Testimony of Ellis Waterweir

I return with some good news, reader. Things are slowly moving onward, and as my MA draws towards its terminus I find myself with more time to dedicate to Esdaria. Last night, whilst working on something else that will be released here over the next few weeks, I took five minutes to draft this for your perusal. The following Lore is heavily influenced by my own current area of study: death practices and the living dead in England in the Middle Ages.

Thank-you for sticking with me over the last couple of months, despite the fact posting has slowed down so much. I'm overjoyed to see people are still taking time to look at the various stories and content available, and a few weeks ago we surpassed 5,000 views! Unfortunately, I cannot offer any updates on Jaedor and Derryk part II (electric boogaloo), as I am still exploring various options by which to release it. It also requires another draft or two, but I am determined to have it available before 2017 is done. 

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If the scholar were faced with a number of documents, the first they would likely discard as appearing uninteresting would be the below testimony. Written in a poor and rushed hand with terrible spelling on a filthy piece of ragged parchment, making a transcription of this document would likely be deemed a waste of time. Also, the document is not too long, so one may expect to learn little from it. However, the Testimony of Ellis Waterweir is one of the most crucial documents in the Inquisition’s Black Athenaeum – the high-security vault in which all records, relics, and highly dangerous or sensitive materials pertaining to the Empire are stored.

Its dating is dubious. The script records three names: the man in question, Ellis Waterweir; the knight-inquisitor interrogating him, Maria Sturkos; and the scribe, William Stonesby, who is mentioned only once at the start of the document. Beyond this record, there are no mention of any of the three people this document concerns anywhere else in the known imperial record. In the Inquisitorial Registers, which records the information of every inquisitor, no Knight-Inquisitor Maria Sturkos is ever listed. The closest match is a Maryanna Stelikior, who joined the Inquisition in 103Y2A, but her record is uncharacteristically incomplete. According to the record, Maryanna never rose above the position of inquisitor; there is also no entry regarding her death or dismissal from the order, and she drops out of the imperial record c. 106Y2A.

The document itself is so important as it is the only known record that details methods to deal with the dangerous dead that exists beyond the famous Bestiary Written in Blood. Waterweir (EW in the transcription) was a sorcerer of necromancy, presumably captured by Maria (MS in the transcription). He provides a surprisingly detailed account of how to prevent a walking corpse from living.

William’s hand is infuriating: he does not appear to have been a particularly eloquent scribe, and is neither practiced in spelling nor grammar. It has been suggested his spelling – inconsistent and hard to fathom throughout – mimics a local regional accent that has since died out, as any such accent cannot be placed in the present era. One of the most popular theories amongst scholars is that Maria and William were not associated with the Inquisition in any way, and were instead using imperial titles to further their own agendas – though what they may be is unknown. If William was an Imperial clerk, he would have been trained in advanced language and letters – the following document does not mirror such training. Also, many of the questions and sympathies Maria shows Waterweir does not mimic the training junior inquisitors are given in interrogation.

Two transcriptions are provided for the reader: one with William’s original spelling, one that is corrected.

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This testimonyie ov Eyilis Wyterwyr is recordede bye Wylliam Stonesbie; as followes is mye transcryptiones ov thie interrogayetionne perfformd bye Knyte-Inquisitore Marya Sturkors.

MS: Wyterwyr ansur mye questionnes truethfullie ore yew shalle forse me tew showe yew thie waye ov thie Divyne Empryss’ lyte it shalle byrne yore flesshe and damme yore sowle tew foreyver bi blyndede bye Her lyte.

EW: Aye shalle dew as yew asske mye condisione iss thatte yew rylese mi fore thie truthe.

MS: Iyt shalle bi donne and naow yew musst ansur mi thys: for whome ar yore acomplisys?

EW: There are nunne.

MS: Have therre byn?

EW: Nevyr.

MS: Have yew iynstrycted othyrs iyn thie Haethaen Ayrts?

EW: Nevyr no wayt once mye layte wife.

MS: And ov what dyd she dye?

EW: Wyth ae pawsse and teers shie wosse kylled by bandyts.

MS: And wosse thys thie ryson forre yore practysyng ov thie Haethaen Ayrts?

EW: It wosse.

MS: And thosse bandyts ar wyrre todaie?

EW: Thosse menne ayr daed.

MS: Forre a shortte pawse dyd yew kyll thym?

EW: Aye dyd as an akt ov revenje and forre thie sowle ov mye bylovyd.

MS: Aye understynd forre I cannotte saie I woode notte dew thie sayme but is it truthe that yew entchantyd yore fowes witth thie Haethaen Ayrts?

EW: Nae forre aye mayde thie bodys ov thie fallyn ryse.

MS: And thie dedde attacedde thie bandyts?

EW: Aye neEWe theiy hyd iyn thie tries bye thie semeterrie so wen aye challynged themme I dyd so wythyn thie boundaryies ov thie semeterrie and I dyd raiyse thie corpsys ov thie fallyn tew smyte mye fowes.

MS: And dyd theiy alle dye then?

EW: Theiy dyd.

MS: Aye sie and whatte dyd yew dew wyth thie daed yew hadde rysyn?

EW: I cuyd nowtte control them forre longe and sewn theiy werre rynnyng wyld iyn thie semeterrie byt theiy wyr ownlie bownes and rotte sew theiy werre fellde aesylie.

MS: Hawe dosse one kyll thatte wyche is alrydy daed?

EW: Thie walkyng daed ar dryvyn bye maegicalle aessaense whych bynds tew theyr bodyies byt thie aessaense alweyies is lewkyng tew bi frie so wen thie bodyie is brokyn enouf the aessaense wyll escaype an thie aechaentmynt wyll bi brokyn an thie daed wyll dye onse morre.

