Hello my Eberron players! And perhaps others, though I highly doubt it!

In Game will have all of the papers and bits and bobs I give to you in game,
News! will have all of the newspapers and other such things that are given to y'all,
Canon Writings will feature everything else I do that's not immediately pertinent to the plot of the game and basically more like fanfic I write of the NPC's in the campaign lol. This is probably the most interesting section for those reading this who are not playing in my campaign.

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**Do note that:
A. the level to which I edit some of this is... Minimal :), and
B. If you're familiar with the Eberron 5E campaign setting, some of the book lore I've either altered slightly or entirely ignored in order to better fit within the story/preferences of my friends and myself who are playing.

A yellowed piece of thick sketch paper, full of collected photorealistic graphite drawings in Sotol's style
Art actually by Brick!, Xochitl's player

On the back is a handwritten note reading:
"Xochitl,

I'm sorry about last night, I just can't stand to see you with their damn horse on your shoulder. I know you must hate them as much as I do. On House Tarkanan--It's chalk full of people just like you. I wouldn't know the first thing about joining, I'm not like you, but Whisper and their missing partner Nightshade *are* members of the House. I know they don't align themselves with the 'official' DragonMarked Houses, people with your gift aren't usually treated kindly by those with "untainted" Marks. Your dark-elf friend and his little girl seem well aligned and kindhearted people, even if I can only say that in confidence about the little girl, but I wouldn't trust what they might do if they found your Mark. Be careful. House Tarkanan will welcome you though, you're smart when you like to be, and they want to bring down callous men like Kwanti--If that is your goal.

I know it is mine. I wouldn't know how to begin telling you about Dad and I's time working in Orien's militia, all of the stories of the 'Galra Captain'. But if I can give you a piece of moral advice, to make up for the missed years: don't let them choke you, and you cannot let them break you. They will take every gift our great dragon's ever given you and leave you desperate, faithless, and starving.

I've found my faith, whatever it may be, and I can no longer feel the pain of starving. Find what lets you work, brother, whatever that may be.
Your Brother,
Sotol."

--Authors note:
This is a fic I'm slowly but surely? piecing together about Azarova's parents. They have the most fairytale ass, ya, fanfic getting together story, but they're cute and my little guys so. I decided to write them a little thing, I guess.
Maybe someday this will have greater implications, but for right now I'm just putting together a little novella about Amity and Lilov.
This is about 2,000 words.



"You know," the young woman's voice floated over the whistling wind, her clipped accent fumbling over vowels too round for her usual tongue, "I'm used to the cold in Karrlakton, but this is truly something else!"

Lilov's head snapped around. "What are you doing, Deneith!" Hissing her surname like a curse, his own accent drawing out vowels in the common tongue. 'Dee-neath'. There was no 'unaccented' common, no matter where you originated from. Lilov believed that the common tongue forced transparency from people, as it always betrayed a speakers native accent. He'd always found the most irritating part of the language its simplicity as well as its clarity. His own language made everything said overtly flowery, as if your restaurant order would some day be transcribed in a epic poem or song. The Karrnathi spoke as if they were irritated with you, constantly. Every consonant clipped and short, leaving no room for prose.

The lithe drow sat with his legs straddling an arching flying-buttress, straight-backed against the dark stone that made up the eastern wall of his fathers prodigious fortress. He'd wrapped himself up in thick, simple layers against he cold. The collar of his purple coat protruded from a fur-lined black cloak, its hood gathered over one shoulder.

Fifteen feet below, Amity d'Deneith balanced herself precariously on the steeply slanted roof of the stronghold, hugging her slight arms around herself with the thin sleeves of a sleeping-blouse gathered into her fists. Her shoeless, stockinged toes clutched at the rough granite that made up the roof below her.

The two figures would be impossible to see in the dark, save for the nearest of Eberron's 12 pale moons rising. Zarantyr. Its pale white light cut cleanly across the sky and still reflection in the marina waters like a knife, driven right against the fort's cold, dark walls. Lilov studied the young woman for a moment as she fought against a violent shudder to bark a no doubt snarky reply at him. Her skin was vivid and dark, even in the moonlight and crisp air, and her golden irises shone seemed to glow through the lack of contrast night brought on.

"Well," she fought against another shiver, shouting over the wind and her own chattering teeth, "It seems like I'm freezing my ass off on the roof of the fortress I'd been abducted to. Why, do you suppose I have anything else going on?"

Lilov narrowed his eyes, "You were confined to your solar, last I had been made aware."

"Yeah, I snuck out." Amity said, matter-of-factly.

"Snuck out."

"Yeah, any more useless observations, man? Or are you going to let me up there to spy with you?"

"Let you- Wait, you can't just-!" The drow sputtered and gathered himself into an agile crouch on the buttress, watching as the scrawny woman began pulling herself up by digging her boney fingertips into the carved spaces between decorative laurel-leaf reliefs.

She's a damn fool. The primal mirror of Lilov's own voice growled, its buzzing originating from the base of his own skull. No one ever heard it, save himself, and he scarcely acknowledged it. Tonight, he tamped it down, like a heavy hand on rich, potting soil. His eyes were wide as Amity swung her leg over the curve of the buttress and confidently sat herself down on the arch, facing him.

Internally, Amity delighted at the elf's utterly dismayed expression, 'mouth open for flies' as her grandmother would say. Outwardly, she schooled her expression. Instead, she raised a inquisitive eyebrow toward him. Lilov Thuranni, heir to the Thuranni and Phiarlan Dragonmarked Houses by blood-right, had turned out to be an absolute doormat.



