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The Merchants' Bridge - Il Ponte dei Mercanti - The Merchants Bridge is an old bridge built centuries past along the Zaglio River near the center of Porto Caglaveri. The Zaglio River runs from the High Ridge Mountains and winds its way through the fertile hill country to the coast. Anzola Moccenigo, the grandmother of the famed architect Brabantio Moccenigo, designed the layout of the canals that flow out from the river. The Moccenigo family maintains the story that Anzola also constructed the bridge to replace the rickety old wooden bridge. The Ziccardi family maintains that this is all lies and that Bastian Ziccardi was the actual builder of the bridge. The denizens could care less because it is a nice bridge. In the years since the construction of the bridge, merchants have set up shops along the edge of the bridge, jutting out over the Zaglio River. Indeed, it has become the most popular shopping district in the town, a welcome place where coin is plentiful for the eager bard. In an unlikely collaboration, the rival Ziccardi and Moccenigo families designed the corridor that runs over the shops. Many of the denizens of Porto Caglaveri were surprised that the families were able to cooperate in its construction without any bloodshed. Their astonishment was diminished when they learned that the mayor ordered the project with the hope that it would help the families to put away their vendette permanently. The mayor was disappointed and the citizens baffled at the mayor’s silly - but noble - intentions. Regardless, the mayor and their staff appreciate the direct route to the town hall. Shoppers among the Bridge of Merchants. A local construction worker peruses the selection at the bakery. A dapper, young noble inspects a golden rapier at Jacomo's Oddities. Quite useful for conducting political intrigue and revenge. A Varlyrian dwarf purchases a mace head from Dalyn the blacksmith. With the new Rego’s economic policies and support for the arts, the bridge became a common spot for busking. Of these buskers, none were as popular as one trio of Varlyrians from all across the realm. On the lute and vocals, Zuan Aironetto, a local bard from Porto Cagliaveri. On the flute, Eydis Willowtongue, a traveling Kolgarí minstrel from the Sunken City. On the electric guitar, Gromli Ironlungs, member of the popular dwarven band DEEPAXE. And on vocals, a random guy on the balcony, who has joined the song. Collectively, they have been dubbed the Bridge Troupe, a name with little style or flourish, but great accuracy. A boatsman rows with his goods down the Zaglio River while keeping beet with the troupe's song. The Bridge Troupe Local gossip has it that Zuan met Eydis and Gromli on the bridge whilst stumbling home drunk one evening. He just so happened to have bumped into Gromli while he was getting his guitar fixed by the dwarven blacksmith, Daryn. Then Gromli, who was reportedly also drunk, decided to test his guitar and Zuan joined in the song. Eydis, who was shopping at Jacomo’s Oddities, heard their music and pulled out her flute. Thus, their trio was formed. Of course, that’s just hearsay. Eydis, Zuan, and Gromli performing one evening. Before becoming the locally famous and respected bard, Trovatore del Ponte - Troubadour of the Bridge -, Zuan Aironetto was a fisherman. He gained his epithet Little Heron from his days spent among the fens at the delta of the Zaglio. Although he was a fisherman, he played songs for the merchants in a small tavern above a shop along the bridge. One day, he hoped to open a luthier shop. With the crowning of a new Rego - especially one who had gained power with the support of the masses and un po’ Varlyrian politics (i.e., backstabbing) - Zuan saw his opportunity to trade in his fishing net for the lute permanently. Thus, he journeyed to the capital, Illaryian, to seek an audience with the Rego. At this point, the Rego was well known for his generous patronage of the arts. Zuan made his case before the Rego, who generously promised his patronage. Beyond ecstatic, Zuan travelled back to Porto Caglaveri singing and playing his lute the whole way. This attracted quite the crowd of traveling folk, eager to forget their tired feet and happy to listen to Zuan’s songs. Legend has it that the crowd followed him into the town of Porto Caglaveri to the bridge. Whether this leading of the crowd led him to run into Gromli and Eydis by pure chance or not, no one can recall. Of course, no one is completely sure if this is the real tale of Zuan Aironetto because they were all too drunk to remember it in full. Regardless, he has become quite the popular musician with the bridge feeling quite empty without the echo of his voice underneath the portici of the corridor. Before joining the troupe, Eydis Víðitunga was a member of the Musician's College in the Sunken City of the Kolgarí. She set out on a journey to learn about the local stories and songs in other parts of Varlyrio. Near the end of her journey, she has decided to stay in town for a while before returning to the Sunken City. The people of Porto Caglaveri will miss her song when she departs. Gromli Ironlungs is already famous among the dwarven clans of the High Ridge Mountains and even those of the mainland as the lead guitarist for the band DEEPAXE. He is currently taking a vacation along the coastal regions after their last tour to Mitgardia and Avalonia. Unfortunately, during a tour of Illaryian by gondola, the boat flipped and his precious guitar fell into the canal. Thankfully, he was able to get it repaired by Daryn, a local blacksmith who owns a shop on the Merchant’s Bridge. The evening is young. The bridge is still crowded with shoppers making their last purchases before the stores close. And the minstrels begin to sing and play their instruments.

The Great Hall of Rocca Velneria Whereas the reign of his father Corrado had brought peace and prosperity to the town of Rocca Velneria, the halls of his home had been cold and gray. The old man didn't partake in the pleasures of life, preferring to read his endless manuscripts in his library, rather than enjoy the lively songs of a bard. When Corrado Velnerio had passed, his son and heir Federico took his place. Under his patronage, bards and minstrels were invited from all of Historica to sing their songs and play their instruments in his halls. The cold stone was warmed up with colorful banners and tapestries, the floors decorated with carpets and the windows replaced with glistering stained glass. Of all the bards, Asdrubale Silvestri had proved to be popular with Federico especially. After he had first appeared in Rocca Velneria, he had quickly become a recurring act. Soon after, he had acquired full patronage from Federico, who funded his travels far and wide, to learn more songs and stories, to perform when coming home again. Each time Asdrubale would make it back home from his travels, Federico would organize a banquet in his great hall, where the whole town was invited to enjoy food and wine, while listening to the great sagas, legends and histories that Asdrubale had learned on his travels. While everybody enjoyed the banquets, as well as Asdrubale's performances, some questioned his popularity with Federico. While he was undoubtedly a talented artist, both more attained, experienced bards, as well as younger, more promising minstrels had passed through these halls...

Secrets of a Bard 'My compliments for your performance this evening, Asdrubale,' said Federico. 'You've brought some great new songs from your last trip to Illaryian.' 'Grazie mille, my lord,' said Asdrubale. 'But I take it, it's not my new songs you want me to teach you.' 'You know me well! Tell me, what secrets have you unveiled in the capital? What have the Rego and the ministers been up to? It's been too quiet lately, and if I want to further my ambitions, I will have to make some powerful allies soon, or at the very least, get rid of some... obstacles...' 'You'll find all my information in here, my lord,' handing him a sealed letter. 'Furthermore, I plan to travel along the entire bay of Illar, as we discussed before.' 'Good. If we want to establish a dominant position in Varlyrio, we will require a harbour on the bay. For now, take this, and be on your way!'

HISTORICAN SETTLEMENTS Historica is home to many towns, villages, hamlets, and even a few Cities. The Royal Cartographer's Guild of Albion and the Avalonia's foreign affairs minister wish to officially recognize the many settlements of Historica. As a prerequisite to official recognition and inclusion in the "Royal Registry of Historica's Locations of Note" and "Avalonian Sites and Monuments: a comprehensive guide" each settlement must prove that they contain the minimum facilities to provide for their residents. To establish your settlement, you must post MOCs from the following categories. These MOCs CAN be already completed, but they MUST not already be referenced to a different location. (if you try to alter a description of an existing MOC to fit this challenge, you will not be allowed to enter ANY settlements, so do not edit topics you already posted. you can add a post later on in your topic, but if I see that the topic was already posted before Feb 14th, but edited after Feb 13th, it will not be allowed as part of this challenge.) There are a couple of building types that can be counted for multiple types (a Fishery for example can be counted as a nautical AND agricultural). Here are the categories: REQ - Agriculture - Grains & Produce: Farm*, Mill, Granary, Orchard Agriculture - Livestock: Farm*, Cattle/Horse Ranch, Swineherd, Sheepfold, Fishery Nautical: Harbor, Shipwright, Quay, Fishery*, Ferryman REQ - Military: Keep, Barracks, Gatehouse, Tower, Castle, Fort Religious: Chapel, Monastery, Temple, Shrine Medical: Apothecary, Herbalist, Infirmary, Physician Hospitality: Food & Beverage: Bakery, Butcher, Winery, Brewery, Tavern REQ - Hospitality - Lodging: Inn, Stables, Coach House REQ - Laborers: Lumber Mill, Mine, Stone Cutter, Mason REQ - Craftsmen - General Goods: Cooper, Wainwright, Tannery, Dyer, Glass Blower Craftsmen/Merchant - Arms & Armor: Blacksmith, Bowyer, Fletcher, Armorer Craftsmen/Merchant - Clothing: Cobbler, Seamstress, Furrier, Woolen Mill Craftsmen/Merchant - Specialty: Candle Maker, Wood Carver, Bookbinder, Jeweler, Potter Services: Herald, Cartographer, Money Lender, Scribe, Courier, Shipping House Scholars: Observatory, Alchemist, Philosopher, Astrologer Entertainers: Minstrel, Fortune Teller, Performing Troupe, Theatre Administrative (Town or City only): Town Hall, Chancery, Forum, Courthouse Now, the examples provided are not the only things you can build in a category, they are just options. Also, the build must be substantial - showing an interior of one room, or throwing a bunch of bricks up on a plate will not be acceptable entries. Hamlet - There are 5 categories that are required for a Hamlet (the minimum recognized settlement) - Agricultural (either one), Military, Hospitality (either one), Laborer, and Craftsmen. Village - For a Village, you must meet the Hamlet requirements plus meet a total of 8 of the 16 categories. Town - For a Town, you must meet the Hamlet requirement, plus a minimum of 2 Craftsmen buildings, both Agricultural categories, and both Hospitality categories, plus meet a total of 10 of the 16 categories. City - For a City, you must meet the requirements for a Town, plus one administrative building, plus meet a total of 14 of the 16 categories. Port - For a Port, you must meet the Village requirements, including one Nautical building. For this task, there is no time limit, and again, is open to all Historicans. I will be starting a separate thread for this once I get home tonight where you can post a link to your topics. Each person should have only one reply in this topic, where they will post all of their entries. You can have more than one settlement recognized if you wish. You should only have one post per Settlement. Feel free to ask questions, but I will delete them once they have been answered, and compile the answers in the thread below. Do not post for a settlement unless you have a build to post. I will delete any topics that do not contain a link to an existing MOC (no MOCs in progress allowed either) Let me know if you have any questions. The list below captures almost all of the various ideas that have been used over the years in this thread. But again, even this extensive list is not exhaustive; if you think your build qualifies for a category, put it there. Creativity is always encouraged! Additionally, some items could go into other categories. For example, a wizard might be a scholar or an entertainer. An astrologer could be scholar or religious. An adventurer's guild could be hospitality food, or lodging depending on the offerings, etc., so ask if you have questions, but don't be too worried about the category. Build something awesome to your imagination and we will find a category for it. Agriculture Grains and Produce Farm Garden Mill Granary Marketplace Vineyard Orchard Foraging grounds Irrigation system Livestock Farm Cattle/Horse ranch Dairy Swineherd Goatherd Sheepfold Marketplace Kennel Beekeeper Fishery Hunting grounds Pastures Nautical Harbor Shipwright Quay Fishery Ferryman Port Dock Lighthouse Military Keep Barracks Gatehouse Tower Castle Fortified Bridge/port/manor/etc. Wall Beacon Cavalry Stables Ballista Tower Fort Religious Chapel Church Monastery Tomb Crypt Catacombs Cemetery Temple Mosque Shrine Monument Medical Apothecary Herbalist Infirmary/Hospital Mortician/Necromancer Torture Chamber Barber/Physician Hospitality Food & Beverage Bakery Butcher Winery Kitchens Brewery Café/Street Food Tavern Adventurer's Guild (and/or lodging depending) Pizzeria Shisha Cellar (wine, cheese, etc.) Lodging Inn Stables Coach house Celebrations (fits into Food or Lodging, depending) Wedding Festival Laborers Lumber Mill Grain Mill Mine Stone Cutter Wood Cutter Mason/Adobe Maker Stable Hand Cleaning Workers Field Hands Foresters Carter Diggers Quarry Wheelbarrower/Hauler Trapper (fur, etc.) Craftsmen/Merchants General goods Cooper Wainwright Tannery Carpenter Dyer Marketplace Fishing Rod Merchant Farrier Arms & Armor Blacksmith Bowyer Fletcher Siege workshop Armorer Clothing Cobbler Seamstress Textiles Furrier Woolen Mill Specialty Candlemaker Wood carver Stone Carver/Sculptor Goldsmith Bookbinder Florist Jeweler Horse Tamer Merchant's Hall/Guild Coal Merchant Magic/Potion Vendor Tinker Potter Luthier Mushroom groomer Glassblower Services Herald Cartographer Money lender General Store Scribe Courier (incl. Pigeons) Trading Post Shipping house/Warehouse Falcon trainer Scholars Observatory Alchemist Philosopher Library University/Academy Astrologer Astronomer School Wizard Entertainment Minstrel Fortune Teller Street Musicians Performing Troupe Brothel Sports Arena Theatre Presdigitator (magician) Fighting pit Ostrich racing Puppeteer Administrative (Town or City only) Town Hall Chancery Forum Council Building/chamber Administrative Building Meeting Hall Customs House Palace Embassy Courthouse

