chroniclesoftherealm-blog

[chroniclesoftherealm-blog]

Drew some royals from @chroniclesoftherealm LARP, aka Hot Hands McGee and Sir CryALot.

[chroniclesoftherealm-blog]

Lady Cora, Princess, sweetly offers her congratulations to the newly married Illyria and Byrncroft

[chroniclesoftherealm-blog]

High Counselor Arvath, Head of the Queen, meets his fate...

I’ve just arrived at the Coursin estate and I’m already on edge. These people prove themselves useful to the Queen’s cause and, I suppose, being in their home means I’ll have to actually play nice once we reveal ourselves.

I’ve just spoken briefly with the Wyrm twins. I’ve missed them. That feels odd. They’ve given me a lovely necklace laced with a spell for protection. They often surprise me. This will likely come in very handy given the events revealing themselves in Her Majesty’s flames.

Our time was cut short when Her Sparkling Luminescence, Queen Aravah pulled me away to discuss private matters.

I’ve found a quiet spot off the beaten path to collect my thoughts and

[chroniclesoftherealm-blog]

Erie Moonroot, High Druid of the Rangers, waxes poetical...

My dearest friends of Amelor

What can I say that's not been said before?

We've broken bread, we've traded and trained

We've hurt and struggled since Lyrion reigned.

We've defeated grotesque in triumphant battle

But winds of destruction continue to rattle

The White Shields are coming. Darkness and hate.

It's time to rise up. Leave nothing to fate.

No longer are we simply a house or a title

Together we rise. We mustn't sit idle.

Corsins. Mischievous, shifty buggers.

Secrets and whispers of assassins and muggers.

Dressed head to toe in crimson red

Cross one, the whole family will seek your head.

The Black Market's their trade; you can find all the things

From poisons to weapons; scales, bones, and wings.

We call on you, Corsins, come up from below

Amelor needs you to share what you know.

Aldens. Swift and silent steel.

Unmatched in brute and combat zeal.

Find them sparring in a blaze of blue

Swords will clash and ring out true

Knights and heroes, beaming with pride

Give threat to the enemy with each Alden stride

We call on you, Aldens, gather the horses

Amelor needs you and all of your forces

Royals. Silver and Gold runs through each vein

Bustling and booming, makin it rain.

Bedecked and bejeweled, they've earned every trinket

Overthrow? Spirits, no. Don't even think it.

They are power, control, they run all the banks.

For food and for shelter, we owe them our thanks.

We call on you, Royals, and your burning loins

Amelor needs you to share the coins

Arcanists. Strange and mysterious creatures.

Too long you've been hiding your fantastical features

Chanting, healing, casting a spell

Seek the light from where you dwell

Practically purple, exploring the mind

Highest of intellects, both spirit and mankind.

We call on you, Arcanists, raise your wands high

Amelor needs you, let magic fly.

Rangers. Open mind and loving heart.

Yearn for a fresh and peaceful start.

One with the Earth, Protecting, sharing

Arrows fly swift and daring

Wrapped in green, meet the morning haze

The trees will sing of better days

We call on you, Rangers, for you know the land

Amelor needs you to take a stand

To all those unmentioned: get ready, it's time.

We gather together to make the climb

Only through teamwork will peace once more

Be brought to our home. Our Amelor.

[chroniclesoftherealm-blog]

Unlikely alliances are made when the Grotesques are knocking at your door...

[chroniclesoftherealm-blog]

Morning breaks across Amelor and Queen Aravah grows concerned for her people... will they be victorious in the battle to come or perish into despair?

[chroniclesoftherealm-blog]

Ceryin as awakened, but will her love Tarrik return as well?

[chroniclesoftherealm-blog]

Where am I? Will I see them again?

The moon has known you all your life. Isn’t that a comforting thought?

The same moon was so full and bright in the sky when my Mother brought me into this world and drew her last breath… They say Father disappeared for weeks, locked in his study. Illyria says she heard muffled sobs coming from that direction of the house, but the servants would neither confirm or deny this information. He certainly never let me forget what I had unknowingly taken from him.

The same moon hovered over Storm’s Veil where I spent so many lonely nights, wishing to be good at something to get outside of our family’s mansion. I wasn’t deadly fast like Illyria or clever like Anders, but I was smart. Illyria would eventually begin to use those smarts for something good, but I used them to remember how many days in a row I spoke to no one, how many nights I was in the house alone with the servants, how many books I had finished that week.

The same moon hung over the gardens when Tarrik and I would meet, hurried meetings so no one would find out I wasn’t in my room or he wasn’t at his post. We met in the family rose garden and he said that the roses could not complete with the Corsin red that was my hair and I laughed. He was never excellent with words, but oh, did he try, always with twitchy fingers at the hilt of his sword to fight off some unknown danger. He would laugh at himself sometimes, and run his fingers back across his blond hair that always managed to escape its pulled-back hold. I smiled the most then.

