Aurelariin
The Aurelariin—“People of Gold”—are the cultural heart of the Cetandari Empire, born from the legacy of Cavellas and redefined through the imperial grandeur of Inwold. Living at the epicenter of law, fashion, rhetoric, and ceremony, they consider themselves the bearers of civilization’s finest traditions. While others govern, labor, or worship, the Aurelariin refine.
Their name refers not merely to wealth, but to refinement, legacy, and the divine luster of cultural authority. To be Aurelariin is to live in the shadow of marble colonnades, to wear the weight of expectation like a laurel crown, and to speak in verses shaped by law and lineage.
Naming Traditions
Feminine names
Feminine names amongst the Aurelariin are ornate and musical sounding, typically ending in -ia, -ella, or -ona.
Examples: Marcellia, Sorena, Tavriella, Luciona, Valestia
Masculine names
Masculine names amongst the Aurelariin are structured and commanding, with endings like -ius, -an, or -or.
Examples: Tavrian, Cassior, Alestus, Domerion, Velastus
Family names
Culture
Major language groups and dialects
High Cetandari is the formal, ceremonial, and literary tongue of the Aurelariin, and serves as the prestige dialect of the empire’s ruling class. Though it evolved from the native Cetandari speech, it bears heavy influence from Cavellan—the language of the former imperial power. Many of its turns of phrase, rhetorical structures, and vocabulary are lifted directly from Cavellan or derived from its formal registers. Court oratory, legal decrees, and sacred texts still retain archaic Cavellan suffixes and conjugations, even as most speakers use a modernized grammar. While Cetandari's native alphabet is simpler and more direct, High Cetandari blends this minimal script with imported Cavellan glyphs and diacritical marks, especially in names, poetry, and inscriptions. The result is a layered language: precise and utilitarian when spoken plainly, but capable of immense ornamentation in ceremonial or artistic forms.
In speech, High Cetandari is marked by its rhythm and clarity. Vowels are rounded and often elongated at the end of clauses, giving the language a flowing, musical quality in formal use. It favors paired consonants and soft-dropped endings, with stresses often falling on the second syllable of each phrase. This makes even casual conversation sound deliberate and composed. The written form is compact, with letters arranged in narrow vertical columns for ceremonial texts, while more casual documents use left-to-right linear writing. Most of the written alphabet descends from early Cetandari script, but letters are often modified with serifs and flourishes based on Cavellan calligraphy. Gold leaf, indigo ink, and burnished wax seals are often used in noble households to embellish formal writing, transforming even correspondence into a display of refinement.
Common Sayings and Phrases
These proverbs, idioms, and formal expressions are distinct to the Aurelariin and reflect their values of poise, ancestry, and cultivated presence.- A blade draws no blood in the Forum. - A reminder that wit and words, not violence, win the battles that matter. Often used to chastise brash behavior or to praise a clever solution.
- Polish the name, not the mirror. - Encourages individuals to prioritize their family reputation and internal refinement over superficial beauty or self-aggrandizement.
- The laurel does not bloom for the loud. - A common phrase warning against boastfulness; true glory is earned in silence and revealed by others, not oneself.
- Gold speaks softly. - Refers to both wealth and cultivated dignity. The truly powerful need not raise their voice to be heard.
- Even statues cast shadows. - An acknowledgment that even the most revered figures have flaws or unseen consequences. Often used to temper hero-worship or idealism.
- Blood remembers. - A solemn phrase that invokes the importance of heritage and the fact that one’s actions reflect not just the self, but generations past and future.
- Three eyes: the gods, the house, the self. - A moralistic saying reminding individuals to consider divine law, family expectations, and personal honor before taking action. Often spoken before major decisions.
Culture and cultural heritage
The culture of the Aurelariin is not a living thing that evolves chaotically—it is a curated inheritance, preserved with reverence and shaped with exacting care. Every act of creation, whether artistic, legal, or architectural, is viewed as an echo of those who came before. The Aurelariin see themselves as stewards of an unbroken chain of excellence that began with the Cavellan patricians and was perfected through the founding of the modern empire. Their cultural life is built on continuity, not novelty. Change must be justified by legacy, not by whim. It is considered a civic duty to not only remember the past but to enact it—through spoken oratory, ritual gestures, and the revival of ancestral customs. Thus, the Aurelariin live as both heirs and actors in a continuous imperial pageant.
This inheritance is rooted in a conscious duality: the preservation of Cavellan grandeur and the refinement of native Cetandari ideals. From the Cavellans they inherited their obsession with law, rhetoric, and public virtue; from their Cetandari forebears, they draw their sense of civic beauty, philosophical depth, and ritual precision. The two legacies merge in every institution: the courts, the academies, the temples, and the households. History is not merely written—it is recited aloud in forums, etched into statuary, and enacted through pageantry. Children memorize genealogies and imperial edicts alongside epic verse, while senators quote ancestors in debate as if calling upon spirits. To forget a name or misquote a precedent is a mild disgrace; to misrepresent one’s heritage is a social death.
The arts serve not only aesthetic purposes but cultural preservation. Public sculptures of ancient heroes are re-carved and re-inscribed for each generation, their stories subtly reinterpreted through the lens of contemporary triumphs. Every noble household maintains a geneatrum—a private gallery of ancestral masks, deeds, and symbolic artifacts that serve as both shrine and educational tool. These galleries are opened during rites of passage or civic celebrations, allowing guests to witness not just the host’s wealth, but their cultural depth. Festivals, too, are reenactments of historic turning points: the Founding March, the Reconciliation of the Twin Councils, or the Dawn of the Golden Dome. Each event is layered with meaning, retold with slight variations to emphasize the moral ideals of the current age while still rooting the people in shared memory.
Ultimately, to be Aurelariin is to be a vessel of remembrance. One’s speech, dress, bearing, and even silence are all forms of historical citation. In a world where change is inevitable, the Aurelariin define themselves by their ability to endure without being diminished—to carry the full weight of their cultural heritage with grace, to refine rather than reinvent, and to ensure that even the present is clothed in the gold of ages past.
