The Moon of Winter

Long ago, when the kingdoms of men were still young, a bitter and unrelenting winter descended upon the land. Crops withered under frost, rivers froze solid, and entire villages succumbed to the cold. The common people whispered of a curse cast by a lesser god, enraged by humanity. Desperate for salvation, the High King of the realm turned to the Grand Temple of Divines.

The priests, steeped in forbidden knowledge, revealed that a god named Vyel had been rebuffed by his one-time paramour - a half-mortal woman named Irenee, daughter of the Goddess of Night. Because Irenee would not continue to give herself to Vyel, he cursed all the land with perpetual Winter. 

The priests sent an emissary to convince Irenee to give herself again to Vyel, but Irenee fled far to the North to avoid such a fate. There she died atop a frost-bound glacier.  Before breathing her last, a single tear is said to have fallen from her cheek, and fell into a deep chasm becoming a precious gem -- the Moon of Winter. 

The stone was said to be like a piece of the moon itself, encased in flawless crystal. The priests of the Grand Temple claimed that giving this last tear of Irenee to Vyel would turn aside his wrath and release the curse of perpetual Winter upon the Eight Kingdoms.

The High King dispatched a company of knights to retrieve the Moon of Winter from its resting place in the frozen wastes of the north. After months of perilous travel, battling frost giants and evading packs of ravenous wolves, the knights found the gem guarded by a ghostly spirit—an avatar of the demi-goddess.

The knights, driven by loyalty to their king and the desperation of their people, deceived the goddess, seized the gem and began their return journey. The knights never reached Peakshadow. On the eve of their return, their camp was attacked in the Silverlode Mountains by a warband of orcs, led by a shaman named Gragrith Frostwalker. The orcs overwhelmed the knights in a brutal ambush.

Gragrith claimed the Moon of Winter as a prize, dedicating its moon-like glow to Gruumsh, the one-eyed god of orcs. When Vyel learned that his intended gift had been dedicated to Gruumsh, he forgot his wrath against humanity and went to war against Gruumsh. But the orc's god emerged the victor and Vyel was banished for 100 years from the mortal realm. The stone passed to Magrul Sharpfang and with him it remained -- a sign of his horde and a symbol of divine favor upon his line.

Faren and Wyld

Back before the cataclysm, when the Elves had first awakened in the world, they had wings upon their backs and could soar as birds. But in soaring above Erenth, they soon felt hunger for the first time. 

There were two among them, Faen and Faren by name. When their hunger turned to pain, the two agreed, saying, “Let us go out and discover what will satisfy that which gnaws at us. We shall meet back here with whatsoever we discover and share it among our people.” 

Thus, Faen flew toward the rising sun and Faren had flown toward the sea.

When Faen had traveled some distance away he grew weak for his effort and lit beside a tree. There he witnessed an owl feeding. In its talons was a rabbit caught and the owl was eating of its flesh. So Faen drove off the owl and ate of the rabbit. Whereupon he found that his hunger was diminished. When he saw a raven tearing at the flesh of a squirrel, he drove it likewise off and took and ate. Then his hunger was no more and seeing that world was full of such creatures, straightaway, he returned to his people.

Faren, meanwhile, had gone away toward the sea and when he had traveled some distance away espied geese eating from the eel grass. Joining them in their supper, he ate of that grass and found his hunger diminished. Later he saw doves eating grains which had grown wild on the stem. So he gathered and ate of those grains until his hunger was no more. Then he gathered grains again until the darkness descended and he returned to his people with his hands full.

When he was joined again to them, Faren discovered that his Faen had returned before him. In his absence all the Elves had learned to eat that which had been slain, and Faren was dismayed. He was made sick by the sight of blood on their faces and the smell of death on their hands. 

Then Faren called out and offered the Elves the grains which he had gathered, though they were yet meager. At seeing this offering, some of them were ashamed, but others were in no way contrite. These latter said, “Why should we bend to the stem and coax from the soil? Why should we work until darkness for our supper? All we have need of may be slain and eaten at once!"

Then many strong words passed between Faren and Faen, but most of the Elves ridiculed the cause of Faren and joined themselves to the cause of Faen. So Faren purposed to go his own way and to live apart from those who killed for meat. While Faen and those who stood by him were glad for his departure.

In time, Faen would repent of his words and seek his brother. He took fire from the bowl of a valley and used it to light beacons so that Faren might follow them and find his way home. The beacons remained lit for many seasons and when they burned low, the Elves kept them piled high with wood and pitch so that they would be kindled again and would be seen by all the world below. 

For many long years the other people of Erenth oft saw the beacons of Faen and wondered at their purpose, but because they were too high for those without wings, they contented themselves with their imaginings. And Faren, too, saw the beacons of Faen and did not, at first, heed them. Rather he took them to be the places he would most avoid. Thus Faren was alone in the world among his kind, and he wandered far with great sorrow. 

When he came at last to a distant wood, Faren found a spirit therein and was alone no longer. Wyld he called it and it was untamed from the beginning. But Faren took Wyld to spouse and had offspring thereby and these were the three called Fae and the twins: Falth and Feere. Much mischief has come of them and their kin. 