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This testimony of Ellis Waterweir is recorded by William Stonesby; as follows is my transcription of the interrogation performed by Knight-Inquisitor Maria Sturkos.

MS: Waterweir, answer my questions truthfully or you shall force me to show you the way of the Divine Empress’ light. It shall burn your flesh and damn your soul to forever be blinded by Her light.

EW: I shall do as you ask; my condition is that you release me for the truth.

MS: It shall be done, and now you must answer me this: for whom are your accomplices?

EW: There are none.

MS: Have there been?

EW: Never.

MS: Have you instructed others in the Haethen Arts?

EW: Never. No, wait, once my late wife.

MS: And of what did she die?

EW: (with a pause and tears) She was killed by bandits.

MS: And this was this your reason for your practicing of the Heathen Arts?

EW: It was.

MS: And those bandits are where today?

EW: Those men are dead.

MS: (for a short pause) Did you kill them?

EW: I did, as an act of revenge and for the soul of my beloved.

MS: I understand, for I cannot say I would not do the same. But is it true that you enchanted your foes with the Heathen Arts?

EW: No, for I made the bodies of the fallen rise.

MS: And the dead attacked the bandits?

EW: I knew they hid in the trees by the cemetery, so when I challenged them I did so within the boundaries of the cemetery and I did raise the corpses of the fallen to smite my foes.

MS: And did they all die then?

EW: They did.

MS: I see. And what did you do with the dead you had risen?

EW: I could not control them for long and soon they were running wild within the cemetery, but they were only bones and rot, so they were felled easily.

MS: How does one kill that which is already dead?

EW: The walking dead are driven by magical essence which binds to their bodies, but the essence always is looking to be free. So, when the body is broken enough, the essence will escape and the enchantment will be broken, and the dead will die once more.

Letter Concerning the Elder Ones

Firstly, hello! It's been a while since my last post, and I decided to let you all know that, yes, this is still a thing and, no, I haven't given up. Things are taking longer than anticipated regarding the next story (that can't even be called shortish anymore, as it's novel-length), but wheels are slowly turning there. I hope to be able to get it out to you all at some point in the near future, but I currently can't put a date or any kind of time-frame on it. Again, as I have done before, I apologise for this.

For those who haven't ever read a Lore post before, the first thing you need to know is that I'm an MA Medieval Historian. These fictional documents are snapshots into the history of Esdaria. I spend a vast amount of my time with my nose buried in documents similar to those that I create as Lore posts (but often far more dull). When one such document is placed in front of you as a real-world historian, you look at it and have to draw out the intricacies of it: who is writing? When are they writing? Who are they writing for? What circumstances does the document reflect? Why is this included here? What's that doing there?

When I started this blog, I decided it might be interesting to produce similar documents that relate to Esdaria's past and present that are both telling and ambiguous about certain truths and fictions from within the fantastical world. I provide a few scholarly-style notes in the voice of an unnamed Esdarian scholar to accompany the text, giving a vague overview of the document and its context, but ultimately allow the reader to make their own mind up about what is going on. I thought that this could be a slightly unique way of allowing those interested in Esdaria and its stories to obtain a much more personal, in-depth look at the details of the world.

I found myself with a little time free a few evenings ago and decided to create this, as it loosely ties in with a few ideas I've been toying with recently. As with all previous Lore posts, this both directly and indirectly pertains to Esdaria's ongoing history, as well as the overall grand narrative that I'm gradually working towards.

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The following document is what appears to be the last surviving of a number of letters sent out at the behest of Empress Vidoria herself around the beginning of the fortieth year of the Second Era of Imperial History (40Y2E). At this time, the Vidorian Empire was seen, as it has been argued by some, as being at its peak. It was enjoying a peace and prosperity that has not been seen for many years since, with the entirety of the western kingdoms securely vassal-provinces. Although Altmeria to the east was not a part of the Empire, and would remain separate for another century, relations between the Empire and King Loris II of Altmeria were cordial enough to allow for free-passage and prosperous trade between territories.

Empress Vidoria, now an aging woman and due to pass away some eight years after this letter was produced, was already considered by many to be divine during her lifetime. As such, although the letter below contains an order for its destruction, it seems that whoever received it did not destroy it due to the fact it carried her seal – a mark only the Empress’ hand could bestow. Shortly after her death, a law was passed stating that all items touched or in possession of the Divine Empress during her lifetime were sanctified, and destruction of any such object was punishable by death.

Because of this, when the letter was later discovered by the Vidorian Inquisition in the private collection of Duke Farad Oswier of the Northern Imperial Heartlands in 198Y2E – it was quite possibly sent to one of his ancestors or former owners of one of his estates – it was removed and placed in the Black Athenaeum, the highly-guarded and exclusive library only available to the highest-ranking Vidorian Inquisitors and the Emperor himself.

The letter refers extensively to both one Ordbald Hygaelec, and a group called the Elder Ones, though no mention of either has been found elsewhere. It seems probable, therefore, that either no other record of Ordbald and the Elder Ones exists within the accessible parts of the Imperial Archive, or that all previously-existing records of both were either destroyed or moved elsewhere. Also, it is just as plausible that this document overstated the threat of Ordbald Hygaelec and the Elder Ones, and they simply never became came to fruition and, as a result, there was never any need to mention them again.

The letter is written in the most upstanding and formal manner, typical of early imperial documentation, and the use of the first-person plural pronoun of ‘we’ throughout is a common feature of the Divine Empress’ other missives, suggesting the letter is written with the direct input of the Divine Empress herself.. It has been suggested by scholars that she kept close counsel with a group of her most trusted advisors and most learned scholars, to whom this ‘we’ may refer.

