promised, all of our ale was unloaded into Gilgabeld’s boat, and the phantoms rejoiced and drank a round in celebration. The cords were untied, and drunken goodbyes called out. Gilgabeld, still drunk, drew himself up in the bow and saluted Wolfheart, who returned the courtesy, and cried, “Farewell abhorrent Gilgabeld, Lord of All Oceans, Terror of the Greenlands! May you rot in peace!” And Gilgabeld roared heartily, and raised another horn of Anxwe ale to toast Wolfheart’s glory, and drank it down.

Then, suddenly, the phantom ship was gone.

Of the raid on Old Boot, there is little of interest to tell. The men were all drunk, and dead tired, and full of lust for plunder. When we pulled our boats up to the shore the fisherfolk had not yet awoken. For them it would be a red morning, and they would catch no fish. We ran ashore, our spears brandished, with torches in hand, and fired the hovels which the miserable folk inhabited. Women ran out, babes at their breast, and were either slain or taken as concubines. The men we interrogated, asking if they had come from Ynndyron; those that said they had not were cut down where they stood. It was bloody business, and wretched, and I care not to record more of what I beheld. But by the break of dawn, twelve traitors to the fatherland were brought before the King to plead for their lives. None were pardoned, but their lives were spent then and there on the sand. Thirty-three women were claimed as concubines, and fifty children as slaves. What objects of value that could be found were loaded onto the boats, and plentiful stores of flour, oil, dried fish, ale, mead, beer, and wine. The hovels were all set aflame, and a pennant of the House of Ynndyron planted on the shore amidst the smoke and ruin. Then, we we set out again towards home, our eyes barely open, the light of dawn just breaking on the horizon.

And thus was begun the war with the Oaklands, which, despite the laughter and merriment in which it was forged, would bring us, and the King, much sorrow.

Haxwas Leafsinger of the Red River, Chief Chronicler of the Court of Ynndyron, 126

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Okay, now updated with maps, some stuff about magick, setting docs, and character/nation sheets.

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Alright, sorry about that little blunder. Meant to press "Preview" but accidentally pressed "Create Topic" instead! I'm still updating with some additional information but it should be more than enough to gauge interest now.

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^{House War}

^{A Matchlock/Baroque Fantasy NRP}

---

<sup>You were only twelve years old when the madness took you.

For days you were confined to your bed; after the first two, your throat had become so raw that you could no longer scream, and after the third, you began (in the moments when you thought yourself still to be sane) to notice plants taking root in your mattress, water streaming from the rafters, blue fire giving off no heat nor emitting any sound engulfing the walls. At first you thought these strange sights to be the products of your mania, but when your mother nearly fainted at the sight, you realized that these things were, in fact, real.

A week or so passed, or so you think. You were on the verge of death; your mother had not brought you food or drink for two days, though you often heard her sobbing outside your door. Once, you overheard your father whispering to her about “putting him out of his misery” and the scraping of metal on leather. When you heard that, a branch grew out of the door and beat him over the head; your mother screamed and ran out into the street, begging the gods to save you.

You fell asleep after that, for how long you don’t remember.

When next you woke, you thought dimly: I’m going to die.

Suddenly, you heard soft footfalls upon the floorboards. You looked around your chambers. Although it was filthy—the chamber pot overflowing, chicken bones and breadcrumbs on the floor, overturned goblets of milk, strewn medicinal herbs—there were no longer any trace of plants or blue fire. In the corner, you saw something, though exactly what you could not say. The faint smell of pipe weed mingled with chamber pot, medicine, and rotting fruit. The something, perhaps noticing that you were awake, slowly began to move toward you. Out of the gloom emerged not a phantom of delirium, but a man. He was blue-eyed, with a black beard flecked with grey, aquiline nose, and flowing robes of cobalt silk. He had the look of Mezward, with the pendulous turban mounted atop his head.

“You want it to end, don’t you?” he whispered, though you barely heard him. His voice sound like it came out of the depths of the earth, yet it was distant too, as if he had spoken through a gag. But his eyes were clear. He gazed down upon you with a look of pity.

Tears filled your eyes. Faintly, you murmured, “Yes.”

Then, a pain greater than any you had ever known, greater even than the madness that seized you. Screams choked from your lips; blood poured from your eyes; bile rose to your throat; you tumbled from your bed in a shower of feathers and linen and spasmed upon the floor; colors, strange patterns, and images—birds taking flight, a king with a crown of candles, excrement transmuted into gold, overfilling vessels of wine, men turning into ships, women into cards, dancing children—flooded your vision. You fell into the claws of a deeper and more profound madness. Many times, you saw your own body from above. And through it all, the bearded man intoned his soft, droning mantra, its words seeming to penetrate into the darkest corners of your mind.

When you came to it was dawn. Wan sunlight filtered through the drawn curtains, and through the window you could see the sky reddening, and the heavy, purple clouds. Out of the corner of your eyes, you sensed a presence. It was the bearded man, gnawing on a hunk of cheese and poring over an old grimoire by the light of a fat yellow candle. When he noticed you, a wry smile creased his cheeks; he rose, crossed to you, hoisted you up from the floor, and placed you gently back upon the ruined bed.

Looking down at you, he laughed to himself softly.

“Ha! It worked! It worked!” he roared.

