Aldsea City Lore

All about the lower commons, gathered guardsmen and commoners alike stare stiffly amongst the cool and composed noble families surrounding the stand mounted for a speech from lord Hemmet. Hobbling up the stairs with the aid of a loyal assistant, Lord Michael Hemmet was tired, and there wasn't any way to hide it.

"Greetings, citizens of Aldsea, adventurers.. noblemen and women of the courts."

His tone was at the least, attempted at energetic. He paused to look about the barren wastes Aldsea had become.

"This pains me to no end. The destruction of this beautiful city.. laid waste by vile vermin.. and yet it seems as if disaster continues to strike.. The visions pushing into my mind every night, preventing sleep and rest. The chirping screams of the insects digging through the ground and pounding over the land. The cries of the people starved and hungry. This is not a place for our citizens to survive but defending could still be a possibility. With each passing day the dread in my heart grows as the visions I have seen and so many other have seen intensifies.

We are down to the last of our resources much of the cities stock has been ravaged by the insects or stolen. I do not have the energy to govern such a fair land as Aldsea.. with my previous bodies' weakened state, I am unable to handle such stress as this. So.. three days prior I abdicated the lordship of Aldsea to Lady Beyana Vinscott. "

Lord Hemmet turned to leave the stage, his assistant aiding just how he did before. Entering the stage now, a woman of blonde hair, mounted with a long dark blue cape mantling her shoulder. Markings decorate her face, and a white bird perched upon her shoulder. Lady Beyana Vinscott appeared on the stage with her blade resting under her hands in front of her. Her focus was towards the nobles.

"People of Aldsea the land we stand on has held fast. But now has come the time for us to depart to the homeland."

Begrudgingly, her attention went towards the commoners and adventurers. "Those able to gain ferry find so and do such immediately. For those who don't, may the Church of the Flame be with you."

With a snap of her finger, she made her way up the stairs of the lower-commons, towards the cloud district. Following her, the entire guard-force of Aldsea formerly stationed in the lower commons, and the nobles they guarded. 

With the guardsmen and noble now locking themselves in the castle of Aldsea, the commoners and refugees of Ruval looked towards the Adventurers. The adventurers were, and are. Now the only thing that can get these people to safety, with their rulers seeming to have abandoned them. 

The Fire Festival [Tradition]

The fire festival is celebrated once a year over the course of 12 days, and is mainly there to appease the fire god to hold his wrath at bay and keep the volcanos subdued. However as time went on it became a celebration of renewal, with the flames washing away the sins of the year and allowing for a time to atone and be forgiven. The festival has since progressed to be a loving affair as old grudges are burnt away and put to rest and the path to a good future is illuminated by their flames.

The festival's start is signalled by the lighting of the lanterns, paper crafts carried into the air by the heat of a lit candle. As the high priest releases the first one it signals the townsfolk to do the same, sending their own lanterns trailing up to illuminate the sky in their soft orange glow. After that the festival has started and will continue for the full 12 days ending on the last day at sunset.

Throughout the festivals time street performers can be found showing off their skill with flame, with fire eaters and breathers being shown. As well as a few visiting mages all too willing to dazzle the young ones with their talents. Spotted often running about are the Red Robes, solving disputes and making sure the festival is running well, offering their prayers to everyone and anyone while also collecting tributes from those who can’t manage the venture up the mountain anymore.

Although this time also brings about increased activity with the spirits of nature, especially those of flame. For the most part the festival is safe, with the church and its priest maintaining an enchantment over the island to subdue those of flame and some can even be seen mingling harmlessly about town. 

The last day of the festival is when most of the tributes are made, with the high priest and some of the towns nobility climbing to the top of the main volcano with the towns combined tribute before offering it in prayer to Kossuth and asking for his mercy.

Following the lining of guards upon the Aldsea docks, a parameter was set for Nobles and Lady Beyana to walk from the Cloud-District towards the array of ships finely crafted for elegant transport. With the nobles, their servants; with crate after crate of dried goods, tapestries, portraits and finery uncountable. The remnants on Aldsea, held an impromptu protest of the 'march' these nobles had as they loaded, with heated back-and-forths between Lady Beyana and those now the singular force between the commoner's of Aldsea, and a gruesome fate.

