Refugees from outlying towns and villages are still coming into town. The tales they share are of slaughter and destruction. No one has been spared and nothing is left behind after an attack.

Not only were Ariad’s outlying villages and towns attacked, but the Dragon Domain and CAM were attacked as well. And supply lines between Ariad and the Elven Kingdom are severed with heavily guarded trade routes.

 A new ornately decorated vardo has been spotted parked outside of the orphanage. Are the Ramtovi moving into town? 

Despite the gift of food from the King of Dragons, the destruction of outlying farms has cut food supply dramatically and people are fighting in the streets over food.

Princess Zinna left King Kalil and Prince Connor to be with Sir Edgar.

Local farm owner Shane Fallcaster was discovered brutally slain in his barn. His intestines had been pulled out through his rectum and wound around the spokes of a thrashing wheel—a device usually used for separating grain from husks. The bodies of 3 unidentified women were also found in the barn. Their faces were mutilated beyond recognition and their wrists and ankles bound in heavy chains. Healers determined the women died from their injuries several weeks before.

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In the days following the Gathering of Heroes in Volaire, the land remains in turmoil as the echoes of battle fade, leaving behind both devastation and uneasy silence.

The Fae and their monstrous creations have inexplicably withdrawn from the city, vanishing into the depths of the forests without a trace. Scouts sent in pursuit find no sign of their passage, raising concerns over what new schemes they might be plotting in the shadows.

Seshtau

While the outer towns and farmlands surrounding Umbris have suffered extensive damage, the city itself stands resilient, bolstered by an ever-growing army of the undead. Lady Seneschal Katalina has issued swift and decisive orders: the undead are to comb through the ruins of devastated settlements, retrieving any survivors from towns deemed unsalvageable. Additionally, she has commanded the undead to begin the process of reconstruction, repairing what remains of the shattered homes and farms, ensuring that those who remain under her protection can rebuild their lives.

Tuatha

The enigmatic kingdom of Tuatha remains a mystery to the outside world. The borders remain firmly closed, with no indication of any internal upheaval. Outsiders can glean no insight into their affairs, and those seeking refuge find no solace within Tuatha’s lands.

Foresetidale

The once-mighty city of Dalefaer has fallen to the Fae. In a desperate bid to safeguard the remaining populace, Knightmaster and Seneschal Ser Fallin ordered survivors to escape through the embassy portals. Once the last of the refugees had fled, he locked down all portals, sealing off any chance of further invasion—or retreat.

The fate of Baroness Charlotte remains a mystery. Ser Fallin, who fought by her side during the battle, was struck down and subsequently resurrected—a process that wiped his memory of the events preceding his death. The last thing he recalls is that the Baroness was alive shortly before he fell. Since then, there has been no sign of her, and her whereabouts remain unknown.

With Dalefaer lost, the displaced citizens of Foresetidale have sought asylum in Volaire and the remaining barony. Though Tuatha remains unwavering in its refusal to accept any refugees, Seshtau—by order of Lady Seneschal Katalina—has opened its gates to those in need.

The Dragon Domain

The Dragon Domain remains under relentless siege, its skies darkened by the ongoing conflict. King Kalil, despite his formidable power, has been unable to provide direct aid to Ariad, preoccupied with the desperate defense of his own lands. However, his soldiers remain stationed in Volaire, steadfast in their commitment to its protection.

The Elven Kingdom

The roads leading to the Elven Kingdom remain fortified and impassable, guarded with unwavering vigilance. None may pass, leaving trade between the kingdoms blocked.

As tensions mount and uncertainty looms, Volaire and its allies stand at the precipice of an uncertain future. The Gathering of Heroes may have ended, but the true battle for the fate of the land has only just begun.
 

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The night of the Gathering of Heroes…

Days had passed since the first attacks on the outlying towns and villages, and for a moment, it seemed as though life might return to normal. Survivors—bruised, battered, and haunted—drifted inland toward the baronial capitals, seeking refuge in the towns that still stood. The soldiers who had ridden out in defense of the borderlands now trudged homeward, weary and bloodstained.

