1 December 2020 (Origin)
The universe was born of the cosmic battle between immortal siblings of Sky, Earth, and Void, against the four immortal daemons Anger, Fester, Succor, and Cipher. The dated religious texts and modern beliefs of Coghan align with alarming closeness.
The origin myth of Coghan is largely based upon a set of four texts, etched into tablets and strung sequentially with chain or rope, dependent upon which set of slates is in question. Under the protective care of the Prelate Magna and in a location known only to the highest of Prelates, the four tablets describe the origin of Coghan and the world as follows:
The first book describes the plight which has befallen three immortal cosmic siblings: an eldest sister, a middle brother, and a youngest sister: Sky, Earth, and Void, in many simplified depictions. The myth states that so vast and infinite was the nothingness of their home that, when infinite boredom crept into delirium and then catatonia, the tears of isolation formed the first stars and lit the expanse.
The second book describes the sibling’s rage and attempts to break free from their prison of infinity, by attempting to pierce the rose-colored mercurial barrier at the end of time and space itself. In their infinite time, strength, and wisdom, they still failed, and fell catatonic, each of their lips uttering a cosmic wish for the wall to be broken.
The third book describes the piercing of the rose-viscid barrier by four cosmic demons, immortal, vile, and base in their motives. Only four made it through the rose-visid breach before the universe mended itself whole, but it stands to reason that of all the horrors that may exist and be birthed in the beyond, these are the strongest. These demons four ravaged the universe and wrought suffering amongst the cosmos, until the siblings were woken from their stupor in the ensuing chaos.
The fourth book describes the siblings awakening and retreat into the center of the cosmos to flee the might, desires, gluttony, and machinations of their new cosmic counterparts. To this day, the myth claims that these forces fight in the expanse above.
Despite the only very recent recovery of materials and religious artifacts from the Ancient Coga, what is understood of the former empire’s religion aligns alarmingly well with the current mythos. Whether this means the Prelate Magna had access to such texts from early on, or whether the oral tradition of the Coga as they became Coghanese was unusually robust against modification and the wear of time, is unknown.
4 December 2020 (Heirloom)
When a Coghanese soldier dies in battle, be it against the elements or others soldiers, their shield is recovered and a funereal pyre is set within its basin. The shield, scorch marks and all, is given to the soldier's family, though just as valuable are the shields given to retired soldiers after long lives of service. For some unknown reason, the shields of exceptionally strong soldiers slain in combat retain unusual magical properties.
Algid, violent gale tears through the dark stone tower. The whipping of heavy robes and cloth decorum in the wind punctuate the otherwise white noise of the incoming storm. Adani had only left the interior of the tower minutes before, but already she was frozen to her core. The incredible, icy cold of the bronze rungs of the ladder bit like razor-sharp teeth through her fingers, a new pain every time despite the numbness that pervades her. What’s worse–this was only the halfway point.
Adani ventured a glance upwards. Of course, most of her view was blocked by the girl above her–another trainee, Nebagh–and the gray-white of the snowstorm. She could barely hear her instructor at the top of the procession shouting words of determination. Definitely meant to be encouraging, the strain to hear with clarity the words on the wind over the sounds of the gale, the flapping garments, and the pain of the ice, rendered the speech annoying more than anything.
The dive tower was a remorseless experience. Adani’s muscles ached, and rung after tired rung sapped at her stamina and stung at her ice-cold hands.
Nebagh slipped, and gasped; a sheet of ice cascaded down onto Adani. The girl ducked her head to endure the shower of ice chips that had been knocked loose from the stone while Nebagh reclaimed her footing. A simple, near-unrecognizable apology was shouted down, before they continued.
Rung after painful rung, the procession lifted itself higher and higher into the sky’s expanse. Adani could no longer hear her instructor over the wind. It was up to her to make it to the top. For a moment, the initiate wished she could be in her instructor’s shoes: nimble, strong, and experienced. Never-Night Sanna had made this journey dozens of times.
Then, of course, Adani recognized that, to be as skilled as her instructor, she’d have to complete this trial ad nauseum. Judging from the ice which formed at her knuckles, the plumes of fog which burst from her lungs, it would be something to which she would grow accustomed. Or so she hoped.
Several times Adani found herself stopped by the girls above–resting to conserve and restore what strength they could. She found no bother with it. It gave her time to rest as well, and bundle as tightly as she could in her heavy, ceremonially-adorned robes.
Eventually, an aching eternity later, Adani reached the summit. The storm was in full force, and Adani could only see so far in front of her. The girls before her all huddled around spartan, icicle-bound iron posts driven into the four meter-wide platforms at the apex of the dive tower: the only areas on which one could feasibly stand, and narrow enough that even one person per platform would be cramped.