The door to la Taverna Sommersa creaked open upon its rusty hinges and let in a gusty breath of sea air as one of its frequent customers ambled to a seat in the far corner and ordered a cup of his usual bevanda, leaning back with a comfortable sigh. His eyes were just starting to sag when the sound of a stir and the sight of a figure in a red cloak aroused him. "Peste! There are tables enough in this tavern for half of Varlyrio, can't one be left in peace?" he muttered looking up at the approaching form as it laid a gloved hand on the table. "Il cielo!" exclaimed the young man, setting down his cup with a bang, as he caught sight of the stranger's face. "Can it be you?" "Sure as it is you just where I left you two years past, mio nipote," returned the newcomer with a strong tinge of sarcasmo in his tone. "But where and how have you been all this time? We heard you were lost at sea?" "Infatti, and that I was. And as to how I have been, why, as well as is possible, I suppose, for having spent due anni aboard a filthy nave pirata. But I shan't complain - for here I am, am I not?" The stranger grimmaced, with a hint of subdued power in his eyes, and set down across from his nephew. "It was Xari Spadro then, was it?" inquired Aldacio Amancio. "You are shrewder since I left you," replied the other, "yes. And it was not a week past since he came up to me one day and said, 'Il mio Signore Superiore, how would you like to depart this brigantino bello?' and, thanking me for my stay, had me rowed out and left on the shore of the eastern coast with all the honor, subito! of my rank. Or of my previous rank, peste. Well, we shall see about that presently. And so I have told you how I am here - but now you tell me, for you are in better condition to say than I, mio nipote," said the stranger tossing back his hood - "why?" Aldacio Amancio's shrewd eyes - far shrewder and wiser since his cousin's death - narrowed, and he smiled knowingly as he looked over his revered Zio. "I cannot say, but I have my guess," and he lifted his glass to his uncle's. "Listen, and I will tell you. But first, Al Rego!" Supano Amancio took the toast and quaffed it with a quirk on his lips and set the glass back on the table. "Which?" -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- It's been too long! Here is the first of hopefully a series of Valyrian vignettes to come over the next few weeks Too much going on in Valyrio right now not to get in on it! And yes, things are getting complicated... Also an entry to the 12x12 category of the Summer Joust of course! Lit with Lightaling's custom lights which they were kind enough to send me a bunch of for various projects! Hope you all enjoy, and C&C are welcome as always!

Although much of the lands west of the mountains are left dry and desolate, the people of Nascosta have managed to eek out a living as fishers as vintners among an inlet in the coast nigh the dens of fierce pirates. Similar to the coastal regions of eastern Varlyrio, the buildings are constructed of strong stone and painted brightly. It is a haven for those who wish to live peacefully or continue their illicit deeds under the noses of those more powerful than them. And then there are those who see it as a nice get away from all of the sand and just wish to enjoy some focaccia and local wine by the sea. Grazie mille for looking!