Yet reports of devastation continued to pour in. Scouts returned with grim news: entire settlements reduced to smoldering ruin, their streets littered with the unburied dead. In some places, the fighting still raged, a desperate struggle against an enemy both relentless and unnatural. And as more forces had been drawn outward to battle the chaos, the great capitals of the baronies—Umbris, Dalefaer, and Almuril—were left vulnerable.

Then, in the dead of night, the alarms began to wail in the capitals.

Sleepers were torn from their beds by the clamor of steel on steel, the crackle of ignited spells, the screams of the dying. With fewer soldiers than usual standing guard, the defenses crumbled under the onslaught. The attackers swarmed through the streets, cutting down those too slow to flee.

Towering golems, their bodies forged from gemstones and enchanted metals, lumbered through the city lanes, their immense limbs swatting people aside like insects. Elementals raged unchecked—fire beings setting homes ablaze, water entities drowning entire alleyways, earthbound horrors tearing the very streets apart, entombing the helpless beneath cobblestone and rubble. Goblins darted through the chaos, their wicked blades flashing as they looted and murdered indiscriminately. And above it all, winged creatures with gleaming collars shrieked orders in an ancient tongue, directing the massacre.

In Almuril, Baron Linneus moved like a shadow through his beleaguered city, his rangers following close behind. Though their numbers were few, they fought with deadly precision, each movement measured, each arrow loosed with purpose. He raised his hands, and magic erupted from his fingertips—arcane barriers flickering into existence, enemies hurled backward by unseen forces. Still, the tide was overwhelming.

In Dalefaer, Baroness Charlotte waded into battle, a whirlwind of steel. Her sword found the weak points in a construct’s enchanted armor, shattering it with a series of precise blows. She spun, raising her shield to meet the next foe. Her knights, too few to properly defend the city, fought with the ferocity of the doomed, determined to protect every last person they could.

And in Umbris, where the dead did not rest, Seneschal Katalina stood amid a battlefield unlike any other. Her surviving warriors fought alongside the risen—skeletons and corpses, freshly animated by her will, clawing their way into the fray. The air reeked of decay and magic as she worked tirelessly, drawing more of the fallen into her ranks. It was a desperate strategy, but desperation was all they had left.

Across the land, the capitals trembled beneath the might of the Fae and their unnatural legions.

War had, indeed, come to Ariad.

And they were losing.

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On the open seas, 
The CAM ship sways gently upon the rolling ocean waves, its wooden hull creaking softly with each rhythmic shift. A salty breeze drifts lazily across the deck, the only sound accompanying the occasional flutter of a loose sail. Overhead, a sky thick with stars stretches endlessly, their faint glimmers reflected in the dark, undisturbed waters.

The day crew sleeps soundly below deck, lost in dreams of home or the monotony of their duties, while the night crew stands at their posts, maintaining a quiet vigil. They move about in hushed tones, their lanterns casting flickering halos of light that dance along the wooden planks. It is a peaceful, uneventful night—until it isn’t.

A strange glow begins to wash over the ship, an eerie orange hue creeping across the deck like the first light of dawn. At first, the sailors barely register it, their minds sluggish from the quiet monotony of the night. But as the glow intensifies, turning the dark sea and ship’s sails into a canvas of flickering firelight, heads begin to lift, eyes widening in confusion and growing dread.

A few murmur among themselves, searching for the source. Then, all at once, a collective realization dawns as gazes snap skyward.

High above the ship, a massive, glowing sphere of fire descends, its molten surface shifting and writhing like a living thing. It hurtles toward them, growing larger, brighter—unstoppable.
The ship’s second-in-command, a seasoned sailor with more battles behind him than he cares to count, feels his blood run cold. His breath catches, his body frozen for only a second before sheer survival instinct takes hold. He sucks in a sharp breath and bellows, his voice raw and urgent.

“E’rybody! Abandon ship!”

The warning comes too late.

The flaming sphere crashes into the deck with an earth-shaking explosion. The force of impact sends jagged splinters of wood flying in all directions, cutting through flesh and fabric alike. A wall of fire erupts outward, hungry and unrelenting, consuming everything in its path. Sailors caught too close to the explosion are engulfed instantly, their screams piercing the night before they vanish beneath the raging flames.