Adani felt the tower swaying in the wind under her feet as she grasped the biting-cold metal with her raw, red hands, securing herself somewhat on a platform with another girl, Selics. She willed herself not to look down, before realizing that it wouldn’t do much harm, considering she couldn’t see more than five feet in any direction. Selics shifted, then, scraping against the ice-piled stone platform. The two shared a look of fright, and then one of determination, as the instructor called over the gale.
“We have to move quickly!”
Try as she might, Adani could not discern any silhouette of her instructor, or any other girl for that matter.
“You’ll notice you can’t seem to catch your breath,” Never-Night Sanna continued, struggling to be heard over the roaring maelstrom. “There’s not enough air up here... to maintain consciousness for very long... Hold yourselves out over the edge, and when you feel yourself slipping, let go!”
A very pregnant pause. Adani kicked some ice from the tower to keep better footing.
“We’ll try for an order for now. Nebagh, you’re up first!”
A bated minute passed, while Selics and Adani looked to one another, both of them gasping and panting in the hypoxic altitude. Selics occasionally chances a grab at her throat, as if massaging the cold, dry passageway would help in any regard.
Adani, on the other hand, found herself growing giddy. Excited, even. Never-Night Sanna told them they would respond to suffocation in different ways, and mentioned euphoria. Adani smiled even wider at the recognition of this fact, as the wind whipped through her hair and blew snow into her eyes and face.
“Chara just fell!” a voice called, panicked.
“Don’t worry. If you’re alone on your platform, go to the far corner and clear your head!”
How anybody’s head could be clear in this insanity, Adani knew not. As Selics’s eyes rolled into the back of her head and her limp body was carried on the wind to plummet, Adani began to cackle.
“Adani!” Never-Night Sanna scolded, before returning her attention to her duty. “Who else is with me?”
No answers met her in the storm, and Adani began to laugh uproariously, nay, maniacally. She began gasping for breath more to laugh with than to breathe, and could only hear a droning of Sanna’s words as the buzzing in her head grew to a crescendo, as did the storm.
With a final chuckle to herself, Adani’s tired hands and empty mind slipped free from the iron bar, and fell into the storm.
3 December 2020 (Technology)
Coghanese technology has been stunted ever since the Storm of Erasure ravaged the isle for a millennia. However, the technology of the Ancient Coga is slowly being recovered and, like a time capsule, restudied and reintegrated. Common sailing folk often mount ballista-style harpoon launchers to their ships to aid in landing distant shots, and the more affluent of Coghan often have their clothes and gear (especially metal armor!) infused with magic to keep them warm in the harsh weather.
Name: Ielis (IGN Andydrew12)
Current Rank: Baron
Desired Rank: Viscount
Total Builds: 64
Specialized Builds: 20
Settlements: 4
Locations:
Ighodia: 39 builds, 17 specialized
Overhead View: https://imgur.com/wyA2W66
Gharix Pass: 6 builds, 1 specialized
Overhead View: https://imgur.com/hHcT6HC
Taghor (1): 9 builds, 1 specialized
Overhead View: https://imgur.com/gMy4JWO
Taghor (2): 9 builds, 1 specialized
Overhead View: https://imgur.com/bswrwjk
Collected Lore:
33 forum lore posts in total, collated here: https://forums.candarion.com/category/42/coghan
Including two posts/threads regarding community collaboration:
https://forums.candarion.com/topic/1275/a-herald-of-azure
https://forums.candarion.com/topic/413/sunk-investment
Plus a few Sentence a Day posts and other incidentals.
I highly encourage you to reach out to me with any questions or in regards to any tours. I am available most mornings PST, but shoot me a message and I'll see if we can work out a time, tour, or otherwise.
Regards,
Ielis
Incident Report: 214-4 (Azure Hunt; Foreign Wreckage off Northern Shore, likely Obrexian)
From: Fifth Cavalier Xuthus Saghl
To: Executive Council
I write to you the Council in regards to a worrisome development which was intended to reach our fair city some time ago. Only now do we heed its words.
An expeditionary force I assembled one month ago (under direction of Commander Arsa Perce) was dispatched to perform a biological and geological survey of the Olghara Peninsula. They left about eleven days ago.
They have since returned, and bear news and bodies from afar. I shall keep it brief.
The survey group happened upon the remnants of a shipwreck of foreign origin. In total the survey team were able to recover ten bodies, in various conditions. It is estimated that about half the bodies aboard were not recovered, and it is assumed no person made it to land alive–either sinking like a stone due to the weight of armor else sinking with the ship, or dying to the cold sea and praying their bodies be washed ashore.
The cause of the wreckage is not known, though no scorch marks or other positive identifying factors point to fire or lightning–it is possible the ship crashed on ice floes or an iceberg in the near Sybjyri Strait.
Preliminary correspondence with Ambassador Premiere Emis Semtur and his staff conclude this ship is likely Obrexian in origin.