Then, he went out of the room and roused your parents. Your mother wept for joy. Your father, wearing a bandage around his head, said nothing, but seemed content enough. When they looked to the stranger, however, a peculiar look passed over them, and they averted their eyes from you.

It was then that the bearded man told you (because your parents could not bring themselves to admit it) that you were a magus, and you were to coming with him.

“In a manner of speaking, I’m to be something of a father to you now. No offense,” he said, nodding in deference to your true father with a smirk.

Only later did you discover that you were the first trial of a newly invented Limiter. By the bearded man’s (whose name you later discovered was Ebisa) own admission, he had expected it to fail. But, with the aid of this state-of-the-art Limiter, he said, vital overflow could be greatly reduced, and a magus’s lifespan increased by as much as two months.

You think that it was a worthy gamble.

His action taught you a cardinal law of magi: selfishness. Ebisa, who for some time you would idolize, was only pursuing his own research in saving your life. He would have felt little shame if you had died. After all, without him, you would’ve died anyway.

Short to live, fast to die, that’s the life of a magus.

It would not be a life of glamor, pleasure, or happiness. But even so, you had to go with him. You were to train as a magus; even with a Limiter, your latent Ability had to be tamed, so that it could become Art.

Ebisa tossed your father a bulging purse of fat riales. Your parents weren’t poor per se, but they certainly weren’t wealthy. With this sum, however, they would live like kings.

Ebisa turned and motioned that it was time to leave. Your mother clung to you, sobbing, her fat tears falling on your cheeks. You could barely stand, and scarcely understood what was happening; you simply looked at her, bewildered. Your father embraced you once, and turned away. He was a hard man, not one to show emotion, but he was kind nevertheless. You would miss him. Ebisa started towards the door, but you remained rooted in place. Growing impatient, he clasped your hand and pulled you to his side. You cast one last glance backwards at your father, who had begun to count the coins, and your mother, weeping, imploring you not to go. Then, the blazing light of dawn flooded your vision.

That was the last time you ever saw them.</sup>

---

Premise

It is the year 1465 N.O.C.

In Feolyn, a subcontinent of the vast supercontinent of Otumnos, tensions are palpable. The constellation of fiefdoms left in the wake of the fall of the transcontinental Otumnal Empire vie for territorial and political supremacy. Deep tribal grudges from before imperial dominion still simmer and threaten to boil over, and dreams of expansion, previously dormant, begin to awaken. To the east, the immense Khaganate of Hûy, itself divided by civil war, is a dagger poised to pierce the very heart of Feolyn. Even more worrisome, the steppe-lords have accepted the Penrose Star, Tiavana, a still growing but swift-spreading new faith that has begun to penetrate the borders of Feolyn. In the wine shops and teahouses, whispers of divine retribution and righteous conquest become ever more popular ideas. Pirates harry the coasts, and brigands roam the countryside. Harvests founder and fields lie fallow. And both in the shadows and in plain sight, the great Magi Houses war and plot against one another, to what end none can say. What exactly the future might hold is unknown, and changes with the winds; but what is clear is that a storm is coming to Feolyn, and it will be a whirlwind.

This is a low fantasy story principally concerned with war, political intrigue, and yes, magick. By low fantasy I mean that there are fantastical elements (such as magick), perhaps some legendary creatures, but they don’t take main stage. You’ll find no fantasy races here. Primarily, I’d like anyone who’s interested in this RP to help tell a human story, concerned with human beings who are caught up in a grand historical event.

Each person will make both a Nation Sheet and a Magi House Sheet. The Nation Sheet will be the vassal state of the Otumnal Empire you choose to roleplay; a list will be provided along with the map. The Magi House sheet will, obviously, be the Magi House (of the Twelve Old Lines) you choose to roleplay. Since all Magi Houses (at least, all of the Twelve Old Lines) are each "patronized" by a state and ostensibly serve that state, and because a great portion of the action will involve Magi Houses, you'll be playing as both the Magi House and the patron state. If this is confusing, there'll be more about this below. In addition, you'll be provided with the option of two character sheets, both a Magus Character Sheet and a Non-Magus Character Sheet, should you wish to fill out the background of a character in your House or State with more depth, or should you wish to play an unaffiliated-character. Want to play a smuggler or a bandit? A mercenary or a courtesan? An actor or a spy? You’re free to. Thus, this won't be strictly speaking an NRP, but more of a hybrid.

This is not completely a sandbox, though. I thought it’d be interesting to set a general endpoint to this timeline: the subcontinent of Feolyn will be embroiled in one of the bloodiest wars in its history due to the use of magickal weapons known as Golems; it will last roughly thirty years (each IRL week will constitute a year in game-time); during its course, the Otumnal Empire will fall and the Khaganate of Hûy will invade. Everything else, how these events took shape, the principal players, the battles, the drama, will all be up to the players to decide. There’ll be the opportunity for vast contests of men and magick, political scheming, espionage, as well as more personal human tales to act out.

And, just as a final note: this will be an advanced RP, with all of the expectations that goes with that, and an 18+, mature RP. Extreme violence, coarse language, and sexual content (though, please, keep love scenes to the barest of minimums) will be freely allowed.

