House Castelvain stands as a pillar of refinement, wealth, and quiet dominion. While others wage war with steel and fire, Castelvain’s power is woven through whispered agreements, unbreakable contracts, and the weight of gold and reputation. Their wealth is vast, but their influence is greater—it is said that no noble rises without their blessing, and none fall without their consent. Justice, honour, and duty are their creed, but behind closed doors, one must wonder: what price is paid for such order?
The Blood of Castelvain is Golden
A man of many faces, Lucien Castelvain is both admired and feared. He speaks with measured grace, his words shaping futures as effortlessly as coin flows through his fingers. Some say he has never uttered an uncalculated sentence, nor made a move that was not foreseen long before. Yet, behind the charm lies a ruler who will not tolerate disorder, nor suffer betrayal. What happens to those who cross him? No one dares speak of it.
Graceful and enigmatic, Evelyne Castelvain is the whisper behind every decision, the shadow behind every throne. Some say she sees the truth in every lie, the weakness in every man. A patron of the arts, a guardian of noble traditions, she upholds the family’s unyielding code of honor. And yet, those who seek to deceive her often find themselves cast into oblivion, their names struck from history as if they had never been.
Two faces of the same coin, yet nothing alike. One is a master of deception, the other a guardian of order. Vesper, a whisper in the dark, knows the desires of all and wields them like a dagger. She glides through Orrenvale’s courts unseen yet ever-present, leaving behind secrets in place of footprints. But to whom does she truly owe her allegiance? Seraphina, cold and unyielding, speaks in ledgers and contracts, shaping the fate of men with the stroke of a quill. She has never lost a negotiation, never made a bargain that did not tilt in her favor. Or so they say.
A prince of impeccable charm and precise control, Dorian Castelvain is the perfect heir—or so the world believes. He moves with the effortless grace of one who knows the weight of expectation, and yet, his gaze lingers too long on doors not meant to be opened, paths not meant to be taken.
The Solgryph, regal and all-seeing, perches upon their banner—a fusion of lion and eagle, embodying wisdom, strength, and silent, merciless judgment. Some say its gaze pierces through deception, its talons gripping the fate of Orrenvale itself. Others whisper that it never truly dies—only watches, waiting for its next prey.
“Gold is the blood of power—hoard it well.”
To live under House Castelvain is to walk upon a golden thread—prosperity for the worthy, ruin for the reckless. Some say they are fair, that honour is their guiding hand. Others whisper of deals gone wrong, of names erased, of noble lines that vanished overnight. Justice is their creed, but who, in the end, decides what is just?
If power is measured in gold and justice shaped by those who hold it, then tell me—does true nobility lie in wealth, or in the way it is spent?
JN
Jeanne Nest 