In addition to the ten bodies, however, some materials were recovered. Two articles of jewelry were recovered, as was one finely-crafted (if waterlogged) carpet. Furthermore, a strongbox of documents was recovered alongside a corpse–likely fastened to the body as a final hope it would be recovered. Had this not been done, the box would certainly have sunk, and been irretrievable.
Finally, one member of the survey team discovered a scroll written in Obrex script and, upon opening the scroll, became suffused with a sudden fluency in the language. Able to read it aloud word-for-word, the cadet–Moghri (NSN) has been reallocated for use in Semtur’s staff. They confirm for the sake of this report that Moghri is capable of speaking and writing fluently in Obrex tongue. What he read with the rest of the documents found alongside the scroll indicated that the ship was to serve as a diplomatic junction between Obrexia and Coghan, the former requesting of us alliance–a so-called, “Azure Hunt,” in regards to a threat of pirates which ravage a sea far north of here.
Though it is not in my power or privilege, I would suggest calling for a Limited Dharre–the urgency provided by the age of this correspondence and the need to ensure the leadership of Obrexia knows we are not responsible for their lost craft and men.
Personal Footnotes:
The Dharre was my idea. Diplomacy with such a powerful and distant nation should be paramount to the global influence of Coghan, and an open dialogue should find provenance as soon as possible.
-Ambassador Premiere Emis Semtur
*See: A Herald of Azure
5 December 2020 (Emblem)
The Golden Ring is a common symbol of Coghan, important enough to find its way in its national flag, in the stained glass windows of the Forum, and more. It represents unity, the cyclical nature of life and death, and valuable contribution to society and the fellow man.
6 December 2020 (God)
The Daemon of Succor has no name other than this. According to Esimaghe (the origin myth of Coghan), Succor was the Daemon who themself was strong enough to pierce the barrier at the edge of the universe to allow in other evils. Supposedly androgynous, Succor is said to motivate men and women to overly lustful actions, but is also said to be responsible for the thrill one feels when looking over cliffsides or in other dangerous scenarios, as well as envy for other’s companionship or material wealth. Rimelings are said to be agents of Succor, enticing men and women stranded in the cold to strip themselves before death.
7 December 2020 (Ritual)
The ritual initiation for Never-Nights–the Thanate acolytes of the First Prelate–is notoriously harrowing and possibly lethal. It involves climbing a tower which extends into the high atmosphere, constructed as a religious monument, then falling from its heights. In the hypoxic stupor as one plummets to the earth, prophetic visions are said to reach the more apt, who then awaken and use their winged robes to slow their descent. Those who prove inept do not survive the experience.
8 December 2020 (Secrets)
The identities of the Prelates are not known. Given the amount of social guidance and grooming required to achieve the station of Prelate Magna, their identity is usually known but forbidden from speech at the expense of a fine (at best) or decades in prison (at worse). Prelates exist for all seven central figures in Esimaghe, though, so those who represent and channel the ideologies of the Daemons are especially prone to religions violence: hence, their identities are secret.
Emis Semtur had to duck–quickly–in order to avoid the bottle of vodka that had been hurled at him. The glass shattered against the cobbles at the entryway of the Coghanese Forum Hall. The screams and angry shouting of the hundreds-strong crowd he had managed to weave through merged into a singular protean cacophony. People were mad, and they were mad enough to threaten anybody who went by–be they innocent or no.
Executive Decree 121-1 had had greater consequences than even the Arbiters–people experienced with public opinion and justice–could have imagined. If not for the numerous new Enforcer positions stationed in Ighodia made available by the very same decree, the city may very well have been burning, if not the Forum Hall itself.
Locking the Ambassador inside are two Enforcers who appear tired and bewildered in equal measure. They bear no mark of station, but appear to be part of the Third Cavalier’s regiment based on their pauldrons of steel instead of bronze. They exchange a look of worried relief with the Ambassador before resuming their posts. Even still, large objects of various character slam against the wall and doors nearby, hurled by the angry crowd outside.
Emis Semtur walks past the doors leading into the forum hall: blocked as they are by armed Enforcers, no entry would be possible even if he were headed to the interior. Instead he makes his way further into the building, past the frozen, snow-draped courtyard, and into the entryway of the office of Ambassador Premiere Ielis Raghn.
Semtur considers knocking, but decides against it. He had been working closely with Ielis for some time now, and whilst her age allows her nihilistic humor to retain some momentum, he has nevertheless learned some key things to overlook. Sometimes, Ielis would say, it just isn’t worth knocking. Semtur smiles.
The ancient woman sits at her desk, frantically browsing an assortment of parchments and papers on her various furniture. Her gray hair tosses back and forth as she plucks and examines various articles on her desk, the other chairs, and almost any other flat surfaces she could find–a stack of books included.