The deck becomes an inferno, the fire racing along the wooden planks as though the ship itself has been soaked in oil. Those who can move stumble toward the ship’s edges, driven by primal terror, some flinging themselves overboard in a desperate bid for survival. Others, trapped by the rapidly spreading fire, can only scream as the flames consume them.

Below deck, the chaos is no less deadly. The explosion rocks the entire vessel, sending men tumbling from their hammocks, their lungs seared by thick, acrid smoke. Flames slither down the passageways like living creatures, cutting off escape routes as crew members scramble blindly, coughing, desperate for air. Some make for the stairs, only to find fire waiting at the top. Others claw at walls and doors, their efforts futile as the ship transforms into a floating pyre.

The ship groans—a deep, ominous sound, the wood warping and cracking under the immense heat. Then, with a thunderous splintering, the vessel gives way. The deck, already weakened by the impact, collapses inward. The ship begins to break apart, its timbers snapping like brittle twigs.

The ocean rushes in.

Within moments, water floods the lower decks, swallowing everything in its path. Bodies—burned, broken, and lifeless—are dragged into the abyss as the ship’s remains are pulled beneath the waves. Some of the crew, still clinging to life, struggle against the relentless pull, but exhaustion and injury are cruel companions. One by one, they slip beneath the surface, their final breaths lost to the dark.

For hours, the sea churns with the remnants of destruction—burning debris bobbing aimlessly, faint cries swallowed by the vast, indifferent ocean. Then, slowly, the waves settle.

The night falls silent once more, as though the ship and its crew had never been there at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Across the Draconian Domain, the scent of smoke and the sharp tang of blood claw at the senses of those still lost in sleep. The acrid stench seeps into homes, curling beneath doors and through open windows, rousing the Draconians from their slumber. Confused and groggy, they stumble from their beds, only for the night’s chilling reality to slam into them the moment they step outside.

The world is burning.

Villages and farmlands are ablaze, the once-proud settlements now reduced to crumbling, smoldering ruins. The sky, once a deep and peaceful midnight blue, glows with an eerie orange hue, thick plumes of smoke twisting like wraiths toward the skies. Shadows dance wildly against the inferno as the bodies of slain guards and militia litter the streets, their weapons lying useless beside them.

Through the carnage, massive golems lumber forward with terrifying precision. Their stone and gem-encrusted bodies gleam in the flickering firelight, their monstrous fists rising and falling with merciless force. Bones shatter like brittle twigs beneath their crushing blows, and the streets run slick with blood.

Above, the wind howls with the beat of wings—not draconian, but those of the invaders. Winged creatures swoop low, their iron collars glinting in the firelight, their swords and spears cutting through draconian flesh with brutal efficiency. Those who try to fight back find themselves overwhelmed, their flames barely licking at the armor of their enemies before being snuffed out. Screams of the dying and the desperate echo through the night, but they are swallowed by the roaring flames and the resounding crash of buildings collapsing into rubble.

Within the family estate, King Kalil and Prince Connor are ripped from sleep by a frantic pounding on their bedroom door. The sound is urgent, desperate—a warning of danger that needs no words.

Kalil reacts instantly. His hand shoots beneath his pillow, fingers curling around the hilt of a knife. The moment he pulls it free, flames surge to life along its curved edge, illuminating the foreign runes etched into the blade. The fire casts flickering shadows across the walls as he moves with practiced precision, his breath steady despite the chaos that surely awaits beyond the door.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Connor rising as well, already reaching for his staff. The Prince's grip is tight, his blue eyes sharp with readiness.

Kalil lowers the protective wards with a murmured incantation, the magic dispersing with a faint shimmer. The heavy door creaks as he cracks it open, revealing the breathless figure of Commander Noctis, his yellow scales glistening with sweat. His chest heaves as he sucks in desperate breaths.

"Your Majesty!" Noctis gasps, barely catching his breath. "We’re under attack. Towns and villages all over are being razed to the ground!"

Kalil’s grip tightens around his blade and he clenches his jaw. “Get everyone to the war room!”

