Crowning Achievement Donnel agonized listening to the advisor reading the letter. The court of the High Moon had been more and more monotonous, as if some kind of test. Some method of coaxing out the grandest of patience from him; only then would he be worthy of the funds they desired. Needed. It was the consort—a demeaning title, he thought—Songmin, who listened and nodded. She raised a hand to cover her mouth. The author of the letter was with child, it seems. There was some visible giddiness among those in audience, alongside others that considered it scandal. It became clear Donnel’s lack of reaction was scandalous too. The Walljack feigned something of muted shock, trying to keep with the others in court. On a starlit path, you. He pardoned himself as the consort began to speak a reply to be penned. He looked up at those same stars and thought of his brother back home. Surely he was well—he had not written back in some time. He was to attend a ball soon alongside some woman of mild esteem and even milder height. Donnel assumed it went well. He assumed a lot about his brother. He assumed they were still looking for this sought after thing and that finding it meant they could be paid, debts erased. Donnel assumed a lot of things. If he didn’t, it meant he’d have shoes to fill—and his brother’s never quite fit. Their goal unrealized, the Finns are left without a leader and without funding. Following their killing of the councilman Pip, the lot of them attempted to assert Jonathan Finn’s authority upon the people of the Spire, spurring action against the remnant council—yet even after, the group were seen as uneasy allies when the circumstance presented itself. Jonathan Finn saw the Garden of the Aedall with his own eyes, but did not live to see it burn.

_PEACHGORE: Character Name: Elova ThelwenDate of Character Creation: ~ 01/07/25Desired Patron: Facet Primary Branch: IchorDesired Patron Cantrip: ShelterDesired General Cantrip: Thermal Touch What is your pitch to your patron? Why should they give you magic?: Ask anyone who knows Elova, and they would tell you first and foremost that she is kind. However, care and kindness only get one so far in the Reach. She first learned this when the guard house exploded; down in the ruins trying to save Ayana with merely her bare hands whilst those around her kept Idris busy. She learned it once again when she accompanied Hazel, Veena, and Cadayle on an expedition, only for Hazel and Veena to be captured due to, in her eyes, her own inability to help them. After being severely ill for almost half her life, Elova is done feeling helpless. She wants to finally be able to protect the family she's now building in the Spire, and, after doing a lot of research into both the arcane itself and the patrons, magic seems the perfect way to do it. MightyLug: Character Name: Grydda Kinhhalt Date of Character Creation: 1/27/25 Desired Patron: Facet Primary Branch: Tellurgy Desired Patron Cantrip: Shelter Desired General Cantrip: Radiance What is your pitch to your patron? Why should they give you magic? (connect with what they value!): A rising determination dwells within Grydda, yet her interests lies not in aquiring power nor fame, merely the pursuit to improve her craft.  She has built a career for herself as a smith, providing the denizens of the Spire tools, armor and weapons to protect them from the land's many dangers.  While still a novice when it comes to arcane studies, she has been learning the fundamentals, believing spells to be but another way to support her friends and allies.  With that said, Grydda still percieves magic as inherently dangerous, and thus like the fires of a forge, it requires a careful hand to control and use it wisely.  Exploring the Reach to uncover its many mysteries requires delving into dangerous locales so she has taken an interest in the branch of Tellurgy.  With past experience in mines abundant with hazards, she sees a benefit in controlling the very earth and terrain before her, guiding herself and others to saftey.  As a member of the Spire Militia, she trains in various forms of combat to act as a defender for the weak and helpless, bearing a disdain for the fey and their penchant for chaotic trickery as of late.  With her time spent thus far, she finds herself having to deal with many conflicting perspectives from others yet seeks to remain humble and true to her word, a trait Facet may favor in the coming days.   Will make tickets for you both!

Black Nail, by Sir Garland Penrose Align my flesh and pierce my skull Hammer poised to strike it true Strike and strike the sharp to dull Bash the morals through and through   Sing your praises, appraise my sins You are justice I am just held All the while my patience thins Within these walls I should have felled   Slain in my mind a dozen times When I see you laid down dead I’ll sing your elegy; be sure it rhymes You’ll see the nail left in my head   You’re a tool to make them fear Wrought of curses and of chorus My name scares the few to hear My harp my song my crowd uproarious   It doesn’t matter what the sentence Let loose upon this cursed town I’ll defy my forced repentance Wear a dozen nails—a cursed crown   Align my flesh and pierce my skull Hammer poised to strike it true Strike and strike the sharp to dull Bash the morals through and through  

Lakeside The lake was calm. A strange feeling. One felt in his bones. In his wings. It had been so long since much of him had touched water, left inside wraps beneath steel. Tancis hadn’t realized his yearning until now. At the centre stood a woman, fair as any, awaiting him. He bid her hello by hand, she bid the same back. She was speaking, but no mouth moved. It was like the words washed through him. He understood. He understood his oath, too. He did not understand how he came to be here—how anyone had—only that he had been searching for it. Now he had found it. Found her. It was if his hands moved on their own. He lost track of what he was saying. Her voice haunted him. The lake felt like it was teasing him. The last time he had felt water was when he washed ashore, barely alive. When that thing had burnt him. It spoke fire like a dragon. It must have been a dragon. He knew not what else could do so. All the overwhelming thought and feeling came to a head at once. Then something switched. The dragon knight felt it in his armor. Somewhere, Idris exerted magic—and yet he lived. It was beyond the pain from a lapse in safeguard. He stood on his own for the first time in some time. He stood alone, the Lady gone. Words remained. Still sworn, no longer bound. An oath upon himself. A minor NPC, the “Dour Drake” was kept from death by the intervention of Idris, but roused to life by the people of the Spire; given cause to seek out purpose elsewhere rather than remain at the beck and call of the wizard. It is because of this—because of discussion with Eibhlin, Harwyn and Gallavan, that the Lady of the Lake was sought and an oath was sworn.

Routed Spurred away by infighting, Templar Knight Bethany led her loyalists for the hills. A return to their mobile camp. She felt aimless. She felt like she had made a mistake. It was impossible to tell just how far the mistake was, be it recent or distant, that led her to this moment. She looked at her retinue among herself, considering what their next steps would be. Her horse had broken an ankle as they fled the mountains. The so-called knightess felt sadder eating than starving. No one had said a word since she ordered the retreat. She saw the fire in the distance. If there was a tree, it was like to burn. If there was a weapon, it was like never to be held in her hand. As foretold. The Knights Lictor of the Lampwood were broken by the combined forces of the Spire and the Ravens. While one of the Templar leadership managed to escape, the other had mere moments to fight before blades and projectiles reduced him to pulp. The lot of them, convinced of their own fable, were unsuited to let blood upon the receptacles for each that locked the garden away, and none of the Knights Lictor would see the garden themselves.