The same moon that was clouded over by smoke as the Grotesque set fire to the city. The screams echoed into the night: helpless, hurting, terrified. I would have died that night if not for my Knight. It just so happened we met near his post that night, before the siege began. As chaos descended upon the city, I screamed for my sister and brother, started to sprint through the back alleyways to find them, to bring them with me. Tarrik caught me mid-step by the waist, redirected my momentum, and set me atop a horse. Before I could dismount and try to run again, he was behind me and we were in motion. I added my voice to the screams, but it did no good. “There’s no time. I’ve got to get you out and to safety. I’m sorry, Ceryin.” His apology hit me like a blow, and I cried for what seemed like an eternity.

The same moon kept watch over us as we made the trek to Stronghold Castle. Tarrik said I would be safe there, that my sister and brother would be there if they could. We’d find them then. After a long and difficult journey, we found safety (at least temporarily) at Stronghold.

The same moon shone down when the Corrupted Spirit made his presence known. Chaos, the same as in the city. Tarrik was gone to patrol the grounds with that monster out free. Illyria and Anders took the family to search for him, sent me up to our rooms to hide until the all clear was given. Defiantly, I headed outside with rest, and saw him… Venraven. It was too late to stop it now, he said. What did that mean? I screamed to alert the others. The hooded figure disappeared into nothingness and the family was outraged I didn’t stop him. What could I have done? I wasn’t armed or clever or fast like Illyria…. Illyria, who lied to me my whole life. Illyria who betrayed me… I pretended to be asleep when she came into our quarters that night, but my pillow was already wet with tears and I couldn’t stifle the sobs. I’m sure she heard, and I thought I heard a sob in return.

The sun rose as if a god victorious the next morning. Hope. Tarrik and I would be wed. We would strengthen the wards around the castle. We would protect everyone! Finally, something I could do to help. The moment came when we were finally man and wife. We kissed. I heard a sound, a muttering growing louder. The last thing I saw before I fell was my sister’s face. She called my name and then……

The moon here is different…. It looks the same but feels different in a way I can’t describe. I see strange figures come and go. They look like Illyria, Anders, Tarrik… They offer me secrets, knowledge, power, but I know them to be imposters. They’ve almost got the impressions down, but not quite. Anders licks his lower lip when he’s thinking, but doesn’t rest his chin in his hand thoughtfullylike the fake does. When Illyria hugs me, it is a desperate clutching, as if she means to crush me. This fake hugs me so gently as if she thinks I might break. Tarrik’s is all wrong. His hair is too golden, his eyes too green, his speech just a bit too quick and eloquent. He’s a bit too clever and, though he never speaks a lie, he’s never quite as honest. I trick them all, resist their offers. Illyria always said I’d find my strength, and it seems I have…. Wherever I am. I miss Tarrik’s laugh, his slightly crooked smile, the way he ran his fingers through his hair. I miss Illyria’s wit, her strength even the face of even the face of fear, her softness when I needed a shoulder to cry on. I miss Anders’ joke, his bravado that never had an equal, his kindness when you stripped away that false exterior.

Where am I? Will I see them again?

The moon has known me all my life… It has watched me grow, love, fear, hate, fight, and struggle. The moon isn’t the same here. It is false. It pretends to me know me, but I can see through its illusion. I will see through all of their illusions to see MY moon again.

The moon has known you all your life. Why isn’t that comforting anymore?

-Lady Ceryin

[chroniclesoftherealm-blog]

I saw how cruel humanity could be...

Veros,

You're here, because I was unable to protect you; and for that I am truly very sorry. As King Lyrion, ruled I saw how cruel humanity could be. Now the capitol has been attacked and I can't bear the suffering of those who were killed in the siege. So, I have poured my essence into this blade, my soul, my life, everything; it is me. Veros, I made my choices in life but I never gave you the chance to make yours. I hope that one day you can forgive me for abandoning you at such a young age. I hope that one day our people will find peace in this world. And I hope, that with me by your side you will finally have the chance to make your own choices in life. I will always love you. Be brave my son.

Your Mother,

Veeanon

[chroniclesoftherealm-blog]

The Ressurector breaks his silence...

Storm’s Veil was never my home. I was sold by my parents and spent most of my life indentured to Chulainn Corsin. I learned to ply my new family's trade there: observing the comings and goings of citizens living their own stories. Always watching, never noticed. When the grotesques came it was all I could do to escape.

Stronghold is my home. Where I became free. I was shown kindness, I lived, I died, I was reborn. When the other Corsins left I stayed behind. In part to learn what I could about magik from the Arcanists, but also because I didn't want to leave.

