Viridian Fish Derby  

Spring and Summer are when life is most vibrant and plentiful. A season for the outdoors and all to enjoy. The currents hum with the seasonal migration of the striped bass, river herring, and Chinook salmon!  

Whether you wield a master crafted fishing rod or a simple stick with a string and prayer to follow, the waters care not. Pack your tackle and prepare for a day of glory.  All guests and residents are invited to the Annual Fish Derby of the Viridian Enclave. 


In good spirits the Viridian Enclave also extends a formal invite to the Fishing Guild of Azuras.
 

The Festivities: 

We shall start of the evening with allowing the druids to preform the Fishing Grounds ritual which will ensure the great rivers and ponds to be in good health for the season, and make it a fruitful day of fishing. 

The derby will then kick off in which people can chill, converse, or fish. 

At the end of the hour people will come to judging! Judges will look at one of two categories 

The Leviathan Award  

(Largest amount of fish Caught)   

The Treasure Hunter 

 (Most unique piece of treasure Fished up) 
 

Both winners will receive a custom-made tackle box for future fishing endeavors and custom-made ironwood fishing spears!


To close out and end the day we will be requesting that a priest of the wild faith has a chance to lead a prayer to the salmon mani at closing remarks.

 

IN OUR DAYS OF THE UNDERDARK, the word pastime was often used to describe endeavors deemed worthwhile by the Great Mother. Such means of bloodshed were viewed as exhibitions of chosen vigor and strength. Those brave enough to toil amongst the sands of the great arenas would partake in displays of prowess, whether fighting beasts or one another beneath the gaze of the masses.

And so, let us now hearken upon this new day and remember such revelries by partaking in them anew. Though so be it that we extend a hand unto those of the surface, so that they too may participate amongst the bloodshed. Let them, or any who would dare, showcase what they may have to offer.

The wargames shall take place within the arena of the Viridian Enclave. 

─────⬰♮⇴─────

THE WAR GAMES

ომის თამაშები

At the end of the year there shall be held a succession of war games, open unto all, and the betting floor likewise so.

─────⬰♮⇴─────

I. THE JOUST

მხედართა შერკინება

The first game shall be one of finesse upon horseback, wherein opponents shall go against one another in joust until eventually a victor is declared.

II. THE SANDS

ქვიშათა განსაცდელი

The second war game shall be amidst the sands against one another. No arms. No armor. Only simple fisticuffs and combat to determine who stands victorious above the fallen.

III. THE SPAWN HUNT

ბნელ ნაშიერთა ნადირობა

The third shall stand as a show of team effort against foul spawn captured by our own hunters and wardens. Together shall they fight against such horrors in pursuit of triumph.

─────⬰♮⇴─────

OOC 

The Path of the Sanguine Fire holds kin and passion above all else. Today, that passion burns brighter as we welcome a new brother who has earned his place as a Hunter of the Wild Flame.
 

We will meet at the heart of the Viridian Enclave to adorn ourselves in traditional warpaint and prepare for the hunt ahead, and to honor that of the wild gods.
 

Guided by our new Hunter, @VenomKNight, we will head into the deep woods to test our skill and honor the wilds on a hunt.
 

Once the hunt is complete, we shall gather around the campfire to share stories and a bountiful feast.
 

Celebrating life anew - The Spring Festival

The Springmother’s Greeting.

Cc: Nicole Piper on Pinterest.

Spring time is one of great hope for all - as our Springmother breathes warmed breath into our mornings, we are all made anew. And as the Vibrant Hummingbird graces these lands once more, the world is set abloom. 

Despite any and all of the world's trials, tribulations, or the hatred sown between - all mali’ame, kin and comrades, are invited to set aside their grudges and celebrate the rebirth of our world together. 

Spring has come. And she will be met with our cheers of joy and the merriment that will follow. 

Kholibrii’s Arrival

Cc: Декупажница on Pinterest.

