Seventeenth Day, Forth Month, 870 AD.

Lykourgos Sperakos, Prince.

Kingdom of Teleytaios.

Aenirhen.

The River Keep.

Dear Lyk,

I remember those night well too. I remember once when we were eight some courtier mocked you relentlessly for your bastardry, and you were brought to tears by it that night. We made plans to steal away on a Brythonian Leviathan-Ship, do you remember? I wanted nothing more than to hold you and reassure you that we would be fine and happy there, but it turns out we needn't have bothered with all our planning. Do you remember how red with anger Lord Brathaxe turned when you told him what the courtier had said to you? I do. I also remember how badly Lord Brathaxe beat him on the training ground that day, and the sound of cracking ribs. That man was strict, but I think in truth he was more of a father to the both of us than anyone else ever was.

Do you remember your eleventh nameday? I barely do; that Tildan vintage we shared was our first true experience drinking. For our punishment Drytos made us go with the serving-boys to take stock of the wines in the cellars the next day, and neither of us could stomach the smell of the stuff in our hungover states for more than a few minutes. I only remember small parts of that night, but I hope they're the same as you remember. If they're not then we can compare notes and try and work out exactly what we got up to! It's almost embarrassing; my tolerance for wines and ales has still barely improved since then, though neither has my tolerance for blood, I have found.

In other news, I was recently able to sail on one of the Leviathan-Ships, and went whaling with them in the Ouroborisian Sea!

I could have sworn I saw a man watching us from the rocks as we sailed past Wesvoy, but the strange thing is I looked back a moment later and saw only a seal. I asked one of the men next to me, a large Brythonian man with a seal pelt about his shoulders, but he just laughed and patted me on the back, telling me to keep watching in case it happened again. The funny thing is, I don't believe he was mocking me.

Angels above, how could I forget to mention this! Lyk, they're real! Harridans, I mean! Fascinating, terrifying things, somewhere between the mythical harpy and seabirds! I watched as one with the look of a prion plucked a man who had boarded with me in Anaria clean off the deck in a storm, and as it ascended another harridan resembling a skua began fighting with it mid-air like dogs will over a bone.

The display horrified me, and I'm not ashamed to admit I had a few nightmares over it, of being dragged screaming into the clouds then plummeting to the cold water, but I'm somewhat disgusted to say that for once my squeamishness was overruled by amazement. Harridans! And if the tales of harridans are real, then what else might be?

That reminds me of something else. I have heard some word of your own 'project' recently, but I feel that may be a conversation better had in person.

I wish you could've come on this journey with me, but I understand your reluctance to leave behind your duties. Drytos browbeat that into you well, didn't he? I miss him still, even though its been two years since he passed. You lost much that year, didn't you? Your foster-father in Aenirhen, your innocence at Haestinghen and, in some ways, your brother and I after the rebellion. You have apologised a dozen times, but I feel I must say it myself. I forgive you, and I am sorry. The words you said were hurtful, that much is true, but I couldn't understand how much your brother meant to you, nor did I understand that you hadn't become emotionless when you took your first lives, but rather that you were still too angry to process it. When I left to go on my travels and you stayed behind to rule I never once considered that I would be leaving you alone to try and make sense of your emotions and grief. I am sorry, and I promise to meet with you soon and truly make amends.

In the meantime, I have enclosed within the first drafts of the chapters on the Brythonic Isles and Polaeros. Originally I was intending to complete the draft for Owkrestos first, but seeing as I spent a month in the Brythonic Isles, it felt a waste to not spend the time writing of what I saw here.

Oh Lyk, it will be so good to see you again! I have so much more to tell you of these islands than I could possibly fit in a dozen letters, but I hope that this may tide you over in the meantime.

The Brythonic Isles:

The Brythonic Isles can be found to the north-west of the continent of Kliskorios, and consists of five major islands, along with several other outlying islands. The coasts are almost entirely made of jagged rocks and sheer dark-grey cliff faces, with a few stretches of beach covered in pebbles or a light-grey sand. The seas surrounding the islands are almost always either covered in fog or dangerous storms, making travel to and from the islands an extremely difficult venture, and as such I have only recently managed to see this mysterious land for myself.