Previously... The Architect's Ascension: Part VII “Ilazio! Traitor!” Arama said in disbelief, reproach in her voice. She screamed as the guards dragged her and Luca, the former Rego, who showed no emotion towards his surroundings, lost in deep thought, further into the depths of the remote Varlyrian castello. Panic surged through her. “What are you going to do with us?” He could throw her from the top of the tallest peak in the west. They could both die with their bodies left in pieces at the base of the rocks. Ilazio didn’t answer. Luca stared at Arama in shock. For the first time he heard her speak to Ilazio as though she knew him, like she had an understanding with him. What had she done? “What do you mean ‘traitor?’” he said coolly. Was she even on his side? Tears welled into Arama’s eyes, and for the first time a burst of fury passed over her. She shook her arms and jerked herself out of the hands of the guards until at last her wrists were red with the chaffing of the hard rivets and she fell upon her face on the hard stone flags. She turned her face up and looked at Ilazio Moccenigo piteously. Arama cringing behind Luca. “You promised Luca and me amnesty,” she said and her voice broke. “What did it all mean to you then? Nothing?” Her lip trembled. “Che?” Luca looked at her curiously. “I did,” the new Rego replied calmly. “You and Luca are safe from the popolazione, who would have torn both of you into pieces, and they are safe from your deception.” “My deception?” Arama cried, turning herself over and pushing herself up with her hands. “Moccenigo, what about peace?” “Oh, there will be pace now.” Arama looked so hurt, Ilazio felt sorry for her again now. But he didn’t show it. He just slowly pushed open the heavy metal door overlooking the neighboring towers. Arama looking out over the desert wasteland. There from the tallest stone tower, hung from an over jutting beam of wood, sagged a rope, upon which swung a noble looking guard, with the epaulets of the Captain of the Rego’s Old Guard. It was Aluysio De Cioto. The pale blue sky behind him stretched out far over the desert, and a cold wind whipped through the stony chamber. Aluysio De Cioto, hanging between the desert and the sky. “What about no bloodshed,” Arama asked, terrified and trembling, kneeling in front of Ilazio, Luca’s hand keeping her up. Her eyelids quivered with tears for her brother. “There are other ways to kill,” Ilazio smiled and he looked at her with cold, hard eyes. “As far as I can see,” he said, “this is only fair.” Arama knew it was. She had used the same tactics when she had betrayed Råiden and Brabantio for Luca. She had begged her brother to swear allegiance to Ilazio, to support the new Rego—but he had refused. She looked at Ilazio Moccenigo mutely. Did she see remorse in the repentful man’s eyes, or just cold calculation, the same he had used to cut her down on the rooftops? She felt something pressed over her eyes. “Arrivederci, Luca di Carlo e Arama di Athena De Cioto,” Ilazio said in a calm voice. She felt a rope wrapped about her neck and then she heard the tramp of the guard filing towards the wall. “Pronto!” Arama cringed and a low cry of fear escaped her. She only knew one thing: she wasn’t ready to die! Ilazio put his hand on her shoulder and lifted her up to her feet. She leaned sickly against the wall as her blindfold fell from her eyes. “Take them below, and keep them there,” Ilazio said with a smile, “safe.” Arama opened her eyes with a bitter, painful feeling of relief and regret. She was breathing hard. Luca put his hand into her hair, and she twisted her head to look at Ilazio one last time. “Addio, Arama,” Ilazio said. And with that, the pair were dragged beyond the sight of Ilazio Moccenigo, deep within the vaults of the old desert castle of the west. Luca and Arama were thrown into the same cell, deep beneath the surface of the sand. The architect of their ruin had traded them blow for blow. .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. Back in Illaryian, in the unfinished Palazzo Vincenzo, as the newly crowned Rego of Varlyrio, I wandered the halls that mio padre had prowled at night when he first discovered the secrets that had led me here, secrets now known across all of Varlyrio. The Chiaro boy had brought me my crown in good time, once it had been removed from Luca di Carlo’s brow, and I had personally conveyed the late Rego and Arama De Cioto far out into the west, together with several other dangerous traditori politici. It had been necessary to lock the pair up in the strongest, deepest castle in the realm, far away across the mountains in the wastelands, for even there, they could still cause caos if given the chance, and I was afraid that wouldn't take much. The rest of the traditori would never trouble Varlyrio again… that was certain. I gave a slight smile as I looked off into the sunset towards La Tigre di Illaryian. Although there still remained mia famiglia to restore, that could wait; for my vendetta had succeeded. I was satisfied! It was the same feeling I had received after my first commission, aided by my wise and shrewd father, that I won against the dastardly Edmondo Ziccardi, albeit narrowly and through un piccolo legal knothole. Even though those responsible for la morte di mio papà were still alive, I felt better this way! Perhaps it would do them good. Maybe, I had a thing or due to learn from mio nipote, Aurelia. I could never completely abstain from shedding blood, but rule with giustizia e il mio ingegno; my blade would only shine bright red when it was required to maintain the peace of the realm, and perhaps to construct a better Varlyrio. I laughed. No Rego could do that, even Sana Argenta herself hadn’t been able to quell the storms that bashed our guild… but one could hope. .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Previously... The Architect's Ascension: Part V Never while she lies before me, crippled and at the death’s door, shall I strike down another soul with blood in vendetta. I knew not why I made this oath to myself. What did I owe her anyways? I hadn’t meant for it to be so brutal. Maybe I had gotten carried away a little. It had almost all gone wrong. I shook my head, vacating the chair that I had occupied the entire serata. I needed to clear my thoughts. “Ilazio?” a weak voice called out as I gently opened the door. I looked behind me at the pale figure sitting up in the infermeria bed, Arama. She seemed enervated, but at least she was alive. I gave a slight smile, closed the door, and walked across the room towards her. “Che cosa?” I whispered. “You saved me. Perché?” she asked. “E allora? That doesn’t mean that I particularly like you,” I responded gruffly. “That’s not the point,” Arama said, looking extra pale and even trembling a little. “Maybe you should be Rego. If you really mean to be like this.” I looked at her, shocked, shaking my head in denial. She had done it for me! This wasn’t the first time today that my weeks of planning had turned out pretty differently from what I expected. But it was all the same in the end. It had to be. I would play my cards all the way. “No,” I said coolly. “Then what is it you want from me? You’ve been sitting there, su quella sedia, all night!” Arama swallowed, frustrated. “I can’t give you anything, more than that.” “No? Non voglio niente. I don’t want that. Nothing, I’ve repented of my vendetta. Mio papà can rest now, riposare in pace. You should too,” I answered ruefully, exasperated. “I don’t offer it for you, and I certainly don’t offer it for myself,” Arama begged, looking even more fragile than before. “But you can’t do it without me,” Arama grinned. “Lo sai.” “Perhaps I could have. Perhaps I didn’t want to. Buona Notte.” I gave a twinge of a smile as I left for the night. It turned out it was even easier this way. This was one maniera to gain vengeance over the dastardly Rego without even shedding blood. My month of hard work, research, and desperate secrecy would pay off soon… and both promesse could be preserved. You didn’t need to shed blood to kill. .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. Arama De Cioto was eating from a small bowl of porridge when Ilazio entered the following morning. She thought it was delicious even though she knew it tasted horrible. She looked less pale and more determined to Ilazio. He was surprised she hadn’t left. “Sicché?” she questioned indifferently as he closed the door. “Indeed,” he replied calmly despite the severity of his words. “Hai ragione. Luca has only, besides his peace with the Kolgari, caused turmoil and death per la nostra gilda. The last Rego was possibly killed off at sea and look where that got us. If I am to assume the Regoship, I want to do so with popular support. Nessuna violenza.” Arama sighed, bit her tongue, and stared at Ilazio. “You and me, we could do it,” she said. Ilazio shrugged. “At least we could try. If you really mean it. If you don’t mind what people think of you.” “I need you to swear,” Arama said through her teeth. “Swear what? I’ve already sworn in my heart. You think I could have stopped myself from killing you if I hadn’t barred myself with an oath under the moon last night? I will never shed blood again.” Ilazio closed his eyes. “I will become Rego because Varlyrio needs me. That’s never what I wanted. I just wanted to avenge my father! But you’re right. There’s something better for me to do. We need peace, justice, and friendship. I’ll give that, I swear!” Ilazio Moccenigo lifted up his hand and shook it at the roof. Then he sank back onto the sedia. “If we can, I mean. I swear I’ll never stop trying: by Sana Argenta!” Arama looked at him with her mouth ajar. “Bene… I,” she paused, not sure how to continue. This was betrayal, but it was for the best. Everything she had done with Luca, what had it gotten them? Now it hurt to think of the people who were gone—all gone forever, and it was her fault. Did she think it was all a game? What had she done? Whatever it was, she didn’t want to do it anymore. “I agree,” she said at last. She took a breath. Her headache vanished magically and even though she was in physical pain, she had never felt so light and happy before. And it would be fun to do Luca a favor he never imagined. She wondered if he’d appreciate this. But who cared? It didn’t really matter whether Luca understood it or not. It wasn’t up to him. She tried not to laugh. She knew it would hurt her stomach. “This costs me nothing, but everything for you,” Ilazio remarked. This arrangement only seemed to benefit him, ma forse she had some ragione occulto. “What do you want this for?” “Maybe I need to repent too,” Arama countered, both to herself and to Ilazio. “I found out something last night. There are two kinds of hearts. And I have both—at least I think I do.” She winked at Ilazio. Ilazio nodded as he gathered his cloak about himself, preparing to leave. “Then it’s settled. Due giorni and I will return here. If you’ve left, you must come too, at this hour. Then, we will present our case to le famiglie di importanza. Rest well, mia compagna ancora di nella conspirazione.” “This is treason,” Arama grinned. Ilazio grinned cautiously back at her. He would watch her carefully. “Al demone with treason or patriotism!” they both said together. Arama swallowed back her laugh. “Which one even is this?” Ilazio added thoughtfully. “Non lo so,” Arama murmured. .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. Luca di Carli, Rego of Varlyrio, was writing a letter to be sent to the Queen Ylspeth who demanded tidings detailing the recent assassination attempt, and regarding the death of the famous Tiger Prince, Råiden Tígrisdýrið, when Arama di Athena De Cioto limped in without knocking di mattina presto. “Arama!” he said, curious and alarmed at seeing her bloodstained clothes and pale face. She hadn’t bothered to change. Luca knew she liked going around all bloody and dirty. “Cosa! What happened this time? You can’t dream how anxious I’ve been; I sent out your brother looking for you with a trusted band of guards.” Arama grunted, wincing as she collapsed into the nearest chair. She smiled at him coyly, looking out from under her eyelashes with a resigned but merry expression. Luca leaned over the desk, rolling his eyes as he spilled ink on the letter to the Queen—he would probably just leave it that way, it was kind of artistic—and helped Arama into a sitting position. “Stab wound,” she replied, somehow nonchalantly. He frowned trying to repress any amusement. “Posso vedere. Why don’t you explain, per favore?” “Ilazio ambushed me,” she replied, licking her lips thoughtfully before confiding more. She knew, for one thing, that Ilazio’s agent was watching her from the other room. Well, he was wasting his time. Apparently Ilazio’s pacifism didn’t stop him from worrying about getting killed by someone else. “And he didn’t murder you like he murdered me?” Luca questioned ironically. “Oh, sorry, of course,” he apologized when Arama laughed. But there was something strange about her laugh, a pensive air to her face. Luca guessed that it wasn’t very comfortable for her to laugh at the moment. “Dispiace, didn’t mean to make you laugh,” he said apologetically. “It’ll make me live longer—maybe,” she said. “But no, he’s not dead either.” She smiled at Luca’s astonished look. “You flatter me,” she remarked bashfully. “What? All he cares about is revenge.” “Maybe… not all,” she said slowly. “Do you know what he cares about?” Luca quizzed her, leaning back against the table and accidentally putting his hand on the wet ink. “Accidenti!” Arama didn’t make any remarks. She seemed a little sad, her eyes lazily gazing out the window instead of at Luca. “Arama, you seem… distracted?” he said, concerned. Before, when he had seen her injured, she just wanted to fight. Now, she seemed perfectly happy, or at least perfectly normal. “That’s strange,” Luca accidentally muttered out loud. Arama looked distracted, gazing out of the window instead of at Luca. Arama nodded in affirmation, flinching, but both of them knew that it was a lie. It was… actually, pretty normal… that was what Luca found strange. “Well, it seems the Moccenigos aren’t a threat to us anymore. They know how to kill us but they still can’t. His last attempt on la mia vita has discouraged him, bene?” he said triumphantly, expecting Arama to tease him in return, but instead he disappointingly received nothing. He laughed. “Get some rest. Servo, fetch un dottore, per favore, to attend to her wounds.” “Sì, mio Rego,” the servant replied, bowing in deference. “We don’t really need to worry if all the world sees us together now, ehi?” “I don’t know, Luca,” Arama said hesitantly, “better not to be so reckless.” Luca nodded and gave a slight smile to Arama as she was carried out of the office. He sighed and then began adding some more artistic blotches to the report for Queen Ylspeth. Later, when little Arama De Cioto was more herself, he would find out the details of her disastrous fight with Moccenigo. Everything happened the way she wanted it to happen, he knew that pretty well. He grinned and shook his head. “Sempre impresionante,” he muttered. .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. Due giorni dopo, I went back to the farmacista to get Arama. We talked about the complicated details, safe exile, how she would get Luca to go with her, riservatezza delle informazioni, extenuating deals. The point was, I had to treat her fairly, and it was pretty tough to arrange it with the De Fioris and the Conzagas, but we did. She would be safe whatever happened, and Luca would be too. As for me, I made sure there was no way anybody else could take the spot I wanted. If things were going to change, I would be the next Rego. Arama was inflexible on that point… and so was I. And without us, nothing could happen. So we got what we wanted. And now it was all up to Arama di Athena De Cioto. I was shocked at the way she chose to do it. What was she thinking? I wasn’t ever going to kill another man, and she believed that. I think she became a little infatuated. She had some pretty terrible mood swings. One second she seemed to be drifting in the sky with joy, and the next hour she would be so sad and silent, I really started to worry for her. Would she do what she had agreed to do? I was committed to make sure that it happened peacefully, or it didn’t happen at all. Fortunately, la ragazza had an idea for how to accomplish that. All we needed was to get the most powerful famiglie of Illaryian on our side… That was what we were about to do, in the most brutal, inconceivable way possible. Arama was going to confess. I helped her limp to the sala conferenze, arranged with some of the most important famiglie of Varylrio, who all together would easily be able to sway the populace. If Arama told the truth… Would she really do it? Once we arrived, I left Arama on a couch in the antechamber. She asked me for a knife and I refused to give her one. “You don’t trust me?” she said, and she almost sounded hurt. “I’m trusting you.” “You don’t have to,” I said wistfully. “But knives aren’t for peaceful people.” Arama’s eyes fell on my one. I took off the belt and the knife and tossed it out the window. “There.” “I can get a knife if I want one,” Arama said. “You don’t want one,” I said, looking at her keenly. She smiled. Before I proceeded into the designated room, guarded all round by faithful De Fiori mercenaries, I tucked my father’s last written words into my pocket and I looked at the girl on the couch one last time. “Ilazio?” she asked weakly. I wondered at how she was planning on giving a speech in this state. “I need…” “Che cosa?” I replied “I need to know what we’re gonna do once I tell them. There are some things that I… I’m not proud of, segreti. I tell them to everyone, and we have to have a plan, how’m I gonna get out if they don’t keep their side of the deal? You bet they’ll want me dead,” she whispered. “They’ll want me dead very badly.” I smiled at her sadly. “I think they’ll know that you’ve changed now. Why else would you be telling them?” “That’s not good enough.” Ilazio sucked on his lip. “Then turn around and leave when you’re done. I’ll give you time to get away. You have to go get Luca, stay safe with the Royal Guards for now.” Arama nodded disconsolately. Those gathered nodded their heads towards me and many whispered greetings or condolences for my father as I entered the room. We began without any pointless delay. “You know what you’re here for. We made a deal. Anyone not know what it involves? Does anyone dissent?” “We’re waiting,” Alesio said, almost coldly. “It’s your turn, Moccenigo.” “Where’s the assassin?” a young man asked. He was a Lord of Baiamonte. I wasn’t scared of him. I nodded. “No one will touch her until she’s done. Then she leaves in peace.” “In pace? Why should she live? Shouldn’t you have killed the assassina the first time?” one of the younger nobles voiced mockingly. It was the same Baiamonte. “Do you think I am an assassin?” I asked calmly. The Lord of Baiamonte blinked at me. The Lord of Baiamonte blinked. “Leave her to me,” I said. “I broke her spirit, isn’t that enough? You know the deal. Violence is what characterized the last Rego’s reign, and the one before that. And the Baiamontes’... but it’s a foolish path. You’ll see that if you wait a moment. If we are to gain the support of the cittadini, we must use a different tact,” I replied coolly. The young noble laughed. He shook his head. “You’re weak, Moccenigo.” I smiled, and looked at the rest. Then I laughed. “Weak? What’s the use of power,” I said, “if you don’t know how to control it?” I advanced towards the insolent ragazzo. Even though I was shorter than him, he seemed to back away as I approached. I advanced towards the insolent ragazzo. “Mio padre aveva l'adagio, ‘Those who are weak give in to their impulses, but those who are strong resist.’ I could have easily killed her, Baiamonte. But we need her,” I said softly, mio voce cutting him like ice. “And everyone here will do as I say in this matter, until the crown of Varlyrio is on my brow, or until I myself am killed.” Silence filled the air of the sala conferenze. “Arama di Athena De Cioto,” I said quietly, “venire.” A gasp ran through the room, and I even felt a few hands stiffen around their swords. “This is your assissina?” Alesio said sharply. “What’s next, Ilazio Moccenigo?” I smiled at the cunning man with the patch. “Ascoltare.” .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. A servant walked in, helping Arama, who looked much paler and weaker than when we had arrived, to a nearby chair. I went to stand next to her, while De Fiori, Conzaga, and others stood motionless in their places. “Pronta?” I asked quietly. She nodded in affirmation. The same ragazzo who had made un pazzo of himself earlier, unwisely decided to speak up again. “Signori, I thought you said this was una assassina? Certamente, di Carlo couldn’t have any use for this weakling?” Arama bent over and whispered to me, “Perhaps you should have given me that knife.” She grinned at the young Baiamonte. “Perhaps, if you would let her speak, then you’d think differently,” Conzaga replied to him. The ragazzo frowned. Then, he nodded politely in the direction of Arama. “Signorina, per favore inizia.” Arama took a deep breath. Then she got up out of the chair, grabbed it by the top bar, and whirled it around an inch in front of Lord Baiamonte’s face, all in one smooth movement. She set it back down and leaned against it in the center of the room. Fire lit up her eyes. “Now maybe you’ll believe what I say,” she said, biting her lip harshly. I offered assistance but she picked up the chair in between me and her. I saw the pain in her eyes that her physical effort was making, but although her arms trembled, the chair never wavered until she set it back down beside her. Ilazio about to offer Arama assistance. “Arama, we know the part you played before the coronation, and afterwards,” Alesio said slowly. “None of us here bear you any goodwill. It’s about Luca di Carli, Rego régnant, that we need to know. Is it true? What did he care about Brabantio Moccenigo? About the Tiger of Illaryian?” Arama stood there shakily for a few moments, whether from fear or because of her wounds, I know not, but then she opened her mouth and the story came out in a quick torrent, like she didn’t want them to even understand her. But they did. “And about Cadgie De Fiori, Capri, Staffen Conzaga, other names I don’t need to say. The De Fiori backed Luca di Carli to replace old Supano Amancio, my cognato, by secretly murdering him at sea, or something like that. I backed Luca too, and I backstabbed some of you. But it wasn’t just me. Staffen Conzaga was killed by Luca soon afterwards by recommendation of Signore De Fiori.” Alesio gasped and glared at her. He hadn’t expected her to tell that. She knew too much. He looked at the Conzaga watching him bitterly and said pertly, “Staffen Conzaga was a traitor. He had plans that wouldn’t have left the realm in pace for another month. What do you say to that?” “Staffen Conzaga was a traitor. He had plans that wouldn’t have left the realm in pace for another month." Arama smiled and sighed, sitting backwards on the chair. “Of course it was justified to the Guardia Reale as tradimento on Staffen’s part. My brother was captain of the guard then. Each of you can believe it or not—I do, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t kill him. And because Alesio knew too much, we sent un assassino after him, but he failed; however, the ruffiani we sent after Cadgie succeeded. Maybe I should have gone myself. But we had Capri sequestrato in the confusion, and the Conzaga ragazza too. Then, to make Luca look favorable in the eyes of la popolazione and to the De Fiori, we made as though I was behind all of the murders and kidnappings.” Alesio stared at Arama with his one good eye. “Luca and Alesio stormed the Amancio Palazzo to find Capri, and I was injured. Then, Luca di Carli’s position was a sure one, but if anyone knew that the De Cioto’s were close to him, that could end it all. Your father, Moccenigo played the part of ricatto. That,” Arama said and she shook her head, “wasn’t very wise. But he almost got revenge… after he was dead. You know, Ilazio Moccenigo. The Tiger had to pay the price for peace with the Kolgari. It was his life for that of a thousand other Varlyrians and Elves. He was my friend, and I miss him, but it was a sacrifice he might have made himself, if he could have. He had a noble soul.” Arama confesses. I stopped Arama short. She was leaning against the back of the chair with her head now. “Luca didn’t know I had killed your father,” she murmured. I started and tears irrepressibly sprang into my eyes. “He didn’t know?” Arama just shook her head, crying into her sleeve which she viciously wiped across her eyes. “What does it matter now, hadn’t you forgiven him?” she said gently. “Of course,” I exhaled. Lord Baiamonte looked at me in confusion. “Well, the kidnapping of mio cugino Fiorello, which we orchestrated in the dead of night, was a tricky piece of work. Ilazio, we entrapped you in the trap that you had set for the Rego. But it wasn’t really a sequestro at all, it was just a scary serenata for my little cousin.” Arama took a deep breath. “I did most of this. I told Luca some things, and I didn’t tell him others. Then you almost killed him. You would have if it hadn’t been for me. And he actually pardoned you, Moccenigo. I had him pardon you.” Arama looked to her left to see me watching her intently. I helped her out of the chair and whispered, “Grazie.” Arama shot me one slow look. “I was joking,” she said, limping towards the door in a sudden hurry. “I was about to kill you.” “Lo so, I meant thank you for what you just did,” I said again. “It was brave, Arama,” I whispered into her ear. “Grazie.” Arama grabbed the door and pulled it open. “Arrivederci,” she said, holding onto it for one instant. Then she pushed off and ran down faster than I thought she could go, down the stairs, through the room, over the rail, and into the street. There was an awful silence in the sala di conferenze. I called the guards to close the doors. “So,” Conzaga said, “most of what you suspected was just so. It seemed like there was a surprise in there for you too, though, Ilazio Moccenigo. How do you know that what she said was true?” “The same way I know that what you all promised me was true,” I smiled cleverly. “You don’t have any other options.” Then, the great De Fiori stood forward. “We know your demands, Moccenigo. We are tired of the rule of this domineering di Carli. Let us hear the response of all present here. We all want peace, and we need to work together if there is to be no bloodshed. What about the Royal Guard?” “They’re taken care of,” I said, nodding. “If you bring the populace to our cause, gentiluomini, I will do all the rest.” I waited in suspense to hear their response. Alesio de Fiori went first. “As you all fully know, Ilazio Moccenigo, the son of the unfortunately deceased Signore Brabantio, possa riposare in pace, has offered us a plan to take down the Rego.” Those faithful made the signs of Sana Argenta; the bucket of water and the sword. Alesio looked at them with a wise and almost scornful look. “Signore Moccenigo,” he spoke again, giving a slight nod in my direction, “we had already prepared our course of action, seeing you have fulfilled your first part, we of the famiglie di Illaryian gathered here on this fine morning have all agreed to put all our influence and wealth behind you until you’re crowned. But we work together in this. We can’t do it without you… but you can’t do it without us.” “We will have our eyes on you,” Conzaga said slowly. “Your position as Rego will be dependent on us. Do what you will, but betray us…” Conzaga looked around at his fellow conspirators. “And there will be a civil war. Or perhaps only a dagger in your back. We here are not pacifisti.” Baiamonte laughed. “Viva la Gilda!” I said coolly. “Viva la Gilda!” several others muttered. Those with wine glasses, filled with red Conzaga wine, naturalmente, raised them and took a long sip. I waited until they had finished questo rituale. “In our correspondences Signore De Fiori, I did not explain all of i dettagli,” I said to the nobles gathering closer around me. “Listen. This is how it shall be done…” .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Previously... The Architect's Ascension: Part IV Arama sprinted through the windy passages, narrow alleys, and cobbled streets of vast Illaryian. Then she jumped onto a roof and caught sight of Ristoro hurrying through the thoroughfare far ahead. She rushed on across the roofs, leaping the gaps, landing with only a soft thud, her cloak floating out behind her. Arama rushed on across the roofs, leaping the gaps, landing with only a soft thud, her cloak floating out behind her. Suddenly Ristoro heard something above him. He looked up and he saw a shadow watching him coolly from the roofs far above. Now he was even more afraid of the ragazza who had followed him so quickly and found him without erring far in the depths of the greatest city in the realm. He looked up and he saw a shadow watching him coolly from the roofs far above. He couldn’t outrun her, and he knew he didn’t stand a chance in a fight—he didn’t want to kill her anyway! What could he do? There was a bridge. At least Ristoro knew how to swim! He threw off his sword and sprung over the side, landing in the canal below with a splash. Arama knew the canals like the back of her hand. With one deep breath she plunged off the rooftop, tucking her dagger in her sleeve. The canal here was deep and narrow. Arama landed on the other side of the bridge, pitching far below the depths of the water. She spread out her arms to slow her fall. In another second Arama had Ristoro’s doublet in her hand. She lifted him up against the wall on the side of the canal, but she had to let him go to get a breath of air. Ristoro scrambled up onto the cobblestones, but now he was in a cortile with only one entrance, where Arama De Cioto now stood. Ristoro Moccenigo shook in an almost unreasonable fear. Now he was in a cortile with only one entrance, where Arama De Cioto now stood. “Cieli! Just get it over with!” he screamed, petrified. "Just get it over with!" Ristoro screamed. “Stolto, does it look like I have a blade in my hand?” Arama answered with affected dryness, showing her outstretched and empty palms to him. “Così,” Ristoro started nervously. “You aren’t here to seppellire a blade in me?” “No,” she said sweetly. “I just want you to talk. Why didn’t you answer the question Luca asked you?” “You want to kill my fratello and not me?” Ristoro asked, unable to swallow his saliva. For reply, Arama’s eyes glittered. “It’s no use, there’s no point! Ilazio already told the De Fioris that–” “I know,” Arama said, a perturbed glimmer passing across her face. She hadn’t really known that. So it really was too late. She grit her teeth. They just had to ride it out. It sounded like a very dangerous storm. It was time to be brash and reckless. “Vedo, you probably know what Ilazio wants to do,” Ristoro said in a very low voice. “He’ll kill you and il nostro caro Rego!” he warned. “Let him do it,” Arama replied brazenly. “If he kills me it wouldn't matter. But he can’t prove anything he says.” “You, like Signore di Carlo, underestimate mio brother. I’ve seen his plans and correspondences, De Cioto!” “It doesn’t matter what he knows,” Arama smiled thoughtfully, “it matters what he can show, what he can get people to believe. It's not the first time he’s spread false rumors. He would never live another day if he assassinated the Rego.” Arama looked defiantly at the waters of the canal behind her. “Then, I believe,” Ristoro answered, “he will kill you.” A sharp hiss echoed throughout il cortile. Both Ristoro and Arama were caught off guard. They both paused, without further discussion, each searching the dim backstreet courtyard for signs of any intruder. Arama let her knife slip down into her palm again. Then all of a sudden, a shadowy figure, contrasted by a drawn sword with golden hilt engravings, leapt from a window in the stone building behind them, landing beside Ristoro who immediately began to back away. A shadowy figure, contrasted by a drawn sword with golden hilt engravings, leapt from a window in the stone building behind them. The shadowy figure pushed back his hood. Ilazio Moccenigo had heard every last word. .