There you lie,

Beyond the sea,

You stray far from me;

Your soul in water where first

Life and memory began.

Trekking along the beach that stretched out the waters of Elvenesse, an elfess returns to her home after her wanderlust. The smell of the salty sea brought comfort to her, matched with the sunshine filled sky. Her gaze wandered rapidly in search for denizens of the glade, eager to gain a newfound friend. Instead, she was met with a familiar virago. 

“Eveth,” Miven had approached her, digging into her pocket to retrieve a smoking pipe to her. “Your mal’onn..Wanted me to give this to you,” The druid had handed her the item, to which Eveth found herself thoroughly amused. A faint smile had drawn from her countenance despite her bemusement, for she had also brought gifts to give to her brother.

“What a coincidence,” the elfess remarked with a flurry of fervor in her eyes while she looked about quite eagerly, “I have a few things for him as well..Where is he, by the way?” There was apparent frustration from Miven, as she was unsure how to tell the young mali’ame. “Is he injured? Ah, damn mal’onn..He always gets himself into trouble,” she mused while her gaze continued to search for her brother. However, it would soon prove to Eveth that the trinkets she were to bestow Nematsen would be futile.

“Eveth, he’s become one with the sea, one with Hamsta. A fisherman he was, a gentle spirit of the ocean tides.”

It was then that the death of her brother had dawned to her. Mutterings emitted from the girl while gravity drew to her shoulders as it slumped. It was as if she were a child in desperation — Unable to comprehend her loss. The duo transcended to the stone-hedge where Eveth dropped to her knees in front of it. Her fingers trailed against it as she murmured to herself, dourness looming over her. “Ne, ne...You can’t be gone. I had s-so much to tell you...So much to give you.”

The Caerme’onn had watched over her, offering words of wisdom, “Eveth, this is the path that was laid out for him. Remember what I said, he is happy now, one with the sea, where he has always meant to be.”

“B-But...Mal’onn’s voice. I’ve been missing it..” Akin to a lost child, she met the woman’s gaze with her own despondent ones. Therein, Miven had shepherd Eveth to another part of the island where she was told to sit on the beach. She sat close to the lapping waves, and the druid soon rounded behind the young elfess. Together, the duo were united before the vast waters, waters that toiled and collided them both, but especially Eveth in that moment. Like a lullaby to an infant’s ear, it began to speak to Eveth, something only she could understand.

“You hear that, Eveth? He speaks.”

The girl sat in silence, feeling eased at the sound of the sea. The gentle waves scattered the blazing sun like sequins that lay scattered from a festival. Moving through her depths, in them are schools of living; the creation that remained in her water embrace when land dwellers sought flowers and shelter of trees. It is a pulse, in a way. Relief arose from Eveth — Relief that she could finally hear Nematsen after being gone for so long.

“There, there..” Miven hummed in tune with the singing sea. “I’ve prepared for this, Eveth,” And with that, she produced a black, white, and silver seashell necklace, strung together with both prudency and affection. The Bear lofted both hands to dress the piece over and around Eveth’s neck; The necklakce’s heart bearing an iridescent conch shell. When brought to one’s ear, one could hear the sounds of the ocean. “Bring the conch to your ear, suika. You’ll have his voice wherever you go; he’ll lie over your heart.”

The mourning elfess couldn’t help but smile melancholically at the druid’s lulls. The lustrous shell in the middle was brought to her ear once more, where she could hear the huge waves that rolled across the surface. Tears continued to flow unchecked down her cheeks and dripped from her chin, however she let out small chortles. It was as if she had found a sort of peace to the whole ordeal. All her life, Eveth had feared loss, suppressed dealing with the notion, never ready to depart. However, she was to continue on, heeding the words that resonated within her.

“Walk the Path”

𓅃

Deep in savannas past the Eternal Uzg, a heat spell looms over an eccentric wanderer. Though bearing not much shade, Miven finds herself intrigued by the unfamiliar tree up ahead. It was not like the others; bark darker in color, and leaves flakey green in bundles from sparing branches. The mali’ame was hungry from her travels and made the decision to clamber her way up the tree to munch on some leaves. 

***

Miven reaches into her pocketed robes, retrieving a bushel of berries she stored. Drawn to her face, the berries began to chatter to one another, voices that were somewhat unrecognizable to the dedicant. Their tone was not aggressive, more so soothing and charismatic. Miven blinked a heavy prolonged blink, staring down into her palms with wide amber eyes. “Woah,” she’d mumble lowly, swallowing at the sounds that came from her hand. She was mesmerized. New friends… friends that spoke to her… friends that were berries-  BERRIES that spoke to her! Even after snacking on her mixed greens, Miven’s stomach began to rumble an audible growl. Her perplexed guilty expression fell ever so slowly down at her new friends but quickly away as she began to battle her mind. You cannot eat your friends, Miven… but look at them…  they look so tasty… The elfess took in a weighted deep breath and groaned as she leaned up from her recumbent orientation. She’d look around, lumbering her way to the stump of the tree she ate from. Her back leaned against its’ trunk and the stimuli began to overwhelm her. Though she was stressed and disoriented at first, the mali’ame steadily went into a state of relaxation; limbs loose, splayed, and vulnerable in a desert well-traveled.

***

“What in the Aspects name…” Miven croaked, waking up beside the raell’vulsulin. She’d lift a hand to wipe her cheek from the dirt that caked it while stumbling up into a seated position. It took a few moments for the ‘ame to realize what had happened until she eagerly and with much haste dug her hand into her pocket to only find it empty. Like the curious and confused bear she was, Miven swiveled her head about to find her berries a few feet away displayed in an odd manner; lined up and in order of largest to smallest in size. Brows knit, Miven hesitated when examining the raspberries. They weren’t speaking anymore … but she yearned to hear them again. She rolled her shoulders, releasing the thought and retrieved each raspberry into her mouth. The elfess glanced back up in the direction of the tree, wiping her cheek yet again as she dragged the berry guts across. 

Golden doe eyes narrowed on the leaves the tree bore. Miven pressed both palms to the ground beside her, lifting to her feet as she scrambled toward the tree. The ‘ames legs hiked around the trunk; she was indeed a natural at climbing. When hoisted up to the head of the smoking tree, Miven’s eager hands collected a handful of leaves, stuffing them into her olive pockets. 

***

Back in Siramenor, Miven skipped along the paths in search for Awaiti. “She must know about this… the berries spoke to me! Almost like how I heard the moon spirits when I tried that halfling grass!” The boisterous young ‘ame chimed to herself, already retrieving the leaves from her pockets and a youthful raell’vulsulin sapling. 

((OOC: I wanted to introduce some of the awesome lore that members of the wood elven community spent hours working on, into the game! I hope you enjoy the little piece of Miven’s high adventures! Ame’lie Rall’vulsulin tree lore credits to the following! @SiramenorGlade @NomadGaia @ThumperJack @JuniperSelkie ))

    Yet they were not alone in their task, the druids of Siramenor could be seen at work along the coastline, calling upon nature to usher the great sprawl of vegetation into siege emplacements of unparalleled durability. Present amongst their number were druids such as the Nebula and Phoenix, the pair working tirelessly with their Arvellon kin to shape the shore into an unbreakable defensive. The waves lapped upon the mali’s heels as they poured every ounce of themselves into the formation of these much needed weapons. As the elves along the coastline focused, the Taliame’onn would be seen everywhere; some gathered local herbs, while others such as Skylar shouted profusely for someone to bring him the salves he requested many elven days ago. Tanyl’s pale eyes swept from one subject to the next as notes were delivered to him and questions were shouted his way.     

    This had been the constant atmosphere of Elvenesse since the False Sultan Ma’ga’nus C’arne had stated his intentions of marching upon the peaceful lands of Malin’s people, yet they refused to kneel. “Tanyl!” Would be heard from behind the ‘aheral, a detachment of heavily armored Caerme’onn guard came to a halt as the man, now stated as Tanyl turned to look upon them. “Karin’ayla Mal’onn, do we continue on track?” A red haired Caerme’onn would ask, who Tanyl knew by the name of Artanis. “Ti, I spoke to Laetranis and the Tahorran earlier today, they stated Llan'saes fortress would be ready to sail tonight,” Tanyl replied, pausing to suck in a small breath before he began to continue, “Abelas, take a group of warriors to meet Avius and Oryl, I am ordering you to sail toward the paladin camp in Korvassa. Make sure they fare well, there are supplies outside of the citadel which I promised them.” Abelas nodded in response, the mali turned to depart as Tanyl returned his attention back to Artanis. A smile was shared between the pair before Artanis led his helmed warriors in the direction of the demon-consumed desert, Tanyl sighed; he did not know every warrior he met- they would die anonymous, unknown by even the man who claimed to lead them. The ‘aheral would shake the feeling off as he continued on his way, pausing to speak to Miven and Medli as he went, the pair chatting in hushed tones as they assisted in the distribution of armor to anyone who could don a suit of plate. “Some people are at the gate Tanyl, you might want to speak to them,” Medli would inform the man, a weak smile is all she received in response as Tanyl made his way to the gates. To the ‘aheral’s surprise, four new figures awaited him, each different in race and stature, all speaking to Olorin Telemnar under the soft shade of the woodland canopy. First amongst them were Jorvin Starbreaker, the ashen dwed’s booming voice was unmistakable to those who he had met before. Arranged around him were Isalie Gardner, Thain to the wee halflings of Brandybrook. Followed by King Halvar Edvarrson, the ever stoic young king of Norland, the man’s dark eyes shone with a kindness which his robust build did not equate. Finally amongst their number stood Nivndil Asimulum'ker, her verdant gaze regarding the rest of the party with intent interest, a small nod passing between the two druids present. As the normal exchange of pleasantries came to an end, Nivndil spoke up, a gentle green flare recognizable in her eyes as she spoke, “We heed Elvenesse’s call, your people will not fight alone on this day.”