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Notes on the Setting

Feolyn is very roughly analogous culturally and technologically to Europe during the early-to-mid 17th century. However, this does not mean that it is an exact parallel. While the premise is based upon the Thirty Years War, and the Otumnal Empire bears resemblance to the Holy Roman Empire, the model of governance is similar to China under the Ming and the Qing, and the Celestial Emperor system similar to that of the Japan during the Tokugawa Shogunate. Below will be attached a number of essays on Feolyn that will explain the whole thing in depth; I strongly suggest that you read them.

In terms of technology and flavor, think: matchlocks, arquebusiers, pikemen, musketeers, tercios, galleons, landsknechts. This is the age of colorful doublets, feathered hats, knee high boots, pointed beards and mustaches. But with magick. Look at a couple of Rembrandt paintings to get the general idea.

Below will be a topographical map of Feolyn, as well as a very poorly drawn political map and an accompanying list of states to choose from. Aside from the name and the linguistic flair indicated by it, these states are blank slates. Even if the name might imply not-Spain, not-France and so on, feel free to experiment and devise interesting histories and characteristics; I don't want this to end up as an alternate Europe. Be creative!

Topographical Map of Feolyn

Political Map of Feolyn

• Dark Beige: Grand Marquisate of Ged
• Black: County Vagón
• Dark Blue: Grand Duchy of Goswelda
• Light Blue: Grand Principality of Taneld
• Green: Imperial Demesne
• Dark Grey: Cartonate Union
• Light Grey: Jalurid Despotate (tributary to the imperial house)
• Dark Pink: Canton of Tanguy-Façé
• Light Pink: County Reva
• Light Purple: Mezwar Republic (not a vassal of the imperial house)
• Dark Purple: Landgraviate of Greater Vandt
• Orange: Grand Marquisate of Lower Ordáz
• Dark Red: Grand Principality of Dhonte
• Light Red: Kingdom of Lhokduy (not a vassal of the imperial house)

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Setting Documents

Excerpt from "A Brief Description of the Lands of Feolyn"

^{Excerpt from "A Brief Description of the Lands of Feolyn"}

“...The political makeup of Feolyn is at best complex, and, at worst, utterly byzantine to the outside observer. While the many realms that very nearly crowd the land might superficially appear to be sovereign in their own right, they are de jure merely fiefdoms, vassal states in fealty to the Celestial Emperor and the Imperial Demesne. For all intents and purposes, the vassal states of the Imperial Demesne, or rather the moribund “Otumnal Empire”, are de facto autonomous entities, completely divorced from imperial supervision. The Grand Duke of Goswelda might pay homage to the Celestial Emperor in public addresses and memorandums to his fellow crowned heads, but it is little else but doctrinal affectation. In actuality, the Celestial Emperor, more than being a mere figurehead, is a prisoner in his own demesne, unallowed to leave even the sanctuary of the palace grounds for fear of inciting the wroth of the Éll, the Lord of the Sky. Within the dark corridors of the palace, he goes about in vestments of white, wears a mask of burnished bronze, and is always accompanied by a slave with a parasol, so that Éll does not find him.

“It was not always thus. During the primacy of the Otumnal Empire in the 8th-12th centuries, the Celestial Emperor was an autocrat invested with supreme power in the realm. He was served by four vassals, known appropriately as the ‘Lords of the Four Directions’, who were something akin to military governors. The Emperor, rather than being immured in his own palace, was known to lead armies. Perhaps the most significant of all emperors, Ildebad IV, “The Shaman-Emperor”, sailed with a punitive expedition to the Mezwar Islands (the first sovereign of the Empire ever to travel on a sailing ship), wrote poetry, raced horses, went around the Empire in disguise, and once even got caught up in a drunken tavern brawl. However, a string of profligates, a madman (Ildebad VII), and two child emperors who died scarcely beyond infancy seeded dissent and distrust towards the Imperial House. A series of poor harvests, the war with the Jalurids, and the outbreak of the Carnation Fever in the north did nothing to assuage the people’s woes. Finally, an ambitious concubine, Lorelei, slit the throat of Emperor Innes-Dalphes III as he slept, seized the imperial heir, and fled the capital. A coterie of disaffected petty lords and burghers in Ged, Cartonbel, and Taneld welcomed her with open arms, and rose in rebellion against the Imperial Demesne.

The subsequent conflict, known as the Second Otumnal Civil War in modern parlance, would prove to be one of the bloodiest in the history of the continent. In its course, the imperial heir was executed; Lorelei declared herself the “Most August Empress Ratagundis”, gathered a harem of hundreds of male concubines (who she was known to spend weeks at a time with), and established her own kingdom in southern Taneld before being murdered by her own loyalists; hundreds upon hundreds of thousands were killed; thousands more civilians were displaced; and the Carnation Fever, once relegated to the Ectaban Alps, fell upon Feolyn in crimson fury.

