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  2. The Drifter was once more receiving trouble from all around. Of his own doing, no less, as per usual. But there was something different, this time. A change. He wandered into Haense, and looked upon familiar eyes- eyes which did not look back with familiarity. But that was no matter, now. Those eyes reminded him that he was lost, blowing around like a leaf within the wind. This was no existence. The Drifter wandered into the pewless church. In a place of worship with no seating, he found himself in the center of the church. The center of it. He spoke to the altar. "What is my purpose?" . . . . . . A voice rang out. One that was distorted. Was it Lanre's? Was it Auro'ra's? Was it Manfred's? Leonid's? Yera's? He couldn't tell. Perhaps it was all of them. "You have nothing left but yourself. But 'yourself' doesn't have to be so worthless." ". . ." "Prove your worth, but not to me. To yourself, and only then, will you prove it to me." "I understand." "You always say that, but you never actually do. You don't listen, you just do. Do you REALLY understand?" "I do. I finally understand. There is nothing but power and worth." "Good."
  3. Mathi Lensul’em nods with approval smiling down while she reads the missive “About time.”
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  5. "I am Mikhail Colborn, and I approve of this message." He'd say with a smirk.
  6. Today
  7. You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.” ((How do you respond?)) Haleth glances around, quickly taking inventory of his surroundings. Although to most the smell of rotting wood may be off-putting, to Haleth, the young wood elf feels right at home. However, a few things confuse him. Why is this old woman living in this battered tent? Why are there candles suspended in the air? Haleth realized it must be some sort of magic, and instantly was on his guard. Cautiously and carefully, Haleth sits on the cushion, confused as to why this old woman was expecting him. Respectfully, Haleth responds "Forgive me, I do not believe that we have met. Why have you been expecting me?" The woman stares at Haleth inquisitively, clearly not receiving the response that she wanted. Quickly she responds "This does not matter, young one. Tell me your story, and I may grant the answer that you seek." Not entirely convinced, but still intrigued by the woman, Haleth began to speak: "My name is Haleth Lindir, and I am a wood elf. I come from a family of five, with my father, mother, and two siblings, both brothers. I am from a seed located within the Isle of Nevaehlen, specifically, the seed of the Caerme'onn, and I follow The Wild Path devoutly. I grew up among the trees, and even from a young age, I showed a particular skill in hunting, as many of my kind do. My parents love my brothers and I very much, and thus they allow us to leave quite often and go quite far in order to practice and compete against one another in our hunts. It so happens that today, my brothers and I were hunting, and I found a deer and chased it quite far away from them. So far in fact, that I became lost. Destitute and unsure of where to go, I stumbled through the woods until I ended up in a marshy area, and as I walked through the clearing, I happened upon this town, and specifically, upon you. I suppose this meeting was fated. If you know where I can find my brothers, or perhaps anything about me that I don't know myself, I would be extremely interested to hear what you know, as well as why you have been expecting me, why you live here, and what magic you know." Haleth paused, worried that he might have revealed too much about himself or his family to the woman, as well as asked too many questions. Cursing his own desperation to find his brothers, as well as his immense curiosity and temporary lapse of judgement, he looked back at the woman. The woman was staring at him again, this time with a more bemused expression, interested after hearing his story, as well as amused of the desperation and clear interest in his voice. Finally, after what felt like millennia to Haleth, the woman began to speak "Young one, I have decided that I will give you the answers that you seek, move closer, and I will tell you why you are really here..."
  8. You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.” ((How do you respond?)) "Well..." Aiwin walks over to the hag, quickly examining the rest of the tent along the way looking for traps. Aiwin takes a look at the cushion, noticing the moss and its unpleasant dampness. "I think I'll stand, thank you." Aiwin looks back at the hag, trying to discern any meaning from her facial expressions. "I suppose there's no problem with introducing myself, if this is a trap it's too hidden for me see. Anyhow, my name is Aiwin Aryyander, son of Aegnor Aryyander. I am the oldest of 7 siblings, 4 brothers, and 2 sisters. I enjoyed my adolescence, we lived on a decently sized farm pretty close to the city, it was peaceful then. When I was about 4 or 5, I was deemed to be intellectually gifted, so my parents decided to foster that by trying to teach me advanced concepts, before moving on to tutors, and finally sending me off to a university. I left home 8 years ago for my studies, however, when I returned my family was gone. I'm currently looking for siblings right now." Aiwin looks up at the hag trying to see if that last statement caused any noticeable reaction, when it doesn't Aiwin lets out a small sight "I didn't think you'd know anything, but the real question is how do you know who I am?"