Elvenesse’s Call

A stark white bird of prey would be seen flying from Siramenor, four letters being taken....

To Nivndil Asimulum'ker

To Jorvin Starbreaker

To Halvar Edvarssson

To Isalie Gardner

OOC note

Hey y’all, I wrote this during my AP Psych class because I was bored and wanted to. The little story at the top is obviously just a fun little flavor thing, I hope you liked it.. I can’t say it took too much effort though so if you don’t I get it. The four brief letters detailed in this post are directed to Urguan, Norland, BrandyBrook, and Talus Grove respectively. I hope to organize a meeting with you four, plus potentially more groups if they come to us wishing to help in the following days after this post.

Goddess of large families, bloodlines, and Fertility

Summary:

As the Princess of rabbits, Bilobooz is more than willing to share her boons with those wishing to expand their families. She tends to value quantity of children over the quality of their character. Those who are looking to establish lasting bloodlines would be wise to ask for her aid. Bilobooz offers no protection, but luck in your personal quest to build a legacy. Those that come from long bloodlines will always have the blessings of the Rabbit Mani. Twins are said be the greatest gift Bilobooz can bestow upon an expecting mother. Though typically benevolent, Bilobooz has been said to curse those who neglect their families.

Ilmyumier: Bilobooz Path

Bilobooz is proud of all of her children, and her ilmyumier reflects that. For each child in your line, you walk with the Princess of Rabbits. To represent this, a paw print is given for each child you have. It is preferred, but not expected to wear these ilmyumier somewhere that is rarely covered. The paws come in a variety of colors and it is common to make each one different, representing each child of a house with a different color.

Offerings:

Black cohosh, Evening Primrose Oil, helonia’s root

Worship:

Bilobooz has always had a distant relationship with mali due to their fertility curse. It is often said that she will attempt to provide worthy bloodlines with an heir by offering up one of her own children.  Orphans are often thought to be gifts from the Princess of rabbits to those unable to conceive. Others believe baren wombs are punishment for offending the Great Hare. It is said that insulting your family traditions, disgracing your family’s legacy, or abandoning your family are ways to offend the rabbit mani. No one group of worshipers will agree completely on the topic of Bilobooz’s hand in the lives of her followers, but the general ideas of Legacy, family, and fertility remain the same.

Credits: The Rabbit Mani art by Twsister2361, the ilmyumier art by rayalia, Offering art by rayalia

T h e   S u l i e r ’ i r 

Kingdoms and nations come and go, but elven-kind always endures. The Mali’ame and greater Elvenesse have long enjoyed a period of peace and plenty not seen for centuries – children are orphans no longer, and the echoes of song and dance reverberate throughout the forest for days at a time. Yet with all that is good, those that would seek to corrupt and destroy it still linger. No longer shall they be granted so much as even a single breath on our lands. 

To the foreign eye, the Sulier’ir might be a rather elusive entity. In actuality, it exists as the unblinking eyes of the elven forest – its constituents often found atop unseen perches within the thick of the woods, diligently and vigilantly scanning for any that carry ill will. In fact, these constituents are rangers, who have dedicated themselves to eliminating anything or anyone that threatens Mali’ame way of life. One seeking to cause trouble would likely be met with swift retribution and an arrow into their sternum. From where? One could not tell.

Born deep within the woods, gifted with the blessing of the Aspects, and armed with elven steel and ironwood, the Sulier’ir was founded by Abelas Caerme’onn and Rhathalas Caerme’onn with the purpose of reconciling combat expertise in its various forms with discipline and wisdom that – in concert – make for a truly formidable force. 

I n i t i a t i o n   &   T r i a l s

Admission into the ranks of the Sulier’ir is earned and pursued after. Those who wish to join will not be turned away, as all with the desire to protect their people ought to be given the chance to do so. Those who excel, however, will be distinguished. Initiation is granted in one of two ways:

   1.    Conditioning: Those who wish to join the ranks of rangers must undergo intensive physical development if they lack skill with weapons. Prospects must prove their worth in mind and body if  they claim proficiency. 

   2.    Invitation: Being sought out does not typically grant privileges, unless the initiate is highly adept. This occurs either through the Okar’ir’s personal scouting or the recommendation of current Sulier’ir rangers. 

As prospects deem themselves developed enough for initiation, they must undergo a series of trials to demonstrate their capabilities. These trials will be overseen by current rangers.

· 1st Trial - Marksmanship. Prospects will demonstrate their skill with the bow, and will be judged based on technique, accuracy, and speed. 

· 2nd Trial - Hand-to-Hand. Prospects will demonstrate their skill in hand-to-hand combat through a spar (pvp & rp) with either another prospect or initiate, matched by a ranger’s choosing. 

To initiate is to commit to service until death or discharge by the Okar’ir. This commitment is enacted by the bending of the knee before the shrine of the aspects, where a verbal oath is declared before the witness of rangers as well as kin. Tattoos are often then engraven onto the initiate’ but are not mandatory.  

A s c e n s i o n

A ranger in their truest form has laid down self-preservation in favor of the life of their kin, whether by blood or citizenship. More specifically, they exhibit: 

      · Absolute partiality in the protection of mali’ame and the broader Elvenesse kind, never discriminating by means of personal preference or even blood ties. 

      · Absolute trust in and unanimity with fellow rangers and especially the Okar’ir, never sowing in-conflict of any form. 

      · No condescension or abuse of authority over citizens of the Elvenesse nor their fellow rangers, but rather goodwill and even compassion. 

      · Composed disposition and careful discernment at all times.

The ranking structure of the Sulier’ir is as follows (highest to lowest):

      · Okar’ir – The Warden – the final word and the overseer of all matters regarding the protection of Siramenor and the greater Elvenesse. On the field they patrol the forests, perform administrative duties, and lead training sessions and patrols. 

      · Hesto’ir – The Captain – a distinguished, exemplary ranger who embodies the ideals of the Sulier’ir. Captains have the utmost trust of their fellow rangers and demonstrate excellent leadership. Responsibilities include reporting directly to the Okar’ir, performing administrative duties, leading training and patrol sessions, and gate duty. 

      · Othelu’ir – The Ranger – makes up the body of the Sulier’ir who are adept in multiple forms of combat, are sharp in their senses, and swift to respond to danger. Responsibilities include gate duty, patrols, and other duties as assigned. 

      · Taelu’ir – The Acolyte – prospects who have dedicated themselves to learning and training for initiation as rangers. 

T r a i n i n g

Training is held either by the Okar’ir, Hesto’ir, or a guide of expertise. Sessions emphasize the development of proficiency in various forms of weaponry – typically bows, swords, spears, maces, and shields. Attendance is not mandatory but highly recommended. Furthermore, rangers are expected to hone their skills in and out of formal training sessions, whether that be individually or amongst one another.

E n l i s t i n g

Comment with the following below:

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Brothers and Sisters of the Green Priesthood:

The purpose of this scroll is to encourage all to develop their personal bond with and understanding of their patron Mani. When you envision the Mani that you worship, what do you see? Not the spirits that arrive after being called forth through ritual, but their unseen forms, how they appear beyond this realm. Are they simply another animal, with a superior consciousness, power, and intelligence? If so, what is their gender? What do they sound like, what is their demeanour? 

All of these questions can theoretically be answered with time and research, however for your daily worship, it is critical for you to have a strong personal vision of the Mani you are praying and giving offerings to. With these thoughts in mind, I have developed a theory based off of the natural world itself. 

Everything that exists has a certain duality to it. I’ve come to understand this more deeply through alchemical arts, although our roots as Mali’ame give us examples of this from our experience in nature. The element of fire can be a gentle candle or a roaring disaster, the element of water can be a life-giving stream or a deadly flood, the element of earth supports life as we know it or it can be a rock fall that crushes the same life. There is a dual interpretation in everything, two sides that represents two Aspects. It is known that each piece of the balance is brought forth by the Aspects, but what about the smaller pieces within this balance? 

My first teacher in Druidism taught me that even grass can represent Cernunnos. Sure, at a first glance it appears delicate and vibrant; but some grasses are strong and durable, and can survive in very harsh environments. Something much more commonly seen as representing Cernunnos is a large beast such as a bear. However, this animal still shows the qualities of Cerridwen by being known as a protective, wonderful symbol of motherhood- as seen with Bolomormaa, the Bear Mani. 

