Whitelist Applications

Takemura looks up towards the skies, watching the comets cascade towards the earth, the dimwitted Samurai pointing."Danzen, look! Lunarite!"

A young, newly appointed maiden couldnt help but smile as she read the missive, muttering an inaudible prayer to herself.

SUMMONS TO THE HEATHER COURT SUMMONS TO DER HEIDEHOF Issued by THE PRINCESS OF MINITZ In the year of our Lord 1974 ÖHNE UND TÖCHTER VON REINMAR, THE PURPOSE OF THE HEATHER COURT is to enrich the cultural lives of the Reinmaren people. How can we do so without hearing the words of the tribesman and tribeswoman from their own lips? Gather in the the throne room of the Heidepalast to share your thoughts on the following measures: Education of Reinmaren children in the form of a school; A ward system beneath the offices of the Heather Court; and Interaction with the courts and consorts of other nations. Hearken all ye sons and daughters of Reinmar, for you will be granted the opportunity to beseech the Princess for events and endeavours you wish to see grace the fair streets of Kretzen, and to present yourself for positions and advancement. WER RASTET, DER ROSTET HER ROYAL HIGHNESS, ADALFRIEDE of HEXENWALD, PRINCESS OF MINITZ

key word "unhumanly", elves should always be a little unnatural looking. long fingers, larger eyes, teeth that regenerate every few decades since they live forever, manual control over their ears, ectomorphic and double-jointed, compressed musculature, and of course very, very tall

"What happened? You were eager to just leave us alone... Well, I suppose I could have a meeting with Zalerya and Aroiia about this." Ariane muttered, stretching her arms out a little.

Monika’s face dropped as she read the missive. “Vhat? Ea- ea have to go visit him!” She exclaimed, rushing over to Aaun, hoping to find him there.

Marinus Corvus Calvissiador, resting in his office after a long day's work at the arena, sorting through the stack of mail piled on top of his desk, had never picked up a quill faster in his life.

An elder follower of the faith cast a pair of furious, blazing sights over the script. A taloned digit ran 'cross the name of the challenged, 'Aranur,' 'fore returning to the challenger scribed at the bottom. The prince garnered their typical grimace. With crackle and sizzle, the parchment was immolated by a sudden plume of dragonsfire, and the titan rose. A gauntleted fist coiled about the bleak glaive resting beside them, risen to fondly peer over the rayless sun crowning its design. The devout Neare marched elsewhere, seeking this trader...

“It's a lesson. It must be” Perhaps it was a lesson to be thrown off a ship by your mentor. A quest of perseverance. At least, she had hoped that it was – and continued to hope. The battering of the waves must amount to something, and the risk of death had to have meaning. But there were no further splashes of water; no rope thrown down, none to dive after her. Perhaps this was an extended lesson. God, it’s freezing.  “It’s not the season to go swimming.” Vasily – Arrogant and smug. He was a stranger when he pulled her out of the water, dragging her limp body through the sands. He had cause to be arrogant in that instance, but it didn’t stop her from thinking so. And saying it (An appreciative thank you following, of course). He was the first face she saw when she had awoken. A part of her still questioned why he did it – would this count as failing her lesson? Is this a part of it? How was she meant to find her way back to The boat? “You think too much. Come along.” Her time in Reinmar could be defined by two faces. The first was the face of Jeffrey De Wees. She had gone to Reinmar as directed by Vasily, then left to stand alone in front of its looming gates. Entering it felt odd, and she was sure that she looked as out place as she had felt. Perhaps that was why Jeffrey approached her, taking pity on the lost. But he was, undoubtedly, the face which marked the beginning of her stay in the city. He led her to the outer region of the city, past the woods and towards his monastery. Their conversation was formal, polite; kind, even, as he offered to house her within his monastery for the time. It was Jeffrey, too, who then pointed her way to finding her Mentor once again. “Gael. You should look for Gael, the Paladin.” Tilruir’tir of ******* Joma. It was a name that created an impression before you met him. At least, She thought so. She had teased and commented on the matter incessantly, from the moment the name was mentioned. Her reunion with him was as sudden as her departure from him. Quick– unintended. Her investigations for Gael had led her to the steps of Urguan. A daunting task, to locate a man she had never met before, but her hope was enough to drive her feet towards the city. It became a fruitless endeavour at first, as she saw no signs of the man she was meant to find. But then came Tilruir’tir of ******* Joma. Of course it was him. The second face of Reinmar did not have a name, nor even a face. Well, not a name that she could remember. He had found her when she conversed with Tilrurir’tir – Or Til, as she called him – within the Church. The pair had returned there following their reunion in Urguan, bickering, before the man interrupted their way. We're Agents of Janus. The moment those words came from Til’s mouth, there was no room in Reinmar left for the both of them. No amount of back and forth exchanges could change the matter. By the end of their meeting, the matter was settled: They were not welcomed. Kicked out of, yet another, form of home – Trespassing was evidently the only option left. Til didn’t know where the Sage had gone with the boat; though his departure from it kinder, stepping off on the docks rather than shoved off the railings. Now, they were left to find accommodations of their own. And She did. Sort of. If trespassing counted as accommodation. The cabin was old and unused. Snow had blown through the broken windows, and the locks on the doors had long broken. Perhaps there was a bit of blood, but nothing that Til and her couldn’t clean themselves. It was perfect. “Surely the lesson is over soon?” “I think he forgot us” She uttered these words as she led Til back to the place Vasily had found her. An open beach, with the forests a few steps back from it. The Sky was clearer than it was when The Sage pushed her, the waters calmer and the sun kinder. What a joke. But the cabin was cleaned, and she was here now with Til – she could afford to be patient. Perhaps that was the lesson. Not perseverance, Patience. If there was a lesson to be learned, at all. "Come along, Serana. He'll come back when he wishes to – He always does."

