The Castle
the centre of royal life
The castle sits at the centre of sprawling grounds containing gardens, training arenas, barracks, the royal stables and Lake Lilith, which is fed by the River Twinge. The royal guards which are stationed at various points around the territory will occasionally check fairies’ identities but are usually happy to let visitors wander around, unless the king orders otherwise. Within the castle itself, the west wing is the personal residence of the royal family, the east wing is the home of the court and the servants’ quarters on the lower levels. The castle is practically impregnable and is well-guarded against attack.


royal men
royal women
Morgana, sister of the King

Lady Alethea
Lady Styx
Captain Flynn
Lord Anapa
Lady Electra
Lady Rhyolite

Residents and Employees

Grayson, Squire
Flynn, Captain of the Royal Guard
Caldera, Royal & Alliance Guard
Dylan, Trainee Guard
Saffron Trainee Guard
Alector, Trainee Guard
Amber, Treasurer
Gavin, Artist
Danny, Royal Doctor
Graeling, Naval Navigator
Mohana, Librarian

Madeline, Housekeeper
Margaret, Kitchen Maid
Alistair, Stable Boy
Luke, Kennel Boy
Cypress, Kennel Boy
Jacopo, Kidnapper

Add your character and their personalised role via the updates board.

located here
  • Royal court: The royal court is a place for people to receive an audience with members of the royal family. Petitions can be presented to the king, connections made and events held.
  • Royal stables: The royal stables offers quality horses on lease for a variety of uses.
  • Royal schools: Children can receive private tuition or schooling here.
  • Royal library: The largest collection of written works in all of Shaman.
  • Royal hospital: The only official hospital in Shaman, this is where the sick and wounded are brought to be cared for.
  • Royal gardens: Beautiful and varied gardens which are open to the public. Includes allotments, flower gardens, and open spaces to walk or ride in.
  • Barracks: Royal and Alliance guards and soldiers live in the barracks.
  • Training arena: A well-equipped arena for knights, soldiers and guards to develop their fitness and skills.
there is advantage in the wisdom won from pain [tw]

Trigger Warning: death themes


The spirit’s edges blur now that she is near him, the darker planes of his face merging into her shadow, his extremities shifting in and out of focus. He is as gray as smoke. His voice is both clear and far away, as if she were hearing him underwater. None of this surprises Electra – she has encountered visions of the dead, before. The only thing extraordinary about the circumstances is the river, which was extraordinary before he arrived, and the sunlight, which makes him seem like a shadow being cast by some absent being. She tilts her head minutely, listening.

“It is always possible to improve our circumstances,” she murmurs in her own language, forgetting herself a moment, then sighs. What was the word for “possible?” And “circumstances?” He looks up at her, probably confused by the tumble of vowels and fluid consonants, and she offers him her softest, most diplomatic smile. “Let me try.” It is not a request – requests did not come naturally to her. But he still seems reluctant, fearful; she surmises that he must be alone in the realm of death, somehow lost in a place removed from other souls. He curls in on himself, more like a frightened child than the warrior he obviously was, in life.

Electra is not known for her sympathy, but this man awakens something like it, in her. He is weakened, despairing, lost, and slow to accept her assistance…but why? Her brows pinch together, listening to his concerns. He uses simple language, perhaps assuming she cannot understand, or maybe even his mother tongue is slipping through his fingers with the rest of his memories. It is too simple – she struggles to place the subtext, the motivation. His body language is deceptive. You should go while you can. She detects a note of…protectiveness, maybe. Self-sacrifice. She does not know if it is meant for her, or merely an echo of his last moments, but the futility of it makes her feel an unexpected pang of sadness.

She moves closer, dips down to one knee. (The people of her court would have gasped in shock to see her do it, to see her kneel before a soldier, dead or no). The light reflecting off the river spider-webs across her clothes and face, flashes brightly in her eyes, like golden coins. The drape of her clothing pools around her. She ducks her head into his line of sight.

“There is no danger, psihi mu. I have walked here many times.” She uses the soothing voice reserved for skittish animals and tempestuous men, has to resist an unfamiliar instinct to reach out and caress his cheek. “What do you remember?” But he is not looking at her – not at her face, at least. She thinks maybe he has disassociated, stopped seeing her, but then he unspools suddenly, emerges from his shell. She follows the line of his eyes with hers, lifts a fold of her robes with graceful fingers. “This? My chiton?” When he continues to stare at it fixedly, a tremor of frustration working over his jaw, she guesses: “The color?”

It is blind intuition. “Green,” she whispers reverently, grateful to have learned the word. In a world drained of vibrance, where hue was tethered to memory and both faded, leeching away into the void, it seemed that green would be more precious than silk. Her eyes were soft with pity. “I am Electra,” she tells him after a protracted moment, laying her hand over her heart. “Do you remember your name?”


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