Balckthorn Castle

The arcane mists that protected our beloved kingdom have thinned and those who once turned their backs on us now trample our possessions. The incestuous pigs arrived from Sosaria, perhaps not satiated by the usurped throne of Britannia, now dare to plot with the pusillanimous Gargoyles, inferior beasts so proud of their barrier to protect Shantar.

From the mighty walls of the city of Mistas, the Blackthorn castle appears as the crown symbol of our royal lineage. The slopes of the mountain of fire behind it make it the shining garnet, a precious jewel that spreads its blood light throughout the continent cavern.

Do not fear, Mother Mia, I will not allow anyone to put his filthy hands on our beloved castle, let alone the weaklings who sleep under that starry sky that was ours by birthright. Not content with all that they have stolen from us on the surface, now they also crave the riches of the subsoil, what our regal ancestor has fought for and that we all paid with blood.

As I write these few lines, the greeting of a brave warrior to his noble mother, a long fiery tongue of soldiers with lighted torches is slowly leaving the warm walls of Mistas to reinforce Blackthorn Castle and, even though I know you are not agree and that you will be in pain, I am going to join them. Already I see you, worried to peer in the direction of the fortress from this same window, but have faith in me, I will not let the disaster and disgrace fall on our family.

I will sit on the throne that is ours and I will ensure that our forces continue to prepare for the day when we will be ready to redeem our name on the surface. In the castle of our ancestors, our spellcasters will study the ancient tomes and arcane artifacts collected over the centuries, our magic will prevail over the tricks of the enemy and we will return to the house of the British the loyalty and honor that have been reserved to us in the past.

The doors of the manor will remain sealed by impenetrable charms until we are ready but, only for you and for the joy of a mother in seeing her child again, I will leave a copy of the key to our most trusted servant. May this be our secret.

But I cannot linger any longer: the Time Lord awaits my deeds to sculpt them into the history of this world.

Long live the Blackthorn, let our glory be great in the sign of Chaos!

Always yours,


Lord Henry Blackthorn