Eyes sternly gaze west, towards The Kings Pass and Baelags Holdfast, yet hearts remain firmly rooted in the stones of home. The Valley, despite the energies focussed towards reclaiming their heritage, would not forget their hearths within the Regions of Bolsterlee and Windholme. There are a great many grand things to celebrate, concerning events and happenings to worry over, and countless occurrences both large and small that cannot be ignored.
The Iron Valley may be tested in the fight to take Baelag’s, but they are tried by what remains when all is said and done.
At the Peak of the Tallest Masts
There are few things more awe-inspiring than the vessels that ride the waves of beyond Esterra. From gargants to gnats, ships and boats of all manner and make defy the will of nature for reasons as varied as the craft themselves. For some, it is trade, for others it is war. Regardless, all must come to rest at shores both foreign and known. Trade is best done when cargo can be placed on solid ground, repairs best made when the ship itself can be hoisted, beached or rolled. Without land, without harbour, these crazed inventions could never journey so far.
The Sea Hall would be raised as a monument to these harbours, and it would surpass them.
It would be difficult to look at the sheer scale of the titanic wooden hall and know that it was only built in a year. A testament to the craftsmanship and dedication of Valleyfolk, and those beyond whose skills were accepted with hearty smiles. It would be the accomplishment of a lifetime for many, and perhaps the start of a new brand of heroes for others.
In its completed state, the roof of The Sea Hall well and truly towered above the town of Jaalstead beneath it, a by no means small place in its own right. At a maximum height measuring close to seventy or more meters, there would not be a single ship in the world that could not be docked and hoisted within The Hall’s wooden frame. Jetties would surround the hulking form, not unlike the visual forms of corals and reefs further out into The Bay of Promised Gold. Even the massive wooden slats, through sheer feat of engineering, could be raised and lowered to allow the light of the sun to shine through down into the floors and pillars below. These truly staggering piers, now upright and as immovable as stone, carved with not only heroic bands and names, but also the names of vessels that are granted the privilege of rest.
And oh would there be many. Dozens, perhaps more, would appear mere days after The Sea Hall’s completion. Jarls, local fisherfolk, Concordian traders, and more. Even at such numbers, the additional carvings would be like a splash in the ocean, with simply so large a surface area that even years of constant use would struggle to see a single pier filled with names.
The completion of such a monument to Valley sea life would not go without an appropriate festival. For a week and more, the smell of feast-fires and the sounds of festivities would engulf Jaalstead. Noise complaints would be the least of Magistrate concerns, but at no point were crimes committed for anything other than sheer drunken foolishness or rivalry. An expected set of affairs, considering what had been created by the hands of the many.
More quietly, yet no less important, would be the meeting of Jarls in the early morning within the bowels of The Hall itself. With the light of the morning sun not yet in the sky, all the Jarls of Jaalstead would come together for one reason, and one reason alone. Whether they were of heroic stature, or so strange from the sea that they were barely recognisable as Valleyfolk, all were given equal say. For what was to be discussed, was the Title of Grand Jarl.
Rumours of the discussion would be many, and the truth thankfully no guarded secret despite the strangeness of the meeting itself. All could agree that no Jarl was to stand as Grand above all others unless they were to be willing to stand shoulder to shoulder with the greats. All agreed, to varying intensities, that the one who was to stand as Grand would have to be more than just a Jarl to The Valley, but a Jarl to The Concord. The great blue beyond is the domain of none, but the Grand Jarl should be one who takes all that it means to be a Jarl, and harnesses that for the better of all, not the greatness of few.
Ever a strange people, but no less important for that, the people of Jaalstead and the greater Valley would have to simply wait and see what would be made of a Grand Jarl at the coming Summit.
Game Information
The monumental appraisal that is The Sea Hall finishes construction in the docks of Jaalstead, greatly increasing the Naval focus of the Town. Functioning as both a Trade Port, like the one in Legend City, and as a place of rest for vessels, any Naval Investment located in Bayward South counts as 1 Tier higher when performing the Trade with Foreign Ports Downtime Action. In addition to this, the default Tax Income in Bayward South has improved, reflecting the benefit the structure has brought to the Territory since its finalised construction.
