The Aschlon Rare Animal Trading Company (ARATC) are proud to announce that one of the most renown animals the Aschlon Isles have to offer, the so called 'Dinosaur of Aschlon', a Geolizard is now available for sale!
Simply give the name of the purchaser, your negations on price, purpose of buying and the date of delivery! It will go to the highest bidder of course.
The price starts at 40550𝒻 ( 1𝒻=$1.35).

The celebration of ulka (08/03-20/03) is an important part of Aschlon tradition. "ulka" is Aschlonian for luck, so in basic terms, the celebration of good luck in Aschlon. It is a 12 day holiday, in which the celebrators will take time off work and school and consume great amounts of alcohol and food. Even the children are allowed "Rugba" a weak watered down liquor which is not strong enough to effect the child, but tastes strongly of cherry. There are public feasts in the streets through out this holiday, as well as many "Scumble" drinking competitions. Scumble is a Aschlon drink, it is made from apples. Well, mainly apples, which in no way guarantees a low alcohol content. Scumble is drunk in thimblefuls, is strong enough to be used for cleaning spoons, and should not be put in a metal container or allowed to come into contact with water. Someone who can drink a lot of scumble all at once without ill effects is probably not really human. In these Scumble drinking competitions, who ever can drink the most before passing out, wins. The festival is believed to have originated from the funeral of George II, a King of Aschlon whose funeral was said to have lasted for "nay a fortnight, in which many of the people feasted and drank".

Andrew Colins was arrested at 6pm on the 6th of March 2020. He was dragged, drunk and angry, by two police officers down to the local police station. He was thrown into a cell and accused of the murder of three men: Georgina Fallon, an Achkaerinian tourist visiting Aschlon alone; Bill Fi, the local pub owner; and his wife, Anne Colins. The evidence against him was undeniable, the cameras that watched every street and alley caught him breaking into the rented cabin of Georgina Fallon the night she was murdered and another night they saw him enter the about to close pub of  Bill Fi, which his wife was a frequent patron of, and saw him flee through the back door 13 minutes later. He was trialled, he pleaded innocent but was sentenced to life imprisonment. Nobody knows why he did what he did, he was described by shocked friends as a kind and gentle person. A few days into his sentence he was found in his cell, hung up by the neck. He was given an unmarked grave, his family didn't visit. His sister was looking after his children, they had not wanted to stay with him anymore. That was the final part of Andrew Colins' life.

And the murderer got away with it.

Henry VII, King of Aschlon, sat around his table sipping fine wine and dining on the finest stooso cheese, his expensive, ceremonial robes crisp and neat. His family sat on the left: his wife, his two children and his mother laughed and chatted to each other. On his right was seated the highest of the Church officials. All fat, their cyan robes were stained with dozens of colours; at least a third of the 5 course meal they had just wolfed down sat on their flabbery chests. They were laughing and talking, acting as if everything was fine. He scowled. How could they act so obliviously, did they not know that the world they knew was about to end? Did they not realise that the Hootofts were right at the gates? They had been told, they could have fled. But they did not listen. He himsleft could never flee. Better to die in his home than in a ditch somewhere. He glanced at his wife and she glanced back. He had not told her the news. She was worried for him. He sighed and continued to drink. A sudden banging made him put down the glass and glance at the door, just as it burst open and a Hootoft officer and two Hootoft soldiers walked in, their fully automatic weapons trained on the country's lords. Slowly, Henry VII, King of Aschlon put up his hands as more soldiers streamed into the hall. He was led out, his family weeping and the Priests gaping behind him as they entered the courtyard. The Priests were shot first, their bodies hitting the ground with a thump. His mother died next, her eyes begging him to save her as the gun was pressed against the back of her head. But he could do nothing. His wife was next, their children grabbing her, begging her not to go. He looked into his love's eyes for the last time. He watched as his children died, their cries and wails silenced. He looked up at the sky just as he felt the gun nuzzle, almost lovingly, against his temple.