The Binding of the Three Crowns
As told by the court historian of Thorncrown
Long before the age of Emperor Vealthorn's line, the lands were three and separate.
In the north, the forests belonged to the Kingdom of Sylvaris, where the Moon-Hunters roamed. Swift as shadows and deadly as the beasts they slew, their silver-fletched arrows never missed their mark. Distrustful of outsiders, the wild was their only true ally. From the greenwood valleys to the deep forests, they ruled by tooth, blade, and silence.
In the west, the black hills and fortress-cities of Ironmarch rose high. Here kings forged their rule in the clang of hammers and the roar of war horns. Their armies were an unyielding tide, their generals said to read the battlefield as others might read a map. They marched with fearless cries, banners raised high, shields locked tight — each victory echoing like thunder across the real
And in the east, along the silver rivers and marble streets, lay the city-states that would one day become Thorncrown. These were lands of art, learning, and debate — yet their rulers warred as often with words as with swords, their alliances shifting like sand in the wind.
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For centuries, the three realms clashed — hunters ambushing soldiers, armies laying siege to cities, daggers in the dark, diplomats spinning lies like webs.
Until, from the east, there rose a prince whose name would bind them all: Gairos Vealthorn.
Gairos was unlike other rulers. He hunted beside the Sylvaris chieftains, earning their trust. He parleyed with the Ironmarch warlords, sealing oaths with both blood and honor. He fought at their side in battle, and he walked the marble halls of Thorncrown with equal grace. He was the first to speak not of victory, but of unity through diversity.
When the Orc Hordes of Gorthak-Dûl poured across the northern frontier, it was Gairos who summoned the three crowns to a single council. Some say their council lasted three days; others whisper that the gods themselves walked among them. But at dawn on the fourth day, they emerged with one voice, one banner, one name.
Thus the Vealthorn Empire was born — a thorn to pierce its enemies' hearts, and a crown to shield its people from scorn.
To this day, the Three Crowns — silver for Sylvaris, gold for Ironmarch, and black for Thorncrown — are set upon the brow of every emperor. A reminder that the empire stands only when the wild, the war, and the word are bound as one.