With The Sea Hall completed, a new Realmic Iron Valley Title, unique to the Jarl Archetype, has been created! The Grand Jarl can be found by following the link, its powers, responsibilities, voting details and length of term all contained. A strange Title, it represents everything a Jarl strives to be and do, and should be considered a great honour for Jarl characters to achieve.
Any Characters who would have visited Jaalstead around the time of The Sea Hall’s completion, and would have partaken in the festivities, are encouraged to create amusing tales of escapades they may have witnessed during this time. Appropriate stories include minor brawls, crazy bets, feats of physical or mental strength, and more.
From on Far, Comes the Coin of Foreigners
From far away come quartered banners of blue and black, flags aloft over salt spray and the strength of wood that carried them so far. Sea-faring vessels of The Fealties of Drummond, braved the dangers of the oceans West and now landed within The Bay of Promised Gold. It was neither island nor city to which they travelled, but a town and its welcome harbour of giant wood. This small fleet, for all intents and purposes of trade and nothing more, found itself welcomed within The Sea Hall, and greeted by the people of Jaalstead as the first truly foreign people to grace its piers with their vessel’s names.
A small fleet of The Countess Castellan of House Rayleigh of the Coast of Blades, carrying cargo both material and monarchic, would make true promises of yet another piece of construction for the graced town of Jaalstead. A Trade Hall, though likely not to be named as such given its towering neighbour, to be built by Drummondite hands and manned with Drummondite goods and labour. A promise of economic ties, in some small personal way, between the House of Rayleigh and the lands of The Valley; if not a route to greater ties between the combined might of Drummond and the joined forces of The Concord.
The future holds many things, but for now the present encompasses all.
Upon their arrival, it was clear that the Drummondite ships had faced dangers on their travels. It was not long before it was discovered that they had warred with a part of The Golden Fleet as they had travelled here, reportedly warned by Concordian words of The Storm Queen’s intent to sail East. Without such warnings, there would have been no chance that this Drummondite fleet, and its ever important cargo, would have made it safely to shore. They would have drowned beneath the uncaring waves, or been left in the even worse hands of brutal pirates.
Such was not to be the fate of these foreigners. Instead, they were able to land safely, sock their goods in a hired warehouse, and begin construction on a Trade Hall using their own carried resources. Graciously gifted a plot of land to build on by the people of Jaalstead and Senator Ranhilde, construction would begin as soon as accommodation was secured. Paying their way in simple material and labour, for Drummondite coin was not something they expected to be accepted and so was not brought in great quantities. Spending their days building and their nights drinking in Jaalstead taverns, it was not long before they felt a part of the furniture.
With some going so far as to Strivington, connections with these foreign layfolk would be formed by those lucky few who managed time to hear their tales of lands far away.
Yet, despite the interest that these crafters and sailors bring on their own, they would not be what truly shook the people of Jaalstead. No one could be prepared for the presence of Drummondite Nobles, particularly those as important as who would arrive.
But that, or more importantly, who, is a story for another time…
Game Information
The arrival of a small fleet of trade ships from Drummond has sparked yet another round of construction for the town of Jaalstead. This time, a Drummond tailored and built Trade Hall would be the focus, with construction expected to take a single Season to complete, in time for the Spring Summit in the latter half of 226.
The Drummondite’s staying in Jaalstead bring with them no economic boon, as what trade they are able to perform is done in labour or material. Drummond Coin currently stands as a form of currency not accepted by common Concordian traders within their own homes, though some may make exceptions where appropriate or interesting, until an exchange rate is agreed upon between the two Nations.
But in the minds of all the Drummondites, and constant in their conversation, is the State of Emergency. The Drummondites came to trade, but they may find the Concord in position to do so. There will be decisions regarding this for the Reeves Council of Bolsterlee and the Ambassador to Drummond.
The arrival of this minor fleet carried with it far more than the resources to build a simple trade hall, however, as it also brought with it the blood of nobility. The names and circumstances of these individuals will be detailed in a later Winds of the World entry.
Just Because You Cannot See It, Does Not Mean That It Does Not Exist
As the eastern reaches of Windholme prepare to take the war to the enemy, a single part of it remains notoriously docile. The Vale of Stags, a place of strange enforced passivity with no true known cause, continues its peaceful stagnation, nearly forgotten in the rush to prepare against The Severed Lords.