Thirteen resurrections. Thirteen lives to save. Power I never wanted. I've seen how readily morals are abandoned in order to maintain power and I cannot let that happen to me. We are a people divided. So consumed with our own petty squabbles and secrecy to notice the enemy at our doorstep. An enemy that is unified in its mission and unrelenting in its resolve.

It is my duty to unite the Pillars of Power against this threat.

I will not watch my new home burn.

--Cu Corsin, Resurrector.

[chroniclesoftherealm-blog]

True love blossoms in the most unlikely of places in Amelor...

[chroniclesoftherealm-blog]

This is indeed a dark time...

Lord Byrncroft -

I am grateful for your kind words. This is indeed a dark time, not only for my family but, as you say, for all of Amelor.

I was informed of the Oath by my father just days before his passing, under circumstances that do not need repeating. Your offer to let it slip into the darkness of our parents' correspondence and never see the light of day is kind and generous beyond measure, and I thank you for it.

However, I believe we are both being naive if we think that no one else is aware of what was decided between Mathias and Ferdinand; both of them were more intelligent and, let us be completely honest, more devious when it came to securing their Houses' power. I am positive my father would have told one his his lieutenants, and knowing your brother, Baldwin, this is something he would have heard from someone.

Neither of us are entirely secure, and breaking this oath could lead to problems and threats to both of our positions. It is something that will be used against us.

So my lord Bryncroft, I would ask this: let me mourn for those I have lost and to hopefully have a smooth transition from father to daughter. There has been enough chaos in the land as it is and I mean to try and put a stop to it.

It also seems to me that attempting to solidify and secure the...business assets that have been left under my control, and aiding Anders in securing his part of the estate, all while carrying a child, would be difficult to say the least.

I would ask for one year. None of Amelor would balk at that time, and if I cannot be strongly positioned by then, then I doubt I ever will be. I will most likely be too occupied to see you before this year is out, but know that when a set of seasons has passed again, we shall ensure that there can be no question as to our ability to secure our respective Houses' futures.

May the Uncorrupted Spirit grace your days.

Yours-

Lady Illyria Corsin

[chroniclesoftherealm-blog]

... my letter involves the Oath.

Dear Lady Illyria,

I am truly grief stricken for the sorrow you must be feeling. The loss your father, nephew, and of course, Hamish is a loss that will be felt throughout all of Amelor. I know this is a difficult time for you, and I shall keep my correspondence brief out of respect for you and your family.

Although my words will bring little relief, know that I am here for you and Anders, and the Belzen’s stand ready to assist our great Corsin allies. You need only say the word. You, Lady, are strong and resilient. I have little doubt that you will successfully carry your great house through these troubling times with the grace that befits your name.

The primary reason for my letter involves the Oath. As much as I desire to carry out the promise made by our late fathers, I cannot pretend that this tragedy doesn’t put great emotional strain on your soul. And I cannot in good conscious force you to carry it out. Although he has left us, your bond with Hamish was deep and true. I cannot look beyond that, and neither should you. With our fathers gone, the oath need not become public knowledge.

My only hope is that this small gesture will help ease your pain and allow you to continue with your life as you see fit. You. Deserve nothing less.

May the spirits bless you and guide you.

Yours truly,

Lord Byrncroft Belzen

[chroniclesoftherealm-blog]

“Lady Illyria! My beloved!!!”- Byrncroft “Lord Byrncroft! My... Lord Byrncroft...”- Illyria

[chroniclesoftherealm-blog]

Sir Vance Belzen and Lady Miry Corsin

[chroniclesoftherealm-blog]

“A summon-mother I shall be...”

Fiero Corsin finds his wife in her study for what feels like the thousandth consecutive night. For once she hasn’t locked the door. Once upon a time Fiero would’ve considered this an invitation, but now he knows it is nothing more or less than a simple oversight. She doesn’t turn to face him as the floorboards protest his crossing of the threshold. Stepping silently is nothing for a Corsin, yet Fiero is not trying to hide tonight. On the contrary, he wants nothing more than to be seen.

​Tierrel looks even worse than she did yesterday. Her hair, once as bright and golden as her regal niece’s, is so very unkempt Fiero has trouble remembering what it looks like kempt. The food he brought her for evening meal is still right were he left it, cold and untouched. He can hear Tierrel whispering to herself, reciting the words of whatever ancient volume lay open before her. Fiero knows not why, and also knows it would be useless to ask.

​She shudders as he lays a hand on her shoulder, drawing herself further into the great purple cloak that she has wrapped herself in. He hopes that she will speak with him tonight. A silence hangs in the air for a moment. Tierrel begins chanting to herself again, still enthralled by the words of the dead.

​“Tierrel…?” he says, as quietly as possible. If he shouts, she recedes even further into her books and purple cloak. Only gentleness can coax her out of her silence and sorrow. “Tierrel?” he says again. “Tierrel?” he asks a third time, for all things have most power in threes. He applies a little more pressure to her shoulder as he says her name the third and magic time.