Shared customary codes and values
Dignitas—dignity—is the cornerstone of Aurelariin identity. It is not merely about pride or self-respect, but about the deliberate cultivation of presence, restraint, and moral weight. Dignity is carried in the posture of one's spine, the quiet certainty of one's voice, and the careful moderation of emotion in both triumph and sorrow. A person with dignitas must never grovel, never clamor, and never lose control—whether in argument, grief, or love. To display too much joy is vulgar; to display too much rage is humiliating. Dignitas is maintained through daily rituals of self-discipline and a lifelong awareness that one’s personal bearing reflects not only the self, but one's ancestors and house.
Auctoritas—authority—is not granted; it is cultivated through excellence, wisdom, and the silent acceptance of responsibility. An Aurelariin with auctoritas does not demand obedience—they evoke it. This form of authority is as much social as political, rooted in the subtle gravity one carries through deed and word. It is earned by acting decisively yet calmly, speaking rarely but meaningfully, and making choices that serve legacy over impulse. The highest form of auctoritas is the kind others turn to instinctively in uncertainty—when one’s presence alone restores order or clarity. Those who speak too often, or who pursue authority through force or wealth alone, are seen as hollow—bright on the outside, but void within.
Fama—reputation—is the echo of one’s name in the minds and mouths of others, a currency more enduring than coin. It is not simply fame, but the lasting impression left by one’s refinement, achievements, and conduct. Fama is a shadow cast across generations: a well-crafted statue, a preserved speech, a remembered act of patronage. For the Aurelariin, the highest fame is not loud, but etched—in stone, in script, in silence. One must guard their name with the care of a relic and polish it with every action. Reputation is both shield and sword, and a stain upon it—be it scandal, excess, or disgrace—can dim a lineage for generations. Thus, the Aurelariin live as though watched always, and remembered forever.
Concordia—harmony—is the art of balancing individuals, households, and institutions without open conflict. It is the virtue of peacemakers, hostesses, and senators who mend divides not with force, but with tact and elegant compromise. Among the Aurelariin, open discord is seen as a mark of barbarism; clever resolution is a hallmark of culture. Harmony is pursued within the home through mutual respect between spouses, among allies through strategic patronage, and within society through networks of influence that allow tensions to dissolve behind closed doors. The ideal Aurelariin does not silence conflict—they conduct it into music. Concordia is not weakness; it is proof of superior refinement and the ability to keep the empire’s golden facade unmarred.
Gravitas—emotional weight—is the ability to act and speak with seriousness, intentionality, and inner weight. It is not merely solemnity, but a cultivated presence that makes even a simple nod meaningful. A person with gravitas does not waste words or gestures; they speak slowly, consider their phrasing, and offer responses only when necessary. This virtue is especially prized among senators, judges, and patriarchs or matriarchs of great houses, for it denotes maturity, clarity, and the trust that one’s voice carries consequence. Among the young, gravitas is the signal of readiness for responsibility; among the old, it is a mark of wisdom remembered. Without gravitas, even beauty and wit are seen as hollow.
Pietas—duty—is the quiet devotion to ancestry, empire, and the gods. It is not merely religious piety, but a lifelong fidelity to what is greater than the self. This includes the maintenance of household shrines, the preservation of ancestral stories, and the proper observance of civic rites. A person with pietas sacrifices pride when tradition demands it, honors their parents without public complaint, and carries out even burdensome duties with grace. Those who shirk this duty—who mock sacred customs or pursue individual glory at the expense of house and empire—are seen as both immature and unfit for influence. To possess pietas is to stand rooted, to bend as required, but never to break from what binds one to the golden order.
Common Etiquette rules
Speech among the Aurelariin is a performance in miniature, where rhythm, structure, and tone reveal refinement far more than content alone. To speak with haste is to betray a lack of control—and by extension, poor upbringing or unworthy ancestry. Words must be selected with care and allowed to breathe between phrases. Even casual conversation carries the tone of debate or recitation, and interruptions are considered a grave offense unless the speaker explicitly cedes the floor. Those who stammer, chatter, or rush their thoughts are often met with cool silence, the social equivalent of a closed gate. Eloquence is not about flourish—it is about timing and deliberate gravity.
Laughter, too, is bound by custom. Public outbursts of laughter—especially those involving bared teeth, uncontrolled volume, or sudden movement—are considered gauche and bordering on vulgar. Among the refined, amusement is shown with a small smile, a quiet exhale, or a single word of dry commentary. In salons and symposia, those who erupt in laughter are seen as untrained in decorum, even if their company finds the same remark amusing. A well-bred Aurelariin learns to find joy in subtlety, and to master the art of conveying pleasure without disturbing the polished veneer of composure.
Eye contact is carefully calibrated. A sustained, intense gaze is considered provocative or challenging, and is reserved for formal declarations, duels of rhetoric, or romantic subtext. In most interactions, the eyes should meet briefly, then glance away with grace—particularly when addressing those of higher station. Averting the gaze entirely signals submission or shame, while prolonged focus can be taken as either flirtation or an act of dominance. Children are trained early in this etiquette, often learning when to meet or break eye contact through exercises in courtly storytelling and dining formality.
Finally, the greatest social sin is to lose composure. Desperation, frustration, loud grief, or unrestrained joy all violate the Aurelariin ideal of self-mastery. Emotions are not denied, but rather refined into appropriate forms: sorrow becomes solemn silence, anger becomes carefully measured language, and joy becomes poetry or a gift. To appear flustered—sweating, stumbling, fidgeting—is seen as weakness, especially in noble or ceremonial settings. An Aurelariin must wear their emotions as they do their robes: layered, beautiful, and never disordered. In all things, the appearance of serene control is the mark of culture and distinction.