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. “Buona serata,” I greeted gruffly, my sword pointed at the two traitors. One had succeeded before in obstructing my plans, but questa notte, I would ensure that they both failed. I began moving towards them, then stopped as I saw a flash of metal. Arama drew a hidden dagger from within her clothes. “Certo, buona serata!” Arama had drawn a hidden dagger from within her clothes, but she didn’t stand a chance against my long, sharp blade. Then, when Ristoro tossed her his sword from the bridge where he had left it, although she caught it deftly in the air with her other hand, I could tell that she was more accustomed to fighting come una assassina rather than a proper duelist. Ristoro tossed her his sword from the bridge where he had left it. Her arms seemed to be shaking slightly, and her footwork was like a tigress ready to pounce upon her foe from behind, not from ahead. But she was light and agile, and playing right into her strengths, Arama ran for it, quickly scaling the walls of il cortile until she reached the roof above. In return, I gave chase. She was light and agile. I could hear Arama’s breath from above me as she silenziosamente prepared to leap across to the nearest roof. She would never make it. “Don’t!” I yelled from the roof below her feet which I was quickly pulling myself up onto. “What do you care if I do?” Arama murmured in reply, but before she got a chance to, I grabbed one of her moving feet, rolling onto the roof beside her. Arama was about to jump to the other side of the street. Arama threw herself down beside me and I spun out of the way just in time. I felt her knife sound against the terracotta altana as it dug deep into the spot where my chest had been a moment before. Her dagger was stuck there now. Arama swept her feet at me as I leapt up and took a better stance upon the roof, but she was too far away. She had to hold up her sword to me. I had the advantage now, but I was still waiting for something unexpected. So far, only I have delivered soprese. Arama stood on the defensive, frustration written on her visage. But I wouldn’t commit. “You want me dead,” I smiled at her eagerly, “not the other way around.” “I wanted to get out of here,” Arama whispered sulkily, pulling her mask below her mouth to breathe, “you wouldn’t let me get away. So if you don’t want me dead, climb down, or let me jump.” “Letting you make that jump? Not if I don’t want you dead. But maybe I do, so go ahead.” Arama made a gesture. “But I’m not putting away my sword. Do you think I am some stolto like my brother, to just let you kill me?” Arama laughed. “Tell me again why you’re mad at me?” she asked. “You killed my father,” I hissed, “and your Rego will pay, just like you, stupida girl. You think life is nothing? You take your own and others pretty carelessly.” “Don’t become careless with yours,” the girl replied, sweeping at me at last with the edge of her sword. Our blades met with my parry and swift counterstrike. Before Arama could recover, I struck out again, the force behind my blade driving her back along the steep roofline. We drove quietly back and forth at each other, our swords ringing through the otherwise silent night. With efficiency, I contrived to drive her back with each of our moves, using forces similar to those which balanced a crane in my father’s constructions to turn everything to my advantage. Arama’s strikes became more wild and her defense mere seconds from la morte. She was still smiling though. Infine! There was a gap, a risky manovra with ricche ricompense. I lunged, hoping my feet would not slip on a loose tile, my glittering sword striking true. Time seemed to slow. A shuddered breath escaped the lips of mia avversaria. I did not wait to see my vittoria. Quickly, I retracted my blade and swung, using shear impact to dislodge the sword from her clammy hands. Then I mercilessly shoved her off the narrow roofline while she looked down at the ever growing blood stains on her fancy clothes. My sword had gone through the chainmail that she wore beneath her dress. Only one image clouded my thoughts, the image of her shocked, and forse scared, expression followed with ragged breaths and dripping blood, an image branded into me. Ristoro backed away from the crumpled, limp form that ended on the cobblestones below. “Ilazio?” he said, his voice filled with discomfort and uncertainty. He shuddered again as I dropped to the cobbled streets below, this time with my gold-inlaid sword sheathed. Mio fratello looked confused, his eyes going back and forth between my demented visage and the bleeding corpse that was Arama di Athena De Cioto. Finally making up his mind, he darted for l’ingresso del cortile. I simply turned and watched as he scurried away. My attention then shifted back to the velvet liquid running freely through the cracks in the cobbles. More blood would flow, abbastanza presto. I unsheathed my sword slowly, letting its ring echo, while I walked over to the shuddering figure, covered in her own blood. No, not quite a corpse yet. The fall had only been about a story, and she knew how to land, although she must have been very bruised. My sword had only pierced her side, not her heart. Not yet. “I'm not afraid of you,” Arama whispered, looking up at me kindly, her breath increasing in pace and raggedness as I descended upon her like a ravenous Mitgardian wolf. I stood over her, the tip of my blade less than a millimeter above her beating heart. The girl still struggled like wounded prey, trying to back away. Maybe she did have another dagger, but she couldn’t use it now. She was dizzy and sick. Arama could barely lift her head, she was so weak. My sword followed, forcing her to concede. Arama let herself drop onto the stones, looking around, to make sure that I was the only one with her. She saw through a black haze, my sword hanging above her. Her last knife dropped from her hand. “Tell Luca I love him,” she said, whispering, wincing and hiding her face behind her arm. I craved that! I was overjoyed to hear it, my entire case proven by its denier! In my mind her guilt was sealed now. But… still. My heart rate increased, breaths ragged as the maledetta below me. Soon, every rag of the vendetta I wanted would be mine! I roughly grasped Arama and bent my sword down to her throat, prepared to strike home. Suddenly her unusually neat hair, wandering in wisps below her half drawn hood, was the same hue as Aurelia’s. I shook my head, scowling fiercely—this was not the time for doubts. Did my padre look this way before di incontrare la morte? I must, I must kill her! As I looked down at her, the image flashed again, then images of mio papà coursed through me. “Go ahead, I guess it was always coming to this,” Arama shrugged, tears falling down upon her stomach and mixing with sangue. I lifted my sword arm up once again, this time to kill! I made a bloodthirsty roar—but then I immediately dropped my blade to the blood-stained pavement. “Bene! I can’t,” I said at last through ragged breath. I staggered away from Arama. “This isn’t what I wanted.” “Che cosa?” she asked meekly. Her arm lowered from her face, and she looked at me with a tired, scared and confused question in her eyes. “I saw him, mio padre in my mind. Revenge won’t bring him back from la morte. It’s only a path of destruction… per tutti!” I said, facing away from the girl who had almost become a corpse. My breath was still coming rapidly, my heartbeats deafening every other sound. I was on the verge of spinning round, of doing it, and of taking my own destruction too if I had to! But I forced myself to speak, and mio voce came from a different person, a body, not a mind. “Arama, I just realized… what you did was horrible, but if I killed you now, just for vengeance, to satisfy myself… that would be horrible too!” I cried. I faced Arama De Cioto again and walked over to her, leaning in close to her teary face, where she had placed her palm and left a stain of blood. Then I whispered into her ear, pleading with her even though she was completely in my power, “Just take my forgiveness and go!” “I’ll love you for this,” Arama replied with a sudden merry feeling waving over her body. She pushed me away from her with her arm and closed her eyes, taking in a rasping breath. That confused me. She loved Luca di Carli! Would she betray him this easily? Is that what she meant? Maybe she just used the word carelessly… or maybe Luca was just like Prince Råiden to her. Would she betray him because I let her live even though it was my deepest desire to slit her very throat, simply because I couldn’t, I really couldn’t, kill her? She pushed herself off the stonework, one hand stopping her blood from flowing too freely, supporting herself on the wall with her other hand. I could tell her whole body was jarred by her fall. Maybe she had some broken bones. She still might die—was it crueler to leave her here than to run my sword through her side again? “No, wait, Arama,” something inside of me twisted, “I… I can’t let you go like this. Non c’è modo…” She looked at me with confusion in her eyes. “Why not?” she asked doubtfully. “You might die before you found help. That would just be more cruelty,” I said, looking boldly at her, as frankly as I could, although something rebelled in my stomach. “I never wanted to be cruel or evil! I can’t bear death, Arama. I don’t really want to return murder for murder.” I hung my head, my fists clenching and unclenching convulsively. Arama looked at me blankly. “Che bene,” she murmured. “I thought you wanted to kill me.” “I did.” .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. Arama’s head throbbed profusely. She reached underneath the uncomfortable blankets placed on top of her and winced as she located the wound. So it had happened in verità, it wasn’t a dream. She hurt all over anyway, so it wasn’t like a surprise. Arama growled at the pain. He had told her, “You might die before you get help. That would just be but more cruelty,” before helping her to a farmacista. “You’re really thinking this through,” she had almost retorted. But she couldn’t understand what he was thinking. How could anyone change at such a moment? Maybe after you killed someone, then you might repent. But this was really weird. Although Ilazio had saved her life, and been very emotional about it too, now he seemed rather cold to her. She had made a few attempts at light conversazione to distract herself from her pain, pain that the brooding man sitting on the stool opposite her bed had caused and didn’t seem to care that she was suffering, and he had all but ignored her. How could he care for her all of the sudden? To help save her life, to give her food and water, and even do his best to make her comfortable. Arama tried to see through the man. She had met one or two pacifisti before, tame people, but she had never heard their stories. Was this how it happened? She didn't understand. These thoughts only made the throbbing worse. Arama’s head sagged back against the soft pillow, darkness enclosing her as her tired eyelids fluttered and then shut. Her breath came normally now. “Grazie,” she muttered in her sleep. “Molto grazie.” .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Previously... Here's my second build for the collaboration, along with the third part of the story. Huge thanks to my fellow collaborators for help with this build, especially @TalusMoonbreaker for the idea to use this backdrop. Enjoy! The Tiger of Illaryian: Part III It was the nineteenth of November. With winter coming on apace there was nothing better for the Marquis of Motu to do than build yet another brand new fancy manor in the heart of Illaryian, the famed capital of Varlyrio, and nothing better for Lady Motu to do than inaugurate the brand new manor with yet another of her famous balls. But this one was a little different. This time it was a mask ball. Un baile di mascherati… Råiden Tígrisdýrið snapped his mask over his face and thrust his hands into his pockets. He was leaning back against the balustrade, waiting for someone, chewing a popular Kolgari gum behind his mask. “‘This is the mask I’ll be wearing,’” he repeated to himself, “‘there will scarcely be two of these.’ No, davvero, there is not even one!” he muttered in dissatisfaction. But suddenly the mask he was thinking of appeared bobbing round the corner, tripping towards him through a throng of masked ball-goers. “There you are at last, Råiden!” whispered a low, girlish voice. “I, at last? Carina, you are the one who just arrived.” “No, no, on the contrary,” the girl looked hastily about, through the eyes of her mask, “I have been in the camerino all this time, just trying to get by all of the pretty girls who are so vain and throng the mirrors so. Prince Råiden, you want to dance with me, right?” “Hush, no! Well, yes, può essere after a moment,” he added shyly, “but I have something to tell you.” Råiden looked both ways and mysteriously turned his back on the interior palazzo, looking out over the city which lay before them. Arama, for the girl in the mask was she, leaned over the balustrade with him. “Che cos'è?” she asked curiously. “I was just told that Signore Moccenigo died, Arama,” Råiden whispered in a very low voice, so that the girl barely caught the words. A shiver went down Råiden’s spine. “Capire, see this, bambina.” Arama’s eyes opened wide and her face turned pale and she was glad that it was hid behind a mask. The paper that Prince Tígrisdýrið showed her had a few quickly scrawled words upon it, and the girl recognized that feverish handwriting at once. If I perish I hereby swear that Luca di Carli is the author of my death, beyond the shadow of a doubt in my own mind. Råiden, domani I will pass you another letter in the same way. You must open it only if some disgrazia happens to, tuo veramente, Signore Brabantio Moccenigo. Råiden crushed the letter in his hand again and shoved it down into one of his colorful pockets. “What?” faltered Arama, “Whatever would the Rego do that for?” She turned away and put her hand up under her mask to her face. She leaned against a pillar to steady herself, and bit her lip as she felt tears spring to her eyes. How much did Råiden know? What if… what if he knew too much? She took a deep breath and realized that Råiden was speaking to her. No, it was not Råiden. Behind them a barely articulate voice murmured, “That is what we have to trovare—to find out,” as a masked person brushed past them. Arama started again, staring at Råiden with fright in her eyes. “I thought we were alone,” she murmured, her voice trembling. Råiden rapped his fingers on the railing. He looked at the man in the dark red cloak and the black mask as he walked on out of sight, and then he pulled up his own mask and put his mouth to Arama’s ear, whispering through the feathers of her mask. “His father was murdered,” he whispered softly. “I think that the Rego debba stare attento…” Arama opened her mouth but words wouldn’t come out. She raised her hand to the Kolgari’s forehead and gently combed back his wild, matted hair, too frightened to speak. He little knew that she used the very same hand that had pulled the trigger of a crossbow on Brabantio Moccenigo just days before. Suddenly a fellow in an extravagant and costly gold mask strolled carelessly around the corner of the wall and set his eyes on her with an expressive look, visible even through the eyeholes of his mask. Arama’s heart beat faster, and she tried to suppress it, for she feared that at any second Råiden at her side might hear it. But Prince Råiden stepped aside for just a moment, hurrying after Ilazio Moccenigo to bring him back. The man in the gold mask stepped up to Arama with a gallant bow. “Mi faresti l'onore di un ballo?” “No, Luca, you must not!” Arama urged, blushes covering her face as she pulled her hand away from him. She suddenly felt very hot under her mask. “No!” she pushed the Rego away from her. The music was starting. Arama caught Råiden looking back at them out of the corner of her eye. Luca di Carli abruptly grabbed both her hands and pulled her up off the balustrade against which she was shrinking. “Oh, su coraggio, what is the matter with you?” he asked gaily. “Signore,” Arama mumbled reluctantly, in protest. She looked directly at Råiden with a stare of hopeless helplessness in her eyes as the Rego whisked her away. “Does Råiden know who Luca is?” she thought uneasily. Råiden did not, but he stared after them in dismay and astonishment. “The first dance was to be mine,” he said to himself, “what is that sciocco doing, dragging her away like that?” He sprinted suddenly forward, hurrying round the corner into the ballroom. “Who is that fellow?” Prince Råiden demanded in an undertone, watching the pair as the man in the gold mask led the ball with his arms around Arama’s waist. He addressed a person in a simple dark green mask and costume, who was also watching how the pair in the feathered headdress and the regal golden mask danced. “Accidenti,” answered the other eagerly, “that I can tell you, for I happened to see him in the camerino for a moment with his mask off.” “Parla amico, what did you see?” asked Råiden in the same eager, urgent tone. He noticed that Arama was dancing distractedly, unevenly, and unwillingly, while to his eye her companion seemed utterly taken up with the dance, not a care in all the world troubling his head, not even the evident displeasure and distress of his dancing partner. Råiden frowned and took a deep breath while he shoved his hands in his pockets. The gentiluomo in the green mask lowered his voice to no more than a whisper as he answered Råiden’s query in a confidential way, “Signore, you may believe me or not, but the compagno dancing there is no other than the Rego of Varlyrio himself. Che ragazza molto fortunata!” “Lucky girl?” Råiden gritted his teeth and clenched his fists in his pockets. Arama was completely overwhelmed with feelings and thoughts and ideas as the Rego led her around the room, twirling her about and holding her close to him. Each time she struggled in his grasp, and Luca grinned at her inexplicable behaviour with a jolly unrelentingness that further exasperated the poor girl in her dangerous position. Her cheeks glowed beneath her mask and she spoke to him in a breathless, barely discernible voice. “Did anyone see you, Signore? Does anyone know who you are?” She looked at him demurely as he spun her around his arm, and he thought he caught a glint of angry reproach in her eyes. “No, it’s scarcely likely,” Luca smiled, “while even if anyone had, you don’t really suppose they would know you also? Sst, anyway, better to dance in silenzio. Who can say that I even know you?” “Avventato,” was all that Arama murmured through her teeth, looking down at the ground, spinning round and round until she was dizzy. When she looked up through the spinning walls and floors of the room she thought she saw Råiden’s mask watching her from a corner, while she saw a man next to him turn to him with a confident remark. They were both watching her. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. She couldn’t dance anymore, she was faint and sick and afraid. “Fermare! Stop!” she cried, tearing herself out of Luca’s arms in the middle of the dance. “What, che cosa? Where are you going?” Luca grabbed her wrist, but she jerked away and threw herself towards the doorway, stumbling through the other dancers. Suddenly she slipped on the marble floor as Luca sprinted after her. Her mask had been half torn off her face as the Rego tried to stop her, and her head was swimming. She was afraid that she really was going to fall headlong to the floor, when she suddenly felt a pair of strong arms around her and looked up into Råiden Tígrisdýrið’s face. He crashed back into the corner of the doorpost with the momentum of her rush. “Arama, stai bene?” “Sì, no,” she faltered, looking up with relief into his eyes, “he forced me to dance, the cattivo in incognito!” “Ah, do you know who he was?” “Né mi interessa.” Arama looked about and saw that Luca was leaning against a pillar in the far corner watching her contemplatively. “L'insolente…” Arama didn’t finish, freeing herself from Råiden’s arms and kicking the wall. Råiden put his hand up to her flushed cheek and she gently removed it to rearrange her hair about her face, and to put her mask back in its place. Råiden watched her, observing that her eyes were bright like fire, and that indignation was written all over those pretty cheeks. “Non importa, it was only the Rego, Luca di Carli,” Råiden commented glumly. The instant that he had said it he regretted it. Arama looked at him with a question in her eyes, and then looked quickly back over at the Rego leaning against his pillar. “Davvero?” she said sceptically. “Penso,” Prince Råiden shrugged, cursing inside. Suddenly the fire in Arama’s eyes seemed to double and her face was covered with a pretty blush. “But it is nothing,” she said affectedly, “the Ciotos have always been close to the throne.” “Lui pagherà,” muttered Råiden in an undertone, looking with cold fury over at the Rego, who pushed off of the wall and meandered slowly out of the room. Suddenly Arama leapt up onto the balustrade which overlooked the city, for they had wandered back out into the portico. “Why don’t we make him pay?” she said eagerly, flushing and looking about furtively, her fingers wrapping around the knife she concealed beneath her clothes. At the same moment she felt a paper being thrust into her other hand, and she looked up to find her eyes locked with those of Ilazio Moccenigo, the son of the man that she had murdered. She looked up to find her eyes locked with those of Ilazio Moccenigo. She smiled with a masterful effort and glanced down at the note after looking at Råiden for approval. Hush, read the note, let us meet domani, at the balcone delle Scale. I will be beneath it in a small gondola. Come alone. Råiden read the note upside down and then Ilazio whispered, “Eat it.” The Kolgari stared after him as he melted into the crowd of merry party-goers. “Domani,” Råiden murmured, and by the time he looked back Arama had already swallowed the note. .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Previously... Hey guys, here's my second Guilds of Historica wonder, this time for the glory of Varlyrio! This is the first part of a huge collab series that we got together, so stay tuned for more . At the end I'll make one post with the whole story for easy reading, but for the meantime, here's the first instalment! Hope you like it! The Tiger of Illaryian: Part I On the outskirts of Illaryian, for countless thousands of centuries, there has stood a towering statue of a giant stone tiger. Perched atop the tall and elegant Royal Arabesque Mansion, this tiger’s claws scratch the very sky. More than one traveler has come to cringe beneath the looming giant in the dark and gloomy night, at least half convinced that it was some gigantic immortal tiger hound, coming to steal their souls. But not the pair of travelers that stood upon the Tiger of Illaryian this night. “Che bella notte!” murmured a wistful girlish voice. “Luca? Are you happy that you are Rego?” Arama looked into the young man’s bright green eyes as he leaned back against the foot of the giant stone statue. She took his hand in hers, caressing it lightly. Luca di Carli cast his eyes about the sandy outskirts of the city before replying. From the roofs of the old mansion they had a beautiful moonlit view of the entire city of Illaryian, all the way out to the boundless sea in the east. “Why do you want me to talk?” Luca answered in a detached way. “You have qualcosa to tell me.” “Può essere,” she hesitated demurely. He looked back at her at last, with keen interest. “Scommetto!” he said. “Let’s go up to the top!” Arama responded without answering directly, blushing beneath the black hood that was wrapped around her pretty face. She took a deep breath and looked at Luca expectantly. He smiled a dashing smile and put his hands together for her to step in. In just another second they were both crawling across the broad back of the statue, making their way further and further over the edge of the mansion. Now a light mist crept in and began to cover the city in its haze, so that the ground beneath them was lost in its swirling depths. Arama gasped and sat down on the brow of the tiger. “This is the perfect place for my story,” she breathed, looking at the buildings around her with a feeling of excitement and freedom pulsing through her veins. The entire world lay there beneath them! Beneath Luca di Carli and Arama di Athena de Cioto! “Accidenti!” Luca slowly stood up by her side and she gave him her hand again to steady him, looking up into his eyes with just a slight glimmer of fright in her own. Luca stood slowly up by her side, and she gave him her hand to steady him. “Don’t try to go up too high, signore,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “No,” he answered, “no. Don’t push me to go too high, De Cioto.” She laughed and shook her head. “I went to the Sunken City,” she said abruptly. “I know,” frowned Luca, fingering his cloak. He clenched his fist. “I forbade you to go.” “I know. And what you predicted… happened…” Luca looked at her quickly, his eyes wide. “Quasi,” she gulped. “Well?” Luca looked down at his feet, and at the black fog beneath them. “I won’t bother you with all the dettagli. They wanted to kill me, signore.” “The Kolgari?” Arama nodded and swallowed. “Girl! How could you, Arama?” Luca flashed out angrily, dropping her hand and leaping a pace away. “Don’t you care if Varlyrio is torn apart? I warned you. Arama, it was the one thing I told you that you could not do!” “Attento!” the girl called out, leaning forward on her hands. Truly Luca was standing in a precarious position, on the tiger’s upper jaw, directly overlooking the dark abyss. “Come closer to me,” Arama begged. “That’s why I went to the Sunken City! Luca, the Kolgari Elves are wary. After the terrible fashion in which Supano Amancio treated them they are loath to commit to any allegiance beneath a new sovereign. But now, I have a way!” Her eyes shone and she gingerly rose to her feet too, stretching forth both hands towards di Carli. “What do you mean?” Luca asked mistrustfully. “Oh Luca, listen to what happened!” She snatched up his hands from his side to balance herself. “I was in the Sunken City,” she began. “No matter how I got there. Come ho detto, my life was in the gravest danger, for they had discovered that an infiltrator from the world above had come to the caves, and they scoured the forests and dens to hunt me down. But I was not all alone.” “Who was with you,” Luca asked sharply. “He said, ‘They call me The Tiger.’” Arama looked up into Luca’s eyes, a fiery look on her face. “His name is Prince Råiden Tígrisdýrið.” “Is it, ih! Why were you with this Råiden?” said Luca coldly. “He met us as we drew near to the city. His eyes danced when he saw me—Luca, he fell in love with me,” Arama’s eyes danced merrily too. Luca vouchsafed no reply. “But Luca,” Arama said eagerly, grabbing his cold cheeks, and making him sit down by her side, “this Kolgari is from high circles. Circles of elves. Don’t you see? He saved my life. Sì!” she stopped Luca’s mouth, “They poisoned me with their magic, they found me, and I was bleeding to death. Then The Tiger convinced them all, every one of them, to let me leave in the morning.” “But you were bleeding to death!” mocked Luca. Arama laughed and threw back her hood, tossing her hair over her back. “I was in the land of the Kolgari, the most famous magicians in the Guilds! I don’t think anyone else would have cared if I had died, but Råiden took me secretly to an ancient shrine, a beautiful enchanting place, Luca. There he put my hand upon an amulet with a muttered pronouncement, and bene signore, faint and dying one moment, in the next I promettere, I felt healthier and happier than I ever had before in my life, and all my blood came back into me, and my wound disappeared completely. See, here is the scar, all that is left of a deadly wound! That amulet, Rego, is worth more than all of the Kolgari.” “Now suddenly I do not understand why any Kolgari ever die,” commented the Rego ironically. Arama bent over and put her lips to his ear, “Po signore, the amulet can only save humans.” “But who is this Prince Råiden to you?” Luca asked coolly. “Certo, he is my dearest love… when I am with him,” Arama smiled coyly. “Don’t you see you grande idiota! He is the key to the Kolgari. Listen to my plan! I have never made a better one…” Arama hunkered down and cast her hood back over her head, for the night was cold, the mist had slowly vanished, and she would not have been seen by anyone else for all the world… But as for that, it was too late. Not so far off, in the Palazzo Vincenzo—a new mansion under construction on the outskirts of Illaryian, with a charming view of the ancient stone tiger monument—a lone architect still wandered the half built corridors and roofs. But for a while now he had ceased wandering. “Sana Argenta! Tis the Rego,” he murmured keenly, as he knelt down in the shadows behind an empty window and watched the pair of figures on the head of the Tiger of Illaryian. “And that… that is the figure of una signorina—puh! if she is a signorina.” Signore Brabantio Moccenigo, for it was he, put his hand to his forehead and squinted to catch a glimpse of the girl's face beneath her hood, but the moon was to her back, and with an exclamation of disappointment he grabbed the windowsill. “There is something here,” Brabantio muttered. “Qualcosa that is not right. And if only I could use this qualche cosa to my advantage!” Suddenly the girl upon the tiger’s brow laughed and threw back her hood with a gesture, shaking her hair in the wind. Signore Moccenigo gasped. “By Sana Argenta…” was all that he murmured, “It is Arama De Cioto!” .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. Brabantio Moccenigo followed the cloak-and-dagger pair to more than one of their secret reunions. From then on he was their shadow, a dark and sinister shadow, cunning and scrupulous, learning dark secrets and deadly proofs. Brabantio only failed to take into account one thing. If he was dead, none of it could possibly do him any good… One fateful evening as Signore Moccenigo’s plans at last began to fall into place, a little before the sun also fell into its place beneath the horizon, Arama di Athena De Cioto sat out in a wide field upon the grass with Luca di Carli’s arms around her waist. The field was an abandoned one, but even so she was wrapped up closely in a black mantle and hood, and the Rego also was cautiously disguised, so that none should recognize them. But Signore Moccenigo knew their faces and their names, without even seeing them, for he had dogged them there. As he lay hidden behind a small and ruined stone wall he pondered the measures he had taken to ensure success. Was everything completely ready? Had any little detail been overlooked? That very pomeriggio he had finished writing the letters. Already one was in the hands of no one less than Prince Råiden Tígrisdýrið, with directions to open it at once. Moccenigo thought himself very clever for having sought out such a delicate ally, and in the brief letter he promised to send more, which should be opened only if he himself by any chance died. In reality he knew that Råiden would never open the second letter. It was nothing but leverage. He would give it to him at the same time as he sent out the other letter to the Rego. Yes, that was an excellent plan. They would not dare to trouble him—for if any ill befell him they would only end up in worse problems, dalla padella alla brace. Brabantio leaned over the wall to cast a quick glance at the merrily chatting pair. Only he knew the horrible surprise which was in store for them soon. “As you sow you shall reap,” he murmured beneath his breath, forgetting how his adages might always cut two ways. What he fully expected to reap was nothing more nor less than a full king's ransom once they bought him off! He was made for life, and his family would share in the good fortune, although he was not so rash as to let them share in the obvious dangers. Yes, everything was working to perfection. Ricatto had never been so easy! Arama De Cioto was bored. Luca was still vacillating about her plan, and she was sure that he was wasting his time. She rolled over in the grass. “No, I don’t want to be Rego myself,” she grinned, rolling her eyes at Luca as he asked her for the hundredth time. “Then let me be,” admonished di Carli, running his hand through the girl's long hair beneath her hood. Suddenly Arama’s whole attitude changed. What was that? No, it was already gone, but she had seen it clearly. It was someone’s face, watching them from over the low wall to their left! She rolled over in the grass again, her heart in her throat, so that she could look up into the Rego’s face. “I… I have to go, Luca,” she said uneasily, scrambling to her feet and kissing the Rego’s hand. “Le mie scuse, sorry! Addio!” She walked slowly backwards, watching Luca’s baffled face, until she got around the corner of a wall. Then she turned and ran. She ran around in a half circle, as fast as she could, until she found herself watching the wall from which they had been watched. There was no one there! But to the left there was a man on his feet, walking swiftly towards the Northern Gate of Illaryian. He was the only person on the horizon. She crept after him. If he was going to go far she would need a horse… but then she didn’t really need to know where he was going, if she could only get close enough she would see the coat of arms upon the man's breast coat, perhaps even recognize his face. Arama clenched her fists and grasped the hilt of her knife. As the man entered a tavern stable to search for his horse she saw the sigil upon his sleeve. The house of Moccenigo! She would be there before the clocks struck midnight, and she guaranteed that whichever Moccenigo this was, his life would not be a long one. “Kiss your soul goodbye,” she murmured softly into the air, as she wheeled round and hurried off into the night. But after all the sun was high in the sky the next day when a dark figure rode up to a halt before the beautiful Villa Moccenigo in Porto Caglaveri. “I am here before him,” muttered the masked figure, slipping off the horse and leading it around to a picket. “Aspettami,” she whispered to the horse. Arama had been riding through the night here and there, following the mysterious Moccenigo wherever he went, until at last he left Illaryian completely behind, and divining that he was at last headed for La Villa Moccenigo, she put the spurs into her horse and reached her destination before him. All was prepared now. But she had to make sure that her move was a final one. There could be no loose ends, lest for lack of caution the house of di Carli come tumbling to the ground, and the house of De Cioto along with it. With a bound she was over the fence into the Moccenigo Villa grounds. Arama looked up at an open window on the second floor and a look of determination flitted across her face beneath the mask. All was dark within that room, although in others candlelight was visible behind the curtains. “That is where I must look, scommetto,” she said hoarsely. She sprang swiftly up onto the wall, climbing with agility from sill to sill and from corbel to corbel until she reached the window on the second storey. With one quick glance inside she pushed it open and slipped in. She closed the window after her. Arama stood in a darkened study filled with bookshelves and counters, with a beautiful desk right beside the large sash window through which she had entered. “Ehi!” she whistled beneath her breath, rushing over to the desk upon which lay certain opened papers and letters. “Brabantio Moccenigo,” she purred threateningly, reading his name from off a dozen papers. She paled as she hastily looked more closely over the first one that came to her hand. “Accidenti! he knows far too much! Meno male I am in time!” she cried in a fierce undertone. With a bound she reached the door. It was a private study. “Tis locked! Che fortuna! The secret is still safe, these letters prove themselves to be the only ones that he has written, and they could not have been perused by any other within the house. He would not have allowed them in. No, he would not have left the papers exposed were it not a safe room, where no one but himself ever entered.” With a rough hand the infiltrator spilled the other papers about upon the floor and searched the drawers carefully for more evidence—but besides the two letters upon the desk, one of which had been addressed to the Rego, and the other to an anonymous individual, there was nothing whatsoever to interest her. Still, for precautions sake Arama seized several important blueprints, documents relating to the construction of a Cattedrale in Caglaveri, and other architectural papers. She shoved them all into her bag and hid behind the broad and heavy curtains with a grim smile. Across her back was slung a light crossbow and a full quiver, and the crossbow was already loaded… “Signore Brabantio!” exclaimed the masked figure suddenly, hearing a horse gallop into the yard without. Arama spun swiftly round and looked down towards the entrance. A lacchè was opening the gate for a tall man upon a handsome white horse. Even in the distance Arama recognized him at once. She closed her eyes briefly and felt that she could still see that face peering over the low stone wall at Luca di Carli and at her. She grit her teeth and shifted uneasily behind the curtain. Then suddenly a calmness took over her frame, and she felt that she was no longer even Arama di Athena De Cioto: she was only a nameless assassin now. With a cool pert look upon her face she watched as Brabantio Moccenigo exited the building again with a hurried step and remounted his horse. Then she opened the window with a gentle movement, stepped out onto the roof again, and followed him. .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Deep in the east Varlyrian countryside, far from the bustling canals and thriving cities, lies a wonder of Historica. This shining cathedral is one of several holy sites throughout Varlyrio maintained by an order of Priestesses dedicated to keeping these sacred sites in pristine condition. The temple is renowned for its beauty and craftmanship and intricate tilework, and when the bell tolls people come from far and wide to gather in prayer. Following Dan's trip in Kaliphlin, the next destination of his travels ended up being the beautiful land of Varlyrio. After a long, boring journey full of seasickness, drinking and dreary traveling he finally found himself in the countryside of Eastern Varlyrio, and after dealing with some business in a nearby town Dan found himself with a bit of spare time. So of course when a local mentioned a wonderous place nearby he decided to stop by and visit. However, when he finally arrived at the temple he found the doors barred and the bell silent, quite a difference from the open, welcoming atmosphere he had been told of. Fearing something was amiss, he traveled back into the nearby town and recruited some help in the form of some brave Avalonian soldiers currently vacationing in the area. With some hints from one of the locals they were able to find a secret entrance to the temple and made their way inside. Once inside they discovered that their suspicions had been right. The priestess was locked away in one of the long unused cells beneath the temple, and once they freed her she explained that bandits had come, stolen some provisions and valuables from the temple, and locked her away. Interior Pics:

