The sea does not bow. It does not yield. It takes.
And so does House Velmora.
Perched upon the storm-lashed cliffs of Orrenvale’s western coast, their fortress stands unshaken against the crashing waves, carved from the very rock that has defied the tides for centuries. Those who stand upon its high walls can see the endless expanse of the ocean stretching far beyond sight—a reminder that power is not about holding one’s ground, but about knowing when to let the current pull and when to strike like a storm.
To outsiders, Velmora is a house of traders, merchants, and seafarers, the gatekeepers of Orrenvale’s most valuable ports. To those who know better, they are rulers of the unseen battlefield, where wars are not fought with steel, but with coin, whispered deals, and the quiet erasure of obstacles. They control the flow of goods, weapons, and even secrets, their reach stretching far beyond their own duchy, far beyond the borders of the South.
And yet, behind the grandeur and control, House Velmora is a house of ghosts.
Their halls are vast, but cold. Their people whisper of things left unsaid, of grudges salted into wounds, of betrayal carried on the winds like an omen. A house like theirs, built on the ever-moving tides, cannot afford to be stagnant. Every decision is calculated. Every word is measured. Even family is not immune to the shifting currents of power.
The Blood of Velmora Runs Cold
They say a child born of Velmora does not cry. That they enter the world silent, as if already listening. Watching. Learning where the weakness lies.
No man commands the tides, but Duke Alastair Velmora—The Drowning Lord—has come close. A man feared not for his wrath, but for his patience. He does not threaten. He simply waits—for the sea to claim what does not belong.
His eldest son, Cassian Velmora—The Silent Tide—walks in his father’s shadow, watching, learning. He speaks little, but words are not needed when silence is its own kind of warning.
His daughter, Lady Selene Velmora—The Stormborn—is a force of nature in her own right. A woman raised in the heart of a tempest, who refuses to break, no matter how hard the winds rage against her.
And then there is Lord Marcellus Velmora—The Shadow Beneath the Waves. If Cassian is the tide, Marcellus is the trench—the place where light does not reach.
But even the strongest currents shift. And House Velmora?
Even they cannot control every tide that rises.
Storms Gather on the Horizon
Not all fear House Velmora, but none underestimate them. Their control is absolute, their power quiet but crushing. And yet, power breeds resentment, and shadows whisper of tides that may soon turn.
In a world where gods have fallen silent, who will seize the right to rule?
That answer, like the storm, is coming.
Would you trust a house built on the shifting tides, or would you fight to drown them first?
JN
Jeanne Nest 