The largest island is Brythonia, from which the archipelago gets its name. Located in the centre of the islands it is both the richest and most densely populated, through this is not particularly a feat when looking at their population compared to the mainland of the continent. Within its enigmatic shores are the Greystones, a circle of mysterious, huge grey stones, guarded fiercely by the islanders, as seen in the coming of Jaerl Isangrim and the First Pagan Greathost, who were beaten back from the Greystones and cast lifelessly into the sea. Some scholars have suggested that it acts as a giant calendar, charting the sun's position in the sky. Given how often these islanders see the sun, you will forgive me if I am hesitant to prescribe to this theory.

Second greatest of these islands is that of Aurinsay. Situated directly to the west of Brythonia, the people here fiercely resist any attempt to centralise their clans under whomever leads the island, which several have claimed would surely make them an easy target for the Scelopyrene, should ever they attempt another conquest of the islands. I disagree; although I may have only once made the odyssey to these shores, my research has led me to believe that this island may be one of the hardest for any invader to conquer. The Brythonic peoples, no matter their internal quarrels, always unite against an external threat, and far faster than any other peoples that I have seen or made light of through my studies.

This fact, coupled with the intensified love of freedom held by these islanders and their fanatical, sometimes suicidal lust for its preserved embrace, shall surely make certain their status as the hardest to conquer, as even if an invader wins the war, these men and women shall ensure that they never win the peace.

The third rock to be found upon this eternally stormy ocean is the island of Hedinskye, which for the last three centuries has been under the control of the Scelopyrene. When the Greathost of Jaerl Æinridi, son of Kveldulf, son of Isangrim, descended upon the island in 936 AD, he broke the force of Barrow-King Artan after slaying him in personal combat and, after Barrow-Chief Hoare, Artan's heir and leader of Hedinskye, was killed in the melee, he conquered and consolidated the island for his own people.

Now his descendants have interwoven themselves with the native population so much that they are one and the same, creating a hybrid of their cultures now known as the Hedyn. Owing oaths and allegiance to both the Barrow King of the Brythonic Isles and the Jaerl of the Scelopyrene has caused this island to become a point of much contention in the north, although a major conflict has never broken out, as each side knows that whomever invades the island, the Hedyn will certainly side with the other, leading to each realm attempting to goad the other into committing an act of war upon the island, though so far this has never yielded any effective results. Still, the islands geopolitical position puts it in a very strategic place; if someone were to lord over the Scelopyrene, then they would nominally control Hedinskye as well, which would be a particularly important staging post for influencing the other islands, or of course, directly intervening in their fates.

Last of the main group of the islands, Seadhg is the second smallest of the five islands overall. Found in the northernmost reaches of the Brythonic isles, it is less a single island and more of an archipelago in and of itself. A microcosm of the islands as a whole, each of the small islands pays heed to the words of their representative, chosen by the heads of the clans of each of the islands of Seadhg. From my studies and brief stay here I have determined that the people are often regarded as 'Shieldmen'. At first I thought that perhaps they had discovered or created a unique defensive innovation, but then I discovered that the islands themselves are the shields; their fractured and rocky nature makes naval passage even more dangerous than the rest of the islands, with narrow passages betraying a watery grave to any who pass through, shielding the northern coasts of Brythonia and Hedinskye.

Of course, the nesting Harridans watching from the rocks above likely dissuades several would-be voyagers as well. Halfway between a seabird and a harpy, these beasts descend from rocky outcrops and hidden alcoves whenever a damaged ship draws near. If they are hungry enough they may even attempt to attack intact vessels, a not uncommon occurrence given their insatiable appetites.

Many a ship has been wrecked at sea here, and one need only imagine the face of a sailor clutching to driftwood, believing himself safe as he washes ashore, and seeing a dozen red eyes stare back from the darkness.

A cruel jest by the Angels.

Wesvoy is perhaps the strangest of these islands. Lying far to the west of even the relatively remote main archipelago, there is little to gain and plenty to lose in attempting to reach these shores. The islands of Wesvoy are rocky and relatively barren, save what hardy grass, lichen and moss can grow upon the sun-starved rocks. It is said that the men and women of Wesvoy can transform into seals upon entering the waters surrounding their island, and they are met with caution even by their Brythonian brothers.

