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.
Realm Name: Coghan
Current Rank: 0 (zero)
Rank Desired: 1
Build Count Total: 64
Specialized Count Total: 20
Locations:
Ighodia - 39 builds, 17 Specialized
Overhead View: https://imgur.com/wyA2W66
Taghor 1 - 9 Builds, 1 Specialized
Overhead View: https://imgur.com/gMy4JWO
Taghor 2 - 9 Builds, 1 Specialized
Overhead View: https://imgur.com/bswrwjk
Gharix Pass - 6 Builds, 1 Specialized
Overhead View: https://imgur.com/hHcT6HC
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 weekend mornings and weekday evenings PST, but shoot me a message and I'll see if we can work out a time, tour, or otherwise.
Regards,
Ielis
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!”
The dreams had gotten worse. Often enough, the process of merely falling asleep would be too challenging–tortured thoughts and visions of cyclical delirium being sufficient cause for tormentous half-sleep that kept one’s body indefinitely ragged and on-edge. After a few nights of this, though, biology would take its course. The deep sleep would come, and thus infrequent as it had been, was no better.
Dreams of inscrutable mechanisms, of cycles of the stars and of dizzying suns, the swell of peaks and troughs of a warm iron-tasting sea–consciousness fluttering through a cryptic limbo that fundamentally disagrees with the psyche of mere fragile mortals. The rest what could be had on these nights–where the body can finally restore itself–comes at the cost of the mind: caught inextricably in a cyclone of impossible, drunken haze, mind adrift amidst cacophony with no protection by the body’s will to subconsciously fight for wakefulness against the pull of the pandemonic depths of this sisyphean sleep.
A few days of the body fighting the depths of sleep, the mind flirting with this rose-viscid delirium. One single night where the body has no will left to fight, and while it rests the mind is plunged into a neverending avalanche of thought and somersaulting imagery.
Repeat.
So it had been for years, now, and so it was tonight. Turning down in such a manner had always been difficult, so she often preferred to stay awake when she could, weathering the erosion to her mind and body that doing so would cause, lest her brain be pried open to the delirium yet again. She had been awake for a few days, now.
The sun had set and the cold night had overtaken Ighodia, its lanterns flickering below as its denizens began settling in and warming–or drinking–before sleep. Bansse had begun his march to Gharix Pass only an hour before, the sound of the war drums, the marching boots, the rattling sondel and spears an eerie lullaby echoing throughout the city. The war band had passed by her camp only a few minutes outside Ighodia, and only by a dozen meters.
She hadn’t been able to resist the depths of her delirious sleep tonight. As her willpower gave way so that her mortal body could find rest, her mind was left unshielded to the might of her master.
Her mind was exposed, yet again, to the torture of the machine. Of spinning flighty sleep, of spears swung endlessly and of her bobbing amidst the swells of the iron red sea. Her mind battered against the surf of deceitful purpose and dizzying
When she awoke, she found had wrested her helmet from her head. The pre-dawn light illuminated the snow she had tamped down with her feverish rolling and sleepwalking, relics of her somnolescent communion. A passing nausea washes over her, and she chokes back the stinging bile rising in her chest.
She had to make haste.
She stands and forces her slush-covered helmet over her head, taking brief revel in the familiarity of the act, before turning to Ighodia.
Her master must be pleased.
As of 6/12/2022, I formally declare DevTheFishViper (Commoner) to be relinquished from Coghan.
A single lantern hung from a bronze chain, a suffocated, muted little mote of light that illuminated the otherwise pitch-black of the meditation chamber. In the center of the room, the lantern between and above them, knelt two women in deep, ponderous consideration.
Sanna, her robes stripped of their gold and bronze liveries, knelt herself, patiently at the dark periphery of the room beside the small oaken door which led to the rest of the monastery. Chiima would be on the other side of the door, she knew, minding passers-by into silence. Sanna kept her breathing even and quiet. She knew firsthand that almost anything could distract a Never-Night from recalling their visions, especially someone so sensitive as the two in the center of the chamber before her.
Five girls had fallen. Only two had flown.