“Semtur,” Ielis greets quickly, absently. Her nod is almost indistinguishable from the rapid movements of her head as it attends to her frenzy.
“It’s chaos outside. How did you get in?”
“Didn’t leave last night,” Ielis says, allowing Semtur’s attention to locate a misshapen lump of blankets and garments that once served as a makeshift sleeping space. A half-empty cup and an empty but used plate lie nearby, but the assortment is left out of the way so as to serve as little inconvenience as possible.
“You shouldn’t make a habit of this as much as you do,” Semtur chides as he paces to collect and organize the garments and blankets. “Not good for your posture…”
“You think I’m young enough to worry about my posture anymore? Hah!” Ielis cackles. “Bring over the tea table. Make yourself some if you wish, I just need more surface space.” Ielis punctuates her demand by throwing a small sheaf of papers to the floor beside her; they fall amongst a pile of dissimilar paper with related content.
Semtur busies himself with gently setting the tea set on the floor, eschewing any beverage for himself, and dragging the somewhat dainty table to Ielis’s side. As he situates the table–and as Ielis almost immediately capitalizes on the new space–Semtur begins to spy the pages that capture his mentor’s attention so wholly.
“What are these?” Semtur asks, perusing the microscopic texts before Ielis. “Helian compacts? Old charters for the...are these from the Prelate Magna?”
“Mhmmm…” Ielis trails.
“I’ve never seen you work this way, so disorganized,” Semtur worries. “What’s with the disarray?”
“Chaos within, chaos without,” Ielis says with mock sagacity. She sits back in her chair, turning to face Semtur for the first time. Her ancient ash-gray eyes lock with his youthful face, and Semtur prepares yet again to learn.
“It isn’t our responsibility to deal with the ramifications of the people at the doorstep. They endanger us, sure, but our attention as Ambassadors turns outwards. As...complicated as it may be, the domestic turmoil is up to Bansse to resolve. Cavaliers keep the peace during peacetime and wage war during wartime. Ambassadors make the peace during wartime, and sometimes must make war during peacetime. Can’t afford to miss the Redjacks on account of the Decree, so to speak. As such, I’m examining compacts from Helios and Isara in regards to their piracy issues—see how they resolved them, if they did.”
“Still worried about the Redjacks, then?
“Have to be. Can’t worry about the turmoil of the interior if the exterior is still under threat.”
“Isara, huh?” Semtur emits a low, appreciative whistle. “How did we get documents all the way from over there?”
“The last few trade ships willing to come out this way carried some print. I had to ask specially for it, though. It may be a long, long time until anything from past the Eithar comes in, though, what with how dangerous our ports are these days.”
“Not to mention the sorry state of the navy. Be it trade or otherwise.”
“Mhm,” Ielis agrees.
“Need any help?”
“If you insist… I’ll need someone to run to and from the archives—”
“—Back past the crowd? Over and over again?”
“Through the window,” Ielis smirks, jerking a finger behind her to the tall window there. The exterior there opened to the forest on a hilltop. It would be a trek through the cold, deep snow, but would undoubtedly be safer. Even still, Ielis wouldn't complain if he avoided the cold a few minutes more, right?
“Where are the others?” Semtur asks, basking in the warmth of a small stove in the corner before his departure.
“Silma is in the hall right now. The others are at home. Safe, I hope,” Ielis adds.
“And here we are, trying to stop a war within and without.”
“Not trying,” Ielis corrects, quickly. “And not within. Not our job.”
“You always say that,” Semtur jolts. “Sure, it’s not legally our problem, but the issues today and in the recent past still affect us as Ambassadors. They still reflect our public image abroad.”
“I’m merely saying what I must attend to, primarily.”
“I know,” Semtur quiets. “Can’t focus on everything in equal measure. Go crazy that way.”
A few minutes pass in silence, where Semtur seriously considers some tea, and Ielis rifles through her makeshift codex. Even this far away, the roaring crowd can be heard, and eventually, both realize they have been paying the distant roar more attention than they have their own tasks. Semtur clears his throat.
“What do you need from the archives?”
“Anything Helian or Isaran. Literally, anything. See if Añora has anything on the Redjacks, too.”
“I’ll be back within the hour.”
Semtur approaches the window and fidgets with the lock, disengaging it and climbing through. He crash-lands into the snow banks outside, before wrestling himself to his feet, dusting himself off, and walking northwards to avoid the crowd.
Against his better judgement, though, Semtur wheels about and makes for the crowd. One more peek can’t hurt...and besides, Enforcers are everywhere around the crowd, making sure it stays mostly tame.
Semtur sighs in relief as his numb boot-clad feet hit the paved cobble once again. The crowd surges and screams before him, a breathing animal of fury and despair, thankfully ignorant of the Ambassador behind them. He, the Enforcers, and many others catch words of “home” and “loss,” “family,” and “dead.”