Prayer to Kholibrii, the Vibrant - Join the mali’ame people in a prayer to the Mani Princess of Hummingbirds, Kholibrii. Her return brings hope to the mali’ame people, and we honor her by offering colorful offerings and reciting of the prayer.

Common, acceptable offerings; painted eggs, feathers, sugar, honey, art, gerbera, hibiscus, bird of paradise, and sunflower.

Tiva Weaving - Join the mali’ame people in one of our ancient practices - the weaving of floral wreaths. Learn what each bloom means to us, and how to create meaningful gifts or accessories to represent yourself with using our flower language!

Hedge Maze Challenge - As spring arrives, many animals return to our woodlands with renewed energy. Blindfolded, you are led to the heart of the maze. Don one of our many hibernator’s masks and find your way out of your winter slumber to join the chorus of nature once more. Be the first to greet spring!

Pollinator Race - Spring would not be possible without our pollinators - those who spread seeds and oversee the blooming of new life. Don a pollinator mask and collect all five floral tokens hidden in the forest!

The Rite of New Beginning - To conclude the occasion, join our Green High Priestess in the rite of new beginning, involving the sacrifice of a braid of one’s hair, ushering in a new era of their life. 

Wood, tools, paints and dyes will all be available throughout the day for all of your crafting endeavors! All are encouraged to dress in the bright colors of spring - the best dressed may even win themself a prize!

Abundant cactus green, drinks, food, and music are provided - and are welcome to be brought, too by guests! Contact Arle Sirame-Vulnrith (mc ign: craneia) for inquiries or offerings for sustenance/entertainment. 

OOC:

The Archdruid, Traskaath, sat himself down on a rock nearby, he had fetched himself a piece of windfall as he began to carve away while the Cursed Child experienced his visions. Bron had been experiences odd things with his totem. The totem looking different in sleepless moments. Perhaps inducing a vision would aid the omen in finding out what was going on. He waited for Bron to drift off, working at his carving.

-------------

In the dream world...

--------------

Brons head snapped around, hearing a strange call. It sounded like the bark of a fox but warbled or muffled. He slowly began to move towards the sound in the dark space, ears twitching to hone in on the sound. As he walked he would find the dark giving way to a cave mouth; He steps out and stills. This.. This was Lichtenwald.. Back on Aevos.

Bron looked about, the sound of the bark ringing out again. Quickly he moved through the frozen grass, his hooves crunching against the frozen blades. He catches a glimpse of red flashing out of the corner of his eye, slipping into the make shift tavern. “Wait-” He called out. Bron runs to where he recalled the entrance being. The gates were down.. The omen frowned - even in the waking world his face gently contorted to the expression.

Huffing, Bron shuffled around the side of the wall surrounding the tavern. He had scaled the wall many times as a kid. Doing it here should be no issue. The omen grasps the ledge of the roof, his hooves scrabbling on the divets in the wood as he pulled himself up. Bron rolls onto his back once on the roof before slipping down into the locked off area with a thud. He clicks his tongue as if calling for his scrowls. “Come out- eam niet going to hurt vy.. Vy led ea in the last vision.. Why are vy here?”

The skittering of small paws and a trill filled the omens ears as he looked under tables for the spirit. He would turn, seeing the small fox perched on the fireplace, tail swishing back and forth. “There vy are-” Bron stands upright, walking towards what he believed to be a spirit. “Can vy speak?” The fox tilts its head curiously at Brons question. With no answer given Bron sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “Who am ea kidding. Eam high off eam rocker, talking to eamself…” The fox leaps down from the fireplace onto the couch across from the warmth. As Bron's eyes followed it he blinked in surprise. It was.. himself.. On the couch. Well, a child version of himself, fast asleep. Was he really that small then? Bron watched the fox settle on the boys hip, tail curling around its paws. What was the fox wanting?