Hired Hands of Historica Queens rule and warriors battle, but workers propel Historica forward. These are the hired hands of Historica. I created these minifigures for the Guilds of Historica 2nd count down challenge. There are members from all five guilds as well as Cedrica. Kaliphlin Jaffar the Monkey Trainer The aristocracy of Kaliphlin likes their monkeys trained, might as well collect extra profit while I’m at it Pouri the Attendant Fanning the king is exhausting Sesur-hat the Scribe Drawing one map is fun, a dozen copies is not Varlyrio Drad the Deck Hand After two months at sea, I long for the harsh Wastelands Sofia the Back Stabber If the poisoned apple doesn’t work, the direct approach will Elias the Net Maker Mending nets is better on my back than reeling them in full of fish Mitgardia Thodil the Ice Cutter I don’t know why humans don’t get their own ice, mining it is much easier than mining rock Aðalgeir the Furrier Harsh winters create the best business Gjertrud the Snow Shoveler I’d give half my wage for a sunny day Avalonia Ailmer the Lumberjack 𝅘𝅥𝅮 I’m a lumberjack and I’m ok… Fanes the Farrier My work is all the separates you from the ground Neddi the Gardener If you step on my flowers once, you won’t do it again Nocturnus Mudgul the Miner At least there is no ghastly sunlight down here Ruak the Bone Craftsman I’m the best in the over and underworld Koglodzar the Slave Driver I can’t believe I get paid to do this! Cedrica Esther the Chambermaid You wouldn’t believe what the Queen did last night!