Seaward Enclave of Triumphax

When a bard returns from his Practice of Tenure, he comes to Heralapix and presents his Magnum Opus to the Professing Masters. In attendance are those who are already Masters of his chosen art, and any Grand Masters of any art who desire to sit in. If his work is favorably graded, he graduates and earns the approbation of his peers and the Professing Masters alike. He will often be invited to join their ranks and live out his life as a member of that faculty. 

Depending on the art form he wishes to demonstrate, the bard will find himself at one Enclave or another. This particular one is called the Seaward Enclave of Triumphax and is generally used by those who will demonstrate oratory, dance or the dramatic arts.

Curate, Bard and Witch

There is no formal ecclesial organization in Northrun. There are three roles that are played by the Speakers in society.

Lawspeakers are Druids who strive to keep their clans on a neutral path. They revere nature and the continuous cycle of birth and death in all living things. It is the Lawspeakers who are given charge over remembering the edicts of individual chieftains and the contracts that might be issued between two free clansmen.

Lorespeakers are Bards who are committed to remembering the legends and oral histories of great heroes and clansmen of renown. They are called on to perform at all meets.

Lathspeakers are also called witches. They are often bringers of ill-tidings and bad omens. The men of the clans are both deeply respectful and equally resentful of these crones, whom they fear beyond reason. 

Red River House of Redfall in Treft

A public house located along the Red River of Treft in the town of Redfall. A dining experience for the weary traveler and the road-worn merchant, alike. We specialize in many regional dishes and some from more exotic locales, as well. 

Your host is Kale Brownsleeves.

We offer:

Breakfast

Boiled Oats and oranges

Luncheon

Bacon and fresh bread

Cooked beans and a hard roll

Dinner

Eels in white sauce on a stale bread trencher

Smoked river trout served with oranges

Rabbit in red wine and butter, served pm a bed of greens

All meals are served with warm beer or river-chilled wine.

The Holy Men of Erenth: Monks of Eastrun

The Monks of Eastrun wear cast-off cloth that has been cleaned, dyed and sewn together to create both their inner robe -- that which is closest to the skin, and the outer robe -- that which is presented to the outside world. Cast-off cloth is made from clothing that is no longer in use because it is old or unfashionable. It also includes so-called corpse clothing which is discarded after a body has been washed and sewn into its burial shroud.

The color of a Monk's robes depends on their temple. Each temple keeps a unique formula of dyes which produces a variety of earth tone colors ranging from deep browns to bright reds.

The Holy Men of Erenth: The Diviners

Diviners, from the witches of Northrun to the astrologers of Southrun, do not have anything approaching identifiable clothing. Some wear opulent silk robes in the gaudiest of designs. Others wear hair shirts and appear not to have bathed or shaved in years. From the lowliest mystic through the seers, prophets right through to the oracles, there is nothing predictable about the vestments they choose. One thing is certain, Diviners have no strictures at all on opulence nor on outrageous or ostentatious behavior -- and it often shows.

The Holy Men of Erenth: The Curates

The Hierophant Priests (sometimes called Druids or Curates) will wear vestments depending on their rank. Initiates will be given the first of these vestments, a simple square white cloak called a mantle which is neither tailored nor fitted, but simply draped over his head when performing his devotions. 

It is never cleaned nor can it be replaced before its appointed time. This mantle is usually well-stained and gray by the time he becomes a Keeper. It is kept until then as a sign of his devotion to neutrality and also the difficulty in maintaining it. 

When a Keeper is elevated, he takes a new white mantle to wear and burns the old upon a ceremonial fire. Thereafter he also carries a living wreath on his brow or living sprigs plaited in his hair or beard. These plants will typically be meadowsweet or holly.

As a Protector he carries a stave of living ash or acacia wood. This is used when performing his faculties and rites. It is a sign of his office and is readily recognizable by the buds or tendrils upon it. 

A Guardian is said to have earned his horns and will be found with the horns of a ram, stag or bovine. The donor beast will never be slain for this purpose, but may give them up voluntarily to the Druid or Curate who aids him in some way.

All the Hierophants above the level of Guardian will be barefoot in all seasons.

The Holy Men of Erenth: The Pagan Priests

The pagan priests of the past were well known for their opulent and multi-layered robes, often made of the finest materials and accented with threads of silver and gold.

The Praxo was the head covering of the priest and it would be embroidered with the rank of his office and the symbols of his particular devotion.

These vestments, like the priests who still wear them, are only found in places which are generally far removed from the polite centers of various societies.

The Holy Men of Erenth: Clerics of Westrun

By the strictures of their faith the Clerics of Westrun are bound to wear clothing which is suited to their priestly state and which is immediately recognizable by the faithful. Even the armored cleric wears a cassock which is fitted to be worn over his armor. Such robes are shorter sleeved and cut high up the sides to accommodate movement and to make them easier to wear.