Forgotten it would not remain.
Like many similar places bountiful with nature's gifts, The Vale saw a massive amount of growth under the Spheric power of Wondrous Forests of the Night, cast barely a year ago. This growth saw these strange woods eventually cover much of north-eastern Windholme at a speed that could only be enforced by Divine or Arcane power. Normally, this would not be so surprising an occurrence given the Ceremony cast by Concordian Priests, but it became a notable concern as it continued well after the effect of the Ceremony had surely worn away. Only recently had the growth seemed to finally stop, The Vale expanding its territory no longer.
More than that, and most strange of all to the people of Heinsgraf in particular, the siren’s call of peace and tranquility that would echo in the dreams and minds of people close to The Vale had finally ceased. Whatever power, latent or otherwise, that had aimed to draw people in towards the boundaries of The Vale, had simply stopped. A strangeness, for certain, but one that would draw the curious in towards its woods all the more. A mystery, and one that seems to change with each passing season, can be hard to ignore.
Within barely a half pace of the first of the firs, one could still tell that its power runs strong. Despite the waning of its growth, and the silencing of its call, the rule of The Vale of Stags was as yet unbroken and unbreakable. Peace, regardless of rage. Tranquility, despite any turmoil. An interference in the mind and body, one that prevents even the possibility of swinging a weapon in anger or necessity both, even if the intent remains. A boon for gatherers, a bane for hunters. A mystery for all.
Yet even the most subtle mysteries can be revealed with enough eyes pouring over it, and minds working towards its answer. To peel away layer after layer until finally the raw truth is exposed, that is the eventual fate of The Vale; or so hopes those who chase such an ending.
The stag with eyes of marble and gold had not been seen since its first and only sighting, a challenge that many still sought to overcome. While such a task may still be ongoing, it would not see any success this season, but instead would be replaced by a surprise all the same. A rare mountainous bear, native to the deepest parts of The Steinvaults and deeply territorial and dangerous, had appeared from some hidden place before the eyes of a small group of hunters using The Vale as a shortcut home. Armed with bows, but unable to use them, the hunters could only watch in wonder as the beast simply ignored them, scratching itself on the nearest fir, gazing at the onlookers with eyes of gold-flecked marble.
The hunters would tell this story to any who would listen. It may not have been a Stag, but it was a wondrous beast all the same, and marked by the same strangeness. There are some who declare the hunters as liars seeking fame and saga, and yet others who believe it to be an illusion. Perhaps the gold-flecked marble eyes were a trick of the light, even if the beast was real. And yet the hunters, whose voices were echoed by the priest who saw the Stag in the first place, would firmly disagree. They knew that what they saw was physical and real, even if they had no proof.
It has been some time since The Vale had last made its impact known. Since then, it has grown to nearly double its size, had sightings of more than one strange creature, and even been the site of a Concordian Strategic Opportunity against The Severed Lords. The Vale is a place of import, and there is fear in Windholme that this shall become increasingly apparent in the coming year. There is a law in The Vale that follows no rhyme, reason nor code known to The Concord, nor perhaps Esterra at large.
What if this law can change? What if it can become harmful, enforcing negative aspects rather than docile ones? The people of Heinsgraf and Brakkenloh find themselves asking these questions and more, with answers few and far between. One voice, a Farseer claiming to have been sponsored by Senator Ivern, spreads news that whatever it is, it is not Arcane; or at least not Arcane as we know it. Far from definitively reassuring, but perhaps knowing that it may be Divine in nature eases at least a few minds, and sparks yet more to find the answer.
The future of The Vale of Stags is one as yet unknown, and for now there are many who are simply grateful that it is a mystery that has not killed anyone.
Game Information
The Vale of Stags, thanks to its strangeness, continues to affect Wildernesses within Eastern Windholme. In particular, Wildernesses that produce Beastbone or Shimmering Scales will find that they have produced half the expected resources as hunting remains impossible, while those that produce Hartwood or Black Sap will find that they have functioned as if they were 1 Tier higher as gathering becomes easier.
