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"To our former vassal, King Ethan,

I, Duke Kywel, extend my congratulations to you for unifying the twin isles that you now rule over. My people wish you prosperity in your endeavors. So long as there are no concerns with it, I'd like to visit your Carnivale and discuss the making of a non-aggression pact between our states- we are the allies of the King in Rellekka, after all, so it would be best to align ourselves with the rest of your northern kin on that note.

It is, however, not safe to speak through letters, so I shall see you on the arranged opening ceremony of your Carnivale.

With regards, Duke Kywel of Tiroedd De"

As the Camelite forces soon discovered the fate of the northernmost peoples of the Duchy of Sinclair, the elven peoples under the Count Cirdan knew it was time. After having spent over half a decade in the northern edge of the kingdom, they had nearly driven their economic powerhouse- fur trapping- to extinction. With their monopoly of furs in hand, they sold what they had and went on to make the migration south, returning to Hailawën.

To an outsider, what happened next would be most concerning- the entire forest of the southerlands suddenly experienced a spurt in growth. Many towns and villages found themselves abandoned as the elven population centralized itself in its capital city of Hailawën. Over the course of a month, the roads and trails scattered throughout the duchy eventually became overrun with plantlife- and soon disappeared. Whenever ambassadors or couriers were dispatched to the elven city, they would find themselves lost in an endless forest- and so it seemed, few were returning.

From then on, contact with the elves of Hailawën was lost. The Duke Kywel was never heard from, and so most of the southerlands found itself covered in a vast, cursed, unending forest.


Meanwhile, on a ship, the three half-princes of Nolfinwë; Gerallt, Aneirin and Thranduil, sailed for Misthalin with a detachment of former Amddiffynnwr Uchel.

The old lands faded; a new began for the elves.

For three years, the armies of Lythel had spent their days preparing. Sparring with one another, raising their families and studying the arcane arts; everyone knew the time they would spend in exile on Lythel was limited. Someday, they wouldn't live in fear of a retaliation by the humans. Someday, they wouldn't have to hide away on an island far from the resource-rich world; stuck with importing resources from their brethren in Isafdar. And someday, they would have vengeance for the massacre of the Amddiffynnwr Uchel- their protectors- at Camelot.

That day, was today.

After a discreet meeting on Karamja, Nolfinwë reformed the militia of Lythel into an actual standing military company- the 1st Gard Coetir- and divided its 2,500 members into five regiments; five hundred soldiers each. Taking command of the company itself while he let his cousin Glaerun and the rest of his family take a focus on the Dewin regiment, the elven army set sail with a large quantity of elven colonists for the western shore of Iliara. There, settling in the basin before Eagles' Peak, Nolfinwë predicted a bright future for his people- and an even brighter one for himself.


On the flagship of the Dewin regiment, with Regimental Officer Glaerun and Company Captain Nolfinwë on deck, land was spotted- just as a spar was going on between two prominent fighters in the regiment...