Great House Gani'orell

  High above the squabbling politics of noble houses of Rie'shae precedes Great House Gani'orell, the rulers of the city-state and The Caverns of Amaranth. Having played the games of courtly intrigue for centuries, fostering advantageous alliances, orchestrating rivalries, and manipulating lesser houses against one another, they have ensured their dominance remains unchallenged. Through careful stratagem and ruthless precision, they have steadily become an economic and military juggernaut, not through vast legions or open conquest, but by tightening their coils where others would reach with claws. For House Gani'orell power is not taken, it is suffocated into submission.   Every edict passed through the courts of Rie’shae, every tithe tallied beside dust-choked caravans, every trembling quill that scratches coin and weight into the ledgers of the merchant guilds, they all do so beneath the gaze of the twin-headed serpent. House Gani’orell does not need to brandish its power. Its presence is the architecture of the city itself, their sigil, crowns every gate, coils over every decree, and looms silent above the city's highest spires. It is not merely a mark of rule, but a warning. One head to speak, the other to watch. And both, always hungry. Their dominion is a silent empire, sustained by the slow tightening of influence.

Born of betrayal and crowned in shadow, the Gani’orell did not escape their curse, they carried their punishment with them until it became the very shape of their rule.

  L
ong before the Sundering and before Rie'shae. rose to prominence in the depths of the underworld, the ancestors of House Gani’orell walked beneath the sun, proud Dark Aelifer nobles within the desert kingdom of Amon’Isettii. However it was during the tumultuous days of the sundering of Lorthwyn, they abandoned Aulreth's faithful, fleeing rather than standing their ground against Aushurie's forces. In divine retribution, the goddess Melanthyus, mother of serpents and chaos, cast upon them a blood curse, a subtle but inexorable transformation into Ophidian beings, to be constant reminder of their betrayal.   When Aulreth fell and the fate of the Dark Aelfier came in sunlight and ruin, the Gani’orell fled underground. They were among the earliest to follow Nemiisae, the Archon who opened the underworld gateway and, with the aid of the moonlit goddess Myria'cresne, guided the Dark Aelfier into sanctuary outside the sun’s wrath. Alongside them walked Versorinn, the Veiled Seer, and her line, the future House Versorinn, drawn together with the Gani’orell, the Belvorians, and the Ci’huaturu. Together, they traversed into the verdant Caverns of Amaranth, founding what would become The City-state of Rie'shae., a burgeoning hub of trade and civility deep beneath the earth  

Kasita

Ah, House Gani’orell… such history, isn’t it? Betray a goddess, slither into the dark, crown yourselves sovereigns, and then spend the next few millennia pretending it was all part of some divine plan. Honestly, I admire it.

  The Gani’orell elite, dispossessed yet cunning, claimed leadership of the nascent city. With Versorinn’s prescience and divine sight, they shaped the fledgling settlement into a stronghold. As House Versorinn would later quietly steer fate through foresight, the Gani’orell cultivated dominance through strategy, alliances, and concealed power all the while obscuring their emerging cursed nature.   Over the centuries, their authority grew until Ga’venn’shviie, the “Crystal Court”, emerged as both seat of power and symbol. Beneath those opalescent towers, the curse inscribed itself upon the lineage: slitted eyes, creeping scales, fang and claw, marked the direct descendants of the venerable bloodline, slowly unmaking their elven form. To the world, it was nobility, in secret, a divine metamorphosis never undone.

  Even as Rie’shae swelled into a cosmopolitan centre of culture and commerce, its markets rich with wares from the surface and the deep, its courts teeming with nobles, merchant princes, relic-hunters and whispered prophets, House Gani’orell remained fixed at its core, silent and sovereign.T heir power is not loudly declared, but insidiously threaded, woven into every tariff, every tithe, every edict that passes through the Ithen’drel. They do not merely rule, they involve, entangle, entwine. Soft power seeps through parchment and coin, ensuring prestige, wealth, and influence never drift beyond their grasp.   When this strangulation fails, they shift, and the serpent uncoils. Political leverage sharpens, martial force is swiftly summoned and matrimonial alliances are invoked like blades. And when all else falters, when influence and coin can no longer hold the line, they turn to the darkness beneath Ga’venn’shviie.

House Gani’orell rules Rie’shae as a silent leviathan. While the current Regent J'aret Rie'Ganio'rell handles the appearance of governance, the unseen Ilthicess Orssariju reigns with invisible certainty.   It's slow and steady rise to power, House Gani'orells economic and military hold over Rie'shae has led to it becoming one of the most powerful and influencial great houses in the Imperium in recent years as it has began to rival even houses Skartus and Arcaine.