This is no skirmish. This is not a mere raid.

This is war.

And the Draconian Domain will not fall without a fight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


North of the Ariadnian Kingdom, the roads that once served as vital arteries of trade and diplomacy are being choked by an unseen force, cut off with cold, calculated precision. Strategic blockades rise along both the major and minor roads leading to the Elven Kingdom, forming an iron grip between the two realms.

Towering golems of stone and gemstone stand like unyielding sentinels, their massive frames blocking entire passages, their hollow eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Alongside them, winged creatures wearing enchanted iron collars hover menacingly above the roads, their keen eyes scanning for movement, their clawed hands gripping swords and spears.

The blockade is not just a deterrent—it is a slaughterhouse.

Guards traveling the roads are met with swift and merciless deaths. They barely have time to draw their weapons before the winged creatures descend upon them, their blades striking true, cutting them down where they stand. Blood seeps into the dirt paths, staining the once well-traveled roads with the dark price of war.

Merchants, caught in the ambush, fare no better. Their cries for mercy fall upon deaf ears. The golems strike with crushing force, shattering carts and bodies alike, while the winged creatures pick through the wreckage with ruthless efficiency. No one is spared—not the merchants, not their guards, not even the terrified horses. Their bodies lie strewn across the roadways, the air thick with the metallic stench of spilled blood and the acrid scent of smoldering wood. Gold, food, weapons—anything of value is looted from the carriages, scavenged by the invaders before the remains of the attack are left to rot under the open sky.

Yet amid the devastation, one figure escapes.

An Elven soldier, bloodied and gasping for breath, spurs his horse forward with every ounce of strength he has left. The beast beneath him is slick with sweat and on the brink of collapse, but there is no time to rest. He rides hard through the forests, his mind racing as he recalls the horror left behind—the dying screams, the faces of those he could not save.

His mission is clear: warn the crown.

By the time he reaches the towering spires of the Elven palace, his horse is foaming at the mouth, barely able to stand. The soldier nearly falls from the saddle as he dismounts, his legs trembling with exhaustion. Palace guards rush to his side, catching him before he collapses completely.

He forces the words out between ragged breaths, his voice hoarse and urgent. “I need… the King and Queen… now.”

Within the grand chambers of the palace, the royal couple is torn from their slumber. The heavy doors to their chamber are thrown open as a steward hastens inside, his expression grim. Behind him, the soldier stands, his uniform torn, his body streaked with blood—some his own, some not.

The Queen and King rise immediately, alarm flashing in their eyes as they take in the soldier’s condition.

And then the message is delivered, simple yet heavy with finality.

“We have lost all contact and access to the Ariadnian Empire.”

A silence follows, thick and suffocating. A silence that marks the first breath of war.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


As night settles over Ariad, the land is draped in a quiet stillness. The towns and villages rest under a blanket of darkness, their people either deep in slumber or quietly unwinding after a day’s toil in the fields, on the docks, or wherever their labor has taken them. The streets are nearly empty, save for the occasional patrol of town guards or militia, their armor glinting faintly under the pale glow of lanterns. The rhythmic chorus of crickets and cicadas hums in the cool night air, blending with the gentle rustling of the wind as it weaves through trees and rooftops.

But along the borders of Ariad, in the outlying villages and hamlets, a sinister presence creeps closer. The nocturnal symphony falters. Crickets fall silent. The wind ceases its whispering, as though the very land itself dares not breathe in the face of the approaching dread. A hush spreads over the wilderness, thick and unnatural, forewarning the doom that slithers ever nearer.

From the depths of the shadows, under the silvered gaze of the moon, an unnatural army marches. Their ranks move with eerie precision—golems of straw, stone, and glistening gemstone, their faceless forms illuminated by flickering torchlight. Twisting through their ranks, elemental creatures flicker and shift—fire-wreathed atrioches, mist-like mephits, and chittering goblins skittering on all fours. Overhead, winged beings glide through the darkness, the iron collars fastened around their throats glinting like shackles of servitude. Their swords gleam with a cruel sharpness, their spears poised for slaughter.

