The War of Sorrow

“Never again”

The Harbinger said as his gaze fell upon the treaty.

The Lord of Wolves repeated it.

The Heads of the Crow nodded.

Only the Eagle could not agree.

Another Time
Sanctus wasn’t all that different three hundred years ago. Four major houses ruled the Sanctus and their own lands. There were the Lions, the Wolves, the Crows, and the Eagles. Tensions were rampant, as they almost always were when the powerful met. War had not happened since the Golden Age. War now, with the Fog? The Curse? Impossible.

It was the little things, at first. Disputes over territory, jurisdiction. Members of Houses being arrested by others. Unrest.

It grew to jabs and hatred. Scuffles in bars, anger in the streets.

It became war.

The Crows, dastardly as ever, they ignited the fire. The Eagles had what they wanted control of. The Courts. The policies. They were enterprisers and schemers, though, not soldiers. If their actions were in the light of day, the Lions and Wolves would have ripped them asunder as one. They framed the Eagles, to make the others believe they started it.

“''What is it those Eagles say? Patience before action, no half measures?” The crow laughed.''

Wolf offices were destroyed by fire overnight. Crow bazaars became swirling infernos. The flames had begun, and the Crows told the others who did it. The Eagles. But for all their scheming, the Crows did not account for what happens once flames ignite. They grow a mind of their own, they grow, they consume. They burn at will, with no allegiance or enemy. Districts burned. The Ramshackle Downs the worst. The minor nobility and House members within were forced to leave or die. The Night of One-Thousand Flames.

The governing houses turned their weapons towards one another. Crows and Eagles were cut down in the streets by the belligerent Wolves and Lions. Both claimed the other had done it, so those with swords struck out for each in turn. Blood coursed through the streets. Many went hollow. The Crows evacuated to Koraka, the lifeblood of water and food into the city, and locked the gates. Sanctus began to starve. Eagles went into hiding, a scarce few retreating to the ruins of Vorhenge, modern day Tesmor.

For one year, they fought like this.

The Wolves and Lions met one another at a stalemate. People starved. The Crows licked their wounds from the military forces of the other Houses. The Eagles were stamped out, the leaders who once were praised for their wisdom were no more. The Crows saw to their extinction, while the Wolves and Lions clashed. A year of Sorrow, with nothing but bitterness and grief.

Peace, at last.
The Palestone Concordat, the treaty which ended the War of Sorrow. It was signed by the Harbinger, the Lord of Wolves, and the Nine. The only House who could not, were the Eagles. Gone, cast off.

They all agreed to the terms.

Peace would reign and food would once more flow into the city. Travel would open, the blood in the streets would no longer flow. Never again will a conflict like this ever be allowed again amongst these three Houses.