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Know all to whom this present document comes, that its contents are confidential and are not to be repeated, nor shared, with or to anyone.

Following the capture of the notorious Old God preacher and lawbreaker, Shaman Ordbald Hygaelec, who himself was captured during a heretic preaching-sermon on the north-western bank of Lake Vierda in Westernaea, certain news has been made clear to us that we deemed necessary in sharing to you, the most high of the Empire. Following his captivity, the heathen-shaman revealed a new element of his taught heresy that we thought it wise to inform you all of, for he claims that the return of those he calls the Elder Beings is nigh, and that this is a signal of forthcoming strife to Esdaria.

This heretical prattle is nonsense, but we thought it best to inform you of this should whispers of it spread into your territories. Furthermore, we fear that, though this heresy is new, that the falsely-prophesied Elder Ones may provoke the unlearned and as-yet unconverted heathen masses to rash action. For, as interrogation has proven to us, the Elder Ones, as Hygaelec calls them, are said to be ordinary men and women touched by the hands of the Old Gods, selected to be uplifted from others in their lifetimes through their own incredible deeds, themselves becoming in-part deified. Hygaelec called them the Avatars of the Old Gods and their Will Made Flesh, his heathen Old Gods' own creations and personal playthings during times of great strife in Esdaria. Because of this, we fear that the more zealous of Hygaelec’s followers, as well as the unlearned masses, may feel as if they are in some way qualify as an Elder One, and thus are spurned to rash heathen action that comes at the detriment to us and our Empire.

Though there is only the Light which Guides, the unlearned must be themselves led away from Darkness to understand this Truth, not cast down into the pits of heresy. We advise that those to whom this present letter comes take steps to remain vigilant following the revelation of this new heresy. Furthermore, to prevent the spread of whispers within those unlearned immediately close to those to whom this present letter comes, see to it that this present letter is destroyed. It is ordered by Empress Vidoria I that, after being read, this present letter should be destroyed by fire until no scrap of it remains. This present letter also bears her direct seal, affirming this order.

The Light is One and All, which we must attain, and which Vidoria shall lead us to.

Praise Her.

Yule Tidings

As the cold winds of winter slowly gather, and the land falls under a glistening white spell of frost, the world braces itself for the holiday season. My somewhat early gift to you is the complete Steel and Silver, which has been available for a week now. Click the link to read the next chapter in Hugh, the far-fallen only son of an Esdarian noble family. Of course, for those who have not read the opening chapter in his story, Watcher of the West, my first-ever short(ish) story, is still available.

First, notice my festive efforts with the thumbnail. This is as good as it gets, I'm afraid.

This post has been one of the hardest I've had to write. I've been coming back to it for the last two weeks, adding to it here, taking a bit out there, never quite happy or sure with it. What started as a brief, three-paragraph footnote to this year has turned into its own short story about yours truly. That said, as far as Tales From Esdaria is concerned, this year has been a huge success: I've surpassed my own expectations with both quality and quantity of content, and have been overwhelmed with the gushing love and support I've had from so many people. However, as one may have guessed, I am sorry to say this will be my last update until 2017. Between now and some time early next year - I'm reluctant to specify an actual date - I plan to take a break from Tales From Esdaria to recuperate and resupply. I hope that stuffing myself with mince pies and chocolate will feed the fires of creativity into next year, and I will, as a result, have plenty of content ready to go early in 2017 - and, doubtlessly, plenty of Christmas weight to lose.

It has always been my dream to write in some form, and this year, thanks to this blog, I have been able to realise that in a very basic form. One of my earliest memories - I was perhaps three or four at the time - is presenting my mother with a poorly-illustrated page in a workbook upon which was scrawled the story of Sam, a Dalmatian (my mum loves Dalmatians) who went into the garden and did a poo - complete with illustration. 

We all have to start somewhere. 

From there, I spent my primary school years telling myself fanciful stories, writing silly tales about myself and my friends and drawing comics about the family dog; back then, that was a Labrador called Rocket who was, of course, a super hero (there was also less poo involved this time round - but much more bloodshed). Secondary school saw the exposition and development of my passion under new, keen English teachers with a real fire and passion for writing themselves. By my final year, I began writing what I was sure was going to be the next bestseller: a fantastical tale about a boy prince whose grief-maddened father tossed his kingdom into an alliance with an authoritarian, repressive, ultra-nationalistic Elven empire. At the same time, for my final piece of GCSE creative writing coursework, I channeled my inner angst-ridden, wanna-be-edgy pseudo-satanist into a fifty-page story - now (probably fortunately) lost. When I received this back after marking, at the bottom of the final page, after a short paragraph of feedback were written four words that went on to have a huge impact on me:

'You have to write.'

This fired me beyond belief. I was certain, as a result, I was on to becoming a winner with the other story I was writing. This is it! I once thought to myself, How can I possibly go wrong when all my English teachers assure me of my writing ability? I cannot fail! This fire began to burn, yet its flames were stoked perhaps too high. The heat was directed at the story about the boy prince, a manuscript that culminated in a 400,000 word tale which took me almost three years to complete, as I was forever dicing with either GCSE or A-Level exams, as well as playing in, writing for, and organising a band with a few friends at the same time.

