Prequel: The Mushkinek Uprising

In the bright halls of Queen Salisandra’s court, Balthuho was a man who seemed always to be listening—ears tuned for whispers, eyes sharp for advantage. He carried himself with a polished charm that concealed an ever-turning mind, one that weighed risk against reward with uncanny precision. Those who dealt with him rarely forgot the feeling that he was measuring them, not only for their present worth but for their future use. Ambitious yet cautious, Balthuho believed no side ever truly won without exacting its price, and he intended to ensure that whatever the cost, it would not fall upon him.

Captain of a modest vessel, Fendrel’s reputation along the Maghrabi coast has little to do with the size of his catch. What sets him apart is his restless ambition and the ease with which he steers through both tempests and tavern talk. He is a man who trades not merely in fish, but in favors, whispered secrets, and timely opportunities. To the casual eye, his quiet confidence might pass for humility, yet it conceals a sharp instinct for leverage. Fendrel listens with patience, speaks with precision, and knows better than most that fortunes often wash ashore where one least expects them.

Among Mushkinek’s early circle, Halven was less a companion than a strategist—sharp-eyed, calculating, and always alert to the balance of advantage. His rise from student to legal authority was swift, his education sharpened into a weapon by ambition and opportunity. In the courtroom, Halven’s measured words carry weight; behind closed doors, his silences often carry more. Those who deal with him remark on his polish, his composure, and the disquieting sense that he is not swayed by notions of right or wrong, only by what can be achieved. If others played the part of the hammer, Halven was the hand that guided its fall.

In Maadigan’s taverns and markets, Kelvor drifts like a performance—velvet draped over quick steps, a cup of wine in hand, laughter spilling too loud to be natural. Coins are spent freely, gestures are extravagant, and every eye follows the spectacle. Yet for all the attention, few claim to truly know the person behind the persona. The flamboyance is not carelessness but camouflage.

Behind that mask lies a mind of calculating precision and sweeping influence—the undisputed leader of the Thieves’ Guild in Maadigan. Kelvor’s command over the city’s criminal networks is quiet, absolute, and all but invisible to those beyond a most trusted circle. Whispers of Kelvor’s true face linger in back alleys, though those who claim to have seen it rarely speak twice. Rumors of Kelvor’s voice are more dangerous still, for to hear it is often to hear nothing else again.

Kelvor thrives in unrest, shaping it to personal advantage with the same finesse used to sculpt rumor into myth. What others call chaos, Kelvor calls opportunity, bending the city’s shadows into patterns no rival can untangle. In times of war, when kings scramble for soldiers and spies, Kelvor offers something rarer: certainty—an influence as steady as it is unseen.

As an attaché to Yisea’s embassy, Kelyn moves through courts and markets with the poise of a seasoned diplomat and the subtle cunning of one who knows how to weaponize whispers. Always in the company of powerful figures, yet never beneath them, Kelyn’s presence commands attention, and every carefully chosen word can shift the course of a conversation—or even a nation.

To most, Kelyn is the embodiment of loyalty and elegance: a polished envoy in a storm of regional politics. To others, Kelyn is something far more formidable—a surrogate for Mushkinek, spreading seeds of doubt and division with the precision of a master strategist. Beneath the diplomacy and charm lies a mind constantly measuring, weighing not just strategy but the deeper currents of influence and consequence.

Ambitious, brilliant, and disarmingly self-controlled, Kelyn rarely loses. And when she does, she ensures that others bear the weight of her setbacks more than she does, leaving a trail of consequences that few fully comprehend.

King of Vidora during the turbulent years of the Mushkinek Uprising, Gryffid’s reign was marked by a commitment to prosperity, peace, and public welfare. Frugal but effective, he directed resources toward public works and social programs, earning the respect of his people and the cautious admiration of his peers. Unlike his father, who prized appearances above all, Gryffid believed that strong systems were the foundation of a stable society, and he governed with discipline and foresight.