There is little to write about of these islands, save that one of the holy places of the northern religions lies in the island chain; the so-called Ouroborisian Tor, as stated by Chronicler Thisis in his book, A Treatise on Religions: Salvation and Savagery, is seen as a place of holy significance by the religions of the Brythonians, Scelopyrene and Skonisnomas, though the Brythonians and Skonisnomas seem to regard this place less as holy, and more unholy, neither race willing to speak of it. Even the Scelopyrene barbarians treat the small rocky outcrop with caution and reverence in mixed parts, though asking them why, I have found, elicits far more violent reactions than those of their Brythonian or Skonisnomas cousins.

The Ouroborisian Tor itself is just that: a Tor. A small rock rising barely twelve meters out of the sea and only six meters across at its widest, and yet there is something undoubtedly odd about that place.

I have seen it with my own eyes, and what's more, I was even able to stand upon it! To do so nearly cost me my life, for the captain of the ship I was on refused to take me to it, and so I began to swim.

I should have drowned in those frigid waters for my foolish decision, but something seemed to rush by me, and swept me upon the rock.

No one aboard saw what did it, and neither did I, but as I lay panting upon the rocks I could have sworn I saw something in the distance. I thought it to be a hallucination, but when I told the captain of it his face was deathly stern. He turned around, abandoning the quarry he had been chasing, and made haste to Wesvoy. When I asked why, I received only a cryptic message that we had lingered in these waters too long, and needed to leave.

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There's something out there that the northmen know of, or at least used to know of, and they want it to remain forgotten by the world.

It is seemingly always either foggy or raining upon these harsh shores. When there is rain the great Fog Rivers are visible in all their bleak majesty, and are exactly what they sound like; great valleys naturally carved between hills through which the mists of the island seemingly move as water does to the sea.

The land is permanently damp at best and soaked at worst, the grass always coated with dew and the sound of thunder never far from one's ears. Those lands not covered by great, rolling hills mostly consist of forests or marshlands.

In particular I would note the forests of Aurinsay and the marshlands of Hedinskye. The great forests of the second island are said to be filled with vengeful spirits, their incorporeal forms tinted a baleful green. They are said to take the form of whatever is most pleasing to those who find them, but with the mannerisms and airs of an unassailable sorrow about them, so much so that those who behold them are compelled to comfort them, following them into the deepest parts of the forests, never to be heard from again.

The Crow-Marshes of Hedinskye are not supernatural so much as a testament to the brutality of war. Those who died in the Battle of Sorrows, sometimes referred to as the Field of the Fallen, and fell in that accursed fen were forever preserved: the wounds that killed them, the expressions they displayed, and even the colour of their eyes preserved by the eternal and uncaring cold waters of that land.

The people that live on those islands are born with dark blue swirls and patterns on their skin, which is just as pale as that of the Scelopyrene. They are collectively known as the Brythonic people to outsiders, though ask anyone from one of the other islands and they will quickly set that notion to rest. Even still, they all follow the same customs, are of the same cloth, and face the same enemies and so all are united when an invader steps on any of their shores.

They are one of the most fascinating people I have ever walked among.

The Kingdom of Polaeros:

The Kingdom of Polaeros one of the smallest kingdoms in the Heptarchy, its lands encompassing only a curved line along the northernmost reaches of Klironomea.

Being the seat of wise men and scholars, Polaeros never fell to the inefficiency of petty or bastard feudalism, nor to the vileness of a kraterocracy like Triarios.

Despite the kingdom's relatively small size and population when compared to the other members of the Heptarchy, it maintains the single greatest levels of literacy and learnedness amongst the common folk of the lands. All who wish to do so are welcome in any of the fortress-libraries that dot the kingdom, so that they may learn their letters and numbers and teach their own families as well.

No man in Polaeros is shackled by serfdom, nor are the lords of this land able to dish out arbitrary or cruel punishments. The laws of this land are clear on all such matters, and not even the King stands above them.

In this regard, it can be argued that the systems in place for certain endeavours outstrip even those of the old Kingdom of Klironomea, since only the last of the Kings of Klironomea even thought to teach the lowborns to read and limit his own powers.

It is a pity he did not survive to see that dream through.

The Royal House of Polaeros is House Virgilos. According to common myth and corroborated by records, House Virgilos traces its descent from the philosopher Virgil, who was a renowned wise man and advisor at the court of the last King of Klironomea, Harald II.