Last to leave along with Lady Beyana's court of nobles, one (former-Lord,) Michael Hemmet. Those close to him, beseeched him to stay and aid. But none the less, he followed onto the ship, leaving a cryptic message in his stead. Now left alone on the island of Aldsea, time is at an all time lacking. The insectoid swarm grows ever larger, and the stocks of food dwindle.

Pandemonium has stricken the downtrotten-land of Aldsea. From all districts, abandoned and otherwise, the sentient-kind that once happily inhabited the land seek refuge in whatever sense of the word they can manage to salvage.

From the Castle the former-Lord Hemmet once governed from, dozens of formerly incarcerated criminals escape. Through the panic, it's unable to discern just what happened within the prison. However, with no guards inhabiting Aldsea, it would not be impossible for multiple individuals -- Or even one, to have broken down what metal bars kept the prisoners from their own seeking of asylum

From the Cloud District, many from the lower commons and former farmlands raided and pillaged the homes of former noble-blood, as well as the castle itself. Large portions however, fell victim to the growing hive of insectoids they passed.

In the lower commons, much has changed. The formerly open promenade has been turned to a 'tent-village' of sorts. Makeshift kitchens ran by singular individuals rampantly attempt to cook for the countless starved lined before them. A singular Aldsean guard, the only in Aldsea, stands by his lonesome, aiding the people how he can with intent to bring them safely to Ruval, where he was dispatched from. A smith's apprentice, lost in the way of her trade- Madly toils away at metalwork to aid the efforts to save her people.

From those not native to Aldsea, their efforts stand proudly effective. 

• The Whispering Archives toil in the shadows, collecting abandoned tomes and codex' of history and samples of what remains of the local fauna.

• The Golden Rose has doubled the effective transportation options for the remnants of the Aldsea population with their collective skills in medicine and coordination.

• The Keepers, setting forth their stake as peacekeepers and guard force upon the Aldsea docks, have ensured peaceful transportations of collected goods and resources, as well as accommodating for the ease-of-access for commoner's seeking refuge in Ruval.

• Bold Co., with their connections of mercantile and trade, managed to pertain the small supply of transport sea-vessels. Given the harsh climate of travel on the nearby oceans, the mediation was a difficult one.. but the effort of such carried forth with skill.

• The Commonwealth Combat Core, while few in numbers, manage an impressively coordinated security detail surrounding the Lower-Commons of Aldsea. Those they've trained, and the food stores they've collected, aid in snuffing the countless smaller riots that could've been.

Individually, there have been countless bulk-efforts. The stores of food and supplies on Aldsea, have been successfully transported to Ruval, with intent of fully handling the goods much better on Ruval, than the collapsing city of Aldsea. 

nymuer udoka, wer vortex batobot tiric ti vdri. wer ixen batobot tiric ti sulta. wer realm di ixen wux inhabit zklaen qe shared. nomeno realm di sthyr, zklaen qe cleansed. nymuer udoka, wer many-headed dirise di ixen. wer justiciar di siksta. thurkear jaka tepohaic losvir. wer sulta di xarzith vur shudder

Hear us, the vortex that does not sleep. the fire that does not end. the realm of fire you inhabit must be shared. this realm of man, must be cleansed. hear us, the many-headed whip of fire. the justiciar of sun. night now has bane. the end of ice and shudder.

Dutifully, the priestesses marched to the bowels of the farmlands in which the insectoids crawled from. Taking a ring-formation, they gathered in circle with the relics garnishing each axis of their makeshift sphere. With radiant light emanating from their incantations.. the relics gushed out a massive light about the pit, connecting with each other. 

An orange, fiery glow appeared inside of the pit- Stopping, just before overflowing onto the chanting congress formed. Those around all bore witness to priestesses dropping- Collapsing in the mid ritual, the power of the relics proving too strong for even the most fortitude and driven of the faithful. The golden ring- Stricken with some form of sickness wilted into a blood red hue.