When it was done, I proof-read it some half-dozen times - a gargantuan task in itself - to ensure that ever error was ironed out, that every paragraph was as riveting as the last, and that the grand, cinematic narrative that played in my mid-teen imagination was as clear on the page as it was in my mind's eye. When I was satisfied - no, elated that I had written something that could, at least to me, be seen as a possibly publishable text - I sent the finished piece to one of my high-school teachers, the very one who had assured me of just how I had to write. I wanted to feel their pride, for them to tell me just how far I had come and that my writing ability had improved exponentially in the two-years that had passed at sixth form. This was a terribly unwise decision, I admit with hindsight.

I never had a reply. The last thing I ever heard from that  member of staff came via an email sent almost three years ago to the day - their promise not to go through the story with a red pen. Not that I ever found out if they did or not, for I never heard back from them. For a time, my creative heart broke. I felt as if the grounds upon which I had built my love of the written word had cracked and crumbled beneath my feet: my drive and motivation had disappeared into a yawning chasm of apathy. I convinced myself that there was no hope, no future for me with stories or creative prose.

So I stopped.

It was only some months - perhaps a year or so - later, when I was midway through my first year of university, I rediscovered the manuscript. Still struggling with the fact I had been left high-and-dry, I reread the manuscript, trying to work out just what it was I had done so wrong. It was only then that I realised why the member of staff had never replied: the story was awful. There was no control, no thread of realism, and nothing remotely compelling about any one of the characters: the boy prince was so whiter-than-white in his morality that the plot armour he wore about his form was never once chipped; the female lead, an Elf, went through possibly the single most predictable maturity and redemption arc I'd ever seen; the various monarchs and other characters fitted simple stereotypes - the big guy was broody and grumpy; the good queen was calm and clever; the Merry-and-Pippin-style best-buds were torn apart when one of them was killed. There was nothing neither original nor compelling on a single page of the monolithic tome.

But in going through the failed opus I learned so much: I saw how not to create characters, how not to build relationships between the competing factions, and how not to make a world. It's interesting now, with the dozens of short(ish) stories and various other tales I'm slowly chipping away at, to see how far I've come - to see what I've built and have yet to refine.

As now is probably obvious, around this time of year, like most people, I begin to get reflective and nostalgic: I look back on the last twelve months and beyond, thinking of all that has happened, of what I have and have not achieved, the people I've gained and lost. As a result, for me, Christmas is always tinged with a little sadness. It's a time where I'm made aware of the smallness of my family, and the absence of certain members is one felt all the more sharply in the cold.

My family is small and scattered, across both England and the rest of the wider world. When I was growing up, the festive season used to be spent, in a very large part, with my maternal grandmother. Christmas Day was a time when Granny would appear in her little Peugeot, bearing Terry's Chocolate Oranges and armfuls of presents. She would drink a little too much sherry and doze off in front of the telly with a wide smile on her face. To her, I would present the stories I wrote when I was growing up - particularly the comics about Super Rocket, the hero Labrador (coincidentally, it was her and my grandfather who owned some dozen Dalmatians, and likely, several decades before I was born, began turning the cogs that would lead to the Sam the Dalmatian and the poo story).

She passed away in early January 2010 - the exact date I cannot ever remember, no matter how hard I try. The space she left is one that remains - and always will - raw and weeping. Her absence is most poignantly felt on Christmas Day: a spare seat still remains at the head of my parent's table which, years ago, she would have occupied. The 25th of December 2009 was also the last time I ever saw her, bedridden and fading though she was. It's a grief that has both been a weight and a weapon: it drags me down yet it drives me, and occupies a strange place in my mind somewhere between depression and ambition.

She is also one of - if not, perhaps the - reason I continued to write. She relished the words I put down on paper, even when I could barely hold a pencil. The pride in her hazel-brown eyes drove me then as it still does to this day. She ignited, tempered, and honed the love of the written word that lives within me - a love I hope has been made manifest on this little page before you over the last few months.

I started this blog on the 24th April this year following a careers advice session. Back then, I was nearing the end of my undergraduate BA and stood on the precipice of the future - and what a future it was to behold. Before me, on the edge of the Cliff of the Present, all I could see was a nauseating fall into darkness and hopelessness; no light of the future, no hope for prosperity and joy. I saw dead-end jobs in retail, serving dead-eyed, cold-hearted men and women whilst slowly my dreams turned to dust. I saw the fire of ambition being replaced by the cold, hard stone of failure. I saw myself fading into nothing, achieving nothing, and never again fulfilling a dream.

I told Adrienne - the careers lady I met with - all this. I told her that I saw no future for myself, never amounting to anything with what I had. I mean, I thought at the time, what will I actually do with a BA in History? Time and again, by dozens of people, I had been reminded it's not going to get me a "real job" and that doing a degree did not constitute actual life experience. I became convinced that I'd be tossed into the cold, hard light of the real world and left to disappear into nothingness, crushed under tens of thousands of pounds of crippling student debt with nothing to show for it. At the start of this year, therefore, I felt terrible: empty, owing more money than I could comprehend, and with what felt like no future. But when Adrienne asked me what I loved doing I, of course, responded with "Writing."

     'Well, do that,' she said with something of a wry smile.

     I laughed. 'Don't be ridiculous.'

     She shrugged at me. 'Have you ever tried.'

     'No,' I remember responding, 'but what's the point? I'm not good enough.'

     'You don't know that - you should try,' she told me with a broadening smile. 'You never know. Share some of your work. Try a blog, or post something on a forum. You never know what might happen.'

At first, I was dubious. Several weeks elapsed before I so much as dared considering writing something that I may or may not actually post on the internet. After all, I told myself, the internet is a dark and scary place full of cruel and terrible people who relish in the destruction of dreams and hope. Yet, over the last eight months, time and again I've been surprised and shocked by what I've seen thanks to this little site.