Adani and another of her cohort, Chara, sat with eyes closed, facing one another. Both girls were trying to meditate, but neither could shake the feeling of adrenaline, of dread, of hot hands and maddening whispers, from their minds. At least, not at first. The gentle hiss of the lantern, the rhythmic flickering of its candle, and the synchronized breathing of each girl helped the other calm down into a meditative trance–a small, if bland, meal beforehand certainly didn’t hurt, as Sanna advised.
Sanna smiled as Adani’s eyebrows relaxed from their fixated poise, and Chara’s form straightened in relaxation.
Almost immediately, the visions started up again.
Sanna knew what the girls would not– their recollections would be polluted with one another’s memories. The first dive is the purest one–no false images would arise here–all of it prophecy. But which memories belonged to whom?
The lantern flickered in a nonexistent wind, hissing, enthralling.
Sanna’s own mind began to race, the recollection of the two pupils strong enough to wash her mind and prepare it for mnemonic bleed simply by proximity. Sanna revitalized her focus, as the girls began to breathe faster.
Adani’s eyebrows were scrunched again. No matter. It’s out of Sanna’s hands. Sweat beaded down Chara’s brow, her heavy black-blue robes and the mental exertion of recollection combining in an effort which seemed almost physical.
Adani began to lose control of her breath. Chara noticed too late, and barely managed to keep their meditation synchronized, before the lantern flickered and died.
“It is done,” Sanna said, barely finding the authority to put behind her voice in time to speak the words. Seeing a meditation–a first meditation– with such capable minds almost brought back the memory of her own inaugural flight, a mental relic locked away for only occasional study in the vault of her mind.
Adani and Chara manage to stand shakily to their feet, guided by the light filtering through the now-open door.
As the girls shuffled nervously from the chamber, Chiima stood and handed them each a waterskin.
Adani’s face soured at the taste of the liquid therein, and Sanna rolled her eyes. Wordlessly, the four wandered out of the cloister building and into the cold gale, walking along the path to the private space–half-archive and half-dormitory–which Sanna and Chiima shared.
To the north, the silhouette of the Tower of Epiphany stood, a gray shadow at the edges of the storm. Adani couldn’t help but gaze at it, transfixed. Chara could only look away. Only hours before, the tower was a mysterious, wondrous obstacle. A trial standing between the girls and their destinies. Now, it was a murderer.
Sanna pushed the door open to her own lodging, before entering. Each woman in turn stomped and scraped the dirt-blackened snow from their bare feet upon the ragged doormat before stepping over the threshold. Chiima stooped, stoked the embers of the fire, and added some new fuel.
As soon as the door had closed behind them, Sanna procured a charcoal nib and an empty tome. Adani and Chara were seated at the central table, barely finding room amongst the various sheets, scrolls, tomes, and vellums strewn across and off of it.
Sanna’s silence was met in kind, until she opened her mouth in instruction.
“We remember,” Adani assured. Despite her and Chara’s sudden determination, the fatigue and worry in their tired eyes was plain to see.
“And we know whose memories are whose,” Chara confirms with a short nod. Sanna couldn’t help but wonder if the motion was made more to hide Chara’s face from her own. Sanna beckoned to her peer.
Chiima looked up from the hearth, then, to share an impressed look with Sanna. She toyed with the placement of another piece of kindling before standing and procuring her own nib and scroll, leaning against the table before Chara.
“I saw Cavaliers battling in a mining town,” Adani began.
“Cavaliers,” Sanna asked, unable to mask the surprise in her voice. “You’re sure?”
“They had bronze armor, three of them had plumes. They’re Cavaliers,” Adani nodded in affirmation.
“I saw Bansse, furious, marching from Ighodia,” Chara picked up. I saw the confrontation between the three phalanxes. I’ve been there before, though, a town to the west of Ighodia, called Gharix Pass.”
Chiima scrawled wordlessly.
“It was… is… a bloodbath,” Adani assured.
“Who did they meet in Gharix?” Chiima asked.
“I don’t know him, but I can recognize him if I saw him again,” Chara withered.
The silence melted into the sounds of the fire, taking to the kindling and crackling vibrantly.
