lore: salomon manor

The ancestral home of House Salomon is one of the oldest structures in the province of Dawnhelm, even older than the capitol itself. It comprised of many apartments, gardens, greenhouses, stables, hamlets, a church and even a decommissioned courthouse. In its prime, it drew hundreds of visitors a day from the neighboring villages.

Today the estate is in the hands of one of two of the last direct descendants of House Salomon, Lord Roman. As a vampire, he has served as the primary caretaker for the last four centuries. His younger brother, Lord Lucivar - also a vampire - disappeared from the realm approximately five decades prior.

                                                                                        the secret garden

Central to the estate was the Secret Garden, enclosed by the wings of the main building. Though it was not truly a secret, you would not know it existed until you opened a door to a curtain of foliage and found yourself among a fragrant maze of vibrant flowers. Blooms of every kind imaginable existed here, curated from many corners of the world; yet it was the roses that seized attention. Many centuries earlier, House Salomon was known for their superior heirloom roses, and the same species still grows there today.

The hidden nature of the garden made it quite an escape from the everyday bustle of the estate. Serene trickling sounds from the hidden fountains gave visitors a sense of peace, and boasted exotic freshwater fish to nibble your fingers. There were canopies and nooks a person could nestle into, an ideal place to get lost in a book. And standing gracefully in the sea of flowers were towering, sculpted statues of aged marble, representing various notable Salomons-- warriors, priests, scholars and queens.

The Secret Garden boasts a reputation of true magnificence. However, it is said beneath the garden beds rest the victims of the Salomon vampires. Whether or not the rumors are true, the decline of the garden's tourism never managed to recover.

Lucivar slipped his fingers into a pair of leather gloves as he watched the servants load the carriage with his belongings. “Quickly now,” he muttered under his breath, assisting in lifting a heavy trunk, “I’ve a long journey ahead.”

“Yes, wouldn’t want to be caught sneaking away into the night like a scared little rat, now would we?”

Perched on an old, lopsided lounge in the sitting room beside the fireplace late one night, Ellaria tucked her feet under herself and craned her head over the dusty, handbound book she’d found in the Glen’s library. A Collection of Poems by E.F. Greenwillow. She recognized the surname as that of Crysta’s late father; it wasn’t a name she saw much of in this house. 

As Ellaria tried to make sense of some of the cruder handwriting, she sensed a presence approaching shortly before she heard the soft padding of bare feet descending on the staircase behind her. They hesitated at the bottom step.

Dearest Ella,

The seasons have turned again, and it’s still been many moons since we’ve seen each other. I hope that means you’ve not been up to trouble. Knowing your spirit, however… it has all but likely found you.

You cross my mind almost every day. Is it the same for you, I wonder? I often find myself nostalgic for a time long ago when the three of us spent every day together - you, Crysta and I - on our wild adventures in the Wood. Always climbing, always running– but always together.

Those were perhaps my fondest memories. Do you remember as I do?

In your last letter, you inquired how life at the Glen is.

Since the blooming season began, Crysta has become engrossed in her work. At times she is even serious about it, if you can believe that. I assist her in the lab quite a bit now. Her skill in the Craft has exceeded all expectations. She has even been constructing golems… to my dismay. But you would be proud of her handiwork.

Coin has been difficult to come by, but we do with what we have. I’ve been traveling to the nearby villages to sell my rarest herbs and some of Crysta’s less experimental remedies. Perhaps it would be a more lucrative business in the capitol, if I could gather the courage to be so public.

The Deepwood provides us as well. The crops should be quite satisfactory this year. And the company, well– as you know, the woodland life is drawn to this house, and Crysta cannot help but open the doors to all manner of blessed creatures. Their stories are fascinating… I wish you could hear them as I do. Though I must admit, the squirrels and chipmunks regularly helping themselves to my food in the kitchen is not such a blessing.

But there is always something missing. Since I’ve returned home, it is simply not the same without you.