A recent theory of my own is that if the Aspects designed the Mani as they did nature, then the Mani display the same duality as everything else within the balance. Some within the Wild Faith often struggle and have disagreements about what gender each Mani is, or if they are masculine or feminine. Some address this dilemma by saying that the Mani have no gender, but what if it’s the opposite? Perhaps Bolomormaa can manifest in two different ways: a Prince, being a powerful animal with strong capabilities; and a Princess, a protective and wise mother. Similarly, we know hummingbirds are both vibrant yet very, very territorial. What if Kholibrii has two sides? A masculine side, a Prince that represents the protection of one’s own territory; and a Princess that represents vibrancy, spring, and flowers? If one applies this train of thought to the rest of the Mani we commonly worship, the same pattern trails behind. 

Note that this scroll merely presents a theory to deepen one’s own faith, and is not meant to replace nor correct the personal beliefs of others. I encourage you to use this theory in your worship if you have struggles envisioning the Mani, for if you cannot envision them clearly, how can you worship them? 

As always, may the Aspects and Mani bless your path.

Signed,

 Skylar Taliame’onn, Archpriest of the Green Priesthood.

The crackling of a fire joins together with the sound of water delicately crashing against the shore's rocks. The sound of battle, or war, emanates from isles away. The air smells strongly of salt-water and blood. Faint groans are all heard from warriors lying atop beds, but are soon followed with comforting whispers by healers. A certain Mali’ame removes a cauldron from the fire and carries it to a nearby pond; and another pours distilled water from a pitcher into a basin for washing hands. A Mali’aheral surgeon cleans her bonesaw of blood, and a much gentler healer whispers calming religious stories and prayers to soothe a warrior who had just lost a limb. Novice nurses clean used tools, soiled towels, and rags in a large bucket. A Druidess welcomes boats to the shore, and helps the incoming injured onto medical transports. This peace and tranquility, reflecting the gentle healing touch of the Springmother, did not last.

The body of an enormous sea-serpent found itself on the opposite side of an isle where the attack on it was taking place. And it came tumbling, crashing down on the camp. Patients in the middle of surgery, who had just lost limbs, who were being sewed together, who were burnt, cut, impaled- All were met with the impact. It was unforgiving, sending some flying into the air, others rolling down the shore, and others impaled and crushed by the wooden frame of the tent. More tragically, the same happened to the healers. Bottles and jars shattered, spilling their medicinal contents all over the rubble. The healers, in the middle of treating injured, became injured themselves. Those who did not die found themselves beneath the rubble, surrounded by the tools they were using to save lives. But who was going to save their lives?

The shore was quiet, it was quite peaceful, really. The fires and lanterns had been put out and shattered from the impact, leaving the shore in pure darkness beneath the eclipse. It looked as if nothing had happened from afar, as if the tent was never there. Not a person was visible, all covered in the wreckage. More injured warriors from the battle arrived to the shore, and they found nobody who could help them. It was a tragedy, these peaceful caretakers were given the cruelest fate of irony. The menders of broken bones, impalement, burns, and stabs; were found unconscious, mangled, in a coma, bleeding out, and dead.

Fate gave all a cruel lesson never to be forgotten. Value those who pledge themselves to Descendant life, for when healers are no more, what will we do?

The Dedicant slowly made her way to kneel beside the grand statue of the Thunderbird. She set her staff beside her and reached into the woven basket, producing several items from inside: bunches of protea and gladiolus flowers and several beautiful feathers, seemingly from eagles, falcons, and owls: birds of prey. 

”Ordivtilruer Nemglan...” the Mali’ame began to recite a soft prayer to the Princess of Eagles. As she spoke in front of the towering shrine, her head was dipped toward the ground and her eyes, usually wide and calculating, were peacefully shut. Upon finishing her prayer, the Dedicant opened her eyes once again and drew a small circle over her chest. She reached for the offerings she had extracted from her basket and held them in both of her vine-covered hands. Shuffling closer to the flame at the base of the statue, the ‘ame began to offer her items one at a time.

First, the flowers. Her cupped hands held bunches of deep pink proteas and light pink gladiolus flowers that seemed to be freshly picked. Dew drops leftover from the cool morning glistened in the sun as she carefully placed the flowers into the fire. She then picked up the various feathers and placed them into the flames one-by-one. Shades of black, grey, brown, and white flashed before reducing to ashes before the statue of the Thunderbird.

After a moment of meditation, Aedrie rose to her feet once again and picked up her basket and staff. She quietly stepped away from the shrine and made her way back across the wooden bridge toward the mainland. Turning left at the sandy beach, she approached the Aspectist island and gently pushed aside the vines to make her way toward a blazing flame toward the edge of the island. 

The ever-present smile that rested on the Dedicant’s face seemed to brighten as she neared the flame; memories of  her Dedicant’s Vow came rushing back from a time that now seemed so long ago. Aedrie kneeled once again beside the flame and placed the basket in her lap, her staff now behind her. She reached inside the basket to remove the horns of a bison that she had helped hunt from a nearby hunting ground earlier in the day.

”Laran Moccus,” she began in a similar fashion to Nemglan’s prayer. Her words were soft yet confident, steady and smooth. The ‘ame lifted the bison horns and offered them into the flames, watching as the fire crackled and welcomed the offering. A soft smile remained on Aedrie’s face as she meditated for a while beside the fire, listening to the gentle waves of the ocean behind her and the sharp crackling of the fire in front of her.

Upon opening her eyes, she slowly stood up and picked up her items, peacefully walking off toward the center of the village once again.

Aedrie Sirame lifted her gaze to study the stars above her that were slowly fading with the vibrant light from the rising sun in the east. She took in a deep breath of cool air through her nose, allowing peace to wash over her as she held the breath for a bit before slowly letting it out. In the Mali’ame’s left hand she gripped a dark wooden bow decorated with carvings of a stag and the Mani Morea, and across her right shoulder she carried a homemade quiver full of arrows. A gentle smile appeared on her face upon noticing a light grey owl that glided silently from the trees of Siramenor to follow the Dedicant as she set off on her mission: a solo hunting trip.

“What do you think we’ll find this morning, Hileia?” Aedrie hummed softly to the owl circling around her. She uttered a tiny chuckle and continued walking at a somewhat quick pace out of the Glade and across the road to a dense cluster of grasslands and woods near the swamp, each of her steps light and careful.

The Dedicant wandered along peacefully, though she appeared to constantly scan her surroundings for signs of movement. She climbed up a grassy incline and stopped abruptly at the top, peering down at the valley below the cliff she was positioned on.

A deep grumble from the valley caused Aedrie’s grip to tighten around her bow. She instinctively crouched down in the tall grass to conceal herself before pushing aside the blades obstructing her line of vision. A dark brown lump emerged from across the river and revealed itself: a bison! Its huge head rose up to sniff the air, its two horns pointed upward toward the rising sun. The Dedicant glanced at her beloved owl for a second, then back to the bison. “Look what we found!” she whispered as she began to raise her bow. “One of these can feed practically all of Siramenor.”

The Mali’ame’s eyes narrowed slightly as soon as she reached for an arrow; a second lump emerged from behind the first. Then a third. A fourth. “A herd,” she murmured to no one in particular. “Aspects, a massive one,” she added after a few more seconds of scanning the valley beyond the river.

There was, in fact, a massive herd in front of the Dedicant: it looked as though there were at least thirty in her line of vision alone. No doubt, there would be more beyond the soft hills behind this patch of grassland.

A quick swoop across Aedrie’s line of vision caused the ‘ame’s eyes to tear from the herd and up into the sky. She let out a tiny, nearly undetectable hum before crouching further in the tall grass with her owl. Her focus quickly shifted to what appeared to be an oddly tall bird flying away from a nearby tree... a crane, perhaps?

Aedrie heard a series of high-pitched calls and panned her vision back toward the grazing bison. Squinting slightly to see despite the distance, she noticed several more birds quite similar to the one in flight above her: a flock.

A group of the cranes took off from the tree and gracefully swooped downward to plunge into the nearby river, and Aedrie was hit with an immediate realization: “The fish, of course.” She loosened her grip on her bow and paused to admire the scene, which seemed truly filled to the brim with animals available for hunting: bison, cranes, and trout were very obviously abundant, and the hills likely concealed many others.

The Dedicant brightened as an idea came to her. The light, ever-present smile that had been on her face widened, and she slowly rose up from the tall grass to hurry back to her home, the Glade of Siramenor. Upon her hasty return to the grassland, she was holding a sturdy wooden sign and a large vial of dark green paint with a paintbrush she had crafted from a raccoon bone. She set the sign on the ground and got to work, her owl close by her side.

When the ‘ame finished painting, the sign read:

”Morea’s Hunting Ground.

Feel free to hunt:
Bison, Cranes, and Trout.

DO NOT OVER-HUNT!”

Despite the rather firm final statement on the sign, a tiny smiley face was painted directly below it.

Aedrie stuck the sign in the ground and silently stepped back, still wearing a satisfied smile. She glanced once again to Hileia, then back to the grassland behind the sign. “For Morea,” she whispered, and she drew a circle over her chest. With that, the Dedicant turned around and excitedly walked back to her home, one step closer to completing her Grand Task.