Along with the simple brown or black cassock, the Cleric is either shaved bald completely, or takes a tonsure cut in his hair. The bald pate 

The Pilo of the Church of Westrun is the head covering which is used to protect the shaved or bare skull of its male Clerics and the long tresses of its female clerics. For men it is a close-fitting skull cap. For women it is a type of kerchief worn loosely over the top of the head. Since women clerics are forbidden from cutting their hair, it is worn in long braids with the Pilo drapped over it. 

In both cases, colors denote the relative ranks in the church hierarchy. Black denotes a brother or sister. Brown denotes a chaplain. Gray is the color of Vicars while Blue is the color of a Shepherd or Sheperdess, Abbot or Abbess. Purple is the color of a Prefect and Scarlet is reserved to the Cardinal Prefects. The Patriarch himself wears White. 

The Pilo has its origins in the simple headgear of the indentured servants who were once used for manual labor by the Grand Temple of the Ten Divines. Long after his elevation as Patriarch, the founder of the Church, himself once a shepherd in that very form of servitude; continued to wear his simple Pilo covering instead of the ornate Praxo of the predecessor pagan priests.

Journal of Agronar

I take these blank pages from my hosts and begin my journal anew. The rest lay at the bottom of the Dagger Sea along with everything I held dear. When I have recovered fully, I will recreate what I am missing. Until then, I count from the night of my betrayal.

**Day 1, Knives at Night!:**

They tried to take my life on the open sea. The dagger missed its mark by inches, but the wound it left is deeper than flesh. The assassin—one of my own men. I trust no one now. I go to renew my oath, but the weight of betrayal shadows every step.

**Day 2, At Sea:**

After the assassin’s strike, I split his skull. There were too many of them. I had no choice but to slip overboard and leave the ship behind. The waters were colder than I remember, but I knew I must swim. It was the only way. More might have been watching, and I need time to think—time to decide my next move.

**Day 3, Near Dawn:**

I spent this day at sea. Hours passed, and I was weary. My muscles burned, but I did not stop. The stars above were my only companions, guiding me towards the coast. The salt stung the wound from the blade, but it kept me awake, focused. I knew I must survive this, even if it meant swimming until my strength gave out.

**Day 4, Midday:**

Land. It was distant, but I could just see it—a thin line on the horizon. I pushed forward, though my body screamed for rest. The goblins, the High King, even my own men—they all faded into the background. There was only the rhythm of the sea and the promise of solid ground ahead.

**Day 5, Early Morning:**

The sun rose, and with it came a small fishing boat. Crabs were their quarry, but they fished a half-drowned old man from the sea instead. They asked no questions, and I offered no answers. They took me aboard, fed me, and brought me closer to the shore. I kept my identity hidden. In their eyes, I am just another lost soul.

**Day 10, Noon:**

I walked away from the fishermen’s camp at first light. My uniform, soaked and ruined, lies buried beneath rocks near the shore. I’ve taken simple clothes from my hosts—a plain tunic, rough sandals. No one recognizes a General of Westrun in this guise. It’s better this way. Anonymity grants me the freedom to move unseen.

He recalled me to give an oath anew. I believe he hired the blades which sought to end my life.

I go now to confront him.

**Day 12, Nightfall:**

The road is long, the journey slow. I walk the High King’s Highway alone, the weight of each step reminding me of what I once was—and what I am now. The landscape is unfamiliar, but I keep moving, driven by something I cannot yet name. Every person I pass is a potential threat. I speak little, keep my head down, and move forward. The signs say I am ever closer to Peakshadow. The High King expects word of my death, but I wonder—what will his words be to me now?

**Day 17, Somewhere in Bolden:**

I walk with pilgrims. To Peakshadow I go.

**Day 20, Peakshadow:**

Peakshadow looms before me like a shadow from my past—its black towers piercing the sky, a monument to power and ambition. Tomorrow I will enter with the farmers at first light. The walls are as formidable as I remember, but the keep’s heart has grown cold since I last walked its halls. The streets leading to the keep are bustling, but I remain unnoticed, just another traveler beneath a hooded cloak. No one suspects that Agronar, once the sword of Westrun, now moves in the shadows of the ancient city.

**Day 21, Peakshadow:**

Through the teeming crowds and the endless refuse of the city. I realized I had forgotten its stench. It smells like betrayal and dishonest blood here. I stay on the terrace tonight. Tomorrow the Inner City. I am filled with conflict.

** Day 22, Peakshadow:**

Entering the High Keep was easier than it should have been. The guards are lax, more interested in their dice games than in watching who carries bread in through the gates. I walked with purpose, though I had none. Would I kill him who recalled me?

Marten was a king who understood the weight of the crown—a man who valued strength and honor, and who chose his generals not for their flattery. Under his rule, Westrun was worth fighting to preserve. Favian is no Marten.

I made my way through the keep’s labyrinthine corridors with ease. The servants avoided my gaze as I passed, sensing that I am not one to be trifled with. Finally, I reached Favian’s private chambers—a place that should be the seat of power, but which felt like an animal’s cage.

The door creaked open, and there he was—Favian, sitting at his desk, surrounded by scrolls and letters. He did not hear me at first. The light of his candle illuminated his rat face, casting long shadows that made him appear smaller, almost diminished.