“I saw a Coghanese vessel,” Adani continued. “Looked like a fishing reme, completely bisected and sinking in the ocean.”
“I saw a vessel being waylaid by some monster… I’ve never seen anything like it. A shell, like a crab, or a lobster, but colossal and long like a serpent. Horrible mandibles the size of men.” Chara shuddered at the recollection. Adani nodded her agreement. “I felt the hands, too,” Chara continued, voice falling. “Heard the whispers. Like you said,” she finished, with a pointed look at Chiima.
Both students took the silence as a chance to steel themselves. Their mentors continued to scribble intently.
“I saw a fortress. A tower, something big,” Adani broke the silence, her voice catching.
“The latest memories are the hardest. Take your time,” Chiima reassured. Adani didn’t know whether to appreciate the comfort, or be disconcerted that it came from the most stoic of the Never-Nights she knew.
“A fortress. At the top, something in armor. A horned helmet, like it was in regalia. Whatever it was, it was… it wasn’t alive,” Adani cuts. “And yet, not dead either. It had eyes like a serpent, and an axe…And it was like it could see me there with it.” Adani choked back a scared sob.
“I almost thought the memory was mine,” Chara continued. “The eyes.”
“What did you see?” Sanna asked, eyebrow raised.
“An outlander. Pale as the dead, with a beat-up-looking leather coat and a tricorn cap. Walking through a storm, like the cold didn’t bother him any. Walking towards a town.”
“Which town? What did the town look like?”
“Couldn’t tell. Weather was too bad, I could barely see the lights. But his eyes…”
“The voices woke me up,” Adani said. Sanna and Chiima both stop writing mid-stroke.
“I didn’t hear any voices,” Chara said. “That’s all I remember. From when I was asleep, I mean.”
Chiima cleared her throat and handed Sanna her scroll.
“You two, pack a bag, and come right back here. Wear your gowns, boots, cloaks. We need to get to Ighodia.”
“Livery?” Adani asked.
“Whichever set feels right,” Chiima nodded. “Come right back here, don’t stop for anybody. We leave within the hour.”
Adani’s face brightened into a euphoric smile as the gravity settled in her chest, the adrenaline coursing through her once again. Chara had to sprint to keep up.
“How long do we have?” Sanna asked the stoic Never-Night.
“We may already be too late,” Chiima answered.
I forgot all about this... can I have one dub of prismarine brick for Baron?
Completed - Bryson - 11/9?/2021
A line connecting Lamielle (Martoise) and Ighodia (Coghan) would be appreciated
Welcome Dev!
I would like to 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.
Though it is one of Candarion's founding realms, 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 snow biomes are what you are looking for, Coghan would be the best business decision in that regard. I think Coghan would benefit tremendously from your powerful lore-writing capabilities.
Please don't hesitate to contact me via Discord (MST, no DST) if you would like more information, photos, a tour, etc. to help inform your decision as you take your first steps into Candarion.
Regardless of your choice of liege, I know you will be in good hands, and hope you enjoy your time on the server!
Fantastic application, you have my vote. 5/5
One of the best applications I've ever seen, welcome Echo!
I would like to 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 snow biomes are what you are looking for, Coghan would be the best business decision in that regard. I think Coghan would seriously benefit from your lore and building capabilities.
Please don't hesitate to contact me via Discord if you would like more information, photos, a tour, etc. to help inform your decision as you take your first steps into Candarion.
Regardless of your choice of liege, I know you will be in good hands, and hope you enjoy your time on the server!
I am requesting RTH status for the city of Ighodia, Coghan. Ighodia consists of over 15 buildings, has two vessels of at least 20 blocks of length, and a market area of at least 5 builds.
Market:
Produce tents (yellow)
Flenser/Tryer (blue)
Iron Yard (green)
Noodle Shop (red)
Other incidentals
Realm Overview:
Market Area (red)
Ship to Lamielle, Martoise (yellow)
FTP Bay (green)
As part of this application, I would also like to apply for a FTP link to Lamielle, Martoise. The button would be placed at Ighodia coordinates x4050, z21184