Skylar Taliame'onn reached into his satchel and pulled out a leather bag and a waterskin. Skylar handed both over. "You will drink and eat all of these contents. In your final trial, you will face visions that you will learn from heavily. Face them and find your way home." He would have then stood in place waiting for Becclain to drink and eat the contents of both items. 

Becclain Arvellon would have gently nodded his head as he stepped forward slightly. He'd then move his gaze down to the leather bag and the waterskin as he extended both his hands out to take the items "O-Oh... Alright." After a few moments, he would have brought himself to eat and drink the contents of both items before finishing and using his hand to wipe his mouth. He'd then glance to Skylar as he nodded his head. "O-Okay"

[!]The mushrooms tasted like mushrooms obviously, and the liquid was quite nutty and slightly unpleasant. "Good luck, Aspects, and Mani bless. I'll see you back at Siramenor.” And with that, Skylar wandered off back towards the Mali’ame Village of Siramenor.

Becclain Arvellon would have then glanced around at his surroundings as he let out a heavy sigh. The heavy dose of psychedelic mushrooms + LSA extract slowly was going into full effect as he began panting heavily. His vision faded in and out as he appeared to be thrown into a dazed state for the moment. After some time,  Becclain started losing touch with reality and slipping into a dream-like state. It appeared he was still in the birch forest, but something was strongly off. The weather around him was very warm yet it gave him a feeling of freshness and nothing more, the moon gave off vivid colors whilst everything around him was radiating with brilliant and glowing hues. The air around him looked crystal clear and the stars sparkled brighter more than any other time he had experienced. The experience seemed to be something truly magical and amazing, however, after some time the affects became enhanced and stronger.

Becclain Arvellon would have begun to wander around the area as he used his arms to push against any nearby trees, trying to support himself. His hallucinations were getting progressively less amusing as the scenery shifted from the magical and amazing sights to something much darker and frightening. Furthermore, the unpredictability of the experience due to the effects of the items he had eaten and drunken, caused him to lose his sense of understanding of the world around him. However, Becclain decided to try and push through the effects in order to complete the final task of his Priesthood. His eyes scanned the forest floor as he tried to figure out the path from where he came from as to take that back home to the Village.

After some time searching, Becclain would have finally found a few broken branches or twigs on the ground, just nearby would appear to be footmarks and other details showing someone has passed through here. He’d then slowly begin to follow the path as he tried to glance around at his surroundings, trying to understand where he is, however it didn’t work. He simply continued to follow the details or tracks left behind from when they made way into the forest before stopping. In the distance, he heard a few crackling or breaking from the vegetation around him as he stepped back slowly. “W-Wo…” He’d mutter through coherent sentences that were difficult for him in this state.

[!]A small-sized boar trots with the fierce presence of that of a larger animal as he slammed its hooves into the ground, marking its territory that Becclain seemed to have trespassed into. After a few moments, the boar would begin to release a few loud screeches to try and scare the Mali’tal.

Upon Becclain Arvellon’s visage appeared to be an expression of fear as his jaw dropped at the sight of the boar. He’d then try to dash away without hesitation as to avoid the boar. Though, his current state caused him to trip and collapse onto the ground. He quickly turned onto his back as he reached to his hip to unsheath his hunting dagger.

[!]The small-sized boar would have begun to run towards the now fallen Becclain as it tried to ram into him with great strength. The boar appeared to have gone wild as it tried to protect its territory.

Becclain would have then attempted to push himself up into a standing position as to have a higher stance against the boar. He’d tighten his grip upon the handle of the dagger as he readied the weapon in his hand. He would simply wait for the boar to come charging closer before swinging around to stab it into the side of the boar, and once that would have happened he would then pull down the blade. After such, he would have continuously stabbed the boar in the side a few more times before it finally stopped moving.

After a few moments, Becclain would have looked around as he tried to see if anything else was lurking in the shadows of the forest, however, nothing showed up. He would have then moved around to figure out his path once more. Afterward, he would have luckily found the path back towards Siramenor as he followed that.

Chieftain Skylar Taliame’onn - Wiseman of the Irrinite Healing Lodge

Purpose

The Apothecary of Siramenor, also known as the Irrinite Healing Lodge, exists to provide succor for the frail, sickly and injured while also providing young healers with the ancient herbal knowledge of the Wood Elven people. In doing so, the healers of the wild faith help those in need while keeping alive the ancient cultural and religious institutions of their woodland elvish people. 

Culture

“O’ Haelun’Taynan, orlle ay’adiln divcerun’ehya, lae heya elillern’tayna lentera hiyluan’ehya y’ameantaynei. nae heya kae’leh taynan illerale, kae’leh wynan’anuh il’sulwaleh, nae’leh ehya orahernan illera. O’ Haelun’lle, y’kae anoh’suliera, kae ay’nae’leh tilrunhaleral mediera adontere, iyul kae orern nae tilruereh, nae’leh ehya lle’saere karin’ento”

~The healing prayer, from the Liturgy of elnarnsae’ame.

Schools of Training

“Healing is both mind and soul, dedicated to a Mali by another.”

~Melethre, Wisewoman of the Irrinite Healing Lodge.

Ranks

Members

Where: The Glade of Siramenor

When: Sunday 6/14/2020, 5PST / 8EST

To the long-lived woodland elves, merely living for survival isn’t enough. Everyone one does has to be an art, a skill learned for the pursuit of utter perfection. Long have the wood elves cherished the culinary arts, for it allows them to display creativity, passion and joy while maintaining their natural harmony with the wild world around them, creating fantastic dishes out of what the forest, rivers and seas provides. In the pursuit of friendly competition, the Wood Elves of Siramenor are hosting a cooking competition in our village. Be it wild game, mushrooms, herbs, fish, may the best cooks from across the Elvish world come to compete for the title of Culinary champion of Siramenor!

Sign Up Sheet!

Name(s):

Race:

What Dish will you be preparing?:

A Trial of Unrivaled Importance

The soft lapping of ocean waves could be heard, gently kissing the fine sandy beaches of Siramenor. Many ‘ame had dueled upon these sands before, including the young Oryl Sirame on many occasions, but none had tested him like the spar he was about to enter. Across from him, blade held at neck level was an ‘ame clad in blue, with his hair tied back behind him. Rhathalas, sporting a fine short sword and a dangerously calm expression was waiting expectantly for Oryl’s first move. The young ranger-to-be donning a green tunic held out his blade, a fine single-edged short sword forged by the silver elves. Oryl let a smirk cross his face as he opened with a confident advance followed by a swift strike. Their blades met, slicing through the calm air that had enveloped the beach only moments prior. Rhathalas countered with a strong kick, aimed at the much younger ‘ame’s abdomen, which was immediately rushed by Oryl, as he took the force of the Okar’ir’s kick to his stomach. Having only managed to absorb the kick with his left arm partially, the stunned ‘ame was left slightly doubled over, as Rhathalas stumbled to regain his balance. Grimacing and straightening himself back up, Oryl raised his blade just in time to catch his opponent’s counter-attack. Taking a step back, Oryl was soon locked in an intense series of parries and deflections as Rhathalas pressed his attack. 

Having been training for several years by himself, the young ‘ame was light on his feet and able to counter most of his opponent’s attacks. Their blades clashing, the pair danced across the beach, until Rha’s blade lept out, soaring down towards Oryl’s leg. Breaking away from their deadly trance Oryl tried to avoid it, but the blade flew too quickly, boring a shallow cut through Oryl’s left quad. Hissing in anger rather than pain, the young ‘ame brought his blade arcing down at his Okar’ir’s still extended arm, landing a shallow hit of his own. Both fighters drew back from each other, regaining their composure as Oryl wiped the sweat from his brow. None of his spars over the years had challenged him quite like this one. Sparing a short glance around, he noticed that a small group had gathered on the beach. Wonderful, now my loss will have an audience. He’d think to himself as his pant leg slowly began to soak up the blood from his shallow wound, the sweat from his skin stinging it slightly. 

Bringing his blade up once more, another series of quick strikes brought the two woodland elves into a heated battle of strength, speed, and quick thinking, the result of which could be decided by even the smallest mistake. As Oryl brought his sword sailing down toward’s Rha’s blade once more in an attempt to disarm him, he miscalculated the angle of attack, allowing his opponent to swiftly counter this. The force of Rha’s counter opened up Oryl’s defense, leaving him vulnerable for a split second. This mistake left Oryl with a deep cut along the side of his shin, cutting into his calf too. Without a moment’s hesitation, Rhathalas slipped underneath Oryl’s poorly aimed counter-attack, holding his blade against the young ‘ame’s neck. Dropping his sword and doing his best to mask the screaming pain coming from the fresh laceration to his shin, Oryl hissed out a pained “I yield” as he bowed his head respectfully to Rhathalas. With an injury of his own, the Okar’ir returned the bow, holding his left arm close to his side, blood seeping out of the wound Oryl had scored upon the man’s flesh. Both ‘ame turned their attention to a beautiful, young, red-haired healer that had been watching the fight for some time. She hopped up quickly, readying her medical supplies as Oryl slowly lowered himself to the ground. “It’s not that bad,” he said to Aedrie as she began to clean his wounds. Oryl wiped the sweat from his forehead once more, looking at his injuries as the now-familiar sensation of the foul-smelling coagulant was applied to his shin. While this assessment of the young ‘ame’s skills may not have gone quite as he planned, it was a welcome lesson nonetheless.