“While the Imperial Demesne was able to reassert its control in the wake of the war, Feolyn was irrevocably changed. To ensure that such vast amounts of men were not again able to muster against the imperial throne, the four large provinces were balkanized along ethnic and linguistic lines. The great lords and families who had previously held power in the provinces were removed and replaced, and new titles were invented to ennoble the burghers and warlords. The strategy adopted by the court was to give each “grand lord” of the new fiefdoms a mélange of vassals from the various regions within their holdings (regionalism has ever been a matter of some import in Feolyn) and the lower castes (burghers, chevaliers, temple clergy), so that occupying themselves with the management of their realm would supersede any notion of going against the Imperial Demesne. In doing so, however, they achieved their ultimate irrelevance. Unwilling to repeat the hecatomb of the Civil War, the court more and more began to adopt a conciliatory posture towards the vassal realms, and those vassals, testing the limits of imperial patience, pushed for ever more concessions and privileges. Eventually, the Imperial Demesne found itself completely isolated.

“Meanwhile, the Emperor himself became subject to greater and greater constraints. A certain order of clerics who prophesied cataclysmic punishment for the sins of the Emperor and the people of the empire at the hands of Éll (a radical reinterpretation of an obscure ancient text known as The Ovidates) began to infiltrate the upper echelons of the court. Eventually, they had the ear of the Emperor himself. Thus, the white garments, the mask, the parasols, and the confinement of the imperial person. This shift occurred gradually, over a period of some two centuries, bringing us to the present day.

“Why then do these fiefdoms remain in vassalage to the Imperial Demesne? Why do they not declare their independence? Why do not the Grand Dukes and Grand Princes cast aside their lowly crowns and name themselves kings? One would certainly not think it to be a repudiation of some sacred and inviolable right; already they have proven themselves most enthusiastic idolaters of imperial sovereignty. The answer (at the least, in my own humble belief) can be summated in two words: faith and legitimacy.

“The first: faith. One cannot underestimate the depth of religious belief and reverence the people of Feolyn hold towards the Celestial Emperor. Indeed, he occupies a central place in their cosmology, being both the earthly symbol of the God of Endeavor, Leovig, and the inheritor of the lineage He founded millennia ago, when He had not yet ascended to His heavenly seat. Thus, to repudiate the Celestial Emperor is to repudiate the gods. Despite it all, the people of Feolyn, including the crowned heads themselves, are quite pious. Any concerted effort towards dismantling the imperial system would mean overturning the Celestial Emperor, a move not likely to gain the would-be rebel the support of the masses. The people need an idol, and the Celestial Emperor is that idol, a figure of lore made flesh.

“The second: legitimacy, which in Feolyn is largely equivalent with faith. Although the various fiefdoms of the empire vie for ever greater autonomy, one should not mistake such an ambition with simply minding one’s own. By that I mean that autonomy is not an end in and of itself (at least, speaking generally), but rather a means to achieve the reunification of the Empire under an individual fiefdom’s (and, consequently, its predominant ethnic/cultural group’s) auspices. Certainly, historical precedent exists to justify the idea of sovereign Feol kingdoms, but it is so ancient as to seem dust-caked and ridiculous (after all, the only thing that the ancient kingdoms did was war amongst themselves; ironically, the very same ministers who argue against such warfare bicker with their neighbors over scraps of territory). There are exceptions, of course, notably the Kingdom of Rüdde and the Mezwar Republic, though these lay outside of imperial dominion for most of their history and therefore had well-established models of governance before falling into imperial hands; thus, independence, in their view, was more readily justifiable. To those within the imperial heartland, however, imperial ambition is the most potent of political aspirations. The Empire brought Feolyn to its greatest heights; why should we destroy it? But the problem of the the Celestial Emperor remains. The Celestial Emperor is descended from Leovig Himself—how can we usurp him? Two possibilities present themselves. One lies in the abundance of political marriages between the various noble families of the empire and the imperial house over the past centuries. Previously, the potency of the imperial lineage was thought to derive from its purity; thus, for generations a vast project of interbreeding was devised. Of course, the enterprise terminated in the mongrelization of the line, and a string of incapable, inbred children. To stall further degradation of the blood, the habitual practice of noble intermarriage was undertaken once more. The notable disadvantage of such a custom, of course, is its tendency to produce pretenders to the throne; and although reverence for the Celestial Emperor is great, it is not so great as to prevent claims from cropping up. Thus, the desire to maintain fealty to the Imperial Demesne and press for greater sovereignty is something of a charade; most vassals desire to prop up their own candidates to succeed the imperial line. They purport that their candidates are more closely related to Leovig, more holy, more pure; to be sure, such stories are fabricated. Though for now no great conflict has erupted over such claims (no vassal has seen fit to start one, and the Imperial Demesne is powerless to punish such dissent) they are of critical importance.

“Another possibility lies in the rising influence of a new faith: Tiavana (a transliteration of its Jyodwar name “Tibana”), the Penrose Star. A missionary, syncretistic religion developed by the mercantile peoples of the the Jyodwar Archipelago, Tiavana enjoys increasing popularity particularly in the coastal fiefdoms of Ordáz, Ludi, and Taneld, as well as the riverine city-states of Cartonbel. Though no such shift has yet emerged, it is clear that Tiavana could come to play a critical role in Feolyn as time progresses. After all, what better way to usurp the gods than offer up new ones in their place?”