Without warning, the attack begins. The creatures descend upon the unsuspecting settlements like a wave of nightmares given form. Guards barely have time to shout warnings before they are cut down, their weapons clattering uselessly against the overwhelming onslaught. Flames erupt across thatched roofs, turning the tranquil villages into infernos of chaos. Fields are trampled beneath fleeing feet and clawed invaders, the soil darkened with blood and ash, feet crushing any remaining viable crops. Screams pierce the air, only to be swallowed by the roar of fire and the clash of steel.

Those who manage to escape do so in terror, scattering like leaves in the wind. Some vanish into the dense forests, their panicked breaths swallowed by the thick underbrush. Others are dragged from their homes, their fates sealed in the merciless grip of their assailants.

By the time the first light of dawn brushes against the horizon, messengers are already riding hard toward the baronies, their steeds lathered in sweat and their voices hoarse with urgency.

At the grand estate of Baroness Charlotte, the peace of early morning is shattered by the frantic pounding of a fist against her heavy oaken door. Startled awake, she throws on a robe and unbolts the entrance, revealing a breathless Sir Fallin, his face pale with exhaustion and dread.

“Baroness…” he gasps, barely able to form the words. “We’re… under attack.”

Miles away, deep within his fortified hold, Baron Linneus stands rigid as a ranger kneels before him, delivering a grim report. His voice is tight, controlled—but his knuckles whiten around the hilt of his sword as he listens. The outlying villages and towns are being razed, the destruction swift and merciless.

Meanwhile, in the heart of Seshtau, Baroness Jade is jolted from her restless work by a deafening banging against her office door. With a flick of her wrist, she unlatches it, revealing a Seshtauan soldier, panting and wild-eyed.

“Baroness…!” His breath comes in ragged gasps. “We’re being attacked! The farms—they’re burning. The villages—they’re falling one by one!”

The dawn rises over a land already steeped in fire and ruin. And as the baron and baronesses awaken to the grim reality before them, one thing is certain—Ariad is at war.

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• Prince Kalil staged a coup to overthrow King Wolfrum who is now sealed away.
• King Wolfrum had plans to take over all of magic which would have resulted in countless deaths and his complete rule over everyone.
• Knightmaster Selena is no longer the Commander of the Draconian army. The new Commander is Noctis Lionheart, a young elite appointed by the new King.
• People are celebrating as food supply is restored temporarily due to the King of Dragons gift.

The nobles begin making their way to the next area for the feast and festivities. Notable people include: King Vlastimir, Queen Sofira of the Elven Kingdom, Commander Noctis, Baroness Charlotte and her escort Knightmaster Fallin, Tristan Greyshield, Baron Linneus of Tuatha, Lady Katalina of Seshtau and her escort Roman, Acting Guildmaster Kethri, Guildmaster Lyra, as well as many other nobility belonging to the various factions present. All nobles present have their own guests and security as well.

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### The Royal Union of King Kalil and Prince Connor  

The grand palace hall had been transformed into a breathtaking spectacle of unity and celebration. Massive banners of black and white, symbolizing the balance of two souls, hung in flowing layers alongside the bold red, gold, and black banners of their respective nations—the fierce sigil of the Dragon Kingdom and the regal crest of the Ariadnian Empire displayed in full prominence. Chandeliers of polished obsidian and enchanted crystal cast shimmering patterns upon the marble floor, their glow accentuated by thousands of floating candle flames, each flickering in tune with an unseen, celestial rhythm. 

Flowers in vivid crimson and soft ivory adorned every pillar and rail, their fragrance mingling with the scent of perfumed oils and sacred incense. The main aisle, a deep stretch of crimson silk edged in gold embroidery, led to the raised dais where the ceremony would take place. Hundreds of seats were meticulously arranged for the nobility, lined with fine velvet cushions, while the remaining space was left open for the standing crowd—thousands of citizens and dignitaries from across the realms gathered to witness this historic union.

At the center of the grand stage stood Jedash, his presence commanding reverence. Clad in deep indigo robes embroidered with ancient runes, he clasped his hands before him, waiting with solemn patience. A soft magical hum vibrated in the air, the very fabric of the realm attuned to the significance of this moment.

