The Prismatic Sovereignty

For centuries, over many worlds, dragons and dragon kind have both terrorized and peacefully coexisted with humans and elves. A new age has arrived, with the opportunity to see bonds between dragons and dragon riders form again, a chance to rule and expand the power afforded to those loyal to The Prismatic Sovereignty and the primordial world shapers as the Royal House of Midrvegr.

Current House Members -

• (Discord: Cinders#2130) : Nyre - Queen of Midrvegr
• (Discord: Gestalt#6366) : Adirianoch - General
• (Discord: Rosario#5452) : SkekVaal - Subjugator
• (Discord: Aquarius#1524) : Kythaera Argente
• (Discord: gwyr#0042) : Myrddin Emyrs - Master of Lore
• (Discord: Rosario#5452) : Fafnir Gale - Ambassador
• (Discord: Jeremold#9015) : Frenk Ferus - Horse Master
• (Discord: Nirante#5934) : Lisere - TBD
• (Discord: HeXis#5684) : Dagon - Guardsman
• (Discord: Mektor#8033) : Nicodemus

How to contact us

Please contact us through Discord, through a postmaster in-game or attend one of our .motd events if interested in joining the Royal House of Midrvegr.

Events

Generally we are on afternoons, evenings and nights; Eastern/Central USA Standard time. On weekends we will try to make an effort to hold events at different times for those not within those time zones; please just let us know. On top of our weekly recruiting event we plan to host hunts, tavern nights, festivals, and open court.

Current Status

Leadership has recently shifted in Andalstad, with the former First Speaker stepping down, and a more traditional and familiar structure has reformed under the leadership and rule of the new Queen. Though still considered "outsiders" by much of the north, those in Andalstad have noticed the ruling house involving themselves more in day to day life - a concentrated effort to understand and serve those remaining and those returning to the capital city.

Alliances with neighboring cities are precarious and fragile at this point, with rumors spreading far and wide that both help and hinder the new rule in Andalstad, but the state of the city seems to be more stable than in previous months.

Lore

Colors

• The Prismatic Sovereignty favors Blue and Silver for it's banners and flags.
• Members tend to favor the color of their scales for casual dress.

Holdings

• The Capital City of Andalstad, Kingdom of Midrvger. https://i.ibb.co/gP9q2M6/Andalstad-Map.png

The Formation of The Prismatic Sovereignty

Formally the Children of Io, a great shift has occurred after the First Speaker relinquished his leadership role. The Council was dismantled in favor of the more familiar structure of a monarchy in the capital city of Midrvegr after leadership was granted to the Third Speaker, Nyre. While some within the Children of Io protested such a change, others felt it necessary to immerse themselves in the rich culture of the northern people under their rule. Once seeming very dragon exclusive, The Prismatic Sovereignty seek to gather others of like mind - be it draconic, human, or any of those seeking a united, stable Midrvegr and the power associated with such.

Here on Cuivienen we have a proper chance of regaining and keeping power together. This is not without struggle, as both light and dark exist within those loyal to The Prismatic Sovereignty and internal strife is not unfamiliar.

“Dragons and legends...It would have been difficult for any man not to want to fight beside a dragon.” ― Patricia Briggs, Dragon Blood

What God or Goddess are you hoping to place on the Arcanum Crystal?

The Prismatic Sovereignty calls to those in service to either (or both) Ancalagon and Jormungandr, though Ancalagon the Black holds more sway in Andalstad. The winged dragon of iron and ice battles for supremacy with the serpent dragon of amber and gold both in this world they have shaped and in the hearts of draconic kin.

Some dragons and draconic kin still serve Io, occasionally known as Asgorath or Asgoroth, who is a neutral primordial over-deity and considered by many as the dragon-father. An entity of seemingly conflicting motivations and alignments, known for doing either very little or a whole lot depending on the incarnation. Ancalagon and Jormungandr are often viewed as primordial children of Io.

Membership Target

The Prismatic Sovereignty seeks dragons, humans, Aelfyn, naga, dragon and dragon rider pairs, or any others seeking to aid in creating a united Midrvegr and beyond. Generally those with ambition, drive, and a thirst for power and land would find a place for themselves within the guild - with both darker and lighter alignments welcome.

Players suited to conflict role-play will find it here, with the stipulation that we all behave like adults and keep the drama in game. If you're interested in finding a spot for your character in a conflict driven guild but would like to chat about it beforehand, feel free to contact me on discord - Cinders#2130

Story

A chill wind was blowing. Not so unusual this far north, but this one was unique. It held grim portents if one were to believe the huskarlar and warriors gathered below. And they could hardly be blamed, Iber reflected. The wind stank of death.

The gray thane took a moment to survey his troops from the crest of the hill but inevitably his eyes were drawn further afield, across the scraggy tundra and to the army arrayed beyond. There was the death he smelled. There was the source of all these grim portents, so close to being realized that one could taste them if the breeze was just right. There, he reflected, was the end.

