Avant Tulurane

House of Tulurane

Upon the shores of Lake Tulurane Lord Josephiox Navareaux declared his love eternal for the Lady Naloine daughter of Lord Evanmont. Her brothers came to meet him and each one fell to Navareaux, the gilless knight of caravans. Her father arrived and demanded championship, selecting a strong soldier from his guard. But Navareaux smote him on the field of honor and won the right to request the hand of lady Naloine. When she accepted, her father granted them the land surrounding the lake with the requirement that Navareaux renounce his family name, long known for its cursed heritage, both a myth and a legend. So came forth the House of Tulurane, the house of blood and water, the house of hidden curses. Lord Tulurane had a son, Larumont Tulurane who served the Twin Adders bravely then wedding Avionette and had a son, Avant. Lord Josephiox Tulurane died a madman, single-handedly attacking a caravan in Ul'dah. Avionette succumbed to a strange sickness akin to a fever and died in Avant's youth. His own father was killed in a drunken duel with a Seawolf on the docks below Limsa Lominsa. The Dowager Dame Naloine Tulurane resides still over the household In all the sun's unruly days aloft In all the moon's unquiet dark and lost What lovely flower bursts anew and bright Doth not a wilted thing arise and die Had I a moment more to pass with thee Or in thy sleep to sing a sweet goodbye And therein leave these lost mysteries three 'Ere I ungentle bleed my life and flee Wherein pain there may be nectar hidden Wherein sweet there may be teeth unbidden What tempting path a love forbidden thee If you the moon would fling careless away If you the sun would exile to the day My heart awaits between their willful poles In a land unknown to lovers content Amid veils and phrases torn and sharp rent Where dusk arrives first to the mind and soul If you would seek me even unto there What unbalanced dreams might we make living A waking moonless midnight love affair Forever sweet harming and forgiving - Josephiox Du Tulurane

Honors of Avant

A bit of something regarding various levels in various things

Scion of the Burning Moon

Oi say to 'e them sand seer's long ago curses lie hard in the blood. Thems'll follow ya from lover to babe to lover to babe an on an onward. This one what I hear tell is that curse of the burning moon, the night that is the day. Every harm bears with it some hope and every help is a drop of poison. -Larrie Halfgil, Trader on the sands Burning Moon? Oh Ho ho... Asking from them simplest heal making. Feel then a thousand good things in all your blood places. So good a feel thing it is that you become a-want more, all the time a-want more. A heal thing that eats you slow with feely good teeth. That's Burning Moon. -Sawtrix Crackleg, Goblin Bonewright You know someone with a Burning Moon curse? I could sell one of their first-year cures in the dens for gil or steel or powder. I could cut you in. Once the weak ones get hooked they'll be back. We just gotta rope the cursed rube into it. Whadaya say? Twenty eighty? Nintey ten? -T'amnori, Den Runner

The Wandering Prince

With honor and greetings to the Dowager Regent House Tulurane Dame Naloine Entrusted of Gridania Lady beneath the Boughs It is with no small measure of trepidation that I forewarn Mdme. Your son returns anon even as the sun dips greenward. As history commits, the prodigal Avant, sent from the Manor and judged as unfit for the weight of such responsibility as the governorship du Tulurane entails, entered into commissionship in the pits of Ul'dah as a gladiator of the lowest stripe. But thereupon to gain both his sword and his shield only to leave them behind for the sandy streets living as a beggar and fighting bare knuckled in the alleys for brass and copper. But as instructed by my lady, ever was I close and always watching, as he spent time in the cells, in the brothels, as he bargained with the Mages to no succor. Even as he traveled far seaward to Limsa Lominsa and pursued pacts with the storied Arcanists who also sent him away. And now he returns to take up the spear of Gridania, a path that may lead as far as the snowy banks of dragon-touched hills and those cold Ishgardian halls from whence wandered the fathers of his line. And lest a moment lost makes of me a liar be, those mages and arcanists with whom he convened felt the secret we both know full. Upon his leaving, their talk was ever of the sense of void crawling through his aetherprint, marbled as deep stone, threads of his curse visible to them only as a vague sense of dread. Before long, surely his blood will call out in steel and magic. Thought it may cost me precious trust I must ask, shall we leave him to the world? Shall we not call him to the safety of a home but instead leave him to burn untended in the wild? Such strength of your steel spirit, Mdme, I am unworthy to contemplate. With deepest regards and in service eternal Hand of the lake, a leaf unturned

Credit

After long study into the arcane writings of those strange symbols fraught with meaning, desperate recountings from monkish labor bent to the desk, a crafter to the oars, my thanks to the wellspring of these glyphs. Aerius Destroven