From opposite ends of the platform, King Kalil ari V’rahkdon Na’sey and Prince Connor Daggerheart stepped forward.  

Kalil, a vision of regal splendor, wore a fitted black ceremonial suit adorned with draconic embellishments—gold-threaded embroidery depicting intertwining dragons along the sleeves and chest, symbolizing the strength of his lineage. His piercing red eyes reflected the candlelight as he moved with steady, measured grace toward his beloved. 

Connor, in contrast, was dressed in the attire befitting the prince of the Ariadnian Empire—his outfit a fusion of both cultures. A flowing tunic of navy blue and silver embroidery was overlaid with an elegant deep red cape, clasped at the shoulder with the sigil of his house. He carried himself with quiet confidence, his bright blue eyes locked onto Kalil’s with a mixture of unwavering love and the weight of destiny.

As they reached one another, Kalil and Connor extended their hands, clasping them together in a sacred gesture.  

Jedash raised his voice, now magically amplified, resonating through the vast chamber, silencing every whisper and breath among the gathered witnesses. 

"Welcome, friends, family, and honored guests. All who come in peace to bear witness to this sacred union between King Kalil ari V’rahkdon Na’sey and Prince Connor Daggerheart, and with them, the uniting of the Dragon Kingdom and the Ariadnian Empire. We gather today not only to celebrate their love but to mark the forging of a bond unbreakable, a bridge between their realms, and a promise for all generations to come."  

The air shimmered with magic as Jedash took a step forward, his hands now unclasped, revealing a long red silk ribbon, embroidered with intertwining gold and black threads—one representing each kingdom’s legacy. He carefully wound the ribbon around their joined hands, the fabric pulsing faintly with enchantment, before tying a secure, intricate knot beneath their hands. As he placed his palm over theirs, the silk glowed softly.

"With this knot, we bind together the Kingdom of the Dragons and the Ariadnian Empire. It is a vow not only of love but of duty, of protection, of honor. This bond is a promise—to stand beside one another in times of need, to celebrate together in times of joy, and to build a future stronger than the past."

He stepped back slightly, the gathered audience completely enraptured by the ceremony.

"Now, before all who have gathered, you will proclaim your vows to one another."  

### The Vows of Sacred Binding  
Jedash turned first to Kalil.  

"Kalil, will you share in Connor’s pain, seeking to shield him from it, and ease him of his burdens?"  
Kalil’s voice was unwavering. "I will."  

Jedash repeated the question to Connor, who confirmed, "I will."  

"Then let the binding be so."  

"Kalil, will you share in Connor’s joy, rejoicing with him in his triumphs and laughter?"  

"I will."  

Connor echoed the vow in turn. "I will."  

"Then let the binding be so."  

"Kalil, will you stand by Connor in times of turmoil and strife, unwavering and unshaken?"  
"I will."  

Connor, just as steadfast, responded, "I will."  

"Then let the binding be so."  

"Kalil, will you honor and respect Connor as an equal, as your partner in all things, sovereign and soul-bound?"  
"I will."  

Connor met Kalil’s gaze and repeated, "I will."  

"Then let the binding be so."  

A hush fell over the audience as Jedash lifted his hands. "Now, let us seal the bond with the exchange of rings—an unbroken circle, a sign of eternity, a promise unyielding."  

### The Exchange of Rings  
At that moment, from the side of the platform, a young child Draconian noble attendant, stepped forward nervously, carrying a velvet cushion with two exquisitely crafted rings. Each ring was forged from metals and gems gifted by both nations—their bands, one featuring a golden dragon atop a red gem on a black band, the other a stunning fire opal set in a silver band. The young Draconian has green scales and a long, thin tail that swishes nervously behind him. He is wearing a dark green suit that complements Kalil’s and is decorated with golden vines and leaves along the arms and down the front. 

With a small, encouraging nudge from Nymera, the young Draconian quickly made his way toward them. His hands trembled slightly as he presented the rings, and after Kalil and Connor retrieved them, he hurriedly scurried off, prompting a muffled chuckle from Kalil.  