Semtur would be the only Ambassador that day to hear the one word that would pave Coghan’s roads red with blood.
“Exodus!”
2 December 2020 (Weekends)
The Coghanese Forum Hall is usually quiet on rest days, with Forums not being held (with the exception of emergency Dharre meetings or during periods of strain) over the two single-day "weekends." Usually, some soldiery is granted leave, families dine early to spend time together in the evenings, and the streets are quieter than usual–despite relatively normal commercial traffic–as conscientious citizens keep the volume down for their fellow men and women.
There was something she needed to do. Urgently.
Despite her forgetfulness, Adani’s mind continued to fill with slippery images, flowing like oil into each other in a goopy mess behind her closed, delirious eyes. Cavaliers doing battle in a mining town. A Coghanese ship sinking somewhere along the eastern coast. Sanna, her mentor, impressing, inculcating something about urgency. About life.
Adani feels something glide along her robe. Then another. Millions of hands touch her, burning-hot fingers touching her along every surface, maddening, impossibly warm, sending her nerves sizzling from head to toe. And the murmurs, the whispers. Aimless, all-encompassing, floating through her dreams of snowstorms and a population huddled in shelters by the banks of a river.
There was something she needed to do. But what was it?
The urgency of some forgotten task, the claustrophobia from the millions of scorching hands, the whispers–Sogh-iove, the whispers, coalesce into the singular image of a snowstorm atop a nameless mountain.
Coghan, definitely. No place like it had this biting cold, the rampant snowstorms which never seem to die.
Somewhere in the continental interior, perhaps. The sea itself, especially in the north, kept Ighodia warm enough to allow it to survive the Storm. This place has no such allowances.
Yet still, atop this peak, a mighty, intimidating gray stone structure. A fortress. A bastion of war, populated with decrepit engines, catapults. Wights and other dead things traipsed aimlessly within its walls, atop its bastions, across its gantries.
Adani wills her mind’s eye to observe the inside of this place.
Through the biting wind, a gentle, female voice comes to her, issuing a single word of panic.
“No…”
Wasn’t there something she needed to do?
Inside, like a tomb, hung the humid stench of something warm and undead. Her mind’s eye begins to examine an ancient armory, a bibliary of soggy, rotten things, quarters and barracks for an army of survivors which no longer exists. A dungeon, a torture rack, a post to which men would be bound to receive their treasonous lashings. A tower.
And at the very top, in the center of the small, circular apex, lit only by the wan light which makes it through the snowstorm and the frosted-white windows, sits a figure. Armored from head to toe. A helmet with two curling ram’s horns as decor. An ancient axe across his lap. Eyes, staring in eternal alert meditation, sunken and yellow, with slit pupils like those of a viper’s.
Wasn’t there something urgent to do? Adani begins to feel the panic well inside her.
The voice again, the hands, pushing, violent.
“No.”
There was something she needed to do. Now.
“No!”
Adani’s eyes fly open, as a surge of the purest fear courses through her adrenaline-soaked body. Reflexively, she throws her arms out wide, hoping enough vertical distance exists for her robe to catch air before she slams into the black water below.
The robe flaps and billows, and Adani grits her teeth, bracing both against the force of her deceleration and for the possibility of her end, before it catches, and the force of the rushing wind draws the robe out like a pair of heavy wings, allowing the girl to glide forward and redirect the momentum of her lethal plummet.
The black lake almost rises to meet her, catching her form as she reefs the now lethally-heavy robes so they don’t soak too much and pull her under. As her abdomen and chest submerge, she forces herself to deny the shock reaction, suppressing the inhale as she begins to swim with what remaining momentum she may have.
Already, Devotees have begun rushing to the shore where she intends to beach herself. Another Never-Night, Chiima, looks on, her usual guise of sagacious superiority mollified into pride and understanding. Empathy?
Adani drags her tired form ashore, and lays with her feet barely out of the water. The snowstorm above threatens to freeze her, and already her heart hurts from the cold, but Adani begins to sweat. The memory of a millions scorching hands upon her flesh is enough to cause the sensation to echo once or twice more, and is more than enough to stir her to claustrophobic panic at the wet, heavy, sandy robes about her. Her breathing slows, the only sound even amongst the silent Devotees.
“So,” comes the voice of Never-Night Sanna, her mentor.
As if on cue, a booted form slushes into the soft sand nearby.
“What did you see?”
A field of stars, infinite, encompassing. Up and down and all around, the expanse, horizonless.
And yet, earth below. Soft, loamy soil, wet with fate. The ground itself weeping possibility.
Of all the things she’s seen in this place of stars, loam, and fate, none remain with her for long. In memory or otherwise. Sometimes she feels a sense of climbing hills in the otherwise invisible ground, other times descending into valleys. Forever she walks. Her name is lost to her, like everything which comes before her infinite present.