Less known to the wider world, Gryffid possessed a deep love of learning. He studied many of the same texts as scholars like Herte and Mushkinek, quietly cultivating insight that informed his decisions and strengthened his rule. His intellect and Vidora’s economic and military might made him a figure of considerable influence among the monarchs of the seven kingdoms.

Yet even the most respected rulers are not immune to suspicion. Rumors and circumstantial evidence occasionally cast shadows on Gryffid’s court, suggesting that Vidora—if not orchestrating the upheaval—might have played a part in it. Through it all, Gryffid remained steadfast in his commitment to order, guided by knowledge and the belief that prudent leadership could outlast even the most uncertain of times.

Guild Chief of the Cendomvitian pirate fleet, Lazrik rose from low-ranking sailor aboard a Vidoran warship to master of a floating empire. Having endured discipline too harsh to forgive, he vanished from the royal muster rolls only to reappear beneath a black sail, a figure who would come to embody both cunning and command on the high seas.

Among the pirates, Lazrik thrived. Under a captain who prized initiative over obedience, he honed a sharp tongue, a keen instinct for power, and an uncanny ability to bend rules without breaking ships. Loyalty was won through laughter or fear—and Lazrik learned when to wield each with precision. Eventually, he outlived rivals, claimed the helm, and transformed a single ship into a fleet, carrying with him the memory of every lash endured.

To outsiders, Lazrik is little more than a whispered legend, a name embedded in sea shanties and the warnings of merchants who know better than to cross him. To those within the guild, he is something rarer: a leader who remembers the struggles of his crew and guides them with a mix of respect and iron will. Rumors swirl about his connection to Mushkinek—some speak of family ties, others of secrets yet unspoken—but all agree that Lazrik’s presence at sea is a force not easily ignored.

Assassin-for-hire, Marchant is a figure whose reputation travels faster than footsteps and sharper than blades. Feared across borders and spoken of only in hushed tones, the name is rarely mispronounced twice: those who confuse it with “Merchant” seldom live to explain.

Marchant operates not out of vengeance, ideology, or cruelty, but from strict professionalism. Each contract is calculated with meticulous attention to logistics: accessibility lowers the fee, security raises it, and sentiment is irrelevant. Rank, innocence, or personal connection do not factor—“Even my mother,” he once remarked, “would’ve cost you only a copper.” Efficiency defines him, and most believe that once Marchant takes a contract, failure is not an option.

Rumors abound of extraordinary patience and unwavering precision—stories of years-long waits and near-impossible feats—but the truth matters little. In many cities, merely hearing the name is enough to silence a room. Marchant speaks rarely, and when he does, it is best to listen; when he does not, it is even wiser to remain silent.

The eldest child of King Alaric and sibling to Princess Ta’arah, Prince Noam was remembered as a figure of promise: diplomatic in bearing, skilled in combat, and respected for his fairness. Contemporary accounts portray him as an heir who combined courage with tact, a young leader whose potential inspired both admiration and expectation.

Noam’s life was cut short under circumstances that remain shrouded in mystery. His untimely death reshaped the Hireothan line of succession and left lingering questions that historians continue to debate. Whispers of intrigue surround the events, though few can separate rumor from fact.

To some, Noam is remembered as a symbol of lost potential; to others, his absence is seen as a turning point that altered the course of history. Whatever the interpretation, his legacy—shaped as much by absence as by presence—remains a quiet but powerful force in the memory of Hireothan politics and the broader events of the Mushkinek Uprising.

Born into the privilege of Hireotha’s royal court, Ta’arah spent her early years in the long shadow of her older brother, Crown Prince Noam. In youth, she was known for vanity and self-interest, traits that would soon be tested by events beyond her control. The disappearance of her brother and his bride-to-be, followed by the collapse of her father’s, King Alaric’s, health, thrust her into a position of responsibility no one had wished or anticipated.

At just twenty, Ta’arah had to navigate a kingdom in turmoil, learning the art of leadership under pressure. Her decisions during this period—sometimes questioned, often admired—revealed a capacity for adaptation, strategy, and resilience that few had expected from one so young.