Excerpt from "On Magick"

^{Excerpt from "On Magick"}

To the hill-peoples of the Mecava Belt, it is called the “madness of the gods”. To the sea-peoples of the Jyodwar Archipelago, it is known as “the litany of demons”. And to others, those touched by magick are called “the gods’ chosen”. In any case, it is widely considered to be both a blessing (in the mildest sense of the word) and a terrible curse. Its origins are unfathomable, though myth and religion have provided their own explanations. It is, if not exceedingly rare, at the least not prevalent in most human populations. It is transmitted hereditarily, though often many generations will pass in which no magickal person is born. It emerges in the intermediate stages of adolescence, a little before or a little after the onset of puberty. Immediately following its development, the recipient’s life is irrevocably changed. Vitae, or magickal energy, begins to rush through the body, and, if not stopped, will quickly overflow, resulting in disastrous consequences both for the individual and their surroundings. Some, who do not have the privilege of being taken in by a Magi House or educated by a hedge mage, will either die (usually taking others with them) or become a deformed creature, commonly called witches.

However, even when properly controlled and equipped with a magickal Limiter, the Art is taxing and often dangerous. Even magi who serve in a mostly scholarly capacity suffer greatly reduced lifespans. Additionally, many magi, especially those belonging to the greatest of the great Houses, are employed as soldiers either in the continental wars of their patron state (as all Magi Houses swear fealty to a sovereign master) or in bloody inter-House warfare. Even so, magick offers great benefits. Natural philosophy and medicine have achieved important advances through magickal intervention.

Over generations of use and study, the magickal arts have been structured into a general hierarchy of various Canons, which are classified as either Greater or Lesser. This system was codified and disseminated by House Anselmo, the magi pledged to the Imperial Demesne, during the height of the Empire. Anselmo's Omnibus, as it is known, has been adopted by all major and minor Magi Houses. However, the Omnibus is not without its critics. The magickal commentator Deomondel notes, “...In the ancient days a magus might work the Art with abandon, had they the mettle and means. Thus are the exploits of the grand magisters, of Dagobed and Dilö, of Igbeldassa and Lehenna, of Opilbanda and Ibb, are chronicled and studied by all magi of consequence. But the high bloodlines have thinned, and we cannot even work our own Art, given to us by the gods, without the aid of the Limiter. Neither can we work it without the ignoble apparatus, that is to say the “Omnibus”, to confine us. The spark of those ancient magisters has left Feol, I fear, and Magick, perhaps once a veritable Art, is now something far lesser...We cannot very well classify magick as if it were a tree or a flower.”

But Deomondel’s contemptuous attitude is not shared by the majority, and the Omnibus has generally been considered to be a congenial influence on the magickal arts, if perhaps a less “creative” one than Deomondel might have liked. And, contrary to his claim that the potency of magick has declined over time, one could rather assert that the structure of the Canons allows for deeper study of a given magickal discipline, as a consequence resulting in the creation a more powerful magus.

The nature of magi is paradoxical. They are both inherently selfish, yet, given their brief and often miserable lives, usually work together to achieve some common goal. All magi strive to achieve the completion of their own personal Opus. An Opus can be anything: the working of a masterful spell, the summoning of a powerful Grand Spirit, the writing of an acclaimed work of magickal scholarship, the creation of one's own magickal artefact, the slaying of a particularly infamous daemoniac or lich, even something as mundane as being recognized by the Hierophant of the House---something, anything, that will make them eternal (immortality, unfortunately, is an impossible, though oft-sought after, ambition). Many magi, of course, never achieve the completion of their own personal Opus. Thus, every House, and every member of a House down to the lowliest Novitiate, works towards the achievement of a Grand Opus. As the name implies, these projects are far grander in scope. The ancient House Göbeld, for instance, successfully navigated the No-Plane, the realm of negation and opposites (though nearly every member of the expedition went insane); House Minastre erected a mountain range to protect Ludi from invasion; and so on.

The Twelve Old Lines

^{The Twelve Old Lines}

The Twelve Old Lines, as their name implies, are the twelve oldest Magi Houses of Feolyn.

As is the case for the noble houses of Feolyn, the Magi Houses practice their own brand of selective breeding in order to preserve the strength of their house-magick. Magick, of course, is not something that can be bred for as one breeds cattle---it is far too wild, mystical, ineffable, unfathomable. And, indeed, many so-called successors to the Magi Houses have been born without the magickal spark (for the most part, their lives have ended cruelly: smothered in the cradle, abandoned on the streets, gelded and kept as house slaves, or, very rarely, adopted by a noble house). However, there is no doubt that breeding two magickally gifted individuals heightens the potential for the resulting child to inherit their parents’ magickal spark. And as magick is the livelihood of a Magi House, the lives, especially the sexual lives, of the members of the House are carefully ordered and choreographed. Any duplicity, any illicit dalliances with scullery maids or slaves, any foolish notions of “love”, are punished by gelding or death. Magi are short-lived, and although their nature is inherently selfish, they have something larger than themselves to protect. Consanguinity is a consistent issue, and the children of Magi Houses are sometimes physically, if not mentally, handicapped in some way. But inbreeding is becoming less and less common, and many Magi Houses choose to form Breeding Pacts with each other, exchanging seed or wombs along with coin and artefacts.

Each House pledges fealty to one of the vassal states of the empire, and is skilled in its own brand of magick. They are serviced by their respective Novitiates, magi not of the House bloodline, who act as soldiers, scholars, spies, diplomats, and retainers of the chief House magi. The Twelve Old Lines are not the only Magi Houses of Feolyn, but they are by far the most powerful, both in terms of the potency of their magick and the influence of their magickal scholarship, an oft-forgotten component of the magickal arts.