The sound of rippling fabric–a flag, perhaps–draws her attention. She begins to tread towards the sound, the distance closing timelessly.
She may not remember, but she’s seen many things. A man of gilded robes. A woman draped in a snow-white serpent. But this is new.
The rippling of fabric is not of a flag, but of a large, ice-hewn robe. A figure, head down, limp, the robes about them flapping violently and rippling in a nonexistent breeze.
It’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.
She is drawn to touch it, examine its every surface. Every surface of the woman before her, in an eternal, limp dive. She touches all over, spending her own eternity examining and willing herself to commit this strange visitor to memory. The robe, crusted with ice which melts on her fingers. Gold rings and eyelets are set into the outer canvas portion, but the interior is velvety soft, and radiates warmth.
Ceremonial trinkets, memorabilia. Offerings, perhaps. Glass beads of blue and green and purple, feathers from owls and eagles and the raptors of the frost, attached by their ends to the edges of the robe.
The olive flesh beneath. Impossibly warm against the cold of the robes, and yet entirely normal for a human. Black hair, tied by another’s hand into a beautiful, thick braid. The end of the three-foot length is tied to a wide, gold ring. Beads are threaded in like mites dug into flesh, tight like stones in ice.
She spends an infinite presence touching this strange figure, murmuring to herself her musings about the living, unresponsive mannequin hovering before her.
At once, the body grows cold. Blood seeps from the mouth and nose and drips, rippling the fate-wet loam as the body exsanguinates, still locked eternally in its hovering pose.
“No…”
She shakes the diving mannequin, refusing its change, defying its death.
“No. No!”
Her protests grow frantic, teary-eyed, as she violently shoves at the diving woman, bolstered in place by some invisible force.
Finally, with a painful, rending cry, the mannequin disappears, and she falls to her hands and knees, kneading the fate-and-tears dampened loam between her fingers.
Already, she cannot remember the beads in the figure’s hair. It all slips away, like a dream. An infinite present amongst the stars, and the earth wet with fate.
Just wondering, but since planet 5 has an orbit which takes it close to the functional north star of Candarion, wouldn't it indicate that the planet would have an orbit severely misaligned from the ecliptic? Gas giants which deviate this way would be phenomenally rare, since impactors wouldnt collide and throw the planet like any terrestrial bodies, and gas clouds would be compressed into sufficiently large protoplanets only along the ecliptic... The only acceptable explanation by modern astronomy is an extrasolar "rogue" planet got caught up in the sun and was captured. This explanation makes the sixth planet a statistic unlikelihood, but not out of the realm of possibility.
tl,dr; planet 5 is fucky, is that okay?
Find attached the link to the Coghan wiki parent link, for your perusal and enjoyment.
https://candarion.com/wiki/doku.php?id=wiki:realms:coghan
Name: Ielis (IGN Andydrew12)
Current Rank: Baron
Desired Rank: Viscount
Total Builds: 64
Specialized Builds: 20
Settlements: 4
Locations:
Ighodia: 39 builds, 17 specialized
Overhead View: https://imgur.com/wyA2W66
Gharix Pass: 6 builds, 1 specialized
Overhead View: https://imgur.com/hHcT6HC
Taghor (1): 9 builds, 1 specialized
Overhead View: https://imgur.com/gMy4JWO
Taghor (2): 9 builds, 1 specialized
Overhead View: https://imgur.com/bswrwjk
Collected Lore:
33 forum lore posts in total, collated here: https://forums.candarion.com/category/42/coghan
Including two posts/threads regarding community collaboration:
https://forums.candarion.com/topic/1275/a-herald-of-azure
https://forums.candarion.com/topic/413/sunk-investment
Plus a few Sentence a Day posts and other incidentals.
I highly encourage you to reach out to me with any questions or in regards to any tours. I am available most mornings PST, but shoot me a message and I'll see if we can work out a time, tour, or otherwise.
Regards,
Ielis
Dharre, 59 S.C.
The last few stragglers filter into the cramped home, seeking out any place for them to warm and seat themselves. One councilor blows into their hands to warm them up, the heat of the roaring fireplace still not enough to warm the near-dozen bodies in Emis Semtur’s home. The murmuring crowd buzzes with activity, each person talking and shifting to take their mind of their desperate battles to escape the cold, locked now in Semtur’s home.
As the last head makes their way in, Semtur–alongside Saghl, Moghri, and the head scribe on the stairs–clears his throat.
Attending:
Executor Nantha Faras
Executor Morghan Navil
Scribe Denten, in place of Executor Ghoras Abasri
Scribe Ysolde, in place of Executor Kloey Gharet
Scribe Marshil, in place of Executor Drakus Marghen
Prelate of Sky, in place of Prelate Magna
Arbiter Premiere Desmend Firoughe
Ambassador Premiere Emis Semtur
Ambassador Shennas Chaghes
Fourth Cavalier Xuthus Saghl
Moghri, scout
Missives, three (3)
Begin transcript:
SEMTUR “Fellow members of the Council, I thank you for your expediency and diligence in your attendance today. I will cut the forewords short, in the interest of time.