With attentions focused on Baelags, there are no expected opportunities regarding The Vale of Stags this coming Summit. However, word is spreading thanks to those particularly affected by its strangeness that this matter should be one considered by The Church, rather than The Shardcircle. While nothing official has been stated by either Concordian Chamber, nor The Senate, there is nothing preventing either from taking actions available to them should they wish.
Herded, Heard Not
Trigger Warning: Implied Miscarriage
Sometimes you crush your foes so fully that the human detritus of their civilisation laps at your own walls like a memory of strength.
The Boar’s Head Clan once swore they would die with mountain wind in their lungs and knees unbent. But the ragged figures who slumped in Heinsgraf’s alleys were bent, broken, and burned. These were the abandoned: children whose warrior parents had perished, elders too frail to flee, those heavy with child when the final battles against the Iron Brawlers of Bordevar were fought and lost.
By decree of the Warden of the Steinvault Pass, the late Count Lindwyrm, they were driven from their stone homes to freeze on unfamiliar streets. They endured a bitter winter and a hollow summer. And now, with autumn’s approach, the concern appears resolved.
The youngest children; those who could barely walk without clutching an elder companion’s hand, whose speech was still uncertain, to whom writing was still a form of dark magic, were taken by order of Ivern the Inheritor, Senator of Windholme. In Heinsgraf’s Gray Hall, the Reeve’s Council convened while warrior bands herded the children like livestock. The proceedings were civil, efficient, even spirited. Reeves and their deputies made claims upon this child or that, each borough arguing how best it could “care” for the little Boars, all pretending that labour, service, and worth had nothing to do with it.
For those children who were unruly, stunted by starvation, or marked by frostbite, the Council offered coin to any borough willing to take them. For those strong of arm, bright of eye, or clever enough to train, it is whispered the coin flowed the other way. Nothing has been proven, of course. Regardless, no child left the Hall without a new borough, a new name, and a new people to forget their old.
Some fled into the woods and ruins, hiding in gutters and rocky fields, swaddled in stolen pelts and ash. Locals whisper of the “Lost Piglets”, half-feral children with dirty faces, broken speech, and biting teeth. The superstition spreads like rot: that the Vale of Stags is haunted by them, that they roam by night, learning old songs that call down storms.
The elders of the Boar’s Head, who once led families, who held the songs of the peaks in their bones, died in their dozens, as they had the season before. They collapsed in alleyways clutching bone talismans, discarded like firewood at the doors of granaries and smithies. Some tried to return north, walking toward death with eyes wide and dry. One woman, ancient and twisted, was said to have rushed a soldier’s patrol with a rusted knife. She was cut down in the mud, her song ending beneath a shattered ribcage.
As for those unlucky enough to be heavy with child when the final battle of their people was fought, their story is over by the time autumn arrives. Over the last year they hid in abandoned homes, empty mines, and hidden boltholes. Some birthed in silence, others bled out onto the stone. Their children, if born, are not accounted for in any tally by any hand that cares.
By the time the first leaves fall, there are no more Boar’s Head Clansfolk to be seen. Not in the streets. Not in the mountains. They are gone, adopted until they forget who they are, buried until we forget they were here, or simply vanished into the spaces between ledgers. In the offices of Civil Service, the Senator’s decree is regarded with some amount of respect. Not because it was kind, nor because it was just, but because it was clean, and the Concord loves things that are clean.
Game Information
Following a decree by the Senator of Windholme, the Boar’s Head Clansfolk who had sought refuge in Heinsgraf have been dealt with, and will no longer be a concern for the settlement. By Autumn, the children have been adopted into boroughs or fled into the wilderness, the elderly and infirm have perished, either in The Steinvaults or on the streets, and the pregnant have faded from concerns.
Iron Valley Buroughs based in Windholme, particularly in Rumwold or Heinsgraf, may roleplay that they have taken in a handful of Boar’s Head Clan children. These children are generally ten or younger, violent, poorly educated, and superstitious. Many carry the scars of a hard life in the mountains with little to eat and few kind nights.
Iron Valley children who are twelve or younger can also roleplay being these orphans, providing a clouded history for their growing Concordian hero.
There will be decisions regarding the Boars Head Clan for the Senator of Windholme and the High Reeves Council.
Any economic downturn caused by the Boar’s Head Clansfolk have been resolved.