The praise I've had - from friends, family and strangers alike - has been incredible. The love, feedback, and (in some cases) pure hatred that has been elicited from some of you through my stories and characters has left me utterly gobsmacked. I had no idea anyone cared so much about the Vidorian Empire, the Kingdom of Maedar, Sir Hugh, Daith, and beyond. Even the most minor characters, in some instances, have received emotional reactions on levels I never imagined.

And you people keep reading this stuff! Eight months in, I expected maybe a hundred views from my closest friends, and perhaps a few page refreshes from the more sympathetic of you. Instead, Tales From Esdaria has been visited (at the time of writing this) over 3,700 times, and has reached countries in and beyond Europe, the Americas, and Africa. I can say nothing but thank-you to each and every person who has so much as glanced at this page. You've made me very happy.

This year, as you may have been able to tell at times, has been hard for me. Writing, however, has been one of the very few releases I've had from the real world. Escaping to Esdaria has constantly been an opportunity I've needed and loved. I can but hope that my work has provided each and every one of you with a few minutes of release from whatever you are running from - or towards! Your support, love, and feedback has dragged me out of bed on the darkest mornings, and kept my imagination alive and ever-expanding.

And you! You readers! You Englishmen, Americans, and Chinese! The Dutch, Danes, Russians, French, Polish, Spaniards, Czechs, Germans - the list goes on and on for longer than I could've ever imagined! - Thank-you! Your support has been incredible. To everyone - whether you've read each thing I've written, or just clicked about for a quick look - I really cannot thank you enough.

From what I can tell about you, readers, is that you rather enjoyed Stonesworn and Watcher of the West. You were relatively indifferent towards Blood and Gold (my personal least-favourite this year, I must admit), but absolutely loved Of Fire and Shadow. But nothing, I'm amazed to say, has come close to the popularity of the Silver Penny of Emperor Lyshir III, which has generated almost as many views as Of Fire and Shadow without so much as a tenth of the marketing effort. To any of my archaeologically-inclined friends who are reading this, you will see the irony, as coins have been something of a theme for me this year.

Finally, though, if there's one last message I could leave everyone before disappearing for the next few weeks or months, it's this: be proud. I think it was Adrienne who taught me this months ago, I just didn't realise it. When it comes to you, do those things you love for yourself: learn, write, read, create, enjoy. Draw the picture. Play the instrument. Sing the song. Write the story. Get the girl (or guy, or whatever). When it comes to your family - be they blood or otherwise - be proud of what you have. It isn't perfect, and you certainly didn't choose it. It is, however, the only one you've got. Love it while it lasts.

So, I wish a Merry Christmas and a wondrous New Year to all! I'll see you all in 2017!

Yours as always,

Rob

Silver Penny of Emperor Lyshir III

First and foremost, my most sincere and heartfelt apologies for the absence of any post last weekend; university life caught up with me and I had a pile of work to get through. However, with any luck the next short(ish) story, entitled Steel and Silver will (hopefully!) be ready to share either next Sunday or the weekend after. Of course, the Lore below is aimed at adding a little depth and finer detail to the story to come without spoiling any of the plot, so read on for clues as to what may be coming!

I decided that I wanted to do something a little different for this week's post, and having bailed on you all last week I thought it a good way of making it up to everyone. Given that I've recently discovered something of a fascination with archaeology and medieval numismatics, I thought I'd try and incorporate a little of both into the next short(ish) story and some of the other posts in order to diversify what usually gets posted here.

Below is a wonderful pencil sketch done by my lovely girlfriend Lizzie, as well as a few notes on it and how it pertains to the upcoming short(ish) story. She has my unending gratitude for doing this for me, and she has gone above and beyond what I asked her to in the quality of her drawing and the time and effort she put into it for me. The wonderful image is, as ever, accompanied by some basic academic-style notes for those interested in some of the detail hidden in the world of Esdaria - and clues towards the next short(ish) story. 

Quickly, a word on the way dates are presented and written in Imperial Documentation. The most common way of writing and presenting dates in the English language takes the form of the Anno Domini system: 1000BC for one-thousand years before the year zero, or the birth of Christ (hence BC), and AD500 for five-hundred years after the year zero (Anno Domini is medieval Latin for 'year of the Lord'). Here, because there is no Christ in Esdaria, the calendars of the various peoples are structured differently: the Empire works in Eras, of which there are currently two; the Halflings have Epochs, of which there are currently three; the Elves, on the other hand, take a year-by-year approach, not ascribing names to different periods of time.

All Lore Posts on this blog take the form of imperial documentation unless stated otherwise. The Empire works in Eras, of which there are currently two: the First Era of Imperial History and the Second Era of Imperial History. As a result, dates are written as follows: the one-hundredth and seventh year of the First Era of Imperial History would be 107Y1E - Y following the 'year' and E denoting the 'era'. As another example, the seventh year of the Second Era would be written as 7Y2E, the ninety-ninth year of the Second as 99Y2E, and the three-thousandth year of the First Era as 3000Y1E. You get the picture.

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Coin - Penny

Emperor Lyshir III (148Y2E - 189Y2E)

Silver

Western Imperial Heartlands

The above coin was one of a series of Emperor Lyshir III coins minted by Andrey of Busnik at the behest of his patron, Earl Aesinger Fortescue. This particular coin, minted in the large village of Busnik in the Western Imperial Heartlands by the renowned moneyer, was only in circulation between the one-hundredth and eighty-first and one-hundredth and eighty-fourth years of the Second Era of Imperial History (181Y2E - 184Y2E). On the obverse, it bares a highly detailed rendition of the emperor's features in the typical Vidorian fashion as well as the inscription EMPEROR - LYSHIR - III. The obverse sports the Imperial Phoenix and the inscription ANDREY - BUSNIK, the name of the moneyer and location of the mint that produced the coin respectively. It is made from high-quality silver, most probably taken from the mines in the north of the Imperial Heartlands. The quality of the coin stands as testimony to the wealth of the Western Imperial Heartlands under governorship of the Fortescue family, and the skill of the moneyer whose coinage was of higher quality than most minted elsewhere in the Vidorian Empire at the time.

