Older and richer than the kingdoms fighting over it know.
Nathaniä is the great kingdom of the west, ruled by a crown and its noble houses. Its state church is the Church of Unum. Its army marches under a crimson lion.
The Greywood lies on the eastern road. No one camps there. Beyond it runs the river Faunavis, crossed at the fortress of Varathen, and beyond the river lies Soloritur, the old land, where the old houses once ruled.
Orenthal is the oldest city in the world. It stands in Soloritur, built in rings, and it keeps a Registry: every arrival is assessed and written down. Mystidolor is the city of the seven guilds. Doloriä is the realm of the mountain, governed by its Council and its Chairman. Beyond the kingdoms lie the Kashari Islands, keepers of the Hall of Neutral Address, and Threnmark, whose shoals are sailed daily and forgive nothing.
Compiled from the rolls of the House of Record at Orenthal, first year of the fourth occupation. Attributions follow the register; the register does not argue.
A sun behind upright bars. White and gold upon black. The oldest glass in the Church’s chapels carries the device in its original form, which is also its current form; the Church does not revise.
“Through order, truth. Through truth, life.”
A silver serpent upon black, coiled or risen, mouth closed. The serpent observes. Elder seal, Second Era, out of use: a bridge over water, in green wax. Struck at Varathen, the fortress the house held at the crossing of the Faunavis, before the house passed into shadow. The elder seal has not been formally retired. It has merely not been seen.
“In shadow, certainty.”
A boundary stone upon green. The house has held the same border for longer than the border has held its name.
“We hold the line others draw.”
A black ship, sail reefed, upon white. The house counts its power openly: ships, routes, ports.
“The sea pays in full.”
A tower bearing an unlit beacon. The house has petitioned for the eastern garrison command in every season the rolls record.
“Ready when called.”
An oak upon gold. The house holds the south of Nathaniä and has held it quietly for as long as the rolls run.
“We remain.”
Three bars, upright, set side by side. Dark gold upon black. The oldest device in Thalmir; the rolls record no grant, no date, and no blazon older than the device itself.
“We were first. We shall be last.”
A straight sword, point upward, with a star above it. Silver upon dark red. Unornamented at the hilt.
“Ours by right. Always.”
A key, heavy and ancient, gold upon black. The key is not a device of welcome. Blood is the only key the house has ever recognised.
“Blood opens the door.”
Banking and debts. A golden scale, balanced.
“All debts are paid. Eventually.”
Mining and gems. A pick crossed with a cut stone.
“What the mountain hides, we find.”
Arms and armour. A hammer above an anvil.
“We make what others cannot live without.”
Engineering and innovation. A single gear.
“If it exists, it can be improved. For a fee.”
Trade and the roads. An open hand bearing a coin.
“Every road leads to profit.”
Alchemy and medicine. A glass vial, stoppered and sealed.
“Knowledge has a price. So does your health.”
Building and architecture. A hand of stone.
“We build what time cannot break.”
An empty chair. The islands keep the Hall of Neutral Address, where no power’s seat is filled; the device is the neutrality itself.
“We keep what was given.”
A sounding-lead upon sea-grey. The Threnmark shoals forgive nothing and are sailed daily; the device is the reason why.
“Sound before sail.”
A wolf’s head in grey wax, often accompanied by nine hairline cuts. The cuts are not rank in the ordinary sense. They are degrees of burden. Their signs use the language of builders: plumb-line, square, dividers, mason’s cord, sounding-lead, and, where old stone refuses its place, the crowbar. No motto is entered in the rolls. One marginal hand gives only:
“The line holds.”
A closed hand, palm outward. Found upon the city’s oldest stonework, cut in the earliest notation, always in the same form. The rolls list it among devices for completeness. No house has ever claimed it, and no grant for it exists in any archive.
The register records one further particular, from the survey of the first year: the device does not appear on the city’s banners, gates, or coinage.
It appears only on the inside of things.
When shadows stretched on mortal stone,
and night laid claim to wall and throne,
the world recalled a deeper tone
from elder days, now long unowned.
Before the crown, before the law,
before men named what they once saw,
power endured, unnamed and raw,
that asked no grace and owed no awe.
When wolves first walked with mortal kind,
it was not voice nor whip they signed,
but balance, sensed in soul and mind,
a bond the unworthy could not bind.
They did not crown; they only saw
the weight a man could bear, or flaw.
Names were forged for memory,
to stand beyond mortality.
From balance came the measured reign,
from witnessed worth and tempered pain.
Not all were called to hold the rein,
not all to rule, not all to strain.
Beneath the garden two will wait:
one ends all doubt, one names your fate;
a third but watches, soon and late.
Who answers neither holds the gate.
Empires rose as memory thinned,
as cost was lost and pride crept in.
Faith was shaped to shelter sin,
then turned to chain by willing kin.
Yet stone and script could not erase
the elder mark, the buried trace.
Nine gates were counted, eight in sight;
the ninth stood shut, and kept its night.
“It appears only on the inside of things.”
© 2026 Thomas P. Blinde · Roden, the Netherlands
The Era of Return is adult epic fantasy and contains graphic violence and explicit content.
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