Bron hesitantly stepped to the child, looking down at himself. His eyes soften. Aspects, he couldn't recall the last time he was without scars. Bron slowly reached out to brush hair from the kids face but hesitates.. In the moment of hesitation the child's eyes open. Familiar black pupils blink up at the man. Bron's jaw opens but no words come out. Child Nickolai sits up, holding the fox close. “Have ea become the best bard in the world?” Bron's ears flick back as his own inner child asked him this. “Niet kid.. W-…ea haven't….”

“Oh..” The kids face becomes crestfallen. “…..ea still have family right?.. Papaej and papa? All eam new friends… they are still here right?” Bron's ears lower further. The aged omen stepped forward, bending on a knee to look himself in the eye. “…Ja. And niet.. Ea have..Many friends.. Ea made numerous.. But ea have lost some too.. Papaej and papa aren't around anymore…” The omen watched as hope began to wither away from the youth. Instinctively Bron placed his amatii hand on the kids knee. “Eam ordak…ea have carved a place in the world for eamself.. Ea have lost some things.. Some people.. But ea…ea am known..” The fox tilts its head, cuddling close to the child as Nickolai listened.

“What am I known for?” As Nickolai asked this, the fox peers back at the adult, as if staring into his soul. Bron hesitates, unsure how to answer. What was he known for? Before he could form words the flames in the fire place turn into a deep prussian blue with a howl of the wind. The fox began to growl, chatter in the kids arms. Nickolai whimpers, curling up on the couch and staring at the doorway. Bron looks over his shoulder from his crouched position. His heart sinks upon seeing the blue tyrant step into the door frame, having to lower his head to even get inside. “Nicky… it's about time you joined me don't you think?” Bron instinctively placed himself between the vision of Kroza and his youth self.

Bron's fingers in the waking world clench together, the amatii squeaking. “He- eam niet joining vy. He didn't then.. Ea won't now.” Bron says coolly to his grandfather, the whimpers behind him slowly making him more and more upset. “Oh perhaps not now Nicky but… in time you will” Bron swallowed as the tyrants shadow washed over him, the demon king towering over his form as the cries of the fox grew louder, the tiny spirit snapping its teeth at the air. The youth on the couch was gone. Bron felt so.. Small.. He was a child again, beneath Kroza.

Nickolai felt himself tremble as Kroza's serpentine head lowered to his level, those slitted yellow eyes boring into him. “What makes you so special that you think you can avoid my influence? You are just like your father.. A coward.. Always reaching for what isn't yours to claim.. Always pining to be adored. Your place is at the worlds feet. It always was. It always will be.” Nickolai trembled, his head lowering. A clawed finger forced him to look back up. “You turn away from the one who would truly accept you as you are… with me you would take what is yours. With me you would take that adoration you so crave.. All you have to do grandson.. Is say the word.”

Nickolai trembled, stammering beneath the piercing gaze of Kroza. In the waking world sweat rolled down his face, a grimace of discomfort apparent. “E-ea.. Ea…” The fox growls up at the vision of his grandfather, nipping at the demons ankles only for Kroza to kick the spirit aside with a sharp yelp. Nickolai gasped, looking up at Kroza in fear. “So.. What is it going to be? It is your choice Nicky..” As Nickolai stared up at the vision of his grandfather, the room beginning to feel as if it were closing in on him, his eyes flicker to where the fox fell. Next to it was the stone hatchet Reinhard had made him. Memories of him learning how to use it from his father rapidly fire off in succession.

Nickolai swallows, looking back up at Kroza. “Ea.. Ea will never join vy! VY RUINED OUR FAMILY!” Nickolai grasps the stone hatchet and lets out a cry, swinging it at Kroza's form. To Nickolai's surprise, the hatchet cracks through the demon kings skull, the vision of his grandfather roaring out in anger before being consumed by blue fire- the ashes being blown away. Nickolai drops the hatchet, crumbling to his knees as he began to hug himself, rocking back and forth sobbing. There was silence save for the child's cries till Nickolai felt something wet touching his face. The child looks up sniffling. It was the fox, licking his face. Without hesitation, Nickolai pulled the spirit into an embrace.