When he finally noticed me, he did not react as I expected. There was no alarm, no call for the guards. Instead, he looked up with a mixture of surprise and something else—relief, perhaps? Or was it resignation? I couldn’t tell. He bade me sit, and I did, though I felt like a wolf in a sheep’s den. He spoke of duty, of the need to renew my oath. But as I listened, all I could hear was the fear in his voice.

In place of my oath, I gave my resignation and named him coward. I drew my dagger and watched him pale. I drove it into his desk, but even as I did so I was not sure it would not land in his skull of my own hand’s accord.

His was not the Westrun I fought for, nor the one I bled to defend. Favian accepted my imprecations with a coward’s tremble. There was no pride in his eyes, only the weakness of a man burdened by a crown too heavy for his brow.

I could not bear to spend another night in the city that houses his throne. I slept under the stars on a hill off the Highway. All night I heard the horses and riders… men I might have commanded… searching for me.

** Day 26, Somewhere in Rath:**

The road back to the Goblin Kingdoms stretches before me. My heart is heavy with doubt. I journey with the knowledge that this Westrun is no longer the kingdom I fought to build.

The Debtor’s War they call it. They say I tamed the Provinces, but did it to avoid the King’s default. Is this how I will be remembered?

The Hall of Splendor seems a distant dream now, a relic of a time when our victories meant something. What lies ahead is uncertain, and for the first time in my life, I find myself questioning whether the path I tread is the right one.

**Day 31, Somewhere in Treft:**

He would have had my oath renewed. He threw it away. The High King looked me in the eye and lied that his purse bought the blade. I saw the truth. Did he question my loyalty after all these years? Or did he suspect I might snatch his Kingdom from him? I return to the Goblin Kingdoms – to the last place things made sense.

I am too weak to travel long this way. The cough will not leave my lungs. My fever comes and goes.

**Day 33, At Sea:**

I chartered a boat after selling the ring of my office. The sea is calm, yet I cannot shake the unease within me. My dreams are haunted by the faces of the fallen—those I’ve led into battle, those who trusted me. I should be eager to reclaim our lost lands, but all I feel is a gnawing dread.

Sleep brings no rest. I am cold no matter how many blankets I use.

**Day 40, The Goblin Kingdoms:**

We’ve landed, but the news is worse than I feared. All my gains, all the blood and sweat spent—lost. The goblins are stronger than before, as if mocking my efforts. I bartered a sword from my captain. It feels heavier every day. Perhaps it is the weight of futility.

**Day 46, The Hall of Splendor:**

I am back in the Hall of Splendor, but there is no joy in these walls. The names of my fallen companions echo in the silence. We built this place as a testament to our victories, but it feels more like a tomb. I fear I will join them soon.

The fire cannot touch the chill in my bones. I hear whispers all around me. I thirst.

 

**Day 47, The Hall of Splendor:**

Last night, I sat before the statue of Sir Edric the Valiant. His deeds are carved in stone, immortalized for all to see. The Siege of Bloodridge—none fought harder, none bled more for victory than he did. He held the line when others faltered, his courage unbreakable. I led the charge, but it was Edric who inspired the men to follow. I feel small before his memory, a shadow of the man who once commanded such loyalty.

**Day 48, The Hall of Splendor:**

I spent the morning in the crypt, where the remains of Lord Elowir rest. The Shield of Westrun, we named him. He defended the retreat at Iron Pass, his company holding back the goblin horde while the wounded escaped. His sacrifice saved hundreds, yet I feel unworthy to stand beside his memory. He was the embodiment of selflessness and honor, virtues that now seem foreign to me.

**Day 49, The Hall of Splendor:**

Today, I knelt before the shrine of Toran the Unyielding. The Battle of Thundertop—how he laughed in the face of death, charging into the heart of the enemy with nothing but his warhammer and a fierce grin. He never knew fear, not even in his final moments. I gave the orders that day, but it was Toran who made victory possible. How can I, weakened and doubting, hope to match his indomitable spirit?

**Day 50, The Hall of Splendor:**

I visited the tomb of Seralo the Whisperblade. He commanded the scouts and raiders. His blade struck down the Goblin we called Ironsleeves. His skill was unmatched, his loyalty beyond question. I depended on him in countless battles, yet now, as I sit among these heroes, I feel like a fraud—an old man clinging to past glories while the present crumbles around me.

**Day 51, The Hall of Splendor:**

As I walk these halls, I am haunted by the faces of my fallen companions. Their exploits are legends, their sacrifices the foundation upon which Westrun was built. And yet, here I am, feeble and fading, unable to live up to the legacy we forged together. I was their general, their leader, but I no longer feel worthy of the title. They gave everything, and now, as I falter in my final days, I wonder if I truly gave enough. The weight of their memory is more than I can bear, and in their company, I feel only inadequacy.

**Day 52, The Goblin Kingdoms:**

My body fails me. The strength I once commanded is gone. Every movement is a reminder of the years that have passed, and the victories that now seem so hollow. The men whisper of my decline, and I can see the doubt in their eyes.