  9. A sunlit elfess would sigh upon finding such a letter, shaking her head as she penned a response, "Aspectism has been lost, for quite a time. Remnants of its practices remain, mostly in the form of Mani worshipping through the Wild Faith instead, but I am loyal to the sole religion I was raised on - just as you are devoutly loyal to your Mani, and your Creed. Our ancestors would be weeping, if they saw us attacking and slandering one another with such false accusations. All of the information provided in these new writings by both Lady Illynora and myself, Avyndriel, is information we have gathered solely from historical documents. We have not changed, attempted to not erase, and instead regathered hundreds of documents into single articles to better centralise and revive the lost faith that we two elder Mali are so fond and loyal to. This includes the Creed Pact. By no means are your Creeds required to follow such rules. We will simply, personally, deem them invalid Creeds, as the Creed Pact written by the Prophet of your own Creed dictated alongside Awaiti so long ago. We acknowledge that eras come and go, and so do the traditions - hence the adjustment to the rule on only elves being allowed to hold a valid oath. However, such rules can easily be amended for the modern era. A summit need only be called, for a peaceful discussion. The accusations regarding my attempt to 'control' are incredibly hurtful, and wildly inaccurate. Aspectism and the Druidic Order are not co-dependent, and my work as a historian in these articles has nothing to do with the Order. Restoring the religion that I love, and seeking to spread it as it once was, is not an attempt at control. The tenets I wished to restore for the Druidic Order have always existed, and the version that I brought forth at the last Druidic Moot were actually discussed and written by a collection of Archdruii and elder Druii from various circles. I was merely the one who spoke at the Moot. It was not some sole attempt to claim authority by installing rules I, myself, would be subject to the same as any other Druid. Lady Illynora and myself will continue our work as historians and devout Aspectists. The purpose of our work is to revive our lost faith as it was. Of course, we are always open to discussion and adjustment for the modern age, and by no means are we the primary authority on a religion that was once so widely spread and upheld by our peoples. We are simply two elder Mali who lived through the prime era of this faith, and wish to restore its worship. I was once close friends with the Buzzard, though it seems he seeks to only plaster my name with false accusations and slander since his reattunement. I do not know what has brought forth this change, and at no point has he ever attempted to seek me out and speak with me regarding his concerns, to gain an understanding of my perspective and actions. I once sought him out, seeking knowledge upon his unattunement from himself directly before I formed a final judgement. It is upsetting that he has consistently refused to grant me the same opportunity. In conclusion, these Articles are simply restorations of a lost religion, drawing solely upon historical documents. We will always be open to discussion and revision, and even others seeking to contribute to such work, but seeking to tear our work down through the use of slander and disparaging our reputations is an incredibly poor way to seek progress."
  10. You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.” ((How do you respond?)) "Well, I am just a humble traveler ma'am looking for a place to stay for the night." as I smile at the lady hoping to sway her to let me stay. "I am a Dark Elf named Zetir Eervar. I am on a journey to complete a quest that has been given to me." I lay out my story to the lady. As the nights fog begins to thicken outside the window, I become more and more anxious awaiting her answer. Example: "Oh, I just, uh…" you stutter, tensing up. You eye the crone, then back outside the tent. For a moment, the air thickens with anticipation, until…
  11. The Fox, a dual Herald of both Sage and Ichor, was utterly perplexed as she received her fellow Herald's missive. "Creeds? Pact? Where? I have seen no such publication ... Hrm." The Elder grew concerned then, her brows furrowing.
  12. You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.” ((How do you respond?)) "Well, I am just a humble traveler ma'am looking for a place to stay for the night." as I smile at the lady hoping to sway her to let me stay. "I am a Dark Elf named Zetir Eervar. I am on a journey to complete a quest that has been given to me." I lay out my story to the lady. As the nights fog begins to thicken outside the window, I become more and more anxious awaiting her answer. Example: "Oh, I just, uh…" you stutter, tensing up. You eye the crone, then back outside the tent. For a moment, the air thickens with anticipation, until…
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  17. You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.” ((How do you respond?)) "Well, I am just a humble traveler ma'am looking for a place to stay for the night." as I smile at the lady hoping to sway her to let me stay. Example: "Oh, I just, uh…" you stutter, tensing up. You eye the crone, then back outside the tent. For a moment, the air thickens with anticipation, until…
  18. Henrik-Otto Jakob var Otto Jakob var Stanimar Joremar var Branimar Jakob Ludovar - Margrave of Kvasz & Forgemaster.
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