Complexion

 

Sah'aret

Curssse? No... no, child. Thisss is no curssse. The ssscales are proof, the Mother remembers. Her venom does not kill... it perfectsss. Each slit-pupil, each shimmer of ssskin... a kisss from Chaosss. While othersss cling to what wasss, the Gani’orell ssshed. They become.

 

Hair

 
 

Eyes

  Serpentine eyes are commonplace among the Gani’orell, an unmistakable hallmark of their bloodline and the quiet curse coiled beneath their skin. Slitted and gleaming, they range in hue from molten yellow to venomous green, with some bearing iridescent flecks that catch torchlight like polished jade or liquid gold. Both revered and met with a deep unease from the disruption their gaze causes. They mark both the prestige of their lineage and the omen of their maturing curse. To meet the gaze of a Gani’orell is to feel as though one is being studied not as an equal, but as potential prey, dissected by instinct rather than inquiry. There is no warmth in those eyes, no flicker of shared thought or mercy, only the patient stillness of something waiting for weakness to reveal itself. Even among the highborn, few can hold that gaze for long.    

Two heads, one will, one to speak, the other to command. The serpent does not crawl toward power; it coils around it, unseen, unchallenged, inevitable.

  The Twin-Headed Serpent, is the ancient sigil of House Gani’orell, but it is far more than heraldic flourish. It speaks of the duality at the heart of the House’s rule, a mirrored sovereignty that slithers in tandem: one head that rules, the other that reigns.   Each head bears meaning. One is the Regent, a ceremonial sovereign tasked with enacting the will of the House before the deizen Rie'shae.. The other is the Ithicess , the true seat of power, unseen and unquestionable, whose whispered command outweighs all others. While the Regent presides over the Ithen’drel Ruling Council of seven, drafting edicts, passing legislation, and offering the illusion of noble participation, the Ithicess watches from the veiled heights of Ga’venn’shviie, her presence felt in every decree, though seldom seen in person.   The Ithicess does not debase herself with the petty politics of lower houses. She is sovereign not by voice, but by right. Her will flows downward, through thralls and proxies, yet even the most diligent and capable servants can only do so much. The House must also be seen to show face: stern, deliberate, and unblinking. This is the role of the Regent, typically a responsibility thurst upon the Itharinn of House Gani'orell, the heir and most suitable symbol of sovereignty and authority to the Valroshi.   The council of seven is comprised of highborn representatives of the other noble houses, it exists only to dress the serpent in civility. It governs the day-to-day motions of the city, but never truly its direction. Its power is ornamental, ritualised bureaucracy masquerading as autonomy. The Regent may speak, but the Ithicess decides. She can overrule any edict, nullify any law, silence any voice. Her power is not bound by vote or custom like the Regents. It is absolute.

The true power of House Gani’orell does not lie in its council seats, nor in its coffers, but in fear. Not the shrill fear of politics or bearing of arms, but a fear rooted in the shadows that stir beneath Ga’venn’shviie, in the bowels of the palace where torchlight dares not linger, and the stone walls sweat with the breath of slumbering horrors.   Whispers among the denizens of Rie’shae speak of serpents, always serpents, tame ones coiled around wrists, jewel-eyed and silent. But behind the finery lies a far more dreadful truth. Hydras. Great, hooded monstrosities with multiple heads, each bearing venomous fangs and breath so acrid it blackens iron. These are not pets. They are punishment. They are heritage. They are the reason no one challenges the twin-headed serpent, not truly. It is rumoured that the Gani’orell rose to power not through sword or alliance, but by unleashing these ancient beasts upon their rivals, watching as screaming foes dissolved in venom and were torn limb from limb by a creature born of nightmare and reverence.   Still, the tradition endures. Executions in Rie’shae are not performed by headsman or blade, but by fang. Those who betray the House are cast into the lower sanctum, where their cries echo only once before being swallowed whole. It is a spectacle rarely seen, but always remembered. A subtle reminder that beneath every law, every oath, every silken word, there waits the hiss of something primordial.   The current Ilthicess, Orssariju Rie’Gani’orell, is said to command one of the oldest and most gargantuan of these beasts known as Velssyra, so vast that when she descends from seclusion to take the throne, the creature coils around it like a living crown of scale and muscle, its heads resting in stillness beside her as if listening for commands not spoken, but felt. Few see it and speak of it clearly. Fewer still forget. For House Gani’orell’s rule is not enforced by law alone it is enshrined in the fear of what sleeps beneath their feet.