**Day 55, The Hall of Splendor:**

I tried to rally the troops today. I could see them on every hill, but they would not approach. My words fell flat, as lifeless as the stones of this hall. The men follow me out of duty, not respect. Perhaps that is all a man can hope for in the end. But I had hoped for more.

My fever robs me of rest. I cannot hold food.

**Day 58, The Hall of Splendor:**

Goblins probe. I will fight bravely. Perhaps they are wiser than I. I once thought I could conquer the world. Now, I struggle just to hold on to what little remains.

**Day 59, The Hall of Splendor:**

My sword arm is useless. I sit here, surrounded by the memories of what was, knowing that I will not be remembered for what could have been.

**Day 60, The Hall of Splendor:**

I have given everything, and now I have nothing left to give. The Hall of Splendor, once a beacon, now feels like a prison. They taunt me. Something prevents entry.

I have no water left.

**Day 61, The Hall of Splendor:**

No relief is coming. I am to hold the line until the end. So be it. I will die here, among the stones we built with our hands, in the company of ghosts. I only hope that death comes quickly, for I have already lived too long.

**Day 62, The Hall of Splendor:**

The end is near. I can feel it in my bones. The goblins will overrun me soon, and yet I think I will not live to see it. I die faster than they can gather courage. Perhaps that is a mercy. I have spent my life in the service of Westrun, and what do I have to show for it? A broken body, a shattered dream, and a hall that will soon be nothing more than ruins.

---

Remember me thus… I am Agronar, Loyal Soldier of Westrun. I fought with honor, but lived to die with regret. I fought with heroes.

Agronar the Pacifier of Goblins

Agronar was a noted general of Marten the Good who was High King of Westrun from 4850-4901ey.

Agronar was first knighted at the Battle of Five Chieftains in 4875ey during the Northrun campaign and given command of the Steel Fist Company which was redeployed to the Westrun Marches. There he negotiated good relations with the Fraternity and is said to have worn the Green Cloak among them for the space of ten years. After pressing the goblin hordes to the sea in the North, he was placed in command of the Stalwart Legion and sent to reinforce the armies of Treft.

While in Treft, he defeated the orc chieftain of Rakag and greatly diminished the orcs of Dynkyr. Then he exceeded his orders and took his legion into Balduren itself, placing them at the disposal of the Marks Marshall of that kingdom, winning considerable good will and bringing Balduren more fully into the Eight Kingdoms Pact. When the hordes were again pressed to the sea, he founded Harmony to tie the forces of Collonia and Balduren together. 

After several years in Harmony, Agronar took his legion directly into the Goblin Kingdoms. Once there, he won wars against several horde chieftains and lost three Captains that had been with him since his knighting in Northrun. He defeated Gruumsh One-eye, god-king of the Orcs in single combat, and then founded the Hall of Splendor on that field of battle. 

Agronar remained in the Goblin Kingdoms prosecuting every gathering of orc and goblin which was large enough to earn his notice. In 4901ey, he was recalled to Peakshadow upon the death of Marten the Good. 

After swearing fealty to the new king, Favian III, he was named the Chancellor General of Westrun, but absconded from Peakshadow in the middle of the night. He returned to his legions in the South and traversed the entirety of the Goblin Kingdoms, coming eventually to the Satrapcies of Southrun. There he disbanded his legions, and entered semi-retirement, keeping only the Steel Fist Company under his command. 

He was later summoned to service by Favian III and sent to prosecute the so-called "Debtor's War" in the Pincipalities of Vyruma Serpentis. After conquering all of the white and black princes, he renamed the Free Provinces and extracted allegiance to the High Throne from their new barons. 

At the end of the "Debtor's War" he was recalled to Peakshadow to renew his oath of fealty to High King Favian, but disappeared at sea and was never seen again.

Order of the Planar Knights Protectant

The chapel of this peerage is located in the wilds of Balduren.

The Order of the Planar Knights Protectant, also known as the Hellslayers, are an independent Peerage who operate largely outside of Church organization. They have taken a vow to fight the dread Malenir and any of their followers.

In order to qualify as one of the Hellslayers, the members must have slain or been instrumental in slaying a Malenir before joining the Order.

The Songmasters of Old

The Llorfiril, or Song Masters of the Elves, are revered among their kind as the original wielders of magic, harnessing the power of ancient melodies that resonate with the very essence of the universe. Through their ethereal voices and intricate harmonies, they evoked transformations in the material world, shaping reality itself. Believed to have discovered the celestial songs that weave through all existence, the Llorfiril held a mystical status akin to cults dedicated to sacred knowledge and cosmic harmony.

Among Elven societies, these masters were not just skilled singers but revered as keepers of profound secrets, passed down through generations in sacred rituals and secluded sanctuaries. Their belief mirrors the notion that celestial music, an unseen symphony of cosmic vibrations, maintains the delicate balance of creation -- a harmony of spheres governing the cosmos. The Llorfiril perceive their songs as keys to understanding and influencing the natural order.

Within their cults, disciples study under rigorous tutelage, learning not only the melodies but also the deep philosophical underpinnings that govern their use. The Llorfiril teach that mastery of these songs requires spiritual attunement, a profound connection to the rhythms of nature and the celestial realms. Thus, they are not only practitioners of magic but guardians of a sacred tradition that bridges the mundane with the transcendent, echoing the cosmic symphony that binds all things together in harmony.