Just three weeks earlier, Amity had been quarreling with her sister in a long and desolate hallway leading from the anteroom that sat in the entrance of their home.

"We can't just allow the bastard free range of our house!" Minnette had grumbled, stomping her heavily booted feet (if you could call them feet, as opposed to hooves) down the echoing hall.

"He's hardly a bastard, Minnie. Be reasonable."

"He tried to kill his own mother, Ams! Are you are seriously kidding yourself!"

"Im sure he had his reasons," Amity hummed, turning on her heel as the two sisters reached the swinging door of the house kitchens, just as a finely dressed manservant exited with a silver tray balanced upon his shoulder at the very same time.

"Hey! Come talk some sense into her, Ninesh!" Amity's younger sister barked toward the grey-haired man as he passed.

"I'd prefer not to get involved if I'm to be entirely honest with you, sir." Ninesh called out as he walked briskly in the direction they'd previously come from. Minnette scoffed indignantly.

As Amity moved to step through the still swinging kitchen door, Minnette held her firmly in place by her arm. "You can't *seriously* be telling me you're going along with this insanity. Amity, please. There is nothing right or just about that elf."

Calmly, Amity turned toward her younger sister and took the girls broad cheeks in her two slender hands. "Minnie, I just want to listen to what he and his father have to say. I understand your concerns, but neither of the twin houses have any reason to act against us, it just wouldn't serve them."

"But-!" Minnette leapt to cut her off. Amity just continued speaking, in spite of the interruption.

"-But nothing! I'm not so easily fooled, Minnie. Your father and my mother will not lead us astray, so I have nothing to fear. Unlike you." Minnette jerked herself away, tugging her face from Amity's hands and elbowing the thin woman to force distance between them. Much to her consternation, the muscled teen was instead caught by a tug on the sheath of her sword, which hung from her belt. Amity yanked on the covered blade, pulling with her full weight and leaning back on her heels.

The next moment, the older of the two was sent sprawling across the tile, tangled in layers of her own skirts as Minnette suddenly drove her meaty fist into her sisters stomach on an ill-thought through impulse. Even as she struck, the teenager yelped, stumbling away from where Amity curled on the floor with hands pressed flat to her stomach, coughing.

"Shit, Ams! I didn't- I mean I- Thats not what I wanted.... I didn't mean it.."

Amity's vision blurred and her breath came out in pained gasps, and beneath the pounding of her own pulse, she heard the clomping of those heavy boots echoing down the hall, further and further until they faded from hearing completely. "Fucking.." she wheezed "Fucking... meathead."

She wasn't sure how long she laid there, putting off healing herself. The magic rose to her fingertips, coming to her as easily as breathing, but still she'd held it off. Cold tile against her cheek, slowly warming with time. Ninesh didn't return, but his voice could faintly be heard, amicably blathering away with the guests down the long, long hallway.

When had Minnette grown so strong? Amity felt like it had been just yesterday she'd been holding the small, pudgy girl's hands as she waddled her first steps. Taught her how to hold a mace, the proper defensive forms against a straw practice dummy in their fathers training yard with the mercenaries. Watched her sister take up the sword, then hammer. There was a secondary ache forming above the bruise forming in her gut, something nonphysical, but sore all the same. It felt like a wheeze or cough she couldn't work up, making her shoulders tense with some anomalous weight.

Amity jolted as she heard a door slide open, squealing on its hinges. Hearing footsteps briskly approach, she whispered a soft prayer to her mother and pulled herself up to her knees. Bruising that had begun to form melted away, leaving her still with that heavy weight upon her shoulders and an ever-present ache centered between her lungs.

"Lady Deneith?" Lilov's voice was a light thing, songlike and soft-spoken. His common was accented, drawing out the vowels of her name in a way she found humorous, despite her poor mood. 'Lee-dee De-neath'.

Amity looked up as he approached, striding down the long, high ceilinged and brightly lit hallway. He was a face you'd know from posters and paintings, advertisements of his plays and various theatrical acts. Narrow and handsome, with perfectly angled cheekbones just-so, and an angular enough jaw to be good-looking without seeming harsh enough to cut you.

To Amity, the young man was perfectly bland.
Really, how were you supposed to take a man seriously in clothes like that? He looked practically Galifarian! Polished black riding boots up to the knees, trousers that matched his tailed coat (which was such a dark shade of navy it might as well have been black! Ridiculous!), a bright red vest for (oh you know) the accent of it all, and a white blouse with a ruffled collar.

People rode in flying ships that shot through the sky using the power of harnessed air elementals in dragonshards, and somehow this elf (who's age in human years was equitable to her own) dressed as if his fastest method of transport were still a swift horse and an open road. Hells, Amity knew she could get on an Orien lightning-rail carriage tonight and arrive at Metrol, Cyre in time for morning tea with Cannith Jr, if she'd truly wanted to!

A pale lavender hand waved across her sight. "Miss Deneith? Should I call for a physician?"

Amity leapt to her feet, jolting violently back to the present. "NO! No, no, that won't be necessary!"

Lilov blinked his narrow, violet colored eyes up at her.

Oh. She was.
Taller than him.

Alright then.

"Are you sure..?" The drow squinted, looking her over and then turning his head to look back towards the door he'd come from. "You were sprawled out like you'd taken a spill."

'Taken a spill'.
Good grief, maybe Minnette had been right to mistrust this man.