I must beg of you, Ella, pay a visit to the Glen. Pack your belongings. Dust off the old riding boots. Your clients can do without you for a time. I know you have not forgotten the way. If so, the Forest will lead you to me. Your heart is as familiar to Her as it is to I.

Or perhaps I may come to you.

Always and forever your sister,

lore: the deepwood

“There is not a fragment in all nature, for every relative fragment of one thing is a full harmonious unit in itself.”

To the northwest of the realm lies a dense, magical forest known as the Deepwood. It stretches across thousands of acres with thick, ancient trees that seem to touch the clouds, shady canopies of leaves, plush moss like carpet under your toes, crystal clear streams, and hidden meadows revealing seas of brilliant wildflowers. The Deepwood was home to legendary creatures who once lived peacefully and welcomed any visitors who passed through.

The supernaturals who resided here held a particularly spiritual connection to their environment, one unlike any other. Their magicks came from and flowed through the earth itself in a neverending cycle. Everything was a source here - every tree, twig, and rock.

And they were generous with their power. In ancient times, humans saw the supernaturals of the Deepwood as charitable demigods. They would travel to the forest from far and wide to worship and give offerings. In return, these forest spirits freely shared their magical blessings, spells, potions, and trinkets, granting the humans the gifts of luck and prosperity in their every day lives.

But such harmony could not last forever, as long as there was greed in the world.

                                                                             the wars & the alliance

The Deepwood suffered immense devastation in the Great Wars, when man demanded all magic to be purged from the realms.

Despite having existed peacefully by the humans’ side for centuries, the Deepwood’s supernaturals and their kindred were slaughtered by the hundred-thousands. Those who were fortunate enough to survive were forced into hiding. Even forest-dwelling humans were taken prisoner or sold into slavery for crimes against the crown, regardless of their non-magic status.

The wars carried on over a century, and many species were wiped out entirely. The forest burned and most of its strongest, oldest trees were ripped from their roots in an attempt to strip the Deepwood of its indelible magicks.

The leading covens of supernaturals had to turn to desperate measures to defend the Deepwood and end the desolation-- for without the magic of the trees, the land and all born from it would wither and die.

In a final effort to save their home, nymphs, fairies, elves, demons, even the human witches joined their forces, and turned to the Gods for help. They formed blood alliances bound in ritual and - for the first time in their history - sacrifice. The nature of the sacrifices is unknown, but they married off their strongest warriors and began bloodlines of uniquely blended magicks; the Taur Tirith, or the Guardians of the Forest. Those Guardians were more often omnipotent in their power, touched by the Gods, and trained for one purpose: to protect the forest with their lives.

Now that the Deepwood had teeth, the Guardians fought back with a resilience that inspired songs for generations. But with their small numbers, they could not win the war with brute strength. Instead, they built fortresses that could withstand the strongest armies and served as strongholds to house and heal all manner of woodland creatures. And as masters of their crafts, they worked together to shroud the Deepwood in strong, dangerous spells, hiding their presence and driving humans away forever. Make the enemy believe they have won and they will retreat, was the strategy— and it worked.

                                                                                                         presently

Centuries later, the dust of war finally settled, and the Deepwood still stood. But the days of peace in the forest lands were lost forever.

Today, the forest’s most mystical kindred are long gone. The direwolves, centaurs, and unicorns only exist in songs and stories now. Any supernaturals who remain will keep to themselves and their kin, and they are not welcoming to outsiders. Some parts of the Deepwood were so tainted by war they became uninhabitable, with swathes of scorched earth, razed trees, deadly swamps, ghosts and death awaiting in the foggy silence for an unfortunate soul to pass through.

Though crippled, the Deepwood continues to heal and thrive to this day with protective magic still holding strong in the land. Traps and spells abound, making it highly dangerous for outsiders to traverse and any land beyond inaccessible. It is said that if man wanders into the wood, he will wander forever, never to find his way back-- thus, humans today refer to it as the Forest of the Lost.