Alas the Llorfiril are no more. Since they unleashed horror upon the world during the Fifth Age, their art has been lost. Now the wizards of Erenth are the inheritors of the Llorfiril tradition. No longer understanding the musical component of their arcane arts, mere wizards are reduced to chanting spells and resorting to crude formulas for spell casting. 

Hrafa, Tarn and Darkling Riders

The Hrafa are the giant ravens of Erenth. They are large creatures with a 6-10 foot wingspan, jet black feathers, thick pointed bills and diamond-shaped tails. They are exceedingly intelligent animals, even for birds or corvids. They have been known to have vocabularies exceeding 1500 words. Tamed hrafa are most often taught Graetish from the time they are captured fledglings; but their wild cousins will pick up the language of the nearest habitation.

Like all birds, the hrafa can fly, soar and ride on thermals, but the hrafa is also capable of two techniques not seen in any other bird species, save their smaller corvid cousins. The hrafa will pass items from claw to claw or from claw to beak without landing. This technique is especially used in their great pastime -- the orinitsa. The hrafa can also fold its wings, roll over and dive, causing a sudden loss of altitude in mid flight.

The Orinitsa is a game of chase in which one hrafa at a time will take possession of a given object while the others pursue and attempt to have him relinquish his prize. The will usually play this game over the water of a coastal region and seldom in view of others. The Orinitsa is not the only way the hrafa play. They have been know to play pranks, steal and hide things, and even tell simple, if nonsensical jokes that only they find funny.

The hrafa use combat to resolve disputes among each other. For these battles they never use their beak, preferring instead to hit one another with wing buffets, while using profanity.

The typical hrafa will live 50-60 years, have only one mate and live in an extended family group called the Hrafathi.

Hrafa that are tamed and used by Gnomish jockeys are called Tarn. As steeds they are used both as air patrol and as messengers. These jockeys, known as Darkling Riders, are airborne warriors of unparalleled skill and precision. They navigate the skies astride their tamed steeds, executing daring maneuvers and swift aerial assaults. Clad in leather jackets, Darkling Riders are distinguished by their keen senses and lightning-fast reflexes, essential for swift responses in combat scenarios and tactical maneuvers across Erenth's expansive skies. 

Their bond with their Hrafa mounts is inseparable, and built on unshakeable trust, enabling them to coordinate seamlessly. The Riders are famed for their dedication and bravery, if somewhat daring and risk-taking natures.

Jen Shu, Divine Emperor of Eastrun

Jen Shu, known as the Conqueror, was a legendary figure of indomitable spirit and strategic brilliance in the annals of his chronicler and general, Bao Dan. Rising from humble origins, he forged an unyielding brotherhood among his Daizu companions, bound by loyalty and a creed of honor. He led them through relentless campaigns across the Sea of Grass, conquering tribes and cities, and facing formidable foes.

A master of warfare and diplomacy, Jen Shu offered parley to those who would accept his terms of peace, displaying both mercy and ruthless determination in equal measure. His victories spanned decades, marking him as a leader of unparalleled courage and resilience. Despite his martial prowess, Jen Shu's quest for an heir remained unfulfilled, siring only daughters despite his efforts with multiple wives and concubines.

Throughout his life, Jen Shu exemplified the ideals of honor, duty, and unity among his people. His legacy, etched in the tales of the Nine Companions and the conquests of the Golden Tribe, immortalizes him as a towering figure whose name resonates through the ages, a symbol of both conquest and the quest for enduring legacy.

In his Eleventh Book, Bao Dan reflects on the life and legacy of Jen Shu, recognizing him as a figure who grappled with the eternal struggle between Chaos and Law. His emperor's conquests and his quest for order amidst chaos exemplify the dichotomy between these two forces that shape human existence. Despite his immense achievements in unifying and organizing through conquest, Bao Dan believed that Jen Shu's ultimate aspiration was to let Law prevail over Chaos.

Bao Dan outlined principles derived from Jen Shu's life, advocating for a disciplined adherence to Law as a means to combat the inherent Chaos of existence. These principles emphasized detachment from personal desires, steadfastness in the face of challenges, and a commitment to order and justice. Bao Dan's writings urge others to emulate this dedication in their own lives, transcending mere conquest to embrace a higher purpose of societal and personal order.

Thus, Bao Dan's philosophical treatise on the Way of Order serves not only as a reflection on Jen Shu's life but also as a guiding ethos for those who sought to navigate the complexities of existence with integrity and purpose.

Thorne Blackwyd: Prince of Thieves

In days of yore, there lived a thief of unparalleled skill. His name, whispered with both awe and trepidation, had become the stuff of legend, for Thorne Blackwyd had accomplished the three most audacious heists known to the annals of history—the theft of the jewels of the dragon empresses.

These treasures, so priceless they could purchase a kingdom, were guarded by the most formidable warriors and the most intricate defenses the world had ever seen. Yet, Thorne, the greatest thief of all, was undaunted by these obstacles. His heart burned with the desire to claim these jewels, no matter the cost.

