The fog rolls in like a ghost army, conjured by the white robes mages of the Holy Church who stand solemn and unmoving at the four corners of the archery range. They chant in soft, reverent voices, weaving dense banks of holy mist across the field with every flick of their crosiers. The final words of the incantation echo like bells through the thickening air, sealing the arena in an eerie silence. From the high marble galleries, nobles lean forward, fanning themselves nervously as the world below disappears into smoke. The Archery Semifinals of the 115th Grand Thalorian Tourney have begun. The field, once proud and bright beneath the sun, is now swallowed whole. Where once birds flew, now shadows stir. And the contestants? They can barely see the tips of their arrows. Trumpets blare. The crowd strains to glimpse anything below, but their vision is useless now. Fog that glows faintly with holy light coils and churns, thick as soup and twice as stubborn. The rules this time are crue

In the sea border shared by Shadowvale Kingdom and Starhaven Kingdom, two great fleets from both Kingdoms are locked in battles whilst shadow hawks, shadow eagles and shadow falcons of the Shadowvale Kingdom are battling it out with the celestial phoenixes of the Starhaven Kingdom in intense, thrilling dogfights, with the wild screechs of the shadow birds of prey clashing against the fiery fiery flapping and gliding of the wings of phoenixes, whilst the crystal clear cry of the phoenix, awe-inspiring, with the hints of a roaring fire, can be heard for miles around. Shadow magic clash with fire magic from the stars and explode mid-air with a deafening bang whenever they come into contact, with the shadow birds of prey emitting pulses of dark magic from their beaks, the skies darkening around them, and wave after waves of shadow emitting from their wings, with their sharp talons clawing through their foes whilst cloaked in darkness, and the Phoenixes counters them with fire balls emitted

“ And now, we shall commence the final joust of the 115th Grand Tourney. Crown Prince Alaric Vaelen Blackmoor-Thaloria Vs Third Prince Cain Vailtair Thaloria. Who shall dominate in the finals? Let the finals begin. “ The announcer says through a magical amplifier device which cuts through the wild cheers of the crowd. On one end of the lists, Crown Prince Alaric Vailtair Thaloria rides a swift and powerful white coarser enchanted with Holy Magic, wearing an armor that is also barded with Holy Magic. His lance is made of high grade spruce painted on white, the finest, and also the costliest wood available on the market. His shield is made from highly refined white willow, and reinforced with high-grade iron blessed by the Holy Mages. The Crown Prince, regal and proud, quarters the sigil of House Thaloria, an ever watchful golden owl with a crown on top of its head, perched atop a tree branch with lush verdant fields and vibrant waters below, with that of House Blackmoor, a majestic a

“ Blackmoor Province. Frostmark Province. Who amongst the two shall prevail, and become the grand champion in this melee? Let the finals begin! “ The announcer announces into the crystal voice amplifier, while standing above the melee grounds to the sounds of wild cheering, but the cheers die down when everyone, from the noble dames, lordlings and knights, down to the commoners notice something amiss. The sun rises, but it casts no warmth on the final day of the 115th Grand Thalorian Tourney. It feels as if a cold chill of winter frost got into everyone's bones and nerves, despite the sweltering heat in Thaloria City. The melee arena, a crucible of legends, had been cleared of yesterday’s ice, ash, and bloodless carnage. But the air is wrong. Too quiet. Too still. The crowd packed into the marble coliseum notices it, too. The air doesn’t thrum with tension. It recoils in silent dread. The final melee has begun. On one side: House Blackmoor, champions of divine wrath, armored in

The 115th Grand Thalorian Tourney is finally coming to an end. In the quiet hum of the hot afternoon in Thaloria City, cooks are busy preparing for the final banquet for the lords and ladies of major Houses all over Thaloria to dine upon later that night. The departure of House Caelora, and even that of Frostmark Province before the final feast raises a few eyebrows and a few hushed murmurs amongst the remaining lords, ladies, knights, dames, and commoners who are either wealthy or middle class, but none amongst them know the true reasons why the two Provinces suddenly packed up and returned for home, without so much as a by-your-leave from the Crown Prince and the King. Not that Second Prince Theron Valeheart Thaloria, and Third Prince Cain Vailtair Thaloria need permission. Both princes are wild, unpredictable firebrands in their own right, more like their grandfather than their father King Alexander, who is deliberate and calculated, while the two princes are wanton, wild, do as t