This particular coin was not minted for long, for in the face of frequent Maedarian rebellion between 181-192Y2E, Emperor Lyshir III chose to appear in armour on all coins issued up until his death in 189Y2E. This series of west-minted coins were among the final series to be produced showing an emperor in "peacetime" garb, as it has since become common practice for emperors to appear in full battle regalia on their coinage. With regards to the later "armoured" coins of Lyshir III, they should not be confused with the triumphal coins issued following the fall of the kingdom of Altmeria in 150Y2E, which also show Lyshir III in armour. Lyshir III, who had reigned for forty-one years from the age of fifteen, was succeeded by Lyshir IV in 189Y2E, who successfully resisted King Aelfurd until he was murdered and usurped by King Gared in 193Y2E.

The moneyer himself, Andrey of Busnik, who was born in 165Y2E in the Eastern Imperial Heartlands, moved westwards when he was ten years old with his family. His father, the well-known moneyer Oldren Silverspinner, was forced to relocate to the Eastern Imperial Heartlands after the death of Duke Alhred of Eastwatch, his previous patron. When Alhred's son, also Alhred (d. 171Y2E), sponsored another group of coin-makers to those his father had supported, Oldren was forced to look elsewhere for work. Andrey and his family arrived in the Western Heartlands at the same time as the kingdom of Maedar's rebellion under Governor Lysandrus (165Y2E) and settled in the large fortified village of Busnik.

Interestingly, the events of the 165Y2E rebellion were hugely beneficial for Andrey's father, Oldren, as Earl Jacob Fortescue led one of the imperial armies that reconquered Maedar and brought it back under imperial control. The young Lord Aelfurd - an acquaintance of Earl Jacob - replaced Lysandrus as governor of the province after the rebelling governor was slain in battle. Earl Jacob returned to the Western Heartlands draped in glory and quickly issued a special triumphal coin on behalf of Emperor Lyshir III, one which Oldren was placed in charge of producing. When Oldren died seven years later (172Y2E), Andrey, then seventeen, took over his trade, minting coins for the new earl of the Western Heartlands: Aesinger Fortescue. Andrey appears to have taken to minting with the same love, care and skill as his father, producing high-quality silver for many years.

Anonymous’ Transcriptions…

Given its full name, Anonymous’ ‘Transcriptions of the Oaths, Questioning, and Judgement of Lord Aesinger Fortescue Concerning the Disappearance of Earl Jacob Fortescue, his Lady Wife Isabella Beshing, and their Son Sir Hugh Fortescue’ is not, perhaps, the most historically useful of documents, nor is it the easiest to read. Foremost, this is most probably not an actual transcription taken at the time of Lord Aesinger’s questioning. It is more likely a fabricated dialogue put together after the trial by a cleric who was either present during the questioning or heard of its events first-hand. Furthermore frustratingly, this cleric deigned not to include their name upon the below-transcribed document. Whether this was a mistake or a deliberate act to preserve his or her anonymity is unclear, for other such documents from the Imperial Archive with similar contents have been found to be both named and un-named.

Irritatingly, Anonymous does not appear to have been the most proficient of writers. His sentences are often unduly long and contrived, concerned more with cramming as many lengthy words or lavish descriptive phrases into the text as possible. For this writer, it seems as if the Transcriptions were intended to be an exercise in vernacular writing – one that he may well have failed. As a result, a great deal of detail from the questioning of Lord Aesinger Fortescue seems to have been lost. Because of this, many scholars have dismissed Anonymous’ Transcriptions’… usefulness. It is a hard to read text, though with careful editing it can be made to make sense. One thing that is clear from the writing is that the anonymous author is strongly pro-Aesinger. The lord can do no wrong throughout the document, and though the structure, written word, and overall appearance of the document is quite sloppy and hard to understand, the pro-Aesinger sentiment shines through like a lighthouse in a sea mist.

*

Here commences the transcription of the oaths, questioning and judgement of Lord Aesinger Fortescue concerning the disappearance of Earl Jacob Fortescue, his lady wife Isabella Beshing and their son Sir Hugh Fortescue. In the one-hundredth and seventieth year of the Second Era of Imperial History, Lord-Inquisitor Imalden did summon unto the imperial city of Vidoropolis and the Imperial Citadel within the esteemed Lord Aesinger Fortescue accompanied by his son Sir Darry Fortescue to answer questions regarding the disappearance of his brother and his family. This was done in summer [edit: this is not actually true, for following the disappearance of the Earl of the Western Heartlands, several other parties were questioned before the authority was granted by the Imperial Senate for Lord Aesinger to be questioned - it was well into the winter when this took place] and when the Good Lord [edit: this refers to Lord Aesinger and his entourage - which was said to be rather large, though no detail is given here] did arrive at the Imperial Citadel he did so with great splendour and paid many visits to the Bastion [edit: this refers to the Bastion of the Divine Empress. Other records say that Aesinger was only at the Imperial Citadel for the day and only made one visit to the Bastion, as is customary] and there for many hours prostrated himself in the light of the Divine Empress and asked for her blessing, intercession, and assistance in questioning and the exposition of the guilty party who had so wronged him and his beloved brother. Also, he beseeched her with many fat tears and much wailing that the truth be revealed from the trial and that his brother and much loved family were swiftly returned to him so that they may rule as the rightful wardens of the Western Imperial Heartlands as deigned upon them by the Divine Empress [edit: this almost certainly did not happen, for Lord Aesinger was not known for either his piety or humility].