The Sharp Whisper’s First Hunt

”I will be sure to let you know how it performs” Oryl assured Rhathalas, a magnificently crafted Ironwood bow slung over his left shoulder as the young ‘ame turned to leave the Okar’ir’s home. As he stepped out into the forest, he took a deep breath of the forest air. Securing his quiver over the fur pelt that covered his back, Oryl set off at a brisk walk- allowed only by the recent healing of his injuries. As the ‘ame migrated towards his favorite hunting grounds he began to observe the land around him. The path was quiet, although he soon strayed from it, having been in these parts for quite some time, he had little need for the guidance of the often confusing signs that dotted Arcas’s network of pathways. Slowing his pace, he shrugged the bow off of his left shoulder, peering up at the trees that had been greeting him since his very first hunt in the village. The woods around him creating what could only be described as the face of a loved one, always watching over him. As he continued through the woods, clouds began to roll in overhead, a smile was brought to the young hunter’s face as he slowed to a stalk. Carefully placing one foot in front of the other as he glided effortlessly through the woods until he found a large, sturdy tree that seemed to branch out in four directions. Oryl slung his bow over his shoulder briefly, hoisting himself up into the fork of the tree, lowering himself into it as he shrugged his bow off and drew an arrow from his quiver, awaiting any sign of his prey.

A flicker of light tan fur against the dark green and brown backdrop of the forest floor caught Oryl’s eye through the rain. A smile crossed his lips as the scent of the downpour filled his nostrils, he straightened himself up slightly to nock his arrow. He saw a large tan hare resting but thirty meters away at the base of a large oak tree. As he notched the arrow to the bowstring, he very slowly drew it back, raising the bow as he did so. Oryl steadied himself, leaning his left shoulder against the tree trunk, drawing a deep breath as he drew his bow. He looked down the straight shaft of his arrow, letting the breath out slowly. As he found the hare, he held the tip of his arrow to be just above the hare’s right shoulder. The tension in his fingers slowly ebbed away. As he reached the bottom of his exhalation, the arrow lept forth from his fingers, the woven-silk string cutting silently through the chilled air. The ‘ame watched in anticipation as his arrow sailed through the air, landing a little to the right of where he had intended. The arrow struck the hare in its midsection near its spine, the furry creature letting out a surprised squeal  upon being hit with such force. Oryl quickly shouldered his bow,  dropping to the ground. He would have landed perfectly if it weren’t for a nearly-healed cut to his right shin, he let out a grunt as he hit the ground but sprinted over to where the stunned hare lay, its back legs thrashing as if trying to escape its own demise. Oryl reached his right hand over to brush his left wrist, a lever-activated wrist blade extended from under his sleeve after a split second, locking into place. He thrust his arm forwards, driving the blade into the hare’s neck, just at the base of its skull. The animal stopped twitching immediately, as Oryl then slowly drew the blade back, shifting back to rest on his knees as he bowed his head briefly, offering his thanks to the aspects for his kill.

Oryl walked back into the village, the hare in his right hand. He had cleaned the blood from his blade and returned the arrow to his quiver after removing it carefully from his kill. As he passed through the village’s back gates he made his way through the trees in search of the Okar’ir’s home. After a short moment, he caught sight of the blue-clad ‘ame. “Rhathalas!” he called out, a satisfied smile on his face, holding his catch up to the man. “I am proud to inform you that your bow is not only a work of beauty, but a fine and effective work of true craftsmanship, I could not have hoped for a better weapon upon which to string my arrows” he said, as his first hunt with his new weapon had been a successful one. Oryl knew that this bow- Othelu’vihai -would seldom leave his shoulder.

A red cedar canoe broke through the churning pale waters of the northern Korvassa coast, its hull painted with the bright hues of a Spirit Eagle, breaching the sandy beach and grounding itself on shore. Aboard was a single solitary man, wrapped in a green silk turban to shield himself from the beating sun. On his bare chest, the tribal inkings of the formline Thunderbird, borne openly like the flag of an explorer. He was a stranger in a strange land.

Laetranis jumped out of the canoe, using its mooring rope to tug it far enough onto shore that the tide would not wash it away. Reluctantly, he laid down his ballmouth club, his bow, his spear and his pipes in the canoes’ cabin, leaving only his ivory knife strapped to his hip, a harpy feather dangling from its engraved bear pommel. He covered his boat with a cedar bark tarp, shielding his precious belongings from the sun. The wood elf laid a coyote’s skull in the sand, before pressing his knife to his palm over it. He winced as he drew a bit of blood, a few drops of crimson ichor staining the pale bone. “May you be with me once more, Visionbringer.” He murmured solemnly, before turning to face the dry grasslands before him, taking in the challenge he faced ahead.

The warrior remembered when he was young, sitting in the wooded glade in the hinterlands beyond his riverside village, the old wisewoman Eagle-eyes lecturing him and the other young Tahorran: All freshwater is sacred, oem’iian. It is the sign of the Springmother’s presence. Whatever land you are in, without water, there is no life. 

Water. As Laetranis ventured deeper inland, he saw an endless grassland, he saw some gum acacia trees, sparsely spread out. But no rivers, no lakes, not even a pond. The Springmother must be here, somewhere. He thought to himself, wondering how he was going to survive a day out here without water, let alone a week. His eyes zeroed in on a thorny cactus, growing on its lonesome. In the plants! Eagerly the wood elf unsheathed his knife and hacked at one of the cactus’ limbs. Sure enough, revealing a hollow interior with a small pool of water inside. Drinking readily, he hacked off more water-filled limbs, covering them up with his silk turban. He then dug a hole in the earth and buried them, shielding them from the evaporation of the beating sun above. Finally, he gathered some stones, making a small cairn atop where the cactus was buried, a marker: so he’d know where he’d left his water.

The warrior once more harkened back to his youth, to the summer days spent by the riverside, where he and the other boys learned to fight and hunt with the old warrior Wolfjaw, a stoic mali’ame with only one eye, whose voice was a canine growl: All beasts, from the largest bear to the smallest shrew, leave a trail. You just need to be able to smell it. He remembered how Wolfjaw had cupped a clump of elk dung in his palms, to the collective delight and disgust of the immature young boys he was teaching. 

Follow the trail. Use your nose. First he’d need a weapon. Using his knife, he hacked off a branch of a gum tree, sharpening its tip into a deadly edge. It took him a few hours, but he picked up a trail, lumpy, golf-ball sized dung. Still warm. Whatever beast left it there must still be close. He saw a rustle in the brushes, and quickly hid himself behind a nearby Acacia. He’d never seen a creature quite like what emerged: three-feet long, bumpy skin, stoic, intelligent eyes, and beautiful swirling colouration across its scales. A Gila monster. You only get one shot at this. Laetranis leapt out from behind the tree, plunging his spear down upon the beast. The great lizard tried to dash away, but found its tale impaled into the earth, it crackled and groaned, thrashing wildly, before the wood elf drew his knife and plunged it into the neck of the beast. 

Hiylu’evar, Taynei’hiylu. He murmured to himself, as the life bled out of the scaled beast, he couldn’t help but be reminded of the Green Dragon, prophet of his people. Drawing in a deep breath he picked up his kill by its tail, heading back westward, where he’d left his water cache. I need something to wash down this meal with. 

It was an hours’ walk back to the stone cairn, but when he arrived, he did a double take, his heart dropping to the bottom of his stomach. The stones had been toppled, the earth beneath them dug up. A coyote, with a ruddy pelt and ethereal, amber eyes was lapping at the hollow cactus he’d uprooted, drinking up the wood elf’s precious water supply. The canid lazily turned, and for a brief moment, looked Laetranis right in the eye, his gaze piercing, intense, challenging. Before the elf could react, the coyote had bounded off across the savannah, and disappeared across the horizon.

You want to challenge me once more, Visionbringer? So be it. Laetranis thought stoically. He knew the coyote prince to be testing him. Looking around, he saw no more cacti. What shrubbery and plants he did slice open rendered no water within. At least he had something to eat. As he skinned and cooked the Gila monster over an open fire, he thought back to the wisewoman Eagle-eye’s teachings. A man can only go three days at most without water. 

For two days he roamed, in the day the sun beating down on him, burning his flesh. In the night, the wind chilling him to the bone. With no shelter, scarce food, and most importantly, nothing to drink, he felt the soul slipping out from his body. His throat felt like sand, his eyes were heavy and lidded, his bones ached like an old man. He was weakening quickly. He needed water. Falling to his knees, he turned his bloodshot eyes to gaze up at the sun. Is this truly a trial, Visionbringer? Or is this my punishment? Have you sentenced me to perish for my vanity? Don't let me die out here, Laetranis, Prince of Coyotes. I’ve held true to my promise to you. I’m nothing like my father. I won't let hatred define my life. I seek this path only so I can protect the ones I love. 