Among the Aurelariin, etiquette is not a universal script—it is a gradient, calibrated to reflect one's station. The higher one’s rank, the more restrained and minimal their gestures should be, for the truly powerful need only subtlety to command attention. A high-ranking noble might respond to a greeting with a glance and a single syllable, trusting their name to carry the weight of presence. In contrast, those of lower rank are expected to show greater deference: deeper inclinations of the head, more elaborate phrasing, and attentive posture when in the company of their betters. Even how one sits reflects status—nobles may lounge with carefully arranged elegance, while clients and junior officials maintain upright, attentive poise. A misstep in this social dance—offering too much familiarity to a superior or too little humility from a subordinate—can quietly unravel one's reputation. Thus, etiquette is not only a performance of refinement, but a visible map of hierarchy, reminding all participants where they stand within the golden order of Aurelariin life.
Common Dress code
Clothing among the Aurelariin is more than a matter of style—it is a visual declaration of lineage, role, and refinement. Every fold and thread carries meaning, and each garment is selected to project one's identity without the need for words. Fabrics of choice include silk, velvet, and fine linen, layered to create both depth and movement. Gold or silver threading outlines hems and cuffs, often tracing ancestral patterns, mythic animals, or geometric designs associated with one's house. House brooches, or signifer clasps, are required at all formal events and are often made of ivory, polished jet, or precious metal. Colors are deeply symbolic: deep crimson, ivory, and violet mark nobility; emerald and black are reserved for scholars, jurists, and theologians; while muted bronze, slate, and umber denote functionary or artisan roles. No Aurelariin, regardless of station, would be seen in unadorned clothing unless in mourning or penitence.
Men's attire emphasizes form, strength, and heritage. The standard ensemble consists of a long-sleeved inner robe cinched at the waist with a braided sash, over which a tabard or outer mantle is worn, often stiffened to create a structured silhouette. Shoulder pins or mantle brooches display house crests or civic honors. Sleeves are tailored narrowly to allow for expressive hand gestures, which are essential in oratory. Hair is typically styled neatly and scented, while beards—if worn—are carefully trimmed and oiled. Footwear includes high-laced leather sandals or pointed boots dyed in deep house colors. In court or forum settings, men often wear a narrow circlet or fillet bearing family or guild insignia, marking their right to speak or represent a household.
Women’s clothing favors grace and symbolic layering. A base gown of soft linen or silk is worn beneath an overrobe with hanging sleeves and layered sashes that trail like woven banners. These sashes often bear the colors or sigils of the woman’s house, or subtle motifs representing her talents—laurel leaves for poets, scrollwork for historians, lilies for priestesses. Necklines are modest but intricately detailed, often framed by filigreed collars or soft embroidered veils. Jewelry plays a central role in female fashion: hair combs, finger rings, and neck-chains often contain enamel portraits of ancestors or religious emblems. Shoes are flat, delicate, and designed to show only when seated or walking on formal carpets. Elegance in motion is paramount—every movement of cloth must seem intentional.
Children are dressed not in miniature versions of adult fashion, but in simplified ceremonial forms appropriate to their age and station. Younger children wear sleeveless tunics over belted robes, often in house-neutral tones like ivory or pale grey, with only a single sash or embroidered cuff to mark family ties. As they grow, additional layers and tokens—such as charm-rings or education pins—are added to signify their instruction and readiness for adult customs. Boys may be given their first house brooch upon passing a rhetorical trial, while girls might wear their first formal veil at the Festival of Lamps. Children are taught early to walk, sit, and even play in ways that uphold their family's decorum; even their toys, often carved from ivory or bronze, reflect the roles they are expected to fulfill. Disheveled clothing or visible stains are seen as a failure of both the child and their tutor.
Art & Architecture
Sculpture is considered the highest and most enduring form of Aurelariin art—a medium that marries immortality with aesthetic reverence. Every noble household commissions marble busts of its matriarchs and patriarchs, often idealized to emphasize lineage, composure, and intellectual depth. Public spaces are adorned with larger-than-life statues of historical figures, each positioned with careful symbolic alignment: generals near gates, orators at forums, and philosophers by fountains. Even the gods are sculpted not in moments of divine wrath, but in poised stillness, reflecting the Aurelariin belief that true power lies in restraint. A distinctive tradition known as living marble blends precious stone with embedded metals, creating veins of gold or silver within white figures to signify divine favor or civic virtue.
Mosaic art is the visual language of interior refinement. Composed of colored stone, glass, and enamel, Aurelariin mosaics decorate the floors and walls of villas, baths, and shrines. They are often narrative in nature, depicting mythic tales, family histories, or allegorical scenes—such as the virtues personified as robed women distributing laurels or scrolls. The arrangement of color and texture is guided by strict principles of symmetry and proportion, ensuring that even the smallest chamber reflects balance and grace. In the homes of philosophers and rhetoricians, mosaics frequently depict symbolic animals or constellations with layered meaning, offering intellectual commentary hidden beneath aesthetic charm.
Fresco is the chosen medium for grand declarations—epic scenes painted across atriums, ceiling vaults, and colonnaded public halls. These works often depict the foundation of the empire, the deeds of ancestral heroes, or the victories of household patrons in stylized, orderly compositions. Aurelariin frescoes do not revel in chaos or raw emotion; instead, figures are arranged in harmonious lines and elegant postures, their expressions calm even in moments of battle or revelation. Colors are rich but never garish, favoring lapis blue, deep rust, alabaster white, and gilded ochre. The technique of divided realism is common—where each figure is slightly idealized, but their garments, tools, and surroundings are rendered in meticulous, real-world detail, grounding divine myth in civic grandeur.
Architecture is the Aurelariin’s most visible and enduring legacy, shaping the imperial skyline as both a practical framework and a philosophical statement. Their buildings are constructed with harmonic geometry, favoring domes, arches, and pillared arcades that reflect divine and civic order. Public spaces like forums and amphitheaters are arranged to encourage both visibility and acoustic clarity, embodying the ideals of open rhetoric and communal virtue. Temples are circular or octagonal, designed to draw the eye upward toward celestial mosaics or sacred skylights. Homes of nobility often include inward-facing courtyards surrounded by colonnades, a physical representation of introspective refinement. Even utilitarian structures like aqueducts or granaries are beautified with sculptural accents, inscriptions, or patterned brickwork, ensuring that function never overtakes form. Symmetry, repetition, and narrative symbolism define every corner—each structure a hymn to the empire’s perfected form.