The black horde writhed like a living thing, a singular and bestial entity that only knew hunger. It wasn’t a singular thing, though. It was hundreds, thousands. And it wasn’t living. A milling sea of thralls, soulless, and ghouls waited there, stretched across the horizon. Here and there the hulking and ragged silhouette of a reanimated trow stood towering above the rest. And if he squinted, Iber could just make out the shades that drifted back and forth in front of the ravening host, the dread lieutenants that commanded this plague upon the living.

...what were they waiting for? He didn’t know, but he prayed that Ancalagon would let the sun linger where it stood just a little bit longer. Time, just a little more time. Please.

The sound of boots crunching over the frost-rimmed grasses drew him from his thoughts and he beheld the approach of Gedda, one of his droengiar. As young as she was, she still bore the scars of a dozen battles. More important, she had the priceless ability to learn from each one of them, a quality that had quickly made her one of his most trusted warleaders. With his own sons and daughters grown and gone, she was the closest thing to an heir he had. And when he was gone, she’d take his place… or would have, he reflected with another glance to the horde beyond.

“The sappers started hitting stone about a bell ago so I told them to stop. The trenches won’t go any deeper,” she grunted, coming to stand next to him. He nodded. “Let them rest,” came his reply. For all the good they would do, those trenches might as well be graves. It was the sad truth he didn’t speak, but Gedda knew it all the same. They had dug in as deep as they could, cut down every scrawny tree on the hill, made pits and berms and anything they could to slow the enemy. Hours of work for a few more minutes of life.

Gedda was quiet for a moment, and though her reply was soft he felt it in his bones. “May as well. This is it, isn’t it?” He grimaced, and as much as he wanted to agree with her he shook his head. Maybe it was the stubborn father in him, but he spoke his next words through gritted teeth and they sounded so fervent that even he started to believe them. “The jarls will come. Hallbjorn and Brynja, the both of them.”

He didn’t need to glance aside to picture the doubtful look she would lay upon him. The jarls were hundreds of miles removed from this remote stretch of land, days of travel. Even as quick as Brynja was, it was unthinkable. He believed it all the same, though. He needed to, for Gedda, for his warriors. Maybe even for himself, if there was any hope left over and the end of this outpouring.

“Open wide your eyes, Gedda,” he continued, drawing in a lungful of cold air. “You’ll see the shining speck on the horizon, the silhouette in the sky, the stormbolt. They’ll be here. We just need a little more-” An unearthly shriek shredded his words, not the product of one throat but of thousands. The wretched wail rose in the air and rolled across the open tundra, washing over Iber and his army. He grit his teeth against the sound, resisted the urge to clamp his hands over his ears in a futile attempt to shut it out. He would need those hands; skeggold, skalmold, skildir ro klofnir. The shriek slowly faded to silence but it was merely a herald to something more horrible altogether. The black horde lurched forward.

Across the meager fortifications came the reply of his own warriors, the sound of horns, the alarm. He could feel his heart beating like a wardrum and without a word he descended the hill alongside Gedda and joined his soldiers in the battle line. Harsh and cutting voices called out orders as weapons were loosed, shields were hefted, and armor was secured. Where only moments ago there had been tense stillness, coiled as tightly as a serpent, now there was life. Now there were the last desperate preparations of those who lived.

And the enemy host marched on. He could feel them now, the rumbling of thousands upon thousands, slavering for nothing more than slaughter. He could smell them, the reeking tide of their filth filling his nostrils much stronger for every step they approached. He could see them, shambling and loping monstrosities stretching from one end of the horizon to the other, only dead hatred in their black eyes. He could see-

His gasp was quiet, but enough to draw Gedda’s eyes to him, then to where he looked. There, on the horizon, silhouetted against the sky… a shining speck. A speck rapidly growing larger, an impossible sign against the backdrop of the sun. A metallic flash, a suggestion of wings. It couldn’t be…

“Brynja!” came the shout from beside him, Gedda confirming what Iber’s old eyes still struggled to see through the tears that sprung from them. “Brynja the Bronze! The jarls! The jarls are here!”

Her disbelieving and manic laughter was lost to a roar, this one not from the charging black horde but from the suddenly imminent and immense dragon that swooped down towards the undead. A warcry, a clarion call, it was the sound of righteous vengeance. Brynja struck the ground in the center of the enemy army like a stormbolt, corpses and dirt launched away from the point of impact. Her savage talons cleaved swathes of enemies in two, her swinging tail shattered yet more into bones and dust, and from her back Hallbjorn sung his battle song and called forth great bursts of flame from his hands.

No matter how many times he had seen it Iber could only watch in awe. But he was an old thane, given to such moments. At his side, the impetus of youth prevailed. Gedda called out again. “For the jarls! For the kingdom!” She clambered out of the trenches and started the counter-charge, and the whole of the army followed after, Iber included.

Maybe they would live after all, he reflected as his army pounded across the field toward the fray. They rushed headlong towards death, but now there was hope. Not just for the young and old. Not just for dragon and rider.

There was hope for the north.