Once more he felt his eyelids go heavy. It was so tempting to close them, to sleep, even knowing he may never wake again. No. The ardent voice in his head hissed. You are stronger than this. You have Norra to think of. His eyes opened, and he blinked… an oasis of date palm trees lay in front of him. He blinked again. Funny. He hadn’t seen it there earlier… 

The wood elf stumbled his way towards the font of life before him. His eyes began to water with relief, it was a pond, its springwater clear and fresh as the blue eye. Laetranis collapsed weakly, sinking his face into the pool, gulping deeply and letting the coolness refresh his soul. He collected the date palms that had fallen from the trees, cracking their shells open with his knife and gorging himself on the sweet flesh beneath. He closed his eyes, sighing in contentment.

Until he heard a loud trumpeting.

Immediately on alert, the wood elf gripped his ivory knife and spun around to the source of the noise. Only to widen his eyes at what he saw, his weapon clattering to the ground. Once more, he remembered his past: when he sat in his tribes’ winter longhouse, sheltering from a blizzard while the wisewoman Eagle eyes told him and the other children a story. In a land far, far away from here lies the noblest of beasts. Large enough to trample whole villages, yet gentle as a doe. Quiet as an owl, but smart as a fox. Their Prince is the oldest, and wisest of all Mani. The most ancient of Spirits. Laetranis fell upon his knees before the herd of majestic grey elephants before him. Immediately supplecating himself before the noble beasts. He looked up and gazed at them, and felt them gazing back down at him. He couldn’t help but notice the wisdom in their eyes, and think that he had come to some sort of ...unspoken understanding with these beasts, ancient creatures from a wilder time. 

The elephants drank, showered themselves with their trunks, and lumbered off. As Laetranis too prepared to return to the shore, he saw on the horizon the silhouette of a lithe canid. He stared across the savannah at the coyote, and the coyote stared back at him. The elf knew it had been the coyote who had guided him to his meeting with the most ancient of beasts… but why? He knew he would find out only at the whim of the Gods, or when the time was right. Hiylu’evar, Laetranis. Laetranis (the elf) murmured. Before stocking up with water and date palms and heading back for the shore, back for home. 

The Tahorran 

Eagles of the River

Nemglan ito kae illereh

narnacaelen mariheiuhan'onn cerun

larnan tennallaran'onn cerun

llyth iheiuhisul'ohn cerun

The Tahorran are a deeply traditionalist tribe of wood elves whose culture revolves around the rivers and the sea. They’re defined by the worship of their patron spirit- Nemglan, the Prince of Eagles, also known as the Thunderbird. Historically highly isolationist, the tribe has recently resurfaced in the sanctuary of Siramenor, in the form of a branch led by the young coyote warrior, Laetranis ap Tahorran. In the forest sanctuary where the other wood elven Seeds dwell, the Tahorran seek to share their traditional, river-plying and eagle-worshipping ways to the rest of their people.

Lifestyle

While most mali’ame tribes were traditionally nomadic, the Tahorran were traditionally sedentary, living year round in villages by river basins or coastlines. This was because the Tahorran lifestyle revolved around the Salmon run. From spring to autumn, hordes of salmon swim en masse upriver to their nesting grounds to birth their young. So abundant in this salmon run that within two months of fishing, the Tahorran were able to accumulate enough fish to feed them all year round. The fish would be smoked, dried and therefore preserved to last that long.

Tahorran are deeply spiritual elves. They believe in a delicate balance between the mortal world and the otherworld of the faeries, and practice many rituals which they believe maintains harmony with benevolent faeries, and keeps evil faeries at bay. As their patron god is the Thunderbird Nemglan, Prince of Eagles, many of their rites, such as coming of age, or warriorship rituals, involve the hunting or taming of birds of prey. Falconry is a favoured practice of the Tahorran. 

Ilmyumier

The tribal tattoo of the Tahorran is the stylistic depiction of the wings and crest of a brown eagle. Traditionally, the wings encircle the elf’s arms, while the crest is emblazoned across the chest for men, and across the face for females. Men who have facial markings are usually indicated as warriors. 

History

As legend has it, the first ancestors of the Tahorran tribe were born when Nemglan, the Thunderbird, took on an elvish form and took a lover from among the daughters of Malin. From thus forth, his elvish descendants named themselves for their ancestral God: The Hawk Prince, Tahorran, and bore his amber yellow eyes. They are also tied to the semi-mythical ancient hunter known as Faeinn, who is said to have tracked a silver stag through the deepwoods for one year and one day. The deer revealed itself to be Cerridwen herself, who imparted upon Faeinn the art of the ame’lie tree cultivation, which she spread across all the Mali’ame tribes.

Cedar Craft

The Tahorran are ame’lie cultivators, meaning they specialize in the planting and growing of various specialized tree species, woven seamlessly into their woodland home, which provide them with resources like clothes, food, and so on. Of these, the red cedar tree is by far the most important. Considered the “tree of life” to the Tahorran, who believe that it was spawned out of the earth by the great Thunderbird himself as a reward to the Tahorrans’ first ancestors, for adopting and living by faith of the wild. 

Red Cedar trees are perfect for many purposes, their remarkably straight grain makes them apt for carving, their soft and malleable roots makes them useful for weaving, and most importantly, a sap-like secretion within its bark kills termites, which makes the wood impervious to decay and rot. 

Canoes

Red cedar makes for a soft, bouyant and light material for ship making. Being masters of the rivers, the Tahorran are masters of canoe-building. Tahorran canoes are uniquely suited for both shallow-river travel, and open ocean journeys. The largest of their vessels can fit up to fifty warriors. 

Masks and Barkcloth

Red Cedar is often used to clothe the Tahorran in ceremonial regalia. From the basewood of the tree, they carve elaborate masks, stylistically embodying the likeness of the Gods of the Wild. In these masks they dance, telling their stories and histories through sacred performance. From the roots and the bark of the red cedar, they weave fine, soft barkcloth, which can be worn over the body like any shirt or tunic, sheltering them from the cold and providing a waterproof shield from the rain. 

Totems

A totem pole is a symbolic monument to the Tahorran. It is the physical embodiment of their history, faith and land rights, all stylistically depicted on a pole for other tribes to see and behold. Each blood family within the Tahorran is expected to erect their own totem, on it is the abstract story of their bloodline, told through the depiction of various ancestral elven figures, mani animals, and faerie creatures. For the Tahorran believe their histories and fates are entwined entirely with the faeries and the wild gods, and rarely divorce faith from culture.

Rituals

Traditional rituals practiced by the Tahorran oft tie into their worship of the Eagle, the Wild Gods of the rivers and the sea, and the Faeries of the otherworld.

Coming of Age Ritual 

As the Tahorran is a sea tribe, an elf of the tribe can only earn their seed markings when they are capable of besting the noblest beast of the ocean- the whale. When a Tahorran reaches the age of twenty, they must put on the cedar-mask of the Whale and dance a libation dance to honour Hamatsa, Prince of Dolphins and Sequana, Prince of Whales. Then, they set out in a canoe into the open ocean to hunt and kill a whale to bring back to the tribe. Only when they succeed in doing so can they be considered a man, or woman. 

Warrior Ritual

Tahorran are proud warriors, who for centuries defended their ancestral riverlands from outside invaders. In order for an elf of the tribe to earn the rights and privileges of a warrior, they must earn the favour of the tribes’ patron, Nemglan. The way to do this is simple: by taming a bird of prey. The Tahorran believe that no Hawk, Falcon or Eagle can ever be truly bent to the will of elf or man. That when you can convince a bird of prey to hunt on your command, fly and kill on your command, it must be because Nemglan favours you, and has allowed his child to follow you. Therefore, since only an elf with the heart of a warrior could earn Nemglans’ favour, only an elf with the heart of a warrior could tame such a bird.

Ritual of Passing

The Tahorran believe that animals who exist in two realms, land and sea, are capable of freely passing between the mortal world and the spirit world of the fae. Such animals include frogs, otters, turtles, seals, among others. The Tahorran take great care to cultivate and preserve the natural habitats of these animals, and weave groves where they can coexist with them in harmony. These groves become sacred places where the elves of the tribe smoke, dance and commune with the spirits of the Faerie world. 

KALIRI MALIN’LEH AHERNAN

THE SPRING EQUINOX FESTIVAL

Spring has come, and with it the harmonic cycle we are all bound to begin anew. The Gods have been kind to us this season, for our woodland home has prospered, and the laughter of children has filled our halls. Such is the blessing of the Springmother and her eternal servant, Mother Bear Bolormormaa. As it was at the very first Omentahu, we celebrate the coming of this most auspicious season with song, dance, and a contest to honour the Old Gods of the Woods. 

WHERE

The Wood Elven Village of Siramenor

To the left of Aegrothond and down its coastline

WHEN

Sunday, April 26th, 7 PM EST

BEAR MOTHER RITE

The festival will begin with a sacred ritual of offering and prayer to Bolomormaa, the Bear Mother. We shall offer our libations to the sacred spirit for the health and longevity of our youngest children, and those who have yet to be born.

ARCHERY CONTEST

All itinerant mali’ame warriors and their guests will have an opportunity to prove their worth with our most sacred instrument: the bow. A field of targets will be set up, and whoever strikes all of them in succession and the fastest will win the regalia mask of Morea, the Wolf Prince of Warriors, as proof of their skill as a marksman.