Foods & Cuisine
Traditional Aurelariin cuisine is defined by its refinement, symbolism, and restraint. Meals are composed not to overwhelm the senses, but to balance and elevate them—each ingredient chosen for its seasonal appropriateness, texture, and cultural resonance. Dishes often emphasize mild spices, aromatic herbs, and carefully layered flavors. Common staples include vine-wrapped meats such as lamb or pheasant slow-roasted with pomegranate glaze; cheeses aged in ash or citrus leaves; soft breads shaped like laurel crowns; and delicate broths infused with saffron, fennel, or preserved lemon. Fruit is frequently prepared in elegant pairings—figs with honeyed goat’s milk, dates stuffed with rosemaryed nuts, or sliced quince adorned with edible gold leaf. Every dish is served in precise order and portion, allowing conversation, thought, and appreciation to flow unhurriedly between courses.
The Aurelariin value culinary exchange as a mark of their imperial breadth. Imported delicacies are status symbols, with spices from the Botari coast, cured fish from the icebound Fahryte shores, and fermented vinegars from the hillbound regions of central Cetandar all featured in elite kitchens. Olive oil, pressed from select estates near the southern provinces, is one of the few agricultural goods exported outward, alongside preserved citrus rinds, glass-bottled herbs, and salt-packed flower petals used for both seasoning and ritual. Wines are particularly prized imports, with distinct vintages brought in from distant provinces and aged in underground vaults. Conversely, coarse grain, blood-rich meats, or anything considered overly pungent or common is rarely accepted into Aurelariin markets without refinement, such as being distilled, clarified, or subtly flavored to match the capital’s palate.
Ritual meals mark many of the Aurelariin’s most sacred and ceremonial events. During the Rite of Names, newborns are honored with a tasting of rose-sweetened milk and a crumb of silver-dusted barley bread laid on the family altar. At ancestral feasts, diners begin with bitter herbs to acknowledge the weight of history, then transition to sweet stews and wines to celebrate legacy. The Festival of Lamps includes the sharing of saffron pastries shaped like flame-tongues, served with plum wine steeped in lavender, meant to symbolize enlightenment. Mourning meals are marked by ash-colored foods—black garlic, smoked lentils, and grey-hued roots—and eaten in silence or accompanied by a single-string lyre. Even trial declarations in courts or senate votes are often preceded by symbolic snacks such as salted olives or small coin-shaped cakes symbolizing impartial judgment.
Consumption itself is ritualized, whether at formal feasts or modest daily meals. Wine is always sipped slowly, often diluted with water or infused with mint, thyme, or citrus peel depending on the season. Dishes must be eaten in the order served; to skip a course or eat ahead is seen as disruptive and uncouth. Cutlery is used only in the most delicate preparations—most foods are eaten with fingertips or wrapped in flatbread, reflecting ancient Cavellan customs of dining by touch and shared grace. Conversation during meals is measured and meaningful, with philosophical topics, poetry, or familial anecdotes preferred over idle gossip. Music—typically a single flute, harp, or chime bell—is common at major meals, and no guest begins eating until the host touches their lips to the first bite. Meals, whether daily or ceremonial, are expressions of control, culture, and communion—never of gluttony.
Common Customs, traditions and rituals
The Aureline Games are held every other year and stand among the highest honors of Aurelariin cultural life. Unlike physical contests of strength favored in other provinces, the Aureline Games celebrate the mind and spirit—competitions of rhetoric, recitation, dramatic performance, painting, and symbolic sculpture. Participants are sponsored by noble households, academies, or patrons, and present their works before a tribunal of judges composed of magistrates, archivists, and laureled philosophers. Victors receive the Laurel of Aurenth, a filigreed circlet of gold and copper, and may have their performance etched into stone along the walls of the Lyricum—the city’s central performance forum. To compete is prestigious; to win is a mark of eternal refinement, and many political careers have been launched or broken on the stage of these games.
The Night of the Seven Lamps is a ceremonial procession honoring the empire’s seven founding houses—those first bloodlines that swore loyalty to the Golden Throne at the dawn of modern Cetandar. Each house, whether still in power or remembered only in name, is represented by a bearer who carries a wrought lamp along the colonnades of the Forum Goldalis. These lamps are lit from a single sacred brazier said to be descended from the Eternal Flame of Cavellas. As they walk, masked participants recite epithets and ancestral praises, while musicians play the Chord of Unity, a seven-tone composition believed to harmonize the voices of empire. The ceremony ends in silence, with each lamp placed on its plinth around the central obelisk. To be invited to hold one of the lamps is a rare and solemn honor, typically reserved for scions of noble lines, high magistrates, or famed patrons of culture.
Birth & Baptismal Rites
The birth of a child among the Aurelariin is not only a familial event—it is a moment of dynastic significance. From the moment of delivery, the newborn is treated as a vessel of ancestral continuity. Midwives trained in both medicine and ritual procedure perform the delivery in sanctified chambers draped with house colors and incense of myrrh and olive resin. Immediately after the first cry, the infant is wrapped in a swaddling cloth embroidered with golden thread—a ceremonial fabric known as a tessula vitis, woven to represent both divine favor and the vine of lineage. This cloth is handed down through generations, and is often re-stitched with each use to bear the initials of its previous wearers.
Once wrapped, the child is carried in silence to the atrium geneatrum, the household’s ancestral gallery. There, beneath the central statue or bust of the founding ancestor, the newborn is gently laid at the base of the monument. A family elder, typically the household matriarch or the eldest living bearer of the seal, conducts the Oath of Blood and Breath—a quiet invocation calling upon the gods to witness and guard the child’s future. In this sacred space, the child symbolically receives breath from the past and, in return, promises life to the future.
