House Valkorian

House Valkorian, once a profitable Merchant House that operated throughout Dalewynnd and Veldwar for the better part of three centuries, had humble origins. Originally they were a simple family of sailors that carted goods in their wide, flat bottom boats across the Lake of Tears.

Generations passed, and their wealth grew as they transported cargo throughout the realm, allowing them to establish manors in a number of large cities throughout Dalewynnd. As their prosperity increased, so did their opulence, and tales of debauchery behind the walls of their estates have stained many a page.

It is said that in later generations their tastes began taking a darker twist, as mere pleasures of the flesh were no longer enough to sate them. Perhaps that is why historians speak of their consorting with foul things from Baahltizar, and their caravans operating as a cover for a league of necromancers.

At the height of their depravity, it is said that a curse was laid upon all their line, and an entire generation was born twisted of mind or body. Perhaps it was payment to a dark power for centuries of fortune, or perhaps it was a reflection of the blighted lineage. Brethren accused one another, and within a few short years the House fell to internal conflict. Caravan routes that had depended upon their oversight for decades were disrupted, as each member of the House grew overly paranoid and attempted to seclude themselves behind heavy doors and stone walls.

Old age and disease claimed those that had not ended their own existence, while the disappearance of the twisted children of the last generation has been a matter of debate for some time. Some claim they joined the dark sorcerers of the Black Mountains, while others claim a tie to the sightings of abominations in the sewers of Caerwynn. Regardless of the truth of the matter, all that remains of this once great house is little more than a cautionary tale.

Banners

The banner for House Reldstone, the Lords of the town of Staedren.

...and the banner of their bitter rivals, House Malicar of Tearg.

Histories

"House Ralear of Thead had rather humble origins. Wolne Ralear was a captain of a flat bottomed merchant ship that never strayed from sight of the coast, from Forspire to Ander. It was during one of his trips, while his son Arthund was on board and learning the art of navigation, that a foul wind swept up, carrying with it a massive storm. Rather than perish beneath the waves as his ship was dashed upon the rocks, Captain Ralear instead anchored at the rotting piers of the abandoned town of Suvadia, along with a handful of other ships.

For a week the storm raged as the sailors took refuge in the abandoned keep in the middle of the town. Wolne took command of the motley group, and had them scour the fortress for provisions. Coming back empty handed, the sailors grew irritable and hungry, until Arthund noticed that the lower levels were covered with edible mushrooms. The sailors, their mood having returned, heralded the boy as their savior.

When the wind finally died, the crews were dismayed that the docks had been smashed, and the ships lay beneath the waves. Wolne gathered the men, and stated that the Lord of Seas had sought to take their ships from them, but in return gave them a town. Over the next few months, the town was rebuilt, and renamed Sumardassa, gift of the Lord of Seas. Many of the sailors built new ships and continued their trade, but Wolne and Arthund stayed.

The next year, an army arrived from Wyrmfire, flying the King's banner. The gates were thrown wide with invitation, and because of the hospitality, Wolne Ralear was granted the title of First Baron of Sumardassa, and protector of the lands surrounding the city."

- The Collected Annals of Thead

The War of Knives

The once-loyal slave leaned over the noble, who lay rigid on the bed, limbs barely twitching and a light froth spilling from between his clenched teeth. A wicked smile played across the features of the hawkish man as he whispered into the noble's ear.

"In your final moments, as the poison slowly drips through your veins, leaving you paralyzed for some time before it stops your lungs and you suffocate, I will take pity upon you and tell you the truth. It was not Lord Narus that sent the assassin that killed your son. As your own mercenaries struck him down, he was unaware of your grievance against him. Your vengeance was truly misguided, and only served to remove an obstacle in my path."

His long spidery fingers traced over the Lord's brow, flicking a single bead of sweat away as the paralyzed man's eyes rolled to look at his tormentor, his eyes seething with rage.

"As you pass from this world into the next, know that it was I that paid for your son's death, and the tainted wine that now lays spilled came from my hand. By the time the suns rise on Aticraulys once more, your line will be as ashes in the wind. Your name will be forgotten in a generation. Thus, my vengeance as the Scion of House Cetravius is complete."

Tales of the Realm...

"It is said that the Mad Prince, in his anguish over the loss of his young Bride, made a pact with something that had been sealed beneath the Black Mountains. He released a blight into the land, and lush valleys became barren wastes, verdant forests blackened and the trees twisted, rivers became thick and sluggish, and the animals that drank from them became ill. Dead things lurked about, under a dim sky..."
- The Fall of Baahltizar

Tales of the Realm...

"His sight obscured by blood, his body cut in a dozen places, and his armor pierced by arrows, the knight rose once again to his feet. His sacred oath, sworn before a legion of his brothers, passed his lips once again, giving him strength to rise and lift sword once more. He plunged his blade deep into the orc lord's chest, hilt meeting flesh, and they both fell, never again to rise.

The horde, seeing their lord and champion fall, scattered and fled back to their holds in Varagoth."
- Collected Annals of the Golden Order of the Rampant Lion

Tales of the Realm...

"It was if the very earth had grown sick, everywhere there was a bubbling cauldron of scalding mire, and the smell that lingered in the air was if something had been dead and festering for an age. After the third day of trudging through such a dreadful place, where the sun was kept at bay by an ever lingering cloud, I began to believe that this place was truly cursed. After the fifth day, the last of our mules succumbed to the deadly appetite of the swamp, and was swallowed almost without a sound. Nearly a week passed before we emerged from that wretched place, and where once we stood as a dozen strong, we were half that after our ordeal. I would never again willingly venture into the Shademarsh, even for all the lost gold of the fabled Palace of Atochrea."
- The Journal of Damodir Logaris