FEASTING

Our hunters will have been gathering game day and night for our great festival. When prayers and game have finished, we will have a spread of nature’s bounty. Fill your bellies with traditional mali’ame cuisine and make your minds silly with firewater. All is fair in love and ceremony!

THE SULIER’IR

The Sulier’ir are the ancient defenders of the Mali’Ame culture, and the protectors of Siramenor and its populace. Rangers of the woodlands are soldiers who are trained in swordplay and archery. They are men and women who are capable of defending against those who dare oppose or harm the Mali’Ame people. Be it man or beast.

THOSE WHO ENLIST

The elves who make up the Sulier’ir are sworn to remain loyal to the ‘Ame culture. They undergo rigorous training and initiation rites to call themselves true Sulier’ir. Initiates to the order are taught cultural values and ways of the Wood Elven people. This makes them immersed in the beliefs of the people they shall defend. 

They are also taught warfare in sword and bow, as well as how to survive off the lands of the forest.

When trained initiates are deemed worthy by their commanding officer, they are given the Sulier’ir rite of passage: a trial undergone by those who seek to join. The man or woman is sent with their fellow initiates, accompanied by a commanding officer on a group hunt. Once they return, for their final trial, they must compete against their fellow initiates to prove their ability in combat. After both have been completed, they are deemed worthy, and they are accepted into the order with open arms.

Once one is initiated, it is recommended, but not required to adorn the Father’s Mark, which marks one’s status as a warrior.

EXAMPLE:

Credit to Trinn for the art.

THE OATH OF THE SULIER’IR

The Oath is the contract sworn by initiates who have passed their trials, and have come true Sulier’ir. Usually, the Oath is the final task before a celebration dedicated to the soldier. 

“I, (Name Here), pledge to defend my people, the Mali’ame, my homeland Siramenor, and my brothers the Sulier’ir, against all threats that befall us. I will never turn my back upon any of them.”

RANKS

The Sulier’ir has four main ranks

INITIATE

The first step into becoming a soldier of the forest, the initiate is trained in the art of warfare, and of the ways of the ‘Ame. 

SULIER’IR

A full-fledged Sulier’ir, defender of Siramenor. Most soldiers end here, as they are baseline protectors of the culture and people.

OFFICER SULIER’IR

Head of the Sulier’ir in most respects. They lead troops, and train initiates.

HEAD SULIER’IR

The head of the order. Usually a member of the triumvirate. All members are below this rank and must respect the Head Sulier’ir as the main commander.

UNIFORM

Those who make their way through the trials, claiming the title of Sulier’ir, are required to don their uniform during duty.

Subject to change.

WARMARKS

The Sulier’ir have ‘Warmarks’, or Warpaint that they wear into battle. This is merely ceremonial, used to scare enemies in times of war, and is often not used in day-to-day operations.

The Sulier’ir thank Cullas Sylvaeri for modeling the warmarks.

HOW TO JOIN

To join, one must fill an application such as the one below and hand it to an Officer Sulier’ir or the Head Sulier’ir.

APPLICATION

Minecraft Name: 

Character Name: 

Discord Name:

Race: 

Time Zone: 

Once turned in, simply await a response from either office confirming your admittance into the Sulier’ir.

OOC: Simply fill out the application and post it as a comment. A commanding officer will then quote and confirm admittance. 

The people of the mali’ame village of Siramenor look to the Triumvirate to organize and run the day to day of the village- a triad first appointed by Awaiti, of the Sirame Seed in 1760, after the village’s founding. Each member of the Triumvirate wears a sacred emerald ring, wreathed in golden branches- a creation of the Sea Prince of Aegrothond, Fëanor Sylvaeri . This ring serves as their badge of office, and each member can be marked by its presence on their finger.

Nealu’ir - The Teacher

Sitting at the head of the triumvirate is the Nealu’ir, who acts as the speaker of the faith,  and one of the three leaders of the wild priesthood. They serve as a teacher to folk of the mali’ame culture, and keeper of the history of the forestfolk- From the days of Malin’s kingdom until now. They represent the mali’ame people as a whole, speaking on their behalf if necessary. 
Current Nealu’ir: Awaiti of the Sirame

Annil’ir - The Guide

To ensure all mali’ame find a place to rest their head within the village, that is the aim of the master of hearth and home. The Annil’ir shall find lodgings for wayward mali’ame who seek to find their place within the woodland realm, as well as inform them of the different sects that exist for them to partake in, and help guide them to the one that may suit them best.
Current Annil’ir: Basilton Kriswynn of the Caerme’onn

Okar’ir - The Watcher

In a village without walls, it is important to keep an eye on the surrounding woodland- in order to ensure the safety of the mali’ame. The Okar’ir and their rangers safeguard these lands, and watch over their people with a vigilant eye. Any intruder that seeks to bring harm to the mali’ame can expect a swift arrow to the heart- from where, he cannot say.
Current Okar’ir: Abelas of the Caerme’onn

Along with performing their day to day duties, members attend a gathering of the village folk once between every full moon (About two irl weeks), and take input from their kin on matters of policy, and direction.
 

Settlement Guide

(Credit to Callum for the Picture)

Tucked in the eastern woodlands of Aegrothond, touched by the coast-land of elvenesee, lies the warm hearth of Siramenor. This quaint little Wood Elven village is home to many who respect nature, peace, balance, and the Fae creatures of this world. They host many, but not all of the Irrinite seeds- families of the Wood Elven way.

These Mali’ame, many once of the Princedom of Irrinor, seek to rediscover their connection to the forests around them. They hold the forests sacred, and do their utmost to protect the balance, and preserve the woods surrounding them. Above all, they value faith, kinship, and harmony.

The people of the village look to the Triumvirate for guidance, a triad consisting of the Nealu’ir, Awaiti Sirame, Okar’ir Abelas Caerme’onn, and Annil’ir Maruthir Basilton Caerme'onn. Each member of this triad is marked with the presence of an emerald and gold ring upon their finger, so that they may be recognized.

Guilds and Housing

The Green Priesthood - The newly reformed priesthood of the wild faith. The Green Priests are representatives of the Wood Elven way of life- torchbearers of the ancient culture of Irrin Sirame. A green priest serves as spiritual and cultural guides to the Mali’ame people, teaching their kin about all a Wood Elf should know- the history of Ame’, the establishment of seeds, the standing Ilmyumier, folklore, and the worship of the Aspects.

They are not druids, not a circle of the order as they once were. While they host druids among their ranks, there is no official structure for the druii of the rite. No path written into the scrolls of the priesthood. If one wishes to become a druid, that is for them to decide, and may approach a druidic priest if they wish. 

The White Stag Brewery - The White Stag Brewery, which also may be referred to as ‘The Stag’ is the local tavern/brewery in Siramenor. It is owned and regulated by the Caerme’onn seed, many of their drinks having been brewed right there. It is not uncommon for those who manage the brewery to venture out in hopes of selling their finely crafted drinks. Otherwise, it’s a wonderfully peaceful place to sit down and have a drink!

For Housing, one should inquire with the Annil’ir, Maruthir Basilton Kriswynn-Caerme’onn (PeachLova#6617)

The Irrinite Seeds and Clans
Siramenor carries on the Irrinite tradition of seeds, and their chieftains. Though the chieftains themselves have no authority beyond their own Seed, they often come to the Triumvirate, to express the concerns and ideas that their Seed members have. 
 

Sirame - This newly formed seed of the Mali’ame seeks to carry on the ancient mission of Irrin Sirame- the mother of all Wood Elves. Their members are faithful priests of Elnarnsae’ame, the Wild Faith, and serve as teachers and guides to their people in matters of spirit and culture. While she  had no descendants, the Seed takes after Irrin Sirame’s namesake in hopes of emulating her journey through life- spreading the worship of the Aspects through their kin, ensuring that the culture of the ame’ stays alive, and keeping true to the memory of the Elvenking, Malin. They are currently led by Chieftess Awaiti. (gaia#5196)

Caerme’onn - While little is known about the ancient history of the Caerme’onn, their ideals, and what they serve is commonly known, their two patrons being Amaethon, the stag, and Bolormorra, the bear. Their place is to teach other mali, specifically Mali’ame about Wood elven culture, acting akin to a shepherd in the eye of elves. As to those in the Caerme’onn itself, they are often considered survivalists, being taught vehemently how to operate multiple weapons, as well as how to hold oneself out in the wilderness. Above all, to a Caerme’onn, family is the most important, their own kin held before any other.
As of recent, the family has become well-known for their brewing capabilities, the family also having a new addition, which was created by Allora Caerme’onn. This new addition, on top of the original portion of the family, is maintained by Abelas Caerme’onn, and Basilton Kriswynn-Caerme’onn. (Lockages#7000 and PeachLova#6617)

Taliame’onn - The Taliame'onn are an Elven tribe whose values revolve around beauty, vibrancy, color, and art. They view everything as a canvas awaiting to be decorated, including every inch of their very bodies. They are significantly drawn towards self beauty and are known for their bright makeup, fancy hairstyles and flattering outfits. This tribe calls to all artists and craftsmen of any form. They are also a heavily ritualistic people, often performing acts of worship to the Aspects and Mani with rituals that contain primal instruments, sensual dancing, art, candles, incense, stones, flowers and trinkets. To join, contact Skylar or Amaryllis Taliame’onn. (pathetic aesthetic#1931 and  Sora#7125)

While these are the major Irrinite seeds, there are many other smaller families and clans for one to join, including the Chirran, the Sirona, and the Line of Ungarnos. One does not need to be a part of these seeds in order to make their way in this village.