The naming of the child is itself a rite of augury. A celestial reader—an astrologer in service to the family or one trained in the Imperial Sky Registry—casts an astral chart based on the exact hour and place of birth. The chart reveals omens, symbolic signs, and guiding virtues, which are interpreted to determine auspicious syllables or mythic associations. The family then selects a name by combining an ancestral name—usually that of a forebear whose virtues they wish the child to embody—with a celestial token drawn from the omen. For example, a child born beneath the sign of the Scale and descended from Domitia Vel Seran might be named Seralia (from Seran + alia, a celestial marker for balance). The final name is formally registered in the civic rolls and etched in miniature on a wax seal bearing the family crest. From this moment, the child is considered a visible continuation of the house’s golden thread, and is raised with the knowledge that their name bears both burden and blessing. This name is granted as a secondary and personal name to the child—it is not the name that one would introduce themselves with. In writing, it is placed between the given name of the child and the family name.
Coming of Age Rites
The Rite of the Seal marks the transition from adolescence to societal adulthood, and is a rite observed with both gravity and celebration. At a chosen age—typically sixteen—a youth undergoes a trial of identity: a formal presentation before their household elders and invited guests in which they deliver a speech, complete a symbolic task, or present a creative work that reflects their values and understanding of their heritage. If accepted, the youth is granted their personal sigil—a unique emblem, derived from their family crest but stylized to reflect their individual nature. This seal is then inscribed on a signet ring, pendant, or brooch, and registered in the civic record. From that day forward, they are considered a full participant in Aurelariin society, with the right to own property, make contracts, and serve as a patron or client. The rite is often followed by a curated feast and public acknowledgment by the family’s matron or patron. Failure to pass the Rite is rare but not unknown—and always accompanied by a period of quiet withdrawal and self-reflection before reattempting.
Funerary and Memorial customs
To the Aurelariin, death is not an extinguishing but a refinement—the final polishing of a life into legacy. It is believed that a life lived in dignity transforms at death into a guiding presence for the household and city, joining the constellation of remembered names that form the empire’s spiritual architecture. Accordingly, the funeral is a performance of reverence, meant not to mourn loss, but to solidify the deceased's place in memory. From the moment of death, the body is placed in repose within the calatorum—a veiled chamber reserved for purification rites—where ritualists cleanse it with oils of cedar, lavender, and myrrh. The process of embalming begins at once, not for preservation alone, but to prepare the body for symbolic presentation, stiffening the limbs into postures of poise and serenity.
Central to the Aurelariin rite is the creation of the marble funerary mask, an idealized representation of the departed. Sculpted within three days of passing by artisans trained in vis memoriae—the art of memory-sculpting—these masks omit the signs of age, illness, or sorrow. Instead, they depict the deceased as they were in their prime, serene of expression and dignified in bearing. These masks are mounted within the household's geneatrum alongside others of the lineage, creating a visible archive of ancestry. It is believed that the more perfect the mask, the clearer the spirit’s voice in the memory of those left behind. Particularly honored individuals may also have full statues commissioned for civic halls or shrines, though only with senatorial or guild approval.
The Oration of Passage is a public recitation delivered in the Forum Goldalis or the family's domus, depending on the rank of the deceased. A chosen speaker—either a family elder, trusted client, or rhetorician—delivers a speech recounting the life, deeds, virtues, and guiding failures of the departed. Truth is not concealed, but sculpted: shameful deeds may be reshaped as cautionary wisdom, and minor achievements lifted through artful praise. The oration is often followed by a series of echoes—short remarks or verses delivered by friends, patrons, or protégés. The gathered guests then share a ceremonial draught of spiced wine known as memorae, to bind the memory of the departed into the breath of the living.
The body, now anointed and masked, is placed upon a bier of black cedar and burned in a private rite attended only by family and household retainers. The ashes are collected in a bronze urn, etched with the family sigil and a brief epitaph, then interred within the family vault—typically beneath the domus or within a dedicated mausoleum. Each urn is placed in order of seniority or virtue, with gilded brackets marking those who achieved historic prominence. The tombs are visited during seasonal rites of remembrance, particularly during The Silence of Laurels, when each house lights scented lamps and recites ancestral names aloud to ensure their memory does not fade. To be forgotten is the only true death in Aurelariin belief—and thus, every funeral is a fortress against oblivion.
Common Taboos
Showing desperation in public is considered one of the gravest violations of Aurelariin decorum. To plead, beg, or weep openly is to surrender one’s dignitas—the carefully cultivated appearance of composure and control. Desperation is equated with loss of reason and, more critically, the erosion of social position. Whether the source is financial ruin, unrequited love, or personal disgrace, it must be handled discreetly and in private. Those who fail in this are quickly marked as socially unstable, often met with polite withdrawal or silent avoidance, and rarely regain their former station. The Aurelariin believe that a person in distress must either find quiet resolution or entrust their burden to a patron, never to the public eye.
Speaking one’s own accolades uninvited is seen as both presumptuous and uncultured. Among the Aurelariin, true merit is acknowledged by others—never claimed for oneself. Boasting undermines the balance of authority and deference, and implies either a lack of proper recognition (which reflects poorly on one's peers) or a lack of patience to await it. The custom dictates that one's virtues, victories, or contributions should be revealed through curated acts—patronage, citations by others, or refined allusion in conversation. Those who speak of themselves too freely are viewed as insecure at best, and socially grasping at worst. Even justified pride must be clothed in humility, and never disrupt the harmony of discourse.
Wearing false sigils or claiming another’s ancestry is a crime both social and spiritual. The Aurelariin place immense weight on lineage; to falsely represent one’s bloodline is akin to theft and blasphemy combined. Sigils are legally recorded and ritually confirmed during the Rite of the Seal, and forging or misusing them is punishable by banishment from noble society, or in severe cases, civic trial. The offense is not merely a lie—it is a profanation of the sacred chain of ancestry. Those discovered in such deceit are stripped of public name, erased from genealogical records, and barred from burial in any ancestral vault, condemning their memory to oblivion.