Her eventual engagement to a duke of Ognenstrof, arranged after the Mushkinek Uprising, was both a political gesture and a symbol of regional stability. History remembers Princess Ta’arah as Queen Ta’arah, a ruler transformed by circumstance: imperfect yet formidable, whose reign reflects the weight of inherited responsibility and the shaping hand of necessity.

Queen of Yisea during the Mushkinek Uprising, Salisandra rules with a mind as sharp as it is calculating. More feared than beloved, she navigates court and council with measured words, each statement chosen for its subtle power and secondary purpose. Sentiment rarely guides her; ambition almost always does.

To Salisandra, the notion of equitable rule among the Seven Kingdoms is an illusion, a mirage upheld by weaker thrones. Power belongs to those willing to seize it, and she wields her own with precision, exploiting opportunity wherever it appears. Loyalty—whether to allies, councilors, or family—is contingent and transactional, offered only when the balance favors her.

Alliances with Salisandra are temporary, bargains struck at her discretion and always at a price. To underestimate her is to hand her the one thing she prizes above all else: leverage. Calculating, patient, and unflinching, she is a monarch whose presence casts long shadows, and whose influence is felt far beyond her throne.

More merchant than pirate, Quen handles trade deals, bribes, and inventory with a merchant’s finesse and a cutthroat’s instincts. He oversees Lazrik’s resources at their base in the Maghrabi Sound with the precision of a tyrant and the memory of an accountant with a grudge.

Quen’s authority doesn’t come from charisma or command—it comes from results. Ships run on time, supplies are accounted for, and debts are paid—or punished. None dare cross him—for fear of what they might find in their soup at dinner, in their bed at night, or in their chest come morning.

He is the kind of man who settles disputes without raising his voice—and rarely needs to raise his hand.

Once a capable dock master in Maadigan, Rooch earned a reputation for skillful management and an ability to navigate both people and logistics with ease. His talents did not go unnoticed; Mushkinek recognized these abilities as invaluable and put them to work in building and organizing key operations.

Tasked with constructing Maadigan’s Pride, Rooch applied his experience and foresight to create a stronghold as functional as it was formidable. His attention to detail and ability to coordinate teams earned him trust and respect, both from those he led and those who observed from afar.

Upon completion of the stronghold, Rooch was promoted to Captain and entrusted with its command, a role that reflected both his reliability and strategic mind. Calm under pressure and steady in leadership, Rooch remains a figure defined less by ambition than by competence and unwavering dedication to the tasks at hand.

Orphaned in a home fire that claimed her parents, Zeyra was taken in by the Maadigan Thieves’ Guild, where she grew under their tutelage and guidance. The guild recognized her talent and trained her in the arts that defined their craft, honing her into a figure respected among her peers.

Though she excelled in her skills, Zeyra never abandoned her own moral compass. Her sharp instincts and thoughtfulness distinguished her from others in the guild, earning the trust of those around her while preserving a sense of principle that set her apart.

Over time, Zeyra became a confidant to the guild’s chief, navigating the delicate balance of loyalty, discretion, and influence. Her story is one of resilience, skill, and quiet strength—an individual forged by circumstance but guided by her own sense of judgment and conscience.

Esteemed commander of a Maghrabi Cruiser, Captain Faruq ran his ship with precision, demanding respect and unwavering discipline from every crew member. On deck, he was the embodiment of order: crisp uniform, sharp commands, and an unyielding standard of performance. Yet the iron he wielded over others rarely extended to himself, and ashore, he indulged his appetites with the same intensity he used to suppress disorder at sea.

Drawn into Mushkinek’s sphere through a discreet brothel where more than lust was exchanged, Faruq became a familiar presence in rooms where compromise and influence were currency. His indulgences—particularly in rare and addictive substances—began to erode his judgment, and with it, the steadfast independence that had once defined him. Whether he recognized the control exerted over him or simply chose to ignore it remains uncertain.