Religion and Culture
The primary culture of the village of Siramenor is the culture of the Elame’uell - the children of the everlasting forest. These Mali’ame, also known as the fair folk, are steadfast followers of the Elnarnsae’ame- the Wild Faith of the Aspects. They value a deep, sacred connection with the forests and trees, praying in small, quiet groves where they bury their dead amongst the roots. The full Moon holds a special place in their culture, as it is a time when this world is most connected to the fae realm- the plane of the Aspects. They fancy themselves kindred of mali and fae alike.

These people are semi-nomadic, going out into the world on pilgrimages to other cities to create these sacred groves, for Mali’ame around the world to pray in. They host traveling festivals, celebrating life and light in the lands they travel to. They perform blessings, prayers, and rites of the Elnarnsae’ame for any who desire it. 

However, all those living in the village are united by the dream for a peaceful, just, free, and strong Elvenesse, a dream that the folk of Aegrothond share with them.

“O’ Haelun’Lle,
Kae’leh tal’hiylun nae illere,
Iyal il’nae’leh aheral iheiuhii kae illereh,
Kaeleh’ehya hiylun fiyem bilokera
tilrunen’onn myumin y’kae’leh.”
The Prayer of New Beginning
 

Purpose
“The way of thousands of Mali’ame now lives on in you. You show the world who we are.”
 

The Green Priests serve as representatives of the ancient Mali’ame culture that stems from Irrin Sirame, the mother of all Wood elves. They are spiritual and cultural teachers, torchbearers of the traditions and wisdom of the tribes that came before. These semi nomadic priests perform ceremonies, and blessings on their pilgrimages out into the world, and for their people.
 

Origin

For as long as the memories of the Wood elven race span, the priests of the balance have been there at the center of their people, a guiding hand in the preservation of the Mali’ame way, traditions, and culture.

In ancient times, the Irrinite Tribes lived as nomads in the deep woods, traveling with their tribes as they worshiped the Aspects, and the pantheon of mani. In order to thrive within the Woodland realm, these tribes often traversed miles and miles to seek the wisdom and guidance of the first druids in their groves. They would come to hold the druids as great teachers, and they viewed them with a great deal of veneration and respect. From them, the Mali’ame people learned how to live in complete harmony with the forests, truly living as one with the balance.

Soon, a great war devastated the woodland tribes, who were forced to agglomerate back into cities. Living amongst the folk of cities, their sacred traditions and practices soon fell from memory, eroding like the bank of a stream. The Mali’ame had forgotten how to live within the balance. 

After many long years of conflict within the realm of Anthos, the Wood Elves of Laurelin retreated to the woodland, finally beginning the path to regaining their ancient roots. Old Seeds emerged from their centuries-long isolation in the forest as they saw their city-kin finally rekindle their true path.

For nearly three of the last centuries of recorded history, the Priesthood of Naelurir had guided the Wood Elven people in matters spiritual. It has served through the days of Laureh’lin, Linandria, Caras Eldar, and Irrinor. However, in the waning days of Irrinor, the order nearly found its end. Now, a new generation of Mali’ame takes on the mantle as priests of the balance. Just like the ancient druii who once were the central guides of the ancient Seeds, and their fathers who served as priests within the Naelurir, this new order will serve as a beacon for their people. The rebirth of our connection to the forest. 
 

Culture

The Order of the Green Priests considers itself naturally duty bound to aid the mother circle of druii in anything pertaining to their duty to the balance and the Aspects. They do not consider themselves a circle of druids, but rather as representatives of the Wood elven way of life. While they host druids among their ranks, there is no official structure for the druii of the rite. No path written into the scrolls of the new priesthood. If one wishes to become a druid, that is for them to decide, and may approach a druidic priest if they wish, or take to the mother grove in search of a teacher.

The training of a priest of the green is an arduous path, marked by many hours of study, and grueling training to match. Acolytes of the priesthood must become adept warriors, they must learn to hunt, war and heal the most gruesome of wounds. They are made to endure pain and suffering to gauge their dedication to the path and to the Aspects. In addition, they must learn the basics of the healing arts, using herbalism and mundane medicine to tend to the wounds of their kin, and stave off death. Through tasks similar to the dedicancies of druids of the mother circle, they learn these skills, and gather the knowledge they need to guide their kin in the ancient ways. 

A Green Priest is expected to embody all the traits of an ideal Wood elf- and one who lives in harmony with the balance:

Strength

To be able to fight like one of Cernunnos’ beasts. To be a fierce warrior able to draw blood from any opponent made of flesh.

Knowledge

To know all traditions, rituals and teachings that make the Wood elves what they are. To have extensive knowledge of the Aspects and what they stand for, and to follow their way above all else. To revere Irrin, and Malin and keep to their teachings.

Self Control

To always have a leash on your own emotions. To be cool, sensible and calm. To refrain from wanton giving of offense and to make decisions on faith, pragmatism and experience, not blind emotion.

Leadership

To find joy in teaching and guiding others onto the Aspects path. To aspire to be a role model, someone to look up to and follow. To be outgoing, firm when needed, understanding when required, clear and easy to comprehend.

Loyalty

To be undyingly devout to your own people and to the path of the forest. To never bend or sway from your convictions to keep both alive and thriving, to make the ultimate sacrifice to protect the well being of either if necessary.

Tasks & Trials

Trial of Growth
At the beginning of their dedicancy, an acolyte must begin a garden, or small grotto. Within this garden, they must plant a medical herb, a vegetable, a fruit, an edible herb, and a tree. They may plant more if they wish, and it is encouraged that they do more than the minimum. This garden must be kept alive through their trials. At the end of their trials, they must craft a staff from parts of their tree.

Trial of Healing
Just as a priest must carry the strength of the father, they must also possess the healing grace of the mother. After studying the herbs of this world, and their healing properties, an acolyte must tend to the wounds of another using the properties of plants found within the wilds.

Trial of the Hunt
An acolyte of the priesthood must be able to defend their faith, and the wilds if it should come to it. Thus, they must show proficiency with a weapon of some sort, be it a bow, axe, sword, spear, or other weapon. To pass this trial, an acolyte must show their prowess in a hunt, or in single combat against another priest.

Trial of the Aspects
A trial that may be completed at any time during an acolyte’s path. An acolyte must bring two offerings- one to the tree of Cernunnos, and another to the tree of Cerridwen, and explain all they know of the Aspects to their overseeing priest. When they are finished, they must properly offer what they’ve brought, reciting the proper prayer.

Trial of the Mani
A trial that may be completed at any time during an acolyte’s path. An acolyte must bring an offering to any shrine of the mani, and explain all they know of the mani to their overseeing priest. When they are finished, they must properly offer what they’ve brought, reciting the proper prayer to the mani in question. It is important that an Acolyte demonstrates understanding of the mani as a whole, in addition to the mani they’ve made an offering to.

Trial of the River
One of the final tasks in the lineup- a test of strength, endurance, and control. An acolyte must carry a heavy stone to a small, but rushing river. In order to succeed in this task, the acolyte must carry the stone through the river- directly to the other side. They may take as many tries as they need, and may practice as much as they need beforehand. If a teacher has any other manner in which they can test their acolyte’s endurance, they may do so instead. IE. Climbing a mountain carrying rocks, and other such tasks.

The Trial of Reflection
The final trial in the way of becoming the priest. Also called “facing the mirror”, an acolyte is blindfolded, and brought deep into the woods. They are given herbs that induce visions, and are told to make their way home, unblindfolded. While in the woods, they will face visions and beasts alike, and use their skills to make it home. (OOC NOTE: For this one, make them write a short story about their character’s experience, like a forum post or a google doc, as making them emote at nothing while they’re on their own in a forest is boring.)
 

Oathed Priests and Acolytes

The current members of the priesthood, these green priests actively perform their duties mainly in and around the village of Siramenor, but also travel throughout the world, spreading the word of the Aspects through their deeds. Priests who count themselves as druids are additionally marked with their totem. 

Archpriests
Sister Orison - Awaiti, of Sirame
Brother Rainbow – Skylar, of Taliame’onn

Brother Moonlight – Eryn, of Sirame
 

Green Priests
Artanis, of Caerme’onn
Abelas, of Caerme’onn
Sister Reindeer - Nu’Mesia, of Ikargen

Sister Autumn – Nivndil, of Asimulum

Acolytes
Laetranis, of Tahorran

Syllia, of Arvellon

Becclain, of Arvellon
Mordün, of Sirame

Renae, of Arvellon
Brother Blackthorn – Anaris, of Caerme’onn
Ael, of Caerme’onn

Nylla, of Tahorran