Destroying or defacing ancestral effigies is regarded as a desecration of the highest order. Ancestral statues, masks, and reliquaries are considered both memorials and vessels of continued influence. To damage them, even accidentally, invites severe social sanction. In noble households, defacing an effigy—through malice, neglect, or even careless cleaning—may result in ritual cleansing, loss of inheritance, or exile from family rites. In public shrines or civic halls, such actions are treated as crimes against the state. Among the Aurelariin, memory is sacred; to tarnish a statue is to silence a voice of the past, and in doing so, sever the golden thread of legacy.
Breaking ritual order during formal events—whether during a funeral, oath-taking, or ceremonial feast—is seen as both a breach of etiquette and a sign of personal disorder. Each Aurelariin rite follows a prescribed sequence, and even minor deviations are interpreted as disrespect to the institution and those present. Standing before one’s name is called, failing to offer the ritual word during shared observances, or eating out of turn during a layered feast all mark the offender as either uncultured or deliberately subversive. While some allowances are made for outsiders, native-born Aurelariin are expected to uphold ritual structure without exception.
Mocking or mimicking sacred symbols or gestures is deeply taboo, particularly among children or lower-class performers. The gestures used in prayer, mourning, and civic declaration are laden with meaning, and to parody them—whether as jest or protest—is to devalue the cultural fabric of Aurelariin life. Even in satire, such acts are considered dangerous, as they reduce what should be timeless into frivolity. Public entertainers who cross this line often find themselves censored, ostracized, or worse, forcibly "retrained" in the correct forms of expression by civic censors or ritual harmonists.
Speaking during moments of sanctioned silence is a violation of collective sanctity. Certain ceremonies—such as the laying of the funerary mask, the naming pause during the Rite of the Seal, or the extinguishing of the lamps on the Night of the Seven—contain marked moments of silence in which no voice may rise. These silences are not empty—they are considered offerings, spaces where ancestral or divine forces may speak through absence. Interrupting them, whether out of ignorance or insolence, is a breach that draws shame on both speaker and kin. The correction is swift and public: removal from the space, expulsion from future ceremonies, or fines recorded in the civic rolls.
Altering one’s body through tattoos, piercings, brandings, or any form of permanent decorative modification is considered deeply offensive to Aurelariin sensibilities. The body is viewed as a living vessel of ancestry—shaped by generations of refinement, sculpted by nature, and to be maintained in its pure form as a reflection of inner discipline. To mark it unnaturally is to deface a familial gift and to show vulgar disregard for the inherited order of one’s being. Tattoos are considered especially abhorrent, likened to graffiti on a temple wall; piercings are seen as primitive or grotesque, a corruption of the body's inherent symmetry. Even scars from duels are carefully treated or disguised. While other cultures may wear such modifications as symbols of identity or rebellion, among the Aurelariin they are read only as signs of desperation, gaudiness, or cultural degeneracy. Those who bear such marks are denied entrance to many formal venues, and families will often go to great lengths to conceal or correct such alterations through costly procedures or exile.
Entering a forum or shrine without being properly robed is considered a defilement of sacred and civic space. To appear in such places without the prescribed robes—typically layered and bearing one's house seal—is not only a visual affront, but a sign of arrogance or ignorance. These spaces are viewed as manifestations of the empire's highest ideals, and to treat them casually is to treat the empire itself with disdain. Even travelers or foreigners are expected to don at least a ceremonial sash when stepping into a forum, while entry to a shrine in inappropriate attire may result in formal censure, expulsion, or public shaming by temple stewards.
Using informal nicknames in public violates the Aurelariin commitment to formality and respect. Names are believed to carry ancestral resonance, and their proper use honors both the individual and their lineage. To reduce someone’s name to a clipped syllable or childlike title in public is to imply familiarity where it may not exist, or worse, to trivialize the individual’s station. While such nicknames may be exchanged privately between lovers, siblings, or trusted retainers, they must never pass one's lips in the presence of a third party. Those who violate this taboo risk social reprimand or even the assumption of impropriety.
Public displays of intoxication are equated with loss of discipline and are one of the fastest ways to unravel one's cultivated persona. Though wine is a central feature of Aurelariin life, it is consumed slowly and ceremonially, often diluted and herb-infused to soften its effects. To stumble, slur, or sway in public—especially at a salon, forum, or feast—is to shame oneself and one's household. Even more damning is if such behavior leads to breaches of etiquette, uncontrolled emotion, or slovenly appearance. Those who are visibly drunk may be escorted out by quiet stewards and denied invitations to future gatherings, with their behavior recorded in private social ledgers for years to come.
Interrupting a speaker during formal discourse is a disruption not just of conversation, but of the entire Aurelariin social hierarchy. In a society where speech is performance and rhetoric is power, every phrase is constructed with care—and its interruption is seen as a deliberate slight. Formal gatherings such as councils, salons, or ancestral rites have clear rules about who speaks, when, and in what tone. Speaking over someone, even with good intent, is interpreted as either arrogance or an inability to understand one's place. The correct remedy for disagreement is to wait, mark the speaker’s closing phrase, and request permission to respond with a raised hand or formal address.
Speaking ill of one's own family in public, no matter how justified the grievance, is a betrayal of blood that echoes across generations. The Aurelariin believe that family is not a collection of people, but a legacy—an unbroken chain that each member is sworn to polish, not tarnish. Complaints, disputes, or shameful revelations must be handled behind sealed doors and among trusted kin. To air familial failings in a public venue is to expose the weaknesses of one's house to rivals, and often results in a quiet withdrawal of social standing, invitations, or patronage. In extreme cases, it may even result in disinheritance or ritual disowning.
Questioning or contradicting auguries and omens during ceremonial acts is considered not only impious, but destabilizing. While philosophical skepticism may be accepted in private debate, it has no place in public ritual. When omens are read—be it at a wedding, a naming, or the start of a political term—their pronouncements are accepted as true not because of divine certainty, but because of civic harmony. To interrupt a priest, question a reader, or deride a sacred interpretation during such moments is to challenge the shared framework of Aurelariin belief. Even if an omen seems ill, it must be honored until a more favorable reading is offered by proper authority.