“Following a discovery of a wrecked vessel crewed by Obrexian diplomats, I find it urgent we orchestrate a succinct and private discussion as to how to proceed. This situation is both urgent and delicate enough to warrant discussion in a Dharre, outside of the Forum Hall.
“Obrexia is a giant of a realm, commanding resources almost as great as those under the control of the great empire of Ancient Coga. They are a largely maritime realm, adept in the arts of the arcane, and control much of the sea and naval routes of a vast body of water far north of here.”
FIROUGHE “Do you think they pose a threat?”
[Mixed chatter]
SEMTUR “I will answer questions in my study later, should you have any. Suffice it to say that Obrexia was–and is–not looking for conflict. Rather, they were seeking aid in dealing with a band of arcane pirates plaguing their waters. Something which we may be able to provide some expertise with. The envoy was sent with gifts, now under Cavalier Saghl’s care as evidence, but the scout party which discovered the wreck also found and opened a scroll. Said scroll imparted knowledge of the Obrexian language, and Moghri here has been remanded and retasked into the fold of Ambassadors. Moghri, have you anything to add?”
MOGHRI “Hell of a career change...Maybe ten bodies discovered...Found a scroll, flash of light, migraine. I could speak and read the language of the missives.”
SEMTUR “And what did they say?”
MOGHRI “They offered gifts and asked for assistance in dealing with a band of pirates. The leader, Hawkson, coined the term ‘Azure Hunt’ for such a coalition.”
SEMTUR “And have other nations joined?”
MOGHRI “It does not say.”
SEMTUR “Understood. For now, Obrexia poses no threat, but that will change if we don’t follow up in regards to their missing ship and men. The last thing we want is for Obrexia to think Coghan is responsible for the disappearance. As for how we proceed, I have a few suggestions.”
[Mixed chatter]
SEMTUR “First, we send a letter to the Sybjyri States and see if they can get it into a better position to be sent to Obrexia. Many hands make for poor insurance, though, and it may take a long time to get there.”
SAGHL “What else do you propose?”
SEMTUR “The other option is to go there ourselves.”
[Lively chatter. Semtur raises his hand to quiet the crowd.]
SEMTUR “A vessel with an Obrex-trained ambassadorial team, our farthest sailors, a detachment of the Fourth Phalanx, and a sailing sloop with an icebreaker hull. It should get far enough once you factor in a stop at the Three Storms Confederacy for a resupply.”
YSOLDE “Insane. We’ve never gone that far!”
SAGHL “We haven’t tried. Semtur, this might work.”
[Mixed chatter. Saghl and Semtur continue to discuss quietly over the crowd.]
SEMTUR “Vote of hands, everybody. First, send a missive.”
[Hands are shown and marked… 5 or 6?]
SEMTUR “Send a ship.”
[Hands are shown and marked…]
SEMTUR “Simple majority, then. We send a ship. I will have prepared an Ambassadorial team, with Moghri and Chaghes at the head. Saghl, can you spare any men?”
SAGHL “I can provide one cadre and incidentals. Convincing (Cavalier Premiere) Bansse, though…”
SEMTUR “He can’t decline us both. And a Dharre where he no-showed.”
[Semtur faces the crowd]
SEMTUR “This concludes the second Dharre of 59 S.C. Thank you for your attendance. I will have details forthcoming by the end of the week.”
[End Transcript]
[Recording by Scribe Shipal]
I would humbly extend unto you an invitation to join the far-south realm of Coghan. A nation with plenty of room to explore and rediscover, Coghan is a politically complex city-state which must contend with threats both human and supernatural as they reclaim their birthright and the ashes of their former society, in the wake of the Storm of Erasure.
While not new, Coghan is still somewhat small, and its lore and world still have new horizons to reach–who knows? Maybe you will be the catalyst which sets Coghan's course anew.
Not only this, but Coghan is home to biomes not found anywhere else on the server, and is the only realm which is majorly (in fact, only) snow biomes. If you'd still like to make that ATLA Water Tribe build dream a reality, Coghan would be the best business decision in that regard.
Regardless of your choice of liege, I know you will be in good hands, and hope you enjoy your time on the server!
Incident Report: 214-4 (Azure Hunt; Foreign Wreckage off Northern Shore, likely Obrexian)
From: Fifth Cavalier Xuthus Saghl
To: Executive Council
I write to you the Council in regards to a worrisome development which was intended to reach our fair city some time ago. Only now do we heed its words.
An expeditionary force I assembled one month ago (under direction of Commander Arsa Perce) was dispatched to perform a biological and geological survey of the Olghara Peninsula. They left about eleven days ago.