The first empress was renowned for her cunning. She housed her jewels within the impenetrable walls of a fortress, guarded day and night by vigilant sentinels. But Thorne was not deterred. Disguised as a humble servant, he infiltrated the fortress. With unparalleled dexterity and stealth, he spirited away the jewels from under the very noses of the guards, leaving no trace of his passage.

The second empress, a paragon of vanity, adorned herself with her precious jewels in public, basking in the admiration of the masses. Thorne, however, saw an opportunity. In the bustling heart of a parade, he approached the empress. With sleight of hand so deft it defied comprehension, he relieved her of her jewels as she wore them, replacing them with imitations only later discovered.

The third empress was the most cautious of all. She concealed her jewels in a secret location, known only to herself. But even her meticulous care could not thwart the greatest thief. Through cunning and perseverance, Thorne uncovered the secret hiding place. In the dead of night, cloaked in darkness, he stole the jewels, vanishing into the dark with his prize.

Thus, the legend of Thorne Blackwyd was etched into the annals of time. With the jewels of the three empresses in his possession, he vanished from the world, never to be seen again. Yet, the tales of his incredible feats were passed down through the generations, a testament to his unmatched prowess.

In time, Thorne's legend grew to mythical proportions. He was venerated as an ascended hero, and in certain corners of the world, some even worshipped him as a god. His story, a tapestry of daring and brilliance, continued to inspire awe and wonder, ensuring that the name Thorne Blackwyd would forever be remembered as the greatest thief of all time

The Hayao

The Hayao of Eastrun are to the seas, what the Daizu are to the steppes. As raiders and pirates, they make their way by exacting tribute and spoils from the merchants who travel to and from Eastrun.

The Hayao were people of the steppes once, too. In that day they lived on Dry Land behind walls of rock and refused to bend the knee to Eastrun’s greatest conqueror -- Jen Shu. In retaliation for their intransigence, their city was torn down and their people were slaughtered. Some of their escaping elders were pursued Eastward to the sea and many of them were slain along the way. Scant hundreds arrived at the shore, and overwhelmed the fishing village they found there, fleeing in boats big and small. 

The Daizu have no memory of this event for they do not keep records. Even of Jen Shu they know almost nothing, having no reason to recall warlords of the past. But the sages of the Imperial Manwin say it is written that Jen Shu cursed the Hayao people because they were the only people he could not conquer. For they fled the land in fishing vessels and threw themselves to the mercy of the waves, rather than face the fury of his horsemen. 

According to the priests of the Hayao, once their people were set free from Dry Land they sought the protection of a cruel and capricious sea goddess. Rather than destroy them outright, she bade them swear that they would be the instruments of her vengeance upon all the people of the Four Lands who ply the waves. The Hayao would enjoy her mercy and her everlasting protection, so long as they never returned to Dry Land from whence they came. 

Whether it is because of this vow to the sea goddess; or whether it is because of the curse of Jen Shu, the Hayao have never returned from the Seas. To this day, their people neither trust the Dry Land nor the Dust Men who live upon it.

Some say that the Hayao are ever in motion, sailing here and there according to patterns that only they know. Others claim that they live above a sunken atoll or perhaps a coral reef, and have built houses upon it from the planks of ships they have pirated. One thing is certain, no one can claim to have seen the inhabitations of the Hayao for they have a strict law that all who gaze upon their women must be slain.

Song of the Nightstalkers (The Rangers Song)

Verse 1 (Tavern Verse)

In the shadows of the forest, where the moonlight casts its glow,

Whispers tell of silent heroes, moving where the night winds blow.

They guard the wild and keep it free, their footsteps light and true,

Protectors of the woodland, unseen by me and you.

Refrain:

Oh, they stride the hills and valleys, where the wild winds call,

In the silence of the midnight, they are shadows tall.

Through the forest deep and dark, where the rivers run,

They are legends of the night, hidden from the sun.

Verse 2 (Hidden Verse)

In the Gathering of the Brotherhood, where the fire's light does blaze,

We recount our secret stories, of the elder, ancient days.

From the Lords Continuous, our sacred truths were won,

In the night we move like shadows, until the deed is done.

Refrain:

Oh, they stride the hills and valleys, where the wild winds call,

In the silence of the midnight, they are shadows tall.

Through the forest deep and dark, where the rivers run,

They are legends of the night, hidden from the sun.

Verse 3 (8th Age Verse)

When the skies are dark with terror, and the world is bathed in blood,

From the hills and ancient forests, comes a force to stem the flood.

In the 8th Age, when darkness falls, and hope seems lost to all,

We'll rise again, the Nightstalkers, at the final trumpet's call.

Refrain:

Oh, they stride the hills and valleys, where the wild winds call,

In the silence of the midnight, they are shadows tall.

Through the forest deep and dark, where the rivers run,

They are legends of the night, hidden from the sun.

Refrain:

Oh, they stride the hills and valleys, where the wild winds call,

In the silence of the midnight, they are shadows tall.