Eating before the host has begun is seen as greedy, impulsive, and an affront to the spirit of shared hospitality. In Aurelariin culture, the host is the conductor of the meal—not merely the provider of food, but the guardian of its rhythm and symbolism. To eat early is to break that harmony, suggesting a lack of refinement and an inability to suppress base hunger. In formal settings, it may result in polite rebuke or social demotion; in private settings, it signals poor upbringing. Even when offered food before the host has partaken, one is expected to accept, hold, and only begin once the appropriate gesture or blessing has been made.
Refusing a reasonable gift—whether symbolic, material, or offered as part of custom—is treated as an act of disdain or social defiance. Gifts in Aurelariin society are not purely personal; they are gestures of trust, respect, or obligation. To refuse one without grave reason (such as blood feud, disowning, or religious objection) signals a rejection of the relationship it represents. This applies to ritual tokens, offerings at feasts, or even minor items such as scrolls or scented oils. If one truly cannot accept a gift, the proper response is to request a deferral or offer a symbolic counter-gift—thus transforming refusal into redirection, rather than rupture.
Failing to rise when an elder or high official enters a chamber is a subtle but potent act of disrespect. To remain seated is to suggest either dominance or ignorance—both of which are poisonous in a society obsessed with poise and deference. This custom extends even to informal gatherings; if a magistrate, household matron, or renowned laureate enters, all present are expected to stand briefly, incline their head, and only sit again when invited. Children are trained from an early age to listen for titles and rise accordingly, while guests from other cultures are quietly prompted by stewards to ensure they do not commit offense. Remaining seated in such a moment is remembered—if not by the victim, then by the surrounding witnesses.
Using gestures or hand signals out of context—especially those drawn from ritual, law, or mourning—is considered dangerous and socially erratic. The Aurelariin employ a sophisticated language of hand-signals, many of which carry legal or ceremonial significance: the upward palm of judgment, the crossed fingers of remembrance, the circle of bond-making. To use these carelessly—whether in games, informal mimicry, or drunken jest—is to risk not only offense but confusion. It is said that a poorly timed gesture has ended courtships and started lawsuits. Stewards and clients are specifically trained to avoid accidental invocation, and performers must be granted explicit license to use such motions on stage.
Taking artistic credit for the work of another—particularly if the work belongs to a client, a lesser family member, or a sponsored artisan—is a grievous breach of cultural ethics. Patronage is the backbone of Aurelariin artistic society, and the clarity of roles must be upheld: the artist creates, the patron elevates, the house preserves. To blur these lines for personal glory is seen as not only deceptive, but deeply selfish, robbing both the work and its creator of their proper place. When discovered, such acts result in severe reputational damage, the withdrawal of commissions, and in some cases, formal apology before the very forums where the stolen work was once celebrated.
Touching another person’s seal-ring, signet, or personal crest without permission is an invasive and dishonorable act. These items are not mere jewelry—they are physical extensions of identity, civic status, and ancestral legitimacy. To handle one uninvited is akin to opening a sealed letter or reading aloud a private vow. Even in moments of intimacy, such as between spouses or dear friends, permission is given by glance or phrase before contact is made. For strangers, clients, or casual acquaintances to do so is shocking and rarely forgiven. In formal contexts, it can even be grounds for duel or dismissal from service.
Common Myths and Legends
The Gilded Mirror tells the story of Velirra Domithra, a noblewoman of ancient Inwold who became obsessed with her appearance and reputation, commissioning countless statues, frescoes, and poems in her own image. Her most prized possession was a mirror polished so perfectly that it was said to reflect not only the face, but the soul. As her vanity grew, she neglected her family, clients, and sacred duties. One night, she gazed into the mirror and saw not her reflection, but the ruin of her household and the hollow marble faces of forgotten ancestors. In terror, she shattered the mirror—only for shards of it to appear embedded in the marble of her tomb. The tale is told as a warning against self-obsession and the temptation to outshine one’s legacy.
The Laurel Duel recounts the rivalry between two brothers, Caelion and Martrus Virellan, both born of a powerful Aurelariin line and both seeking their family's patronage to rise in public life. Rather than settle the matter through force or inheritance, they agreed to a Duel of Laurels: a formal contest of rhetoric and philosophy held in the Grand Forum, where each would argue a vision for the ideal empire. The gods themselves were said to judge their words, and on the final night, a divine wind scattered the laurel from Martrus’s brow and placed it upon Caelion’s. The tale is revered as an example of noble rivalry resolved through wisdom, and is often dramatized in salons and teaching halls as a lesson in poise, passion, and the will of higher order.
Ideals
Beauty Ideals
Among the Aurelariin, beauty is not merely visual—it is the outward evidence of internal harmony, discipline, and ancestral pride. The ideal appearance suggests deliberate control, poise, and an inherited sense of refinement. Garments are sculpted and layered to evoke the grace of statues, with textures that shimmer subtly in torchlight but never dazzle crassly. Skin is kept smooth and luminous, aided by oils, crushed pearl powder, or mild herbal tonics. Eyes are lined in fine charcoal, kohl, or powdered gold to suggest alertness and clarity. Posture is trained from youth: upright, serene, and unyielding. The mark of beauty lies not in excess, but in measured restraint—a quiet, undeniable presence that commands the room without clamoring for it.
For men of the Aurelariin, beauty stems from proportion and controlled masculinity. A strong jawline, well-kept beard or clean-shaven face, and a sculpted but not brutish physique are preferred. Broad shoulders and toned but lean builds convey discipline and martial readiness, recalling the ancient Cavellan ideal of the philosopher-warrior. Hair is worn short to medium in length, often curled with heated rods or coiled into ringlets at formal occasions. Jewelry is subtle but deliberate—signet rings, chain collars, or clasped brooches of house and rank. A man should appear capable, reserved, and timeless, his face a mask of strength touched by intellect.