Upon a visit to Castle Vissingren, and seeing Annette's name spelled correctly on the paintings and the garden, Adalfriede made an amendment to her writing.

I didn't describe it too well but basically, think of it as a ghoul situation. They are more related to undead than actually demons. It just the souls that possess them aren't the undead version of that person, just more of a vessel or host for the demons on the other side.

Maerryl reads the missives. Anger, confusion and disbelief plaster her face, "Wha' the bloody hells is goin' on?!" She picks up her things and heads deeper into the city.

A FESTIVAL OF FRIENDSHIP By the hand of Saelihn in the year 178 S.A. We unveil a floral festival, extending a warm welcome to our esteemed diplomatic guests from distant lands, while simultaneously expressing our wholehearted support for our new Sohaer. This event offers a splendid opportunity to witness the transformation of our city as flowers embellish its every corner, enhancing its inherent beauty and radiance as we adorn its walls with colorful blooms. I. THE SILVER ADDRESSING During the Silver address, the Hostess of the event shall formally introduce and extend a warm welcome to our new Sohaer, who will in turn express gratitude to the Citizens of the Silver State for their unwavering support. II. BLOOMING STANDS The Blooming Stands, comprised of various floral arrangements crafted by the Citizens of the Silver State, serve as vibrant showcases representing our esteemed Bloodlines. This presents a unique opportunity to exhibit your bloodline in a creative and artistic manner, highlighting its elegance, beauty, and purity. [ Sunday 28th, 4 PM EST in Tahn’miar, the Capital of Haelun’or ] To Her Majesty, THE QUEEN OF BALIAN. ( @HIGH_FIRE) On behalf of elSohaer Ashwýn Sythaerin, we extend a cordial invitation to Her Majesty and her people to partake in our festival, serving as a testament to southern kindness and friendship. As previously discussed, amidst the festivities, our leaders may convene to engage in discussions regarding the intricacies of a prospective diplomatic agreement between our nations. We eagerly anticipate the arrival of Her Majesty and her entourage, and the opportunity to host them in our midst. Signed, Elensir Calathân and Naedwylm. MAEHR’SAE HIYLUN’EHYA

Aerrund grumbles as he reads the note. "May yer go, but go with ale, friend! Glory to the uncorrupted. Narvok oz Grelu!"

Yera pouts as she has the missive taken from her hands. "Rude! I was trying to read that deliberate attempt at sparking dissent and instability in Haelun'or."@Cobbler

"He's not that guy." Narvi muttered.

This grudge has been added to the book

[!] Posters can be found in the cities of NORLAND, HAENSE, REINMAR, MERRYWEATHER, and NUMENDIL as well as a dozen crossroads across the continent. ______________________________________________________________________________ Heavy lifting and transport of mail or goods; 15 mina per hour of work. Game hunt & husbandry, equine care, cooking, etc; 20 mina per hour of work. Escorting and protection of the nobility of the realm; 30 mina per hour of work. Apprehending fugitives and locating missing men; begins at 50 mina per hour of work. To be discussed on a case by case basis; begins at 100 mina per hour of work. Long-term employment wanted, but not necessary. To render my services send a missive to the Norland aviary, addressed to 'Aelys yr Norland', with a return name and address. I will reply within a fortnight if I am not already contracted. ______________________________________________________________________________

Breasal Nimblefoot: alolan rattata (his pet mouse Laddie), politoad (Chief Bud leader of Frogtoppia), kanto ponyta (his pony mount Eoh), seismitoad (Laklul spirit of frogs), goldengo (Lady Luck spirit of luck), shiny cacturne (Lord Knox babyyyyy) Alder Whitewood [RIP]: quilava (his pet wolverine Fluffy), kanto rapidash, bisharp, escavalier, chesnaught, alolan decidueye Osbert: mudbray & mudsdale, kanto ponyta & rapidash, gogoat, spectrier (basically horses, donkeys and goats) Merwin the Fool: he'd be more like a pokemon ranger from the Ranger games, but his partner pokemon would be a whimsicott

Nikolaus von Kanunsberg, the newly proclaimed Duke let out a heavy exhale - "Now the burden passes to me, I pray that Theodemar becomes ready soon.."

Victor stepped back into Numendil with an arrow through his shoulder. The bowie seemed in good spirits, the arrow straight through was a good sign that he'd likely recover fine and quickly with few complications. He sat, allowing his compatriots and medics to treat the wound, as someone walked over with a small bag, handing out letters to the wounded. Victor bit onto the edge of the letter and tore it, with his teeth, savagely. With a loud patooh, the graceless ranger pinched the envelope with his free, uninjured left hand, and was able to coax the paper out. His eyes narrowed as he looked over the letter, scanning it, and drinking in the words as they flowed from the page to his eyes. "Holy shit, I dinnae know t'at Lavanya an' Xander were gettin' married?!" The bowie thought back quietly on his time with the duo. In hindsight, they were pretty close: inseparable even. Though he thought the two were just good friends, evidently. He grabbed a cigarette loosely and brought it to his mouth, letting it hang unlit, chewing it over... I have a lot to learn about courtship still, he thought, as his mind settled back into the bustle of triage around the infirmary.

Tori cries fr

"Seekin' a home ya say? I got just the place for ya!" The Privateer Lord of the Port began to pen a letter to the Elf Clan.

A tall elf clad in armor goes to inform the staff of the new tavern of the news. We must improve our services