[Edit: a large amount of text has here been cut for this extract. Anonymous provides a colossal list of names he claims were present at the trail and in the bastion, as well as the lineages of a few of the more important ones.]

The trial began the very same morning which the lord arrived at the grand city of Vidoropolis in the Grand Sept beneath the Imperial Citadel and that day many inquisitors and clerics were present to witness the trial of such a great and well-revered lord, including this writer [edit: this is the only reference the author makes to himself throughout the whole document. No more is known about him other than that he was one of a possible ‘many’ present to witness the questioning]. Immediately upon his arrival the well-loved and highly-revered and noble Lord Aesinger prostrated himself at the feet of the imposing and stern-faced Inquisitor Imalden. ‘O, Inquisitor of the Divine Empress,’ he said loud unto all those present, ‘please make haste in returning my family to me.’ To this, the lord-inquisitor did make his reply that ‘should you, Aesinger, make ready this trial this day at this hour then most certainly shall I do my utmost to see them returned to Westwarden Castle’ and did bade the good Lord Aesinger away. Once he was secure in the seat he [edit: Aesinger is still being referred to here] did begin again to weep tears of sorrow at the thought of his brother’s loss. To this, he [edit: still Aesinger] did espouse unto the audience of noble folk, clerics, Mothers, and soldiers, ‘O, such a trial demurs the good Fortescue name, for my very presence here makes my guilt implicit unto those present! Such an accusation is deeply hurtful to me, and to my good son who is ill and yet still with me this day, as neither of us have any clue just why given the circumstances that had taken place that night that caused my sweet brother to flee as he did!’ to which the audience responded with many tears and much sorrow. 

Once all was settled again and peace and order restored to the heartbroken folk both secular and ecclesiast present, the stoic Lord-Inquisitor Imalden did raise high a fragment of the Shield of the Divine Empress in his very hands and pronounce to the good Lord Aesinger ‘Lo, for this is a fragment of the shield of the Divine Empress herself, struck from her arm during the battle of Ghent Bridge night one-hundred and seventy years ago. Do you, Lord Aesinger Fortescue, swear upon such a sacred relic to uphold all values of truth and goodness within this room, and to surrender yourself to the questioning and judgement of those inquisitors present here this day?’ and to this the good Lord Aesinger did raise both his hands high into the air and declare ‘Upon all relics of the Divine Empress I swear to be as truthful as She in her doings throughout her life, and to provide all the information I as a mortal man am able to give to pertain to the truth of these terrible events’ [edit: this is not strict imperial protocol. Better quality transcripts of questionings and inquisitorial interrogations show that most oaths are made to a set script, and that certain relics are used that pertain to a theme of the case. The shield fragment here mentioned also does not exist, and it likely a fabrication by the author].

After this, the questioning of the good Lord Aesinger Fortescue did begin. After minor questions concerning the good Lord Aesinger’s name and heritage, and the confirmation that he was in fact the brother of Earl Jacob Fortescue from Inquisitors Jessana, Llweyl, Aethus, Olivachus, Blanchus, Aelfrida, Aelother, Lothair, and Dobsar, the true inquisitorial trial did begin. The lord-inquisitor did look down from his judicial seat upon the bowed and sombre head of the good Lord Aesinger and said, ‘Were you not present that night when your brother, sister-in-law, and their son did vanish from Westwarden Castle?’ to which the good Lord Aesinger did reply ‘Indeed I was.’ The lord-inquisitor did then ask, ‘And is it not true that you arrived that day at Westwarden Castle to attend the knighting ceremony of Sir Hugh Fortescue, Earl Jacob’s son of ten years?’ to which the good Lord Aesinger replied, ‘Indeed, I did.’ After this, the lord-inquisitor did ask ‘And is it also not true that you did arrive at Westwarden Castle with a large detachment of men whom were directly under your command from your lands further in the east?’ to which the good Lord Aesinger did reply ‘I arrived with men, though their number was not undue. I had less than my sweet, dear brother had in his castle and I traveled with so many simply because of the journey. The roads are treacherous and I would not wish to see harm come to my family, especially my dear unwell son who is here with me this day.’ After he had provided this answer, the good Lord Aesinger did break into more tears as he lamented the loss of his brother and his family. Once the good Lord Aesinger had been calmed, the lord-inquisitor did ask him ‘And once you were inside Westwarden Castle, you attended all the appropriate ceremonies?’ to which Lord Aesinger did reply ‘Yes I did.’ Once this was done, the lord-inquisitor did ask ‘And is it not true that, on the testimony of a serving woman who was busy carrying washing, your son was seen to threaten the young Sir Hugh in the hallway before the great hall?’ To this Lord Aesinger responded with shock. ‘Absurdity!’ he cried loud to the heavens with a great wave of his mighty arms. ‘My boy Darry is a sweet boy of good nature and he is sick and ill. How could he ever hope to threaten and challenge a boy so young and fine as Sir Hugh, bastard though he may have been born?’ to which the lord-inquisitor asked ‘yet did your son not duel with Sir Hugh that evening with swords and beat him?’ to which Lord Aesinger said, ‘I had heard of this and was greatly proud of Darry for it must have taken great effort to beat one so versed with a blade as the young Sir Hugh.’