Faruq was not a fool. He was a man confident in his own importance, blind to the subtle leash around his neck. Strength on deck could not shield him from the vulnerabilities of human desire, and those who observed him closely could see how even discipline could bend under the right pressure.

Captain of the Black Torrent, Verek is a figure shaped by secrecy and the sea—surly, reserved, and skilled in keeping both thoughts and intentions hidden. His eyes reveal little beyond vague amusement or mild contempt, and his gruff demeanor rarely softens, particularly toward those he regards as burdens or distractions.

Beneath the indifference lies a deeper, quieter truth. Verek was one of the few men Mushkinek ever called a true friend, their bond forged on the rough planks of a pirate’s wharf in earlier years. Unlike others who were manipulated or discarded as tools, Verek remained an ally of memory and loyalty, a man guided by his own code rather than convenience.

He seldom questions Mushkinek’s plans, yet neither does he fully endorse them. Verek’s life is governed by coin, discretion, and the unspoken rules of loyalty. Secrets, perhaps dangerous ones, are held behind a weather-beaten face and a blade that has never rusted. He is a man who seems always one step from betrayal, yet never takes it, proving that trust can exist even among the most guarded hearts.

Once a modest functionary in a provincial town of Ognenstrof, Chapus saw in Mushkinek’s cause an opportunity beyond the limits of his career. Ambitious and eager to prove himself, he was quickly identified by Mushkinek’s recruiters as someone with leadership potential, if not extraordinary skill.

Assigned to oversee a base in Draventh during the uprising, Chapus worked to stir local populations and expand his influence. His cells achieved moderate successes, and his ability to recruit and organize was noted, though it often came at a high cost.

Chapus is a figure defined by ambition more than mastery, a man willing to step into larger arenas despite the limitations of talent. His efforts left a mark on the region, though often shadowed by the losses his decisions incurred—a reminder that zeal and dedication do not always guarantee triumph.

An attaché to the Vidoran embassy, Derem carries himself with the quiet authority of one who believes his homeland is destined to lead. Arrogant without need for spectacle, his words are precise, strategic, and delivered as if his perspective is both correct and unavoidable. For Derem, diplomacy is less negotiation than the patient instruction of those who fail to see the world as he does.

Deeply pragmatic, Derem regards alliances, loyalty, and honor not as virtues, but as tools to be wielded when convenient. History, in his view, is a ladder Vidora has always climbed first, and his role is to ensure it continues to do so.

Though others may find him difficult, even abrasive, Derem is nearly impossible to ignore. With a single sentence, he can dismantle idealism, leaving interlocutors unsure whether they have been insulted, enlightened, or both. He favors influence over attention, and operates best from behind polished desks and half-closed doors, where subtlety and strategy hold greater sway than spectacle.

Garron Velic is a man of means, known as much for his discernment as for his wealth. Herte’s mother works among his household staff, and it was through this connection that Garron discovered Herte in his private library, recognizing potential where others might see only curiosity.

Struck by Herte’s aptitude, Garron encouraged the pursuit of knowledge and became both mentor and supporter, guiding opportunities that would shape Herte’s future. His sponsorship enabled Herte’s studies at the Maadigan Royal University and later influenced his appointment to the faculty.

Garron Velic embodies the quiet power of a thoughtful patron. His guidance is subtle yet decisive, fostering talent and ambition without spectacle, leaving a lasting mark on those he chooses to support.

King of Hireotha during the Mushkinek Uprising, Alaric’s leadership was defined by decades of stability and prosperity. The loss of his wife in childbirth and the murder of his eldest son, Noam, profoundly affected his health and mental well-being, casting a shadow over the latter part of his reign.

Alaric had two children: Noam, the crown prince, and Ta’arah. Despite personal tragedy, he maintained a steady hand over his kingdom, balancing governance with pragmatism. His policies encouraged economic growth and societal stability while permitting the existence of organized criminal guilds, reflecting a measured tolerance that preserved order without unnecessary interference.