Guilds of Historica Collectible Minfigures: Homecoming Yes, I remember now... I don't know why, or if this is common, but I tend to forget where it all started. How I ended up doing what I do. But as I set out to write this topic, it came back to me. I think it was around 2014 that Guilds of Historica caught my eye. I'm sure it must have been one of the many awesome castle builds that guided me to this forum. I went over the New Member Guide, the Guild topics one by one, and saw the maps. And then I saw minifigures, unlike any I had seen before. Custom factions, armies, fantasy races, built from official lego pieces! Up to that point, my (teenage) creations were based on official LEGO themes, built to be populated by official LEGO minifigs. With Guilds of Historica, it all started to change. A new world opened up for me, a journey, and a place to belong. I started building custom figures myself, eventually a sigfig and his family, friends and foes, and joined the Guilds a year later. So looking back at it, the figures have always been there, sparking new builds and stories. Perhaps that's why I have this feeling of homecoming. Introduction by Exetrius Welcome to Historica, fellow adventurer! On my travels through this land, this mighty continent, I have seen many wonderful people, creatures and other beings. Of course I can't tell you about all of them, that would take days, weeks, months probably! But, don't worry: I have made a selection. Let me introduce you to some of those I have met, or heard about. From the cold North to the hot South, from the tumultuous East to the calm West, from the world above to the world below, and from places within to places outside the continent. Let's start with the four guilds on the continent, and Varlyrio. Mitgardia Magnus, Lord of Spróggefjell Keep "Staring at my armour isn't going to help you get through the winter, get to work!" Yffreya, wilderness hunter "A mercenary job? Sorry, but I don't hate humans that much. Do I look like I do?" Kaliphlin Madame Quarrat, mine owner "This deep pink sapphire came from the latest expansion. Work for me, and you might find one too..." Norri, badlands nomad "This is Bërtah, my favourite of the herd. She's a little shy around strangers, though." Avalonia Fiona, Mystic Isles messenger "It's mostly good news from Albion this time around, so I can afford to take the scenic route. You can join me for a while, if you like." Jerome, salvager-carpenter "You are leaving your old wagon in good hands, sir. And, on behalf of the trees in our forests, I thank you!" Nocturnus Pandemonium, 6th wizard of Zotharith "Yes I burned the town, got a problem with that? There wasn't a good soul in the whole rotten place anyway..." Umdurin, Vacunani scholar "If I'm not mistaken Volume 467 of the Recorin Orbi makes mention of such a tunnel exit. I'll check with the archives." Varlyrio Don Giullio, art dealer "100% genuine, for certain. This is a one-time offer: 13 silvers and it's yours." Rebecca, maid and assistant-chef "I'd love to chat, but the market will be closing soon. Later!" Outside of the Guilds, there is also plenty of interesting folk. Some of them I never met in person, for better or for worse... Ghost Islands of Yureishima Yoshintamaru Sasekageojima, Master swordsman "I see your spirit is fierce, but you lack technique. And away with those runes, they ruin the flow between you and the blade!" Miyuko of the Dawn, folk legend It is said that those who meet Miyuko die on the spot, and depending on her judgement either get sent straight to the realm of the dead, or are reborn from their former bodies. The Underworld Zugal defector and Demorian informant "The war really changed the Clan, you know. I tell you: flying up and down the Underworld is better than serving Raavage." K'sirtllhisqr, Drow mage "Where do you think you're going, surface critter? Trespassing this area is strictly forbidden, even for Drow..." Cedrica Sabrina, spoiled brat "Say hi to Marco, I got him for my half-year birthday! Hey, I'm not spoiled, you're just too poor to understand!" Lunarius the Formidable, archmage "A City of Magic, you say? Sounds like something I need to keep my eye on..." ---- And there you have it: 16 figures! I wasn't feeling very inspired from the beginning, but I had said I'd participate so I didn't go back on my word. I found a way to produce solid figures nonetheless. There are a number of little hints to previous builds or other references baked into the figs and their bios, tell which ones you like! I could do a breakdown later. Thanks for looking! Criticism welcome, hit me with all you got. @Henjin_Quilones I'm not going to keep this from you: Fiona with nougat skin and white elven hair looked glorious. For example as a Hesperian dragon rider. However, it just looked wrong next to the carpenter... Maybe a fleshie figbarf isn't all that unlikely anymore.