They have since returned, and bear news and bodies from afar. I shall keep it brief.
The survey group happened upon the remnants of a shipwreck of foreign origin. In total the survey team were able to recover ten bodies, in various conditions. It is estimated that about half the bodies aboard were not recovered, and it is assumed no person made it to land alive–either sinking like a stone due to the weight of armor else sinking with the ship, or dying to the cold sea and praying their bodies be washed ashore.
The cause of the wreckage is not known, though no scorch marks or other positive identifying factors point to fire or lightning–it is possible the ship crashed on ice floes or an iceberg in the near Sybjyri Strait.
Preliminary correspondence with Ambassador Premiere Emis Semtur and his staff conclude this ship is likely Obrexian in origin.
In addition to the ten bodies, however, some materials were recovered. Two articles of jewelry were recovered, as was one finely-crafted (if waterlogged) carpet. Furthermore, a strongbox of documents was recovered alongside a corpse–likely fastened to the body as a final hope it would be recovered. Had this not been done, the box would certainly have sunk, and been irretrievable.
Finally, one member of the survey team discovered a scroll written in Obrex script and, upon opening the scroll, became suffused with a sudden fluency in the language. Able to read it aloud word-for-word, the cadet–Moghri (NSN) has been reallocated for use in Semtur’s staff. They confirm for the sake of this report that Moghri is capable of speaking and writing fluently in Obrex tongue. What he read with the rest of the documents found alongside the scroll indicated that the ship was to serve as a diplomatic junction between Obrexia and Coghan, the former requesting of us alliance–a so-called, “Azure Hunt,” in regards to a threat of pirates which ravage a sea far north of here.
Though it is not in my power or privilege, I would suggest calling for a Limited Dharre–the urgency provided by the age of this correspondence and the need to ensure the leadership of Obrexia knows we are not responsible for their lost craft and men.
Personal Footnotes:
The Dharre was my idea. Diplomacy with such a powerful and distant nation should be paramount to the global influence of Coghan, and an open dialogue should find provenance as soon as possible.
-Ambassador Premiere Emis Semtur
*See: A Herald of Azure
Shouts of brief reports sounded in the distance, rendered incoherent by the crashing waves and buckling ice floes. What had started as an oddity–an unusual amount of driftwood washed ashore–had turned into an entire event when the first body was found. Buried in the sand and snow, the corpse was laid face-down, head towards the sea, the top part of the body picked clean by carrion birds down to the frozen-solid parts buried in the earth.
The first body is what caused the alarm to spread through the specially-made patrol force of the Fifth Cavalier, Xuthus Saghl. They were meant to conduct a survey of the Olghara Peninsula, northwest of Ighodia, and they certainly weren’t expecting to find the sun-bleached wreckage of a foreign ship.
As the rest of his patrol moved past to secure corpses and materials from the decimated flotsam which had washed ashore, though, Moghri continued to gaze at the pink-red mass of raw flesh which lay bare in the cold sun.
The body was–or is?– male, with short black hair that has been stripped away from his skull by the beaks of the carrion gulls circling overhead. His blue and green robes have fared better in the sun than Moghri would’ve expected, and they certainly look tailored for the apocalyptic cold of the Coghanese isle.
Moghri watches as another body is pulled ashore, some distance to his west, before something catches his eye.
Daring to pull the body free from the earth to get a closer look, Moghri creates enough space to pull free a band of golden jewelry, set with small gemstones. Small. Valuable, certainly.
“I’ll be taking that,” Moghri’s commander, Cavalier Perce, demanded. How long Perce had been watching, Moghri knew not, but as the golden band was extricated from the sand under the body, the crouched man could swear he heard the crumpling of crisp, dry paper.
Perce snatches the golden adornment and begins to wander away, likely to stow the jewelry as evidence. Moghri ensures she makes some distance before he pulls free the inexplicably intact scroll, emblazoned on its outside with a black ink mark, already in a script Moghri couldn’t possibly identify, but as well further illegible due to the ink smudging in the cold saltwater.
Pulling the scroll free, Moghri’s eyes scan the text in an unorganized way, more admiring the shapes and hand than attempting to read it. His eyes furrowed. With a startling flash of blue-white light, Moghri felt his mind pervaded by knowledge– script, hand, diphthongs, pronunciations and sentence structures. Noun-adjunct agreements, pluralities, idioms, synthesis–decades of tutelage forced its way into his mind and memory.
Moghri could not recall when the majority of his reconnaissance team found their way back to his side, but when he stopped clutching his head and gave a brief, dismissive nod despite the ache of his skull, he discovered the scroll in his hands was entirely, plainly legible.
“Are you okay, Moghri?” Perce asked for the fourth or fifth time.
“Commander,” he managed, “you’re going to want to read this.”