Remembered for both his steady rule and the tragedies that marked it, King Alaric’s legacy is one of resilience, pragmatism, and the careful management of both his people and the forces, lawful and otherwise, that shaped Hireotha’s society.

King of Rusmaria during the final days of peace, Halvar governed with endurance rather than ambition. He was slow to act, yet resolute once a decision was made, approaching leadership with a pragmatic eye and a steady hand. His patriotism was quiet and service-driven, rarely performative, often invisible to those who expected spectacle from power.

Halvar understood the limits of kingship. He saw history as a tide too vast for any ruler to command and believed that even the wisest king could only redirect its flow for a time. This perspective made him cautious, and many mistook his restraint for weakness, failing to grasp the careful thought behind each measured action.

To his people, Halvar was dependable and dignified. To his enemies, he was underestimated. To posterity, his legacy may be less about what he built and more about what he sought to preserve, holding together what was beginning to fall apart with quiet determination and steady resolve.

King of Elowen during the era of unrest, Rhaimon was a monarch more concerned with indulgence than rule. Like many of his forebears, he surrounded himself with luxuries—wine, music, games of chance, and the soft company of courtiers too skilled in flattery to ever speak plainly. Power, to Rhaimon, was a means to enjoyment—not an end in itself.

And yet, beneath the perfume and laughter, lay a streak of vanity sharper than any blade. Rhaimon could tolerate being mocked behind his back, but never to his face. He could be idle, but not ignored. Challenges, once issued—no matter how foolish—were met with the full force of his pride.

Though not without wit or charm, Rhaimon’s fatal flaw was simple: he believed he could never truly lose. That belief, more than any appetite, would define his reign.

Minister of External Affairs for Hireotha, Lord Kendrel is a noble of the old mold: impeccably dressed, meticulously spoken, and unwaveringly loyal to the crown. Beneath the ceremonial poise, however, lies a mind honed by decades of intuition, pattern recognition, and the ability to act before others recognize a decision needs to be made.

Kendrel’s rise was shaped not by birth alone, but by accuracy—by predicting intentions and outcomes with a consistency that often borders on prescience. Evidence informs his judgments, but instincts guide them, and when those instincts speak, he moves without waiting for consensus.

Rarely the loudest voice in the room, Kendrel is frequently the one others consult before speaking. His presence commands both loyalty and caution, and his politeness is as genuine as it is purposeful. He plays the long game, and in most cases, he wins it.

Attaché to the Rusmarian embassy, Odelrik is a man shaped by caution. Stoic, skeptical, and unimpressed by theatrics, he has little patience for rumor or panic. In a world fueled by whispers, he speaks plainly—if at all—and rarely more than necessary.

Known among diplomats for his restraint, dry wit, and dismissal of the crisis-talk that fills so many council chambers, Olderik focuses on maintaining the internal workings of his embassy. Conspiracies are for fiction; loyalty, when it matters, is reserved for his ambassador—a private allegiance recognized by few and respected by even fewer.

To those who thrive on intrigue, Olderik may seem irrelevant. To those who understand his steadiness, he is a quiet pillar: difficult to move, harder to read, and nearly impossible to surprise.

Serving at Maadigan’s Pride, Ona combines medical knowledge with a practical, no-nonsense approach to care. She tends to those in need with steady hands and keen observation, ensuring that health and safety are never compromised.

Beyond her medical skill, Ona possesses a sharp understanding of people. She knows when to act, when to persuade, and when to leverage the assistance of others, navigating both care and influence with quiet efficiency.

Dependable, insightful, and unflinching in her responsibilities, Ona is a figure whose expertise and pragmatism make her indispensable in times of need.

Princess Aldona of Elowen was betrothed to Prince Noam of Hireotha in a union many hoped would bring peace and prestige. Surviving records describe her as graceful, radiant, and widely admired, embodying the ideal counterpart to her future husband.