​Her chanting stops. One of her hands stops tracing its way through the arcane labyrinth of symbols on the page before her. She raises the other to his. It hovers there for a moment, unable to brave the nothingness that lies between them.

​He takes her hand in his. She’s cold. He massages her hand gently, trying to impart some of his warmth unto her. He waits for her to speak.

​When she does, her voice sounds as tired as she looks. “Fiero?” she says, just now realizing he stood behind her. “I’m sorry,” she says, “I just get so engrossed in these grimoires. I’ve been losing so much time, lately.” Fiero knows she means it.

​“Not to worry, Lady Dargoth,” he says, lacking his wife’s conviction. “Thought I’d come up and check on you before I went to bed.” He lets go of her hand, letting his hands move to her shoulders. She’s as tense as usual, her entire body drawn taut. Fiero marvels that she hasn’t snapped yet, as frail as she feels in his hands. He starts to massage her shoulders with his usually tenderness, trying to relieve the what little weight of her curse he can.

​“Aren’t you a gentleman, my Lord Corsin,” she says. A ghost of a smile haunts her lips as he continues to knead her shoulders.

​“Nothing of the sort,” he says. “A gentlemen stabs you in the front. We Corsins much prefer to stab you in the back.” She laughs at his little joke. The cavernous library swallows the sound as it comes, shortly returning Fiero and Tierrel to their mutual silence. He wonders how to best bridge the gap between them. He fears to ask about how her research is coming. He fears to ask how she feels. Most of all, he fears being told there’s nothing he can do.

​“I think…” she starts, and then trails off. She still does not look at him, focusing instead on the book open before her. The images and symbols contained within the book mean nothing to Fiero, yet he feels a strange dread descend upon him whenever he looks at the book.

​“Did you say something, Sunshine?” The nickname fits better when her hair is its natural color and luster, bright and blazing as the sun.

​Tierrel sighs, as she so often does these days. She puts her hand to his, signaling that the massage is over. She rises from her desk, letting the purple cloak draped about her fall away. She turns to face Fiero, the dull blue of her eyes a pale shade of the brilliant sapphires Fiero remembered falling in love with. She still does not meet his eyes.

​She wraps her arms about herself, shivering from the cold. Fiero knows that nothing he could bring or do would warm her now, for the chill she feels comes from her bones, her blood. The curse freezes her heart, or so she says.

​In a small voice, she speaks. “What do you see in that book, Fiero?”

​“Nothing, my lady. You arcanists study these ancient tomes- to me, it’s just a book.”

​She sighs again. “I thought maybe you could feel it…” she trails off again. Fiero feels her disappointment dig into him more deeply than any blade could.

​He considers the book again. The symbols remain arcane to him, the images and diagrams just as obtuse. There’s a massive circle spread across the two pages, with what looks like thousands of tiny glyphs held within in an arrangement that he is sure Tierrel understands, but he cannot. He feels ghostly fingers run up and down his spine as he puzzles over the book.

​“I don’t like looking at it,” he says, turning to her. “It makes me feel… I don’t really know. Cold, somehow. Is it enchanted?” Her eyes regain a bit of their brightness. She shakes her head and smiles.

​“Not quite. It’s a…” she says, wracking her brain for the right words. “It’s a gateway, of a sort.”

​“A gateway to where?” Fiero asks. He has no idea where this is going, but he has the distinct suspicion he doesn’t like it.

​“The dark,” she says. He waits for her to explain. She does not.

​“Where’s that?”

​She sighs again, picking her cloak up from where it fell and wrapping it around her. “It’s not exactly a place, Fiero. Not in a conventional sense, anyway. This book is a glimpse into the true dark. The primordial darkness beyond the veil of night, beyond the astral plane, beyond even the very edge of dreams.”

​He shudders. “Why would anyone ever want a gateway into such a place?”

​“The spell on that page,” she says, pointing to the book, “calls a being from the dark into the material world.” The blood drains from Fiero’s face. He feels the chill again.

​“No, Tierrel,” he says. She refuses to meet his gaze. “You can’t. You can’t meddle with such magics, there must be some other way-“

​A third sigh. “We’ve tried all the other ways, Fiero,” she says, in a very small voice. “This is my last resort.” He takes her in his arms. Holding her as tightly as he can. He feels his tears flow down his face. She is not crying. Not this time. Her well of tears has run dry. Her eyes are barren, as is she.

​“If this is truly what you want,” he says.

​“It is, Fiero,” she says, stronger now than before. “If nature decrees I cannot be a mother, then a summon-mother I shall be.”

​Fiero finds himself smiling at her conviction, even if her words give him pause. “Very well, my lady. How can I help?”

[chroniclesoftherealm-blog]

In case you get lost in the magical land of Amelor- a map to guide your way.