The Greater and Lesser Magickal Canons (WIP)

The Greater and Lesser Magickal Canons

^{The Greater Canons}

Convocation: Any variety of magick which has to do with the creation of materia not presently extant in physical reality. However, for all but the most powerful of magi, conjuring materia from thin air is beyond the realms of possibility. Instead, something related to that which one would like to convoke is gathered, and used as a medium to call a potential materium into reality. For instance, one must have at least one drop of water to summon a lake, or a single spark to summon a flame. However, the art of Convocation is limited to the creation of materia, that is, objects without anima, or intrinsic spirit.

Evocation: Similar to Convocation, Evocation concerns the creation or summoning of something not presently extant in physical reality. However, in contrast to Convocation, Evocation concerns the creation or summoning of entities possessed of an animus, or Vitae, which all beings have in some measure. Such beings include various spirits, phantoms, daemoniacs, and other creatures.

Alchemy: The creation of elixirs and other magickal substances through the combination of various elements, sometimes with the aid of such tools as the alembic, the retort, the crucible, and the aludel. The art of Alchemy is linked intrinsically to the art of Convocation, and most Alchemists are well versed in its precepts. Often called the most powerful magickal art, it is simple to learn but difficult to master.

Theurgy: The investment and modification of the body itself with magickal power in order to achieve some purpose. Other magickal arts are used to achieve some change in something else, but Theurgy deals with the usage of the body itself as the vessel for some change to be effected through magickal intervention. Ancient magi attempted to achieve apotheosis through such means. Nowadays, however, theurgic arts are used for different ends.

Divination: WIP

Artificery: WIP

Mesmery: WIP

Salutation: WIP

^{The Lesser Canons}

Lesser Convocative Canons

Elementalism: Destructive usage of elemental magick.

Lesser Evocative Canons

Necromancy: The restoration of a given body’s animus, or the attachment of a new animus to that body.

Invocation/Summoning: Although quite similar to Evoking a lesser spirit, phantom, or shade, Invoking usually refers to the summoning of a Grand Spirit, such as an attendant of a god, or even a human who left behind a particular spiritual resonance.

Ritualism: The summoning of ritual objects, usually possessed or haunted by a certain spirit, force, or will. These objects might once have existed, but have been destroyed or lost, or they might exist only in myth or legend. On the other hand, one might summon such an object and imbue it with properties different than those it might have originally possessed, but which only that object might be able to accept.

Animation: Forbidden by some Magi Houses, Animation concerns the conjunction of a given animus to a body or vessel that it did not once belong to or that is in some way alien to it. It can, however, be quite a useful tool---some magi are even capable of tethering their animus to multiple objects and switching between them at will, though it is exceedingly rare and difficult to achieve.

Lesser Alchemical Canons

Herbalism: The usage of alchemical elixirs for therapeutic and salutary ends. Often used in conjunction with the Salutary arts.

Lesser Theurgic Canons

Transmutation/Transmogrification: Also known as “shape shifting”, this Canon has to do with the physical transmutation of one form into another, usually for a limited time, but in some cases permanently. It is distinct from Animation in that it does not interfere with a physically extant vessel or body; all transmuted forms are potential, and arise from the template in a given magus’ mind. Usually, a shape shifter will take the form of a great animal, daemoniac, or a spirit, but they have been known to shape themselves into household objects and, in the case of Baldo the Fat, an entire lake.

Augmentation: The endowment of certain parts of one’s body with magickal properties. There are a variety of illustrative examples of Augmentation’s creative applications. For instance, the story of Ilba the Worm, who augmented his lips in such a way as to deliver electric shocks, and assassinated King Ungón of Ordáz by kissing his ring. Or Pilo the Pugilist, who augmented his fists to flame when they struck flesh. One can, with a little thought, imagine the variety of Augmentation’s applications in the bedchamber, about which there are a number of comic anecdotes.

---

Sheets

House/Otumnal Vassal Sheet

Name:
Emblem:
Magi House:
Lesser Vassals (if any):
Ruling Family (head, heir, other members):
History:
Relations (Who’re your friends, who’re your enemies, what are your allegiances?):
Goals & Ambitions:

Magi House Sheet

Name:
Emblem:
Patron State:
Grand Opus (if any):
Ruling Family (head, heir, other members):
History:
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The Chronicles of Irenaea [Always Open] [Historiograhy-Based] [Low-Commital]

Odo the Elk and the Sun Chase

Now I shall chroncile a pleasant tale that I heard performed once by a northern shaman, much different from other Treefaith creation stories. It is about Odo the Elk, variously known as the "Hunt-Prince", the "Antler-Chief", and the "Tall Man", among other epithets, who the northerners patronize above all other gods, and who is unknown to other tree worshipers.

Odo takes the form of a giant elk with the head of a man, or a giant man with the head of an elk; in either case, his head is crowned with a bristling mass of antlers. His coat was of a pure, untarnished white, save for when it was painted with the blood of enemies or human sacrifices. He rarely appears before human eyes, for the sight of him is said to drive one blind or mad or both. Thus, he consorts with the mortal realm through his voice, or by mounting a shaman or druid wearing the ritualistic elk headdress. Ynndyron war-captains often wear antlered helms in the hopes of being mounted by the god during combat, for above all Odo is the god of the hunt, of pursuit, of swiftness, and of war.