The common understanding is that Virgil won control of the local lordships through a game of Deicide, and then proclaimed that his knowledge should be passed down to his descendants, who's ability to learn and to know would be the shield that guarded the civilised lands from the barbaroi beyond.

The coat of arms of House Virgilos is that of a pale-yellow bolt of lightning against a purple field, representing the spark of knowledge illuminating the dark.

Almost every member of this house has taken this sigil unmodified as their own.

Myself, Prince Alekos Virgilos, as well as Lord Dankrest Virgilos, Lady Thekla Virgilos and Lady Aspa Virgilos all have taken this sigil unmodified as their own, and only Ser Kyria Virgilos has modified it in any way, swapping out the pale-yellow of the lightning for a bright gold.

The words of the Royal House are as follows;

"Knowledge Above All."

Its meaning is simple and easy to comprehend. If there is something worth learning, you must learn it, and if there is no one to learn it from, you must work it out yourself.

The ability to learn, and the rewards of knowing, are greater than any possible hardship you may face whilst seeking knowledge.

The capital of Polaeros is Polaeriopolis, a city founded in the later days of the Kingdom of Klironomea by learned men, open-minded knights, and a large contingent of Skonisnomas barbarians, who had managed to free themselves from slavery at the hands of their own kin and sought refuge further south.

These disparate groups coalesced around the chapterhouse of the small Order of the Seeker, whose numbers and importance swelled with the arrival of these newcomers. A small town sprang up around the keep, and eventually more and more worshippers of the Angel Polaris and his barbarian equivalent, the Owl, were drawn to this place by the promise of learning, tolerance and freedom.

Polaeriopolis is not a particularly large city. As with the other great cities of the Heptarchy, save only Stratiopolis, the central district is palatial in nature.

The seat of Royal Power is the illustrious Seeker's Palace, which was built over the ruins of the old chapterhouse of the Knights of the Order of the Seeker when it burned down in 442 AD. It is equal parts palace and library, and the vast amounts of knowledge contained within the palace library are rivalled only by those great and ancient libraries in Tilda and Sothettar.

The great road leading into the city, the Guardianroad, stretches from the great urban sprawls of Sygomidopolis some six-hundred miles to the south all the way to the markets and warehouses of Inksquare in the south of the city, where every noble from Anaria to Dathan come to find whatever book they require.

In the east of the city lies Vellumtown. Its name comes from the old method of preparing parchment using animal skins, though with the rise of wood pulping the name is now simply a vestige of its old past. Still, with royal assistance the region still maintains its productive nature by swapping to these new methods of paper production, and it remains the single largest producer of paper in the Heptarchy to this day.

The western district of the city is simply an urban sprawl containing the masses who shelter in the city’s walls. Unlike the filth of other cities, the quality of life in Polaeriopolis is relatively high even for the lowborns; with well-built stone houses, a working sewage system and clean drinking water, the lower classes of Polaeriopolis live their lives comfortably and productively, thanks to generations of support from their kings in the Seeker's Palace.

Finally there is the northern district. Ostensibly it is a temple district, though if one were to compare it to any other there would be only minor similarities.

The main places of note in the northern district are the Great Library of Polaeriopolis, the Temple of Stars, and the Royal Hospital.

The Great Library is exactly what is sounds like. Where the Royal Library in the palace is for private use, most of the knowledge contained within can also be found in the Great Library, which is open to anyone, regardless of birth, for free. This makes it unique even amongst its counterparts in Tilda and Sothettar.

The Royal Hospital is also exactly that; a place of healing for the sick funded mostly by royal expense. Other royal houses may call it a waste of money, seemingly forgetting that Polaeriopolis is the only one of the seven major cities in the Heptarchy to make it out of every Black Grave epidemic mostly unscathed.

The Temple of Stars is a magnificent place, dedicated to the Angel Polaris, who resides over knowledge and shares rulership of the stars with Hydran. Murals of the night sky cover the walls, and the ceiling is a great glass dome through which the lights of Polaris can be seen at night.

Donations for both the library and hospital are collected in the temple, and all three buildings are guarded fiercely by the Order of the Seeker.