For women, beauty lies in grace and radiant control. Silken hairstyles are artfully coiled and pinned, often woven through with house-colored threads or gilded clasps. Pale, unblemished skin is considered the height of elegance, with cheeks tinted only slightly in rose or coral tones. The eyes are emphasized with gold leaf or ultramarine powder, drawing attention to composure and gaze. A slender neck, delicate hands, and the fluid movement of layered robes all speak to the training and refinement expected of Aurelariin women. Jewelry is more expressive than in men’s attire but always symbolic: earrings, diadems, or necklaces that speak to ancestry, patronage, or intellectual standing. Beauty is understood not as seduction, but as presence—a mirror of the empire’s ordered grandeur.
Gender Ideals
Among Aurelariin men, the ideal is mastery through control—of self, of others, and of the civic world. From youth, boys are taught rhetoric, history, and the poise of the public sphere. They are expected to become the empire’s visible stewards: senators who shape law, generals who command legions, scholars who debate truths in marble halls. But their authority is judged not only by victory or volume—it is tempered by eloquence, restraint, and legacy. The ideal Aurelariin man speaks rarely but with weight, cultivates allies rather than followers, and presents himself as a pillar, not a tyrant. Emotional excess, be it in laughter or rage, is viewed as weakness; strength must be quiet and unshakable. To be a man is to cast a long shadow, not by force, but by the deliberate placement of one's light.
Aurelariin women, meanwhile, are expected to be the empire’s unseen architects. While they may not dominate the forum floor or the battlefield, they govern the salons, the arts, and the rituals that sustain imperial identity. A refined woman is a patron, a muse, and a priestess all at once—her influence manifest in the rise of poets, the decorum of statesmen, and the shape of civic rites. She commands not through decree but through expectation: by choosing who is fashionable, who is acceptable, who is remembered. A woman’s beauty is part of her power, but so too is her wit, her lineage, and her strategic mind. Behind every noble house’s seal lies a matron who shapes generations. To be a woman is to guide the empire from within its bones—elegant, unseen, and immovable.
Courtship Ideals
Among the Aurelariin, courtship is not a private affair—it is a public ritual, a dance of artistry, legacy, and measured revelation. Love is considered too powerful and dangerous to be left to whim alone. Instead, it is carefully unveiled through gestures that prove the suitor's refinement and suitability, both socially and ancestrally. Courtship rarely begins without some family involvement or social prelude, and always proceeds with formality. Shared appearances at forums or recitations, gifts inscribed with ancestral quotations, and hand-delivered poetry are the norm. A successful courtship weaves affection with lineage, subtlety with clarity, and dignity with charm. To pursue love too eagerly is to offend; the ideal is a slow-building admiration unveiled through intentional signs and ceremonial grace.
Men are expected to initiate the courtship, but never hastily. A gentleman must first establish his worthiness not with declarations of desire, but with symbolic acts of devotion—such as commissioning a sculpture that references the lady’s house crest, or writing a short ode alluding to shared ancestry or virtues. The pursuit must be visible but restrained: a whispered compliment at a public banquet, or a quiet defense of the woman’s name in political debate. He must present himself not only as a lover, but as a future patron, companion, and co-curator of legacy. The most admired suitors are those who prove themselves disciplined, intelligent, and attentive—not through flattery, but through fluency in the courtly arts and a precise reading of social expectations.
Aurelariin women, though pursued, are far from passive in the courtship dance. Their role is to respond with deliberate ambiguity, allowing affection to grow only when it is earned. A lady expresses interest not through open approval, but through curated response: accepting a gift with a clever counter-gift, attending a suitor’s public reading, or offering guarded praise of his accomplishments in salons. Her discretion is her strength, and the grace with which she balances aloofness and encouragement marks her as a woman of high refinement. She must also consider not just the man, but the weight of the match—his bloodline, alliances, and ability to elevate or harmonize with her household. The ideal Aurelariin woman chooses with both her heart and her heritage, ensuring that love does not dim her station, but burnishes it.
Relationship Ideals
Marriage among the Aurelariin is not simply a personal union—it is a merger of legacies, influence, and aesthetic alignment. It is expected that both partners act as curators of one another’s public presence, always elevating the name and house they represent. Emotional fulfillment is valued, but second to mutual respect, intellect, and strategic harmony. Public displays of affection are rare and considered gauche, yet private devotion—expressed in quiet loyalty, shared ambitions, and unspoken understanding—is highly cherished. An ideal couple functions as a seamless pair: appearing at salons and ceremonies in harmony, exchanging elegant correspondence when apart, and managing household and social obligations with practiced grace. Marital love, in the Aurelariin sense, is not a fire of passion, but a brazier of enduring warmth that lights the hall of shared legacy.
Within the marriage, the man is expected to serve as the household’s external face—engaging in politics, patronage, legal negotiations, and scholarly discourse. He maintains the family's reputation in forums and council halls, upholding their voice in the empire’s intricate networks. His fidelity is expected, but the standard is one of discretion and containment; should extramarital affairs occur, they must never disturb the household’s dignity or be spoken of in public. A husband is also expected to consult his wife in matters of alliance and inheritance, for to act without her knowledge is seen as a mark of arrogance and shortsightedness. His greatness lies not in dominance, but in balance—a strength that leans on wisdom, and a voice that honors shared silence.
The woman, by contrast, is the architect of the household’s inner power. She manages its aesthetic, its ceremonies, its reputation in salons, and often its strategic marital connections with other families. While her influence may be quieter than her husband’s, it is no less vast; in many households, she is the one who arranges apprenticeships, hosts key gatherings, and maintains the memory of ancestry through daily rites and traditions. Her fidelity is expected with even greater scrutiny, as she is the custodian of lineage. However, the Aurelariin do not prize chastity for its own sake, but rather discretion, intelligence, and loyalty to the shared vision of the marriage. A wife’s strength is measured not in submission, but in subtle mastery—her ability to make others believe her husband’s rise was inevitable, when in truth, it was hers as well.
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