[Edit: a number of the paragraphs of questioning have here been removed from this extract. The middle-section devolves somewhat, and the questions that are asked of Lord Aesinger focus around his travel from his lands in the Eastern Imperial Heartlands to Westwarden Castle in the days before the events that led to the disappearance of the earl of the Western Heartlands. They are of little consequence, and although they have been studied in great detail, very little can be learned from them.]

'And did,' Lord-Inquisitor Imalden continued, 'you have any idea of the tragedy which is alleged to have befallen the Fortescues that eve, so shortly after the knighting ceremony of their once-bastard son?' and to this Lord Aesinger did reply, 'I did indeed,' he said, tears leaving his bright and loyal eyes, 'for once it was reported to me that my good brother was missing I went to his chambers to see for myself if it were the truth, and there found Lady Isabella dead in her marital bed, covered in the blood of a most foul miscarriage.' To this, those present wept, and their sorrow did infect some of the inquisitors and the Good Lord, and more tears were there shed. But to this the lord-inquisitor did ask 'And yet you had the body of the Lady Isabella burned before the proper authorities could come and confirm the cause of her death. Why was this?' and so, truth plain on his face, Lord Aesinger did raise his hands to the heavens and cry, 'Am I not the authority? I was bonded by blood to my sweet sister-in-law, and when it became plain to me that my brother had fled in his grief to end his own life, I had her body cremated with the highest of honours to send her to the embrace of the Divine Empress for fear her spirit would linger and do ill unto those present.' To which the lord-inquisitor did ask 'Yet in the Bloody Bestiary does it not say spirits only return should they have been done ill by the machinations of others in life?' so the Good Lord did answer, 'And so she was! She was done the ill of being taken from this blessed realm too early by a cruel hand of fate!'

For a few moments, the inquisitors did confer with the lord-inquisitor until they were ready to proceed. When they did, the lord-inquisitor did say ‘The events that did follow are of great trauma to the Empire and cast a shadow within the Divine Empress’ light. Is it not true though, good Lord Aesinger, that the moment word was sent up that the earl your brother was missing, you sent all your men to the walls of the castle and to guard the keep?’ to which the good Lord Aesinger responded ‘Of course I did, I wished no harm to come to the rest of the inhabitants of Westwarden Castle for I had no clue if there were enemies in the castle and its grounds, for when I gave such an order I knew not of the tragedy that had befallen Lady Isabella,’ to which the lord-inquisitor responded ‘and yet it was one of your men whom reported that they were missing,’ to which the good Lord Aesinger responded ‘And what of it? For surely this suspicion would not be cast unto me had I not been there! My men and I are innocent, and I cared greatly for my brother and his kin!’ After this the lord-inquisitor fell silent for a time before asking ‘And what of Captain Aethlar, the swordsmaster, captain of the guard, and mentor of Sir Hugh Fortescue?’ to which Lord Aesinger did reply ‘And what of him?’ Lord-Inquisitor Imalden did then ask ‘For has he too not been reported missing from Westwarden Castle by his own men, those directly under the command of Earl Aesinger Fortescue?’ to which the good Lord Aesinger did respond ‘are you suggesting I had this man killed? Do not be absurd! This man had given his life up to my brother and the defence of his family and his realm, and I would do nothing other than reward his loyalty to the Fortescue line! For he was a fine and upright man, steadfast in his honour and strong in the arm of his sword!’ and as he spoke he began to weep fat tears, ‘Lo, for I have made my own inquiries into the disappearance of the good fellow and have found no evidence of his continued survival and some of my men say he was seen leaving the castle shortly after the earl and his son after his lady wife had fallen to birthing-sickness.'

[Edit: the next few paragraphs are partially destroyed in the original text, though a second copy survives in which they are detailed to include further questioning concerning the sudden demise of Lady Isabella Beshing and what Aesinger asserts to be the joint suicide of Earl Jacob and Sir Hugh, and the disappearance of Captain Aethlar. Constantly, throughout those paragraphs missing, the typical pro-Aesinger elements remain, and the anonymous writer asserts he had no less than six other shows of humility through his weeping and prostrating. Interestingly, though, all questions about Captain Aethlar appear to be treated in a similar fashion to the one above: Lord Aesinger always, to an extent, dodged the question, and the anonymous transcriber/author always ends such questions with more shows of humility and grief from Lord Aesinger, which seem to be intended to absolve him of any suspicion of guilt.]

And then when Lord-Inquisitor Imalden was ready to pass judgement he did stand before all those assembled and say in a strong and clear voice ‘Lo, all ye faithful to She who walked Esdaria in the first years of the Second Age of Imperial History, and burned it clean with her fire, and did drive from these places the dark things, and the old king, and with them their dark gods of the days of yore, hear now the judgement of the Vidorian Inquisition upon this Lord Aesinger Fortescue. The Vidorian Inquisition does pronounce that on that fateful night Lady Isabella Beshing was taken by sudden and total loss of blood following a miscarriage [edit: there is no mention of any evidence beyond Aesinger's testimony for this miscarriage anywhere in this text, nor any other] and the hole she left in her dear husband and son drove them to such grief that they took their own lives, perhaps by throwing themselves into the South Seas. And as for the missing Captain Aethlar, a man of lower station lacks little consequence, yet possibly he too took his own life through grief of loyalty, or perhaps ran afoul of wolves or bandits or brigands or beasts when he left the castle in search of his lord. For it seems as if he [edit: Lord Aesinger] is innocent in the involvement in the disappearance and possible demises of his brother’s arm of the Fortescue family. As a result, the Vidorian Inquisition sees it fit that the office of earl of the Western Heartlands be bestowed upon Lord Aesinger Fortescue, and shall petition his highness Emperor Lyshir III and the Imperial Senate to this end.’