Tried to make some concept art for Varlyrio also before my Midjourney susbscription runs out. I've based most of these prompts on my understanding of the contents of the Varlyrio wiki page. Illyria was tricky for the AI, perhaps not so much to make suitable Mediterranean Medieval/Renaissance enviroments but to not have them spammed with modern day tourists and other details by the AI And if you don't mind the electrical cables and parked bicycles that the AI kept adding: Dwarven dwelling in the Coluna mountains: Inland sea: Plantations/orchards: Quarry: Some concepts for the inhabitants of Varlyrio. Dwarven artisans: Leander merchant in Illyria Orc raiders: Minotaur pirate:

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> Three years of peace. I, Raxus Waythe, Judge of the Wastelands, had grown relaxed on the food and ale of my newfound position and the incredible peace relatively small acts of brutality had brought me. I admit I was beginning to wonder about starting to wander farther afield if for no other reason than to let my name roll off the tongues of increasing royal speakers. I stood, drinking fine local Varlyrian ale, watching small transactions happen in a sleepy, eastern town. I didnt even recall the name, only that one of my men had invited me thus. The sun was setting, the landscape warm and calm. It was as a poet would tell it, and yet all true. "Judge Waythe" It was a statement, not a question. I turned to see a tall, fair haired man staring at me with sharp eyes boring into my skull. I almost took a step back "Yes?" "its a long way from the Wastelands." "I am a Varlyrian of Noble Stock. I can go where I come and please." "Do not imagine, just because you set some heads on pikes and the governor fears for his own safety, that you are anything other than a wolf, on a leash." It had been dormant so long the wolf reawakening within me took me by surprise. "That may well be, sir, but I would guard your tongue more carefully if you wish to remain you village, let alone your family" For the first time he seemed to back off. "I mean no ill will. I bring a message, from Leifric's Hollow." "Go on" "We should take it inside" We sat at a table, not too far from a roaring fire. I had finished with my ale, and so had the mysterious messenger "You have grown wealthy these last few years, and well. You have had ample time." Once again unease crawled into my mind. "Time for what" The stranger shifted, not with unease I was sure, but something else. Yet I could not figure out what. His eyes twinkled. "You shall see. Arrive in Leifric's Hollow in one fortnight's time." I had little mind to ride so far north, even if it was closer to my outposts than the place I was presently sitting. Leifric's Hollow was practically in the mountains, green though it still was most of the year. Yet I could not help but be intrigued. "And what awaits me at Leifric's Hollow?" "Your fate, of course"

On the edge of the eastern side of Varlyrio, brushing up against the mountains where the dwarves and gnomes have their dwellings, there is a great waterfall formed by the great, rocky wall of stone that leapt up in the midst of the river when the two islands collided together in the legendary past. The mists hung low over this waterfall when Dialto de Fiori rode up to it, wounded and heartsore after the great tragedy of his would-be-wedding, with a broken lance-end from his challenge to Sir Baiamonte embeded in his side... Hey y'all! It's been too long since I've posted here, but I hope this makes up for the delay! Built for the SJ Ambiance category (though I don't expect to win anything - there are way too many fantastic entries!), but it's was an awesomely inspirational category and I'm really happy with how it turned out! Inspired by an illustration of Sir Pellias from an old book on King Arthur and his knights, and this part in particular of the awesome history of Varlyrio (which I wrote ) is something I've always wanted to flesh out in the brick! Also (in a slightly different version - but gotta admit I prefer the medieval one, haha! ) I made it to finalist in the Ideas contest! Would love any votes y'all want to send my way! Thanks for viewing, y'all's C&C is always more than welcome!

Note: This first build for Book 3 was actually in construction before I found out about the launch of Book 3. It was going to be for Summer Joust, then after the announcement I was leaning toward joining Kali... then Varlyrio was confirmed! So this one has been a roller-coaster. Thanks for looking. The Duchy of Delmitra, Kaliphlin (East of Barqa) Small but wealthy due to control of a prosperous githril mine, the Duchy of Delmitra has only recently stabilized under the reign of its child-duchess, the Lady Elatisha Darya (Tisha for short). During the upheavals of the Kaliphlin civil war, her father and eldest brother were killed and Lady Tisha was forced to supply githril arms to first one side and then the other as Barqa's shifting loyalties caused ripple effects in the region. There's usually a lot of comings and goings at Delmitra due to its location along the Oil Road. Today we can see a Goldpike mercenary passing through on her way to some battle. A more peaceful scene transpires close by as a young centaur woman gathers cactus flowers. On the far side of the wall, a massive desert dewback tries to scare off a snake. But which one is the trespasser? On the walls, one archer looks on nervously as he realizes that the dewback is nearly big enough to climb over the wall itself! He hopes no one ever thinks to use the docile herbivores as weapons of war. Meanwhile, his younger companion is delighted by the sight of the dewback-rider coaxing the animal forward using nothing but a bushel of greens. Traffic makes its way into the city as well, greeted by the bright ringing sound of a githril-smith hard at work. Delmitra's audience hall is located near the entrance of the city and is open to all whenever the Lady Tisha is present. Her house guard is primarily Delmitraean Myrmidons, who watch the passersby with keen eyes. All kinds of people come through the castle, including hunters, fruitsellers, and laborers, often refugees, from as far off as Nocturnus. The rooftop of the audience hall is open to the public. All kinds of people spend time up there, and it's even used for storage! Known as the Blue Seat, the great chair of the Duchy stands in the audience hall where visitors can marvel at its githril inlay. Today, the Lady Tisha is entertaining a particular interesting visitor. Her regent, Lord Sasaram, looks on in horror as the Lady considers giving a priceless heirloom to a complete stranger. Meanwhile Tisha's bodyguard, Arrea of Bandari, tries to hide her amusement. "This is what you want? Just this little thing?" "Lady Elatisha! You mustn't think of it!" "Yes, that's the Lion's Eye. I came here hoping to recover it." "That's so strange. It's just a stone. Not even pretty." "But it's been in the Darya family for generations, Lady!" "Oh hush, Regent Sasaram." "Heh." "So Fel --Can I call you Fel?-- why do you want this stone anyway?" "Well, it's part of a pair. This map will take me to the other one. I need them for evidence." "Intriguing! Evidence of what?" "I believe there was once a seafaring empire of catfolk --lionells-- and these stones can help prove it." "Foolishness!" "Hush, I said. Fel, how can this prove your theory?" "There are records of a legend: ages ago, a brother and sister inherited the empire and split it across the sea, each taking a piece of an ancestral stone fashioned to look like an eye. One Lion's Eye was kept in Kaliphlin, the other in Varlyrio. Yours, I think. A gift for some noble a century ago." "So if you get the stones, you can prove the legend is true and there really was once one big empire?" "Exactly!" "Excuse me, but there are catfolk all over. Including some in my own homeland. Are you saying they are all related?" "I don't know, but I want to find out. If we all share a common history, shouldn't everyone know it?" "I think so! I've decided you should have the stone!" "Oh dear... what are they going to think about this in Petraea?" "Those stuffy old scholars can... they can... go eat their own beards!" "Haha. Yeah!" "I love my job." ... ... ...but wait... there's more going on in bustling Delmitra... ... On the rooftops, a meeting is taking place between Goldhorn, called by some the "Minotaur of Means", and a shady desert mummy. "I don't know, this seems like an awful lot of money just to follow some cat-girl around." "Never mind that, Garm. You know from personal experience that my coin spends." "That it does, Mr. Goldhorn. That it does." "Then you'll take the job." "Follow the girl, steal these Eye stones or whatever, and make sure no one finds out. Yeah, seems like my kind of thing." "Quite." ... ... Builder's Notes:

Khaor guard tower Briefly after the successes of the Khaor family in Kashgar, the usual suspects came lurking around the corner. Thieves, smugglers and even murderers. The Khaor hired a group of soldiers to insure their personal safety. In the midst of town a high tower oversees the traffic and guards the business and the family of Khaor. The personal guard of the Khaor distinguish themselves by the high quality dragon scale armor and their versatile range of weaponry they carry. Led by commander and chief Yorth, these guards are top of the bill. HSS: REQ Military, Guard Tower

Temple of Daïnna After the first settlers of Kashgar built the first homes through the maze of canals of Kashgar the community requested a temple to pray to their deity of choice. The Temple keeper Perrish assists his flock of Kashgar residents and outsiders, preaching to numerous deities needed to favor the hunt, production or trade important to the Varlyrians. The Temple was named after Daïnna, an Avalonian Half-God Huntress who was praised for her skills in tracking and archery and the deity the Khaor family draws much energy from. Daïnna’s arrows are blessed with flight and accuracy. Her followers are believed to be given a sharp vision and strong sense to aid in the hunt. A secret lore even suggest that she hunted more than just animals and mythical creatures and that she shed royal blood. HSS: Religious

Golden Wing Leather Workshop When Joseph Khaor first set foot on Varlyrio he arrived in a small hamlet in the eastern bay, which he called Kashgar. Hamlet was still too much to call the collective of small houses. Joseph thought it would be a great spot to settle and he started to build his home and workshop. At first it functioned as a tailorshop until the majority of the product shifted from cloth to leather, armors in particular. Generations later the building was still standing, although the residential purpose was moved to a larger location. On the bottom floor a shop allows the customers to do business and pick up their order. The second floor holds the workshop of the craftsmen making the armors and other leatherwork specialty orders. The top floor is the drying area for the stock of furs and leather that they acquired from their tannery further up the canal. HSS: Craftsmen Armorer

Khaor Family Joseph Khaor an Avalonian tailor travelled in his early years to the traders island of Varlyrio to expand his business. At first his business flourished, until cloth garments were replaced by armor. His firstborn son Abrahan used his hobby hunting and skinning to produce the first line of leather armors which became famous all over Historica. Family Tree Abrahan Khaor Lineage The descendants of Abrahan are the leather workers and traders of the family. Throll in his study inside Khaor Manor Throll Khaor The recent passing of Rashgrall Khaor pushed Throll to the throne. He is a ruthless craftsman and trader, trained by his father he became known for being the one who will do everything to satisfy his customers. Throll was always at his father’s side, learning everything there is to know about crafting leather and pushing customers to pay the price for the high quality the Khaor is famous for. Still working under his father, Throll was able to stretch their business to the farthest corner of Historica, which also meant that the requests for rare materials changed. His specialty of trade became creating the most enchanting and mythical leather armors. Skin of demons, scales of dragons and mammoth hide armors, with or without magical treats are within the scope of his skills and fame. LouLou in her skinning workshop Anna Louise Khaor (LouLou) The younger sibling of Throll, also known as LouLou. She is a master skinner, which in the trade of the rare skins the Khaor process can be a real challenge. Nothing is harder to transform into workable leather, without damaging the traits, than for instance hydra lizard scales. LouLou mainly works within the walls of Kashgar, leading a life of luxury when she washed off the blood stains of her hard day’s work. Before she was old enough to join the family business, LouLou was the spoiled brat, the queen kid who always got what she wanted, which makes her still a pain in the @#&% to work with if no gain is in it for her. Josephine brewing potions in the woods outside Kashgar Josephine Livenea Is the not so secret bastard child of Abrhan. Although her mother was send to the mainland Nocturnus, Rashgrall had a soft spot for this beautiful half-sister. Josephine is as mysterious as her mother. Studied in Nocturnus to become part of a witch coven and to learn the mystical arts of enchantment and brewing potions of all sorts. When the power struggle of Nocturnus started she reached out to her half-brother, who happily took the opportunity to become close to his sibling. Josephine set up shop in Kashgar, blessing the armors of the Khaor family with an aura of unknown powers and strengths. Or at least gives the wearer that assumption, it is never proven. From left to right: Marlowe, Bran and Grogk (Bran's hunting party) Abrahan Khaor II (Bran) The children of Abygail Khaor were raised in Avalonia, along their farther Lord Nar Bilu of Hemresa. Bran, the oldest of three, was expected to step in his father’s footsteps and become a military man. He endured a fast training as a tracker, marksman and strategist. After a long year facing the dangers of the Historica continent he returned to Avalonia to seal his fate and pledge loyalty to the new royals. Not long after returning he was summoned by his nephew Throll to join the Khaor family on Varlyrio. His skills in hunting were a welcome addition to contribute to the growing demand of rare materials. He himself thought it was too early still to get the responsibility to become Lord, so a different challenge was a welcome path to gain more experience. Bran was to form a team of skilled hunters to track down rare animal and mystical creatures for their scales, fur or other material their skin was made up to make the finest armor in all of Historica and beyond. Bran’s hunting party (Marlowe & Grogk) When Throll summoned for Bran, revealing part of the assignment, Bran decided to take his longtime friend Marlowe along for the quest. Marlowe is a renown Kaliphlin Lionell tracker from Barqa and an excellent diplomat, speaking most of the uncommon Historica languages from the number of journeys across the mainland. Besides that, he was a Kaliphlin army regiment commander for several years. Both men travelled from Barqa to their new home Varlyrio. Shortly after the details of their mission was explained by Throll, Bran found it necessary to add a local to his party. One that was familiar with the area as well as the basics of their mission. Throll suggested to meet up with Grogk, a supplier of hides from the Wastelands. He masters hunting and survival in these rough lands and he knows how to skin them. Secondly he knows the orcish culture, being one himself. After meeting up with him in The Drunken Imp, they team seems to hit it off, ready for their first assignment. Moss Khaor Lineage The descendants of Moss are the cloth traders of the family. Christopher in front of a slik spinning cabinet, just outside one of his farms Christopher Khaor The unwedded and childless uncle of the family is a strange one. He is a farmer and extraordinary tradesman, one that takes so much care in his product that any competitor is jealous. He owns a number of farms just outside the skirts of Kashgar and he manages a few in the Wastelands. Silk and cotton are his main trade. He knows and acts orcish traditions, which enables him to exploit and trade with this savage race. They grow his silk, process it to Kashmir alike fabric in return for access to Varlyrian products and recognition. Joseph (left) and his father Jullian standing in their clothing shop, ready to take your order Jullian & Joseph Khaor II Jullian owns a workshop and a shop in Kashgar. His specialty is tailoring. Kings, queens and other nobles travel from afar to be dressed by this artist for every occasion. Jullian is the most quiet one in the family. He keeps to his business, buying mostly from his brother Christopher and selling to everyone entering his shop the most legitimate way possible. Jullian is father of three children, all still learning the skills to take over the business in time. Joseph II is at age to fulfill his duty. Joseph now is responsible for collecting and reworking the trinkets and details on the clothing they sell. The two daughters are schooled by their mother and will be ready in time.

The De Fiori's are experienced sword-makers and the masters of that trade in Varlyrio. At least once within inches of ruling the guild - about six inches of a cold steel from it - the De Fiori's still hold their place among the top three, and might just be glancing surreptitiously once again at the throne... The current head of the family is Alesio De Fiori, grand-nephew of Dialto De Fiori. Born aboard a ship on a trading voyage to Mitgardia, Bjarke De Fiori is the son of the nephew of Alesio, who had married a young Mitgardian lady of noble lineage - and, as he was neither too important to his own family, nor she too great an heiress in hers, nobody put up much of a fuss. Young Bjarke has his family's knack for sword-making, but he also inherited the Varlyrian love for adventure, excitement, and conquest of the waves, and the boldness and daring characteristic of his Mitgardian ancestors. Just a little build to introduce my new sigfig! Credit goes to Forlorn Empire for the glass window idea. Thanks for viewing, C&C are welcome!

Note: This is the first of what will be 1-2 more builds showing the D'Gatto family. The next one will be "Extended" and, if necessary, another will follow as "Known Associates". Abelia D'Gatto is the head of the D'Gatto family, which traditionally passes power down matrilineally (common practice among Varlyrian Catfolk). Her mother left her with the family business: artifacts and antiquities and her father left her with vexing familial connections out west, including various debts, secrets, and obligations. She married an artist, seeking to expand the family business into art collection, patronage, and sales but so far this has been an uphill battle. Abelia is refined, but ruthless and has a famous temper. She makes it a point to attend major social events in Illaryian and the more important eastern Varlyrian cities and maintains a reputation for cold poise and withering wit, though she must also pretend not to hear the japes and judgments offered behind her back, or a half a moment before she is fully out of earshot. Abelia is the kind of mother that presents a different face, a different style of mothering, to each of her three children. Who she really is remains a mystery even to those closest to her, though Fel suspects it is reserved for herself --not that she appreciates it. Fel is Abelia's heir and she saves her greatest reserves of attention and disapproval for her. Pardo D'Gatto (formerly Sivaelurus) is from a prominent military family that is based in the borderlands between the two sides of the Varlyrian coin. They staunchly disapprove of "that woman" due to her family's connections to scoundrel catfolk that "give all of us a bad name". For his part, Pardo relishes his family's disapproval and often courts it. He grew up under the shadow of older brothers and sisters who followed the family trade of soldiering for the Rego. Pardo isn't a pacifist, but he prefers the life of the mind and isn't shy about it. He insisted on his children receiving educations that included an appreciation for the arts of painting, music, sculpture and dance. Fel was the greatest of his pupils, but it's Kass who has the spark of his father's talent. Pardo leaves most of the direct parenting to Abelia and has long since taken a step back to let his grown children figure their own lives out. Something of a recluse, Pardo doesn't emerge from the D'Gatto atelier for days at a time, which has proven a poor habit for an artist disinterested in the art community of Varlyrio and who is considered a middling talent on top of it. His marriage to Abelia seems to have been out of both love (for him) and status (for her) as well as an opportunity for both to step out of the long shadows cast by their families. Stena D'Gatto is the "black cat" in the family, having chosen a life of religious observance and militant service over all other pursuits. Stern and fiercely moral, Stena has officially cut ties with her immediate family, though unofficially that is not so simple. Stena has risen to the rank of Knight-Sergeant and her commitment to the Order of Sana Argenta means she can not inherit the family affairs from Abelia when the time comes. This made Fel the heir, a thing which caused a bitter rift between the sisters. They were once close, though opposites, but that closeness has largely become a memory that neither will admit pains them dearly. Stena lives in Illaryian but prefers to be out in the field, accepting missions and commands that draw her out into battle. She is also closer to the Sivaelurus family, some of whom are also knights of Sana Argenta or other friendly orders. Though Stena seems stiff and unyielding, she hides a romantic and gentle side which recalls her father. Abelia tends to treat her with coldness and distance, while Pardo is both repelled and attracted by her similarities to him and his own family, as if she could someday repair the rift between D'Gatto and Sivaelurus. Kass D'Gatto would be most families' "black cat" in that he is an infamous carouser and scoundrel. He prefers the company of his mother's cousins, the Diamantos, a family of grifters many of whom travel about Varlyrio in caravans. The Diamantos have a poor reputation among common Varlyrians, but some are considered akin to folk heroes in the seedier parts of the island. Kass prides himself on being utterly useless to his mother and father but he adores his sisters. Though his associations and behavior cause them both a lot of grief, they also have a lot of affection for him. Kass, though he hides it, is something of an artistic prodigy and has never tried a medium of art or music that he couldn't almost immediately master. He squanders these gifts, however, and instead tries to perfect the "art" of betting on horse racing while being drunk as a Mitgardian lord. Pardo puts more effort into trying to reign Kass than he does with the other children, though Abelia counters it by indulging and doting on her "baby boy". Kass is happy to take their money and sleep off his wilder nights under their roof, keeping them both just far enough at bay that they don't quite give up on him. But that's been going on for years and, as Fel is fond of telling him, it can't go on forever. Builder's Notes:

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> Home. The smell of salt water brought a strange peace to me. The sound, too, was one of peace. It was one I had not heard in years. But I was back in Varlyrio, and this time I would not allow myself a quiet exile. The story of my life had not been a happy one. Born the illegitimate son of a Trading Company leader who needed no scandal, I was shuffled off to live with humble folk. Lord Raxus refused my mother aid as she died, refusing to even tell me where she was buried when I finally found out the truth. With plenty of years now insulating him from the fear that any would use me or my mother against him, he had me trained in the art of single combat. He used me as a Ranger, his eyes and ears where he needed them But I crossed a line. Succession in the Company would go to he who married his daughter, as he had no legitimate son. When I told him I would burn in the tallest towers of the Black Spire before I married a half-sister, he sent me into exile. And there I had remained. Until now. The Aarinstahrr, as the leader of the Black Lodge Trading Company was called, had died. And I had been summoned back. I felt, rather than saw the Guard behind me. "Well?" "You are Raxus Orsen Waythe?" "I am." "Then you must come. You have been appointed Aarinstahrr." I smiled. It was good to be back.