The borders of Polaeros encompass those lands between the much larger Kingdom of Licotemos to the south and the Skonisnomas barbarians to the north in the shape of a gentle crescent. There are few castles and fewer towns outside of Polaeriopolis itself, mostly thanks to constant raids from the northern barbaroi, and as a result a line of chapterhouses marks a rough border at the north of the kingdom, and indeed the border of the Heptarchy as a whole.

The people of Polaeros mostly worship the Old Church, since the identity and even the very name of the kingdom stems from the Angel of Knowledge, Polaris.

The New Church does not recognise the seven Angels as being real, and although the nobility of Polaeriopolis may agree with this statement, the rest of the nation certainly does not. This means that, whilst those large numbers of noblemen and women in the city itself may not pay tribute to Polaris, most of the knights, clergy, scholars, soldiers, and people do. No king of Polaeros has been foolish enough to deny Polaris when his entire kingdom is tied so firmly to his ideals, and so the Old Church still retains primacy over the northernmost lands of Klironomea.

There are other, minor cults with followings however; the people of this kingdom have generally always been receptive to followers of Aenethar and the Silent Cult, and some number of The Cult of the Ampithere-Worship are known to reside around the Drakespine Mountains in the far eastern reaches of the kingdom. There are whispers of Umbra-Worshippers, the Church of the Ancients, residing in some rural communities, but even these groups are content to be left alone with their beliefs and carry on like any other subject of Polaris.

Polaeros has one of the smallest militaries in the Heptarchy, but what forces it does maintain are mostly knightly in nature, with a growing number of armsmen. The armies of Polaeros rely not on massed numbers and levies, for it simply could not be sustained, but well-trained and well-armed soldiers.

There are some three-thousand knights in Polaeros, around a thousand of which are sworn to the Order of the Seeker, and make up some of the greatest shock cavalry the Heptarchy has ever known.

One-thousand men-at-arms can also be found in the armies of Polaeros, an almost equal split of billhooks and longbows amongst them, as well as two Scorpion-Engines; magnificent technological marvels allowing for a group of horses to carry a covered cart with a scorpion and veritable battery of crossbows into battle in the safety of the cart.

In times of great need, Polaeros can call upon almost two-thousand levies to supplement these armies, though preferable to that are sellswords, since they have greater experience in warfare and effective equipment.

Due to the small nature of Polaeros' population there are no major sellsword bands formed from its inhabitants, since there simply aren't enough bodies to fill the ranks of any major outfit.

To surmise, whilst people may look at Polaeros as the forgotten youngest child of the Heptarchy, it must be remembered that it has the greatest literacy, greatest resistance to the black grave, and even the largest number of professional soldiers, proportionally speaking.

If one recalls that the kingdom benefits from both the largest repository of knowledge in the Heptarchy and constant military experience from skirmishes with the northern barbaroi, Polaeros likely does not seem so weak when viewed with that lens.

I have attempted to control my biases, though they should not be too blatant anyway since I spent most of my life in Teleytaios being fostered alongside Prince Lykourgos Sperakos. As a result I believe this to be mostly free of personal bias, though undoubtedly some residual love for the land of my birth remains.

There, the first drafts of the chapters for both the Brythonic Isles and the Kingdom of Polaeros. I hesitate to ask you a favour, but do you think that your friend the Master of Silver could whisk me into Aenirhen unnoticed? Technically I was supposed to have returned to Polaeros months ago, and while I have notified them of my extended travels, I do not wish a spectacle to be made of my return from my voyage in your father's kingdom. Perhaps soon you will be able to visit me in the Seeker's Palace as well? If you're worried about taking time away from your work just tell yourself it's a diplomatic mission, that normally works when people ask me why im always travelling.

Regardless of the manner of my arrival, be it public or private, I promise to meet with you either way and spend the week in Aenirhen, if you'll have me. I don't think I need ask seeing as I was raised in that keep with you, but I know you'll appreciate me checking first. It'll be nice to hear your advice on certain matters pertaining to the rulership of my home as well; though by ten and four I may have been one of the greatest scholars in the Heptarchy I was never quite your equal when it came to leading men. You took to ruling like a fish to water or a bird to flight. I'll make a good Prince and King, of that I've no doubt, but you? You'll be a great one.

It will be good to see you again.

Remain ever in my thoughts,

Prince Alekos Virgilos.