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Squire Baronet Illeria of the Lost Soul, of Darkmoon, Empire of the Iron Mountains

”An indicative quote” yet to be found...

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Full member in 2013. Became progressively more involved over the years, and has now held several local offices, in addition to volunteer work at events.

Affiliated Groups

Kurato, The Amazons, The Bear's Den

Belted Family

Squire to Arch Duke Bruin Valorn Defender of the Iron Mountains, alongside Man at Arms Lord Jinkx Abaddon. Sister line to Marquis Viadra Moonblade.

Sir Michael Hammer of God
XII:Ser Agustus (Crown) (Sword)

Notable Accomplishments

Had an honorable mention for entry into Best of the Best at Rakis 2015. Placed 8th in Imperial Dragon Master 2016, and 8th in the Sapling Tournament in 2016. Came in second, by a matter of .19 of a point, for Dragon Master in 2017. Became a Baronet in May of 2017. Placed 4th in Best of the Best at Rakis 2018.

Additional Images

  • Link to image 1
  • Link to image 2

More Information


Illeria of the Lost Soul

“There’s a gap in memory. As if the cobwebs of a long sleep have been pulled back after centuries.”

She opens her eyes. Her name is not her own at first. Another is called to her like it should be familiar. She stretches arms that feel both youthful and stiff with age. What is it the one talking called her? Old One? Looking down, she knows the body being inhabited is rather young. What is old then? Her soul? Yes, fleeting thoughts of the past support that. And a taste on her tongue. Dust with a bitter undertone reminiscent of… What? Battle? Glory? An image of victories long since past, and a battlefield littered with the remains of a ruined army. Her army. Her victory. Enemies bowing before the might of her power. This was her world, and she could form it any way she wished. And she had been a mighty forge of war and death, one that would never bow to another in supplication. But what is left of that now? There is no army. No glorious victory atop the blood soaked fields of many worlds. She looks back down at her outstretched hand with eyes that see more than the physical. What is all this power worth in a shell that can’t sustain all that she is? Only one choice. Only one path to tread. Only one truth that calls to her lost soul. When the dawn breaks, she will fight.

Part Two “With all that she once knew now gone, the only option before her is to fight.”

The pain recedes and she is brought back to the now. Her once glorious power is dimmed by the need to stay, here, on this plane. In this body. Life and the flow of time would have been forever altered by the explosion of her death. And so, she picks up her weapon and steps out onto a new kind of battlefield. Are these folk her true foe? Yes and No. They fight, for whatever kind of loyalty and belief they hold sacred, and stand on the opposing side of the field. But they know not of what’s at stake. She lifts her blade above her head. In solute. In challenge. In a gesture as old as battle itself. It is a welcome, a plea, and a sign of respect. For those about to die. For those with the honor to fight. For those that will be forgotten when the dust settles and someone dares to write the histories. The signal is given and the fighters charge forward. Her mind turns to a red haze, alight with the zing of clashing blades and vibrating shields. Each foe that drops, each wound received, gives her the drive she needs to continue. Her path, though not the one she expected to take, led her to this. And nothing or no one will take it from her while she lives. While she breathes. While she bleeds. The confines of her forced imprisonment drag at her. She cannot move the way she should and it causes her to miss openings, allow wounds that should have been blocked, and saps her limited energy. Still she moves forward. Lost in the sensation that used to rule her very soul, she looks around, amazed to find the battlefield empty. All her foes slain. The dust settles and she senses the presence of a new challenge. Just on the horizon. Just beyond her reach. She steps forward with sword outstretched, ready to meet whatever comes next. Whatever foe that will try to claim her. They will find her not ready to give in to the call of death. His sweetly whispered words have been a low hum in the back of her head all along. He being much older than even she. Eventually they will walk into the underworld as comrades. Not even an Ancient One can deny that. But as those words caress her senses, one thought persists. “I still have work to do.”

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