He is the brother of the father-tree Rud, who created the earth, and played an important role in the creation. After Yed and Heb, the seeders of the primeval forests, complained that the trees would not grow due to the overwhelming darkness of the earth, Odo concocted a plan to get Idd the Fish-God to release Ala the Sun-Goddess from her watery prison so that she could light the world once more. Idd had coveted Ala, for above all he loves bright and shiny things, so isolated is he in his mansion of coral on the bottom of the sea; thus, he had leapt from the waters, swallowed Ala, and taken her back to his mansion in his belly. Odo's plan was very simple. He would chase Idd from the water up onto the seashore, where he could not breathe, and thus Ala could climb out from his belly and into the sky.

The first phase of his scheme was successful. None was more frightening than Odo when he was enraged, nor more swift, nor more tireless. He pursued Idd across the world on the sea floor, through the darkest and coldest depths, until he had nowhere else to flee to except for the open air. But when Idd had beached himself, Ala did not emerge from his belly.

"Ala, Light of the World, my dearest sister, why do you remain in this dimwit's stomach? Why do you not return to your rightful place in the skies, so that the great trees can finally turn their leaves up to your light?" Odo asked.

Deep from within the Fish-God's belly came a soft voice in response, "Odo, Battle-Lord of Heaven, my dearest brother, I do not wish to leave. I have grown accustomed to the darkness, and comfortable within my fishy mansion. And besides, I have become enamored with Idd, my gaoler, my tormentor, and my prince. Has ever there been a more gallant display of affection than his flight from you across the very face of the world? He loves me, my dearest brother, and I love him. I will not leave him, for this is the watery palace of our love."

At that, Odo gave a hearty laugh, so raucous that the world's mountains shed their snow caps in thunderous avalanche. But in fact his mood was quite sour. Stamping his hoof, he cried, "Foolish, foolish thing! Do you not understand the words that are coming out of your mouth? Do you not recognize how silly you sound? How selfish? How childish? I cannot believe my own ears, given to me by our lord-brother Rud, who created the earth. Come out from there this instant, or I shall show you the meaning of wroth!"

But Ala refused, blinded by love as she was, "No! I shall not! You shall have to force me! I will quit my lover's stomach only if impelled on pain of death!"

Odo smirked mirthlessly, and said, "So it shall be, my dearest sister!"

Then, suddenly, he kicked Idd in the belly, so that Ala was flung from the Fish-God's bowels and into the air. She gave a sad cry, and endeavored to return to her lover's mouth, but Odo thundered towards her, brandishing his cruel crown of antlers. Ala, shrieking, leapt into the air once more, and Odo stormed after her, crying, "Run, my dearest sister, or you shall have to make a palace amongst my antlers!" Thus they dashed upward into the sky until they brushed the lowest silver bells and boughs of Rud's great trunk, the outer precints of Heaven. There, in the sight of her lord-brother Rud, and still menaced by Odo's antlers, Ala demurred. She wept hot, bitter tears that fell from the heavens and with their heat carved the first caves beneath the earth.

"You are the victors, oh dearest brothers. In solitude and sorrow shall I light the world once more, just as you so ardently wished," she said.

Rud was content, but Odo, seeing the ardor in his sister's tears, took pity upon her. Out of Rud's hearing, he went to his sister and whispered, "Rud is tired, and soon he shall sleep. For a time he shall have no knowledge of the happenings of the world beyond his silvery leaves. Act as if you are still resisting, and I shall give chase once more, and for a time you may be with your lover. But do not let Rud catch you beneath the waves, or he shall be wroth, and the world must be lit, so that the trees my offer up their leaves to heaven. I cannot understand your love, dearest sister, for Idd is fat and ugly and he stinks to high heaven, but I do not wish to see you weep any longer."

Ala embraced her brother, and gave him kisses. Then, nodding his head, Odo cried, "Foolish, impudent girl! You continue to defy your lord-brother's will? I will chase you to the ends of the earth if I must, but I will catch you!"

And thus the chase began anew, and thus it is every day and night that Odo and Ala, tricking their lord-brother Rud, stage their drama and descend beneath the water so that Ala can pass a few hours with her beloved. But how a third conspirator joined their masquerade, Tia, the Moon, is yet another tale.

Udild the Younger, druid of the shrine of Tanux, ca. 103

The Chronicles of Irenaea [Always Open] [Historiograhy-Based] [Low-Commital]

The First Ynndron-Thanesrow Contention, or The Tree War
King Eudric Highwatch Ynndyron of Anxwe (39 - 112)

From the halls of Anxwe and amidst groves of yew and stands of oak arose a newfangled kingdom in Irenaea called Ynndryon. Eudric Highwatch, known as the "Shaman-King", the King of Greenmountain, protesting the inroads of the barbarous Aedrian devils into the Greenlands, called upon his fellows to drive them from the hallowed copses of their ancestors.