Jedash smiled slightly before continuing. "Kalil, repeat after me: Connor, I promise on this day to share your pain, your joy, your burdens, and your dreams, and to help you navigate the maze of life together."  

Kalil spoke each word with solemn reverence as he slid the silver ring onto Connor’s finger.  

Jedash then turned to Connor. "Connor, repeat after me: Kalil, I promise on this day to share your pain, your joy, your burdens, and your dreams, and to help you navigate the maze of life together."  

 Connor’s voice was filled with quiet certainty as he mirrored the gesture, sliding the black ring onto Kalil’s hand.  

### The Final Proclamation  
Jedash raised his arms, his voice echoing once more.  

"King Kalil and Prince Connor, having proclaimed the bond of your souls together in the sight of these witnesses, and based on the strength of that bond, I now pronounce you married. Let this moment be sealed with a kiss."  

Kalil took a step forward, pulling Connor into a deep, passionate kiss —one filled with love, devotion, and the weight of history itself. The palace erupted in a deafening  roar of cheers and applause, voices from every corner of the room rising in celebration.  

When the kiss finally broke, they turned hand in hand to face the adoring crowd, their eyes reflecting nothing but triumph and love. Together, they stepped down from the dais, walking side by side down the grand aisle toward the palace hall where the festivities would continue long into the night.

The kingdom had borne witness to the union of two souls, and the world itself had shifted in response.

[OOP: Festivities will be held at the event this weekend, however, feel free to respond to this post throughout the weekend. I will be responding as I am able.] 
 

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A currier wearing red, black, and gold walks through the streets of Volaire, making their way to the tavern. When the currier arrives, he pushes through the front doors and looks around. He nods with a smile to the soldiers he passes on his way over to the message board. He pulls out a rolled up scroll that he proceeds to unroll and then tacks to the board. Nodding, he turns and exits the tavern.The missive reads:“Greetings people of Ariad and the Dragon Empire,It is with much joy that I, King Vlastimir Daggerheart, announce the marriage of King Kalil ari V’rahkdon Na’sey of the Dragon Empire and Prince Connor Daggerheart of the Ariadnian Empire. As a gift to the people of both kingdoms and in honor of the union and alliance of our two kingdoms, there will be a feast. Along with this feast, the King of Dragons has gifted the kingdom of Ariad a measure of food that I will see shortly distributed throughout the kingdom.All people are welcome to attend the feast and are encouraged to eat their fill. Let us celebrate the joining of our kingdoms with full bellies. While the cause of the food shortage is still unknown, we are dedicated to trying to find the cause and a solution.The celebration feast and festivities will be held after the ceremonies in one week’s time. We hope all people will come together to celebrate this joyous occasion.King Vlastimir Daggerheart”

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One bright morning, the town suddenly sees a flood of Draconian soldiers making their way to the tavern. They appear to be far more relaxed than usual, some of them not even in armor or armed, and quite chatty.“So, what did you think of the Pri- I mean… The King’s speech?”“I think he’s being far more generous than I would have been. Everyone who opposed him should be dead.” A Draconian with green scales says.“What do you mean? That shit came out of nowhere. One minute we were training, the next we were defending the king. And that’s what we’re trained to do.” A yellow scaled Draconian replies.“Yeah. Can’t fault all of us for doing our job. I think he’s doing the right thing.” A red scaled Draconian this time.“Of course, you do. You just want to be all up in-“ The green scaled Draconian starts to say but the red scaled Draconian punches him in the shoulder. “Ow! Asshole…”Inside, the tavern is full to bursting with soldiers. Drinks are being passed around as quickly as they are being made. A waitress squeals as a Draconian steps on her and he immediately looks over his shoulder and grunts an apology. The general chatter has them speaking so loudly to each other that they can easily be heard outside.Wandering the streets of Volaire are groups of Draconian soldiers. They chat idly as they wander the streets. A few stop in at the Artisan’s Guild to take a look at the wares. A few Draconians hang out on the docks, careful to stay out of the way of any workers.Overall, the chatter seems to vary from group to group.But in general… The topic of conversation… is King Kalil.

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