The still-lava churned, like an ocean of viscous slime.. rippling- Hitting the walls and edges, splashing into itself, a vortex of sickening grand scale. A hand.. rivaling a mountain in size, thrusted upward towards the very sun itself. Various members of the 'adventuring' force, tried their hand at halting this- it seemed too fargone. Some, tried to shake the priestesses awake, to perhaps fix what had gone wrong. Others, leaned their might into the relics themselves, attempting to destroy and jam what ritual had commenced.

But for nothing. It's head, crept out next.. gigantic in size, a true titan unfurling from this ritual. The few priestesses who awoke from the aid, were able to reattune to their goals.. their chants taking a far more holy purpose.. creating a massive encompassing seal about the creatures neck and hand.. swelling out to create an orb about it's mass. Even so, it pounded.. and still pounds it's might against the seal.

A miscalculation, an underestimate- perhaps.. But this was not planned. No, this creature they've brought into Aldsea is not the shining beacon they so very hoped for.

Studying the archives and codexies, Yinren was aided by the help of countless adventurers and scribes in mid-transit to Ruval. The following was deciphered from the puzzle Michael Hemmet left in hopes to aid what he could of the remaining people of Aldsea:

'One-Hundred-Thirty-Three times, the yearly bell toll. In time, a Hemmet's breath, midst stole. Little Lord once, Little Lion forever. One of thousands, his unique feather. Hidden deep in his keep, he toiled in planes. Knocked thrice, only then did he ever open up for his meals. Shared, was the servant kind enough to knock thrice within the time of six, giving him time to freshen up.'

They have deciphered that the riddle relates to Frederick Hemmet, who 133 years ago, was ripped out of the Aldsea commons via a rift inside of the mural in the flooring of the lower commons promenade. They relate his 'studies' in the riddle, to a potential location in the castle

Inside of the ritual.. a duel was had between Father Ibrahim and the party of Brann Kepeshkmolik and Amadeus Bellsong.. - With Zeph Stormwind attempting to stop the battle. However, in the midst of battle, Father Ibrahim, and a few of the paladins beside him, were slain. Ibrahim's remains, despite his beheading.. were reduced to ash, with no sign as to why. With the guardforce of Aldsea gone, no imposements of status or crime could be placed upon anyone's head. In chaos, all is reduced to mere whisper and word-of-mouth.

Eruption! The volcano of Aldsea had it's third historic eruption. Fiery plumes of slag and molten rock rained down onto the fragile promenades of the abandoned city, the few who still claimed their houses entrenched in moats of lava and shrapnel. The Church of the Flame, with their head-priest executed, took a makeshift claim on law and authority.. bolstering their walls once more and holding the people of Aldsea entrapped between their ire, and a cruel death to the elements surrounding them.

In a makeshift posse of sorts, a band of Aldsea-faithful stormed their merry way through the streets. In the midst of an earthquake, the gates of the Churches' barricade were flung open. The filled homes of many were vacated with the aid of many spellcasters and a certain dragonborn's ladder and tact. Through the fires, spells of arcane ice hissed true. A loxodon and his cat. A group of arguing merchants too stubborn to save themselves. An elderly woman, trapped in the second floor of her home. Countless lives were saved- And yet again, the group of Aldsea-Faithful showed that Nobility was far more than just a birthright, or blood-claim.

The populace of Aldsea was congregated to the mural in the lower-commons, with promise of escape. With the riddle solved, all they needed were the runes left inside of the castle. In mad dash, a few parties burst their way through the distorted remnants of Aldsea.. breaching the castle in all entrances, and cutting their way through looters, escaped prisoners.. and the eldritch secrets of a now-shamed family-line.

Though many were saved through the courageous and benevolent acts of the Aldsea-Faithful, this was. And will be, a tragedy none soon forget. For less, Lords and ladies of court have spent decades of resources and entire castles worth of wealth. For less than what has occurred, individuals have made pacts and deals with great evils.

But no less, the Aldsea-Faithful are thanked. And by no mere means of words, are the people saved, eternally with their thanks and adorations. Even now, each individual involved with aiding the survival of the 'Aldsean' have letters delivered to their tents and camps in Ruval. This new land is far more cold than the beautiful Aldsea that was, and there is much to mourn. Though equally, there is chance now to continue past that. And to carry on past those who could not.