"The Faith is in peril," he pronounced to his assembled tree-lords and spear-masters, "Shall we allow the sacred woods to be felled by lascivious axe, burned by avaricious fire? Shall we allow the holy places to be stolen into, the tree-relics defiled with rapine and plunder, the druids impaled upon the ignoble spear of Aedrian 'civilization'?" The humble folk of Greenmountain, refusing to forget their ancestral faith, rose in fire and in war, and declared a mighty "No!" Then the Shaman-King, silvered head bedecked with a crown of wildflowers, liveried in armor of holy bark, raised his wizened hand and pointed to the east. "There in the hands of the wretched hound of the Meadland, the ill-Treefeller, lies the saintly wood of Gedildad. And we, oh we blessed of the great Faith, shall take it from him!" Whereupon a glorious cry erupted from the amassed host, and much shaking of spears and shields was heard in Anxwe, and there was much drinking of beer.

Yet war could not be made there and then. The King was far more artful than that.

Thwildirod Leafsinger of Red River, Chief Chronicler of the Court of Ynndyron, 101

The envoy of the Thanesrow, bowing deeply to our noble King and taking a cup of the customary beer, began to look about the Liana Hall with an inquisitive eye. Stepping forward, she asked, with no small amount of trepidation, "Oh great lord of Anxwe, I had not intended to be so crude, but I must insist. Where is my predecessor? We have heard no word of him in many moon's turnings. Did not he arrive into your gracious hall? I have words that I must share with him, from our gentle lord the King of the Meadland." Poxas, then majordomo to our illustrious Lord, replied, "He did come, Thanesrow, and was cordially welcomed into our humble hall." The envoy, now blanched white with dismay, inquired, "Where then is he, sirs?" Poxas gestured to the chief eunuch, and posthaste a wrought silver box, perfumed with sweet flowers, was procured and set before the King's dais. "He is there," stated Poxas, "You may parley with him openly, before us all, Thanesrow. You bring words to share, do you not? I pray that they are honeyed."

Thereupon the envoy of Thanesrow opened the box and wept at the sight of her predecessor, whose eyes, tongue, and manhood lay before her within the box upon a bed of soft leaves.

"Thanesrow conspired to look upon Our workings and thus he has been blinded. Thanesrow conspired to whisper lies into Our ear and secrets into the ear of your lord, and thus his tongue was taken. Thanesrow conspired to lay with Our concubine, and thus with Our kingdom, as if she were naught but a tavern whore, and thus he has been gelded. We chafe at the thought of violence, but Our sword is cold and brooks no quarter should you raise your hand against us in enmity. Yet more sufferings shall We visit upon you and yours should you refuse to grant us Our sacred right to the grove of Gedildad. Thus is the message that you shall deliver to your lord the King of Thanesrow, and before you is Our jeweled present that you shall convey to him, along with Our wishes of health and thanksgiving." So said the King.

And thus began the Tree War.

Thwildirod Leafsinger of Red River, Chief Chronicler of the Court of Ynndyron, 101

And thus, after many battles and skirmishes, the hosts of the two kings were drawn up against one another in the plain near the grove of Gedildad, and there for good or ill would the war be settled. But the wood of Gedildad could not be taken, neither by us nor by the foe.

His dread sword raised, mounted upon his war-elk Mamonodos, our lord the King was seized by a shaman-vision. What exactly the vision bespoke to him is not known; but posthaste he called out to his spear-masters and war-captains to call off the battle. Ilos, his cousin, rode furiously to his side and asked, "What madness has come over you? Where has gone your talk of smiting the tree-fellers? They are before us!" The King replied, "The madness of the gods, my cousin. Odo has spoken to me, and told me of the terrors that lie in wait for us should we pursue our present course. I go now to parley with the King of the Meadland!" Whereupon, unaccompanied by courtiers and men-at-arms, he dashed across the Hills of Bluebay on swift Mamonodos. His iron visage dared the archers of Meadland to let loose upon him.

He drew himself up before the ranks of the foe and cried, "Oakblade, Thanesrow-King! I call upon you to hearken to me! Grave tell of the doom of us both! Come to me, King of the Meadland!" King Oakblade, thinking this some kind of madness, called upon his brother Lord Ged to strike him down with his great oak bow Heartbite. Ged took aim, and with his great bulging arms loosed a cruel arrow at the heart of our King. The arrow struck true, yet King Highwatch was not swayed and did not fall, but continued to call upon the King of the Meadland to parley with him. Bewildered, King Oakblade made his way out into the front of the host, mounted upon his black destrier Lorelei, and finally spoke to the King. None heard their congress, positioned inbetween the two armies in the middle of the Hills of Bluebay as they were. Yet, directly afterwards, the King of the Meadland ordered his war-captains to stand down and to come to him, and King Highwatch did the same, and there and then on the field a peace was struck and the Tree War brought to a close, on the condition that the grove of Gedildad be disturbed by neither side ever again, and that it be left in silence and forgotten forever.

And thus has the peace held for some ten years. Yet the King of Greenmountain has not been dormant, and his sleeping sword of war is poised to awaken once more and smite the tree-fellers who invade the holy Greenlands.

Thwildirod Leafsinger of Red River, Chief Chronicler of the Court of Ynndyron, 102

The Chronicles of Irenaea [Always Open] [Historiograhy-Based] [Low-Commital]

@Publius Will do! I'm currently writing up a post on an area that hasn't been touched upon too much in previous entries, but I'll hop onto the Discord and say hello.