Their journey to Maadigan for the wedding proved fateful. Neither was seen again, presumed lost in an attack en route. Aldona’s disappearance became a symbol of shattered hope and the fragility of diplomatic efforts.

Over time, she has taken on a mythic quality in memory: Elowen’s “lost princess,” a figure whose life and promise vanished into history yet continues to inspire reflection, speculation, and remembrance.

Revik Skarn, guild master of the Pirate Guild in Maadigan, is a man of few words and fewer loyalties. Unlike flamboyant sea captains whose exploits fill tavern tales, Skarn rarely sets foot on a deck. His domain lies in dockyard ledgers, secret ports, and the quiet exchanges behind shuttered warehouse doors.

Built more like a butcher than a sailor, his voice carries authority without ever needing to rise. Skarn’s influence extends deeper than most recognize, woven through harbormasters, smugglers, and even select seats in city council.

While Lazrik commands fleets, Skarn manages foundations. Glory is unnecessary; permanence is power. In a world of storms, rivals vanish, and Skarn remains. He rarely threatens—he simply adjusts the rates.

Assigned to an unnamed Maghrabi cruiser, Nabir is a career sailor whose goals are simple and whose loyalty is unshakable—to his captain, his uniform, and the flag he serves. His orders were clear: observe the scholar, report, and avoid involvement beyond duty.

Nabir is neither clever nor ambitious, and curiosity does not drive him. What defines him is consistency. He respects the chain of command, refrains from asking irrelevant questions, and maintains focus in a navy where politics and back-channel dealings often cloud judgment.

To Herte, Nabir is part watchdog, part warden. To his crew mates, he is reliable, quiet, and ever attentive. Doubts, if they exist, remain unspoken. He is not meant to shape events, yet in following orders without hesitation, Nabir proves that even the most unassuming figures can find themselves closer to history than anyone expects.

Attaché to the Elowen embassy, Siora carries herself with a calm grace often mistaken for fragility—until one listens closely. Soft-spoken yet never unsure, she speaks with conviction rooted in principle rather than pride. Her strength lies in depth, not volume.

Idealistic to a fault, Siora believes diplomacy is more than a tool of politics; it is a means of upholding justice. She is attuned to the suffering of others and slow to dismiss even the smallest voice in a room. Some call her naïve, while others quietly wish they shared her clarity.

In the shadowed world of embassies and backroom deals, Siora is often overlooked by those who mistake silence for weakness. Such errors are rarely repeated, as her quiet influence proves far more formidable than appearances suggest.

Attaché to the Ognenstrof embassy, Vanya moves through diplomatic circles with the precision of a soldier navigating smoke. She speaks plainly, listens sparingly, and values clarity over civility, independence over alliance.

Fiercely proud of Ognenstrof’s self-reliance and cultural identity, Vanya reminds others—often pointedly—that her people bow to no throne but their own. She distrusts veiled language, layered meanings, and the syrupy pleasantries of court diplomacy. If she detects a double meaning, she will call it out—and rarely hesitate to label it foolish.

Beneath the gruff exterior lies a sharp opportunist. Vanya is ambitious enough to exploit weakness but cautious enough not to overplay her hand. She has little patience for long games, yet knows precisely when to strike a deal, especially if it positions her higher than she stood yesterday. Those who mistake her honesty for predictability soon learn that straightforward does not mean simple.

Attaché to the Maghrabi embassy, Zarael is a man of deliberate silences and carefully chosen words. Reserved and calculating, he speaks only when the conversation warrants the risk, and acts only when the odds favor him heavily.

His loyalty lies with structure—hierarchy, protocol, and order. He does not rebel, nor does he volunteer unnecessarily. Movements are slow but purposeful, guided by incentive rather than impulse. In council, Zarael listens far more than he speaks, and when he does speak, it is often to highlight what others have overlooked or to suggest that the moment for action has not yet arrived.

Intelligence is never in question; whether he will act on it remains a mystery. To those around him, Zarael is a fixture: stable, unreadable, and never fully aligned with anyone. Not yet.