Through the forest deep and dark, where the rivers run,

They are legends of the night, hidden from the sun.

A Song of Wine

(Verse 1)

In vineyards green where grapes do grow,

The winekeeper tends row by row.

With careful hands and loving care,

He tends the vines with utmost flair.

(Chorus)

Oh, the wine, so sweet and fine,

In every bottle, its secrets entwine.

With every sip, our troubles fade,

In the magic of wine's serenade.

(Verse 2)

From sun-kissed hills to valleys deep,

The wine flows in a gentle sweep.

With every harvest, the grapes do yield,

The nectar of the vine, so richly sealed.

(Chorus)

Oh, the wine, with hues so bright,

In crystal glasses, it brings delight.

With every taste, we raise a cheer,

To the wine that brings us near.

(Bridge)

In cellars cool where barrels age,

The winekeeper tends his heritage.

With oak and time, its flavors blend,

In every glass, a tale to send.

(Chorus)

Oh, the wine, with bouquets bold,

In every bottle, its stories unfold.

With every pour, we honor the vine,

In the winekeeper's grand design.

(Outro)

So let us raise a toast today,

To the wine that lights our way.

For in its depths, we find our song,

In the winekeeper's legacy, forever strong.

The Hendriad

(Verse 1)

In lands of fire and mountains tall,

Cavaliers heed the ancient call.

For in our hearts, a longing burns,

For wine, women, and songs, we yearn.

(Chorus)

Oh, the wine, like liquid gold,

In goblets raised, our tales are told.

With every sip, our spirits rise,

To reach the stars, beyond the skies.

(Verse 2)

And in the arms of women fair,

We find our solace, without a care.

Their laughter rings like silver bells,

In their embrace, our hearts do swell.

(Chorus)

Oh, the women, with beauty rare,

Their gentle touch, beyond compare.

In their eyes, we see the stars,

As we dance beneath the moonlit bars.

(Verse 3)

And let the songs, like soldiers roar,

Echo through the mountains, evermore.

For in their melody, we find our voice,

And in their rhythm, we rejoice.

(Chorus)

Oh, the songs, with power untold,

In their embrace, our hearts enfold.

With every note, our spirits rise,

To reach the heavens, beyond the skies.

Wine, Women and Song

(Verse 1)

In castles tall where treasures gleam,

We Vyrum bask in golden dream.

But above all, our hearts do soar,

For wine, women, and songs galore.

(Chorus)

Oh, the wine, so rich and red,

With flavors bold, like fire spread.

In goblets raised, we toast the night,

To pleasures sweet, our hearts take flight.

(Verse 2)

With arms outstretched, we take to flight,

In search of revelry, pure delight.

For in the arms of women fair,

We find our solace, without a care.

(Chorus)

Oh, the women, with eyes so bright,

Their laughter fills the darkest night.

In their embrace, we find our rest,

In love's embrace, we are blessed.

(Verse 3)

And let us not forget the songs,

That echo through the castles long.

For music lifts our spirits high,

And fills our hearts, up to the sky.

(Chorus)

Oh, the songs, so sweet and true,

With melodies that ring anew.

In harmony, we find our peace,

As our joyous voices never cease.

Valkauna's Song

(Verse 1)

In mountain halls where stories flow,

We dwarves seek honor, high and low.

For in our hearts, a longing burns,

To prove our worth, in love's return.

(Chorus)

Oh, to be worthy of a mate so fair,

With courage strong, beyond compare.

To win her heart, we'll face our fears,

And show our strength, through blood and tears.

(Verse 2)

With axe in hand and armor bright,

We journey forth into the night.

To battle foes and claim our prize,

To prove our love, beneath the skies.

(Chorus)

Oh, to be worthy of a mate so fair,

With loyalty deep, beyond compare.

To stand as guardians, brave and true,

And win her trust, in all we do.

Numli's Prize

(Verse 1)

In halls of stone where hammers ring,

We dwarves toil and gems we bring.

But above all, our hearts do yearn,

For Numli's prize, our souls do burn.

(Chorus)

Oh, mithril bright, so strong and true,

With silver sheen, we honor you.

In fiery forges, we shape and mold,

To craft our treasures, pure as gold.

(Verse 2)

Through depths of earth, we delve so deep,

In search of Numli's secret keep.

For in its veins, our dreams do lie,

To forge our legacy, reaching high.

(Chorus)

Oh, mithril bright, so strong and true,

With veins of silver, our hope anew.

In armor and in weapons bold,

We find our worth, our story told.

Most Noble

(Verse 1)

In Strongholds where mountains rise,

We Lod with noses of noble size.

For our noses are strong and true,

A trait we cherish, through and through.

(Chorus)

Oh, the nose, so proud and grand,

With curves and twists across the land.

A beacon of our heritage,

A symbol of our noble lineage.

(Verse 2)

With noses keen, we sniff the air,

Detecting scents both foul and fair.

For though our noses may be large,

They guide us like a guiding barge.

(Chorus)

Oh, the nose, so proud and grand,

With nostrils flared, a sight so grand.

A marvel of our ancestry,

A source of Lodish revelry.