 Bron opened his eyes, finding himself as an adult once more in the darkness again. He looks down, releasing the fox but finding its appearance to be different. The man observed the strange feathers along the animals forearms and its avian front limbs. The fox creature slowly sits down, the pair looking at each other. “…Is…this what vy wanted to show eam?” He asked quietly. “…How far ea have come?..That-”

You are not your ancestors sins. You are the path you have carved.

Bron falls quiet, watching the Enfield turn and trot off, a trail of golden mist lighting its path in its wake. Bron quietly followed… his vision fading.

Bron suddenly sits up, gasping as if he were drowning. “Hileia.” Traskaaath bids, perking up. “Breathe Ye're back.” Bron swallows, gulping down air as he wiped his face free of sweat. “Back.. Back..H..How long was ea.. Out?”

“Long enough.” The wood elf said as he stood up, he offered a hand to Bron. “Arise, Brother.” He paused, waiting for Bron to announce his new Totem.
Bron takes Traskaath's hand, getting to his hooves. “Enfield..” He wasn't sure what the word meant but..It felt right. He then hugs the archdruid. Traskaath returned the embrace, gently patting the little druid on the back. “Mar'ayla. Go take some time to rest, these visions can be heavy.” He held the embrace a little longer, letting the omen find his peace.

Special thanks to @DankuzMemuz, thanks for the rp of getting my totem sorted, and special shout out to@SethWolf as was heavily inspired to rp my vision this way based on his Character Kroza

Karin Oem

“Go out, and befriend an animal without taming them”

That was the task given to the Epiphyte- her final one, before her Grand Task. One of the last steps to take, before getting attuned to nature's gifts. And after years of having to tiptoe around the Empire, and some… unnerving realizations, she was glad to have the excuse to slip into the wilds for a few months. She packed some rations, and camping gear- and set out.

By nightfall, she found a quiet place in the middle of the wilderness, along the side of the stream. With soft songs sung under her breath, she quietly set up camp- A small, covered area that wouldn’t disrupt the local wildlife, and a few places to safely store her food. The next morning, her trial would start.

Karin Niut

The next morning, she quietly sat next to the riverbed, her legs folded beneath her in the mud. Her first goal was making herself known to the wildlife around her- and known that she was natural. That she would be there, consistently- and would not harm nor interfere with those around her. It would be a long, and quiet process- one that would leave her many nights to think of recent happenings. The war, the most recent killings, Fenric and Kelpie’s return, how many memories she’s truly lost… she had all the time in the world to ponder it all. And if a few freshwater tears mixed into the mud at her knees, who would be around to tell?

Mar’karin Oem

Eventually, a month passed of her staying out in the wilderness. A few of the braver chipmunks and squirrels had drank from the stream next to her- but she was still mostly avoided. She was still a foreign part of their world- accepted, but regarded with suspicion. But it was still a step in the right direction. She kept her breathing steady, a constant rhythm of in, and out. Any small variation to her routine, to her being, would scare off those around. Yet when she heard a soft padding, and sniffing to her side- she couldn’t resist cracking one lichen eye open.

Next to her, stood a black bear cub. It slowly stepped out of the treeline, consistently making strained, screaming sounds. It seemed to be a little over a year old… old enough to have learned parts of how to live and hunt from its mother, but young enough to still need her. It continued on, desperately calling for its mother- who after a few minutes of quietly observing, never came. 

Despite how much she wished to help, to intervene- she stayed still. After a few more minutes, he eventually ambled back into the woods- his call echoing back out towards the stream. That night, a fish was laid on the riverbed for the starving cub- close enough for it to seem like it had jumped out itself, if the small puncture wound through its mouth did not say otherwise.

Mar’karin Niut

This went on for another month- during the night, she’d lay out fish, inching it closer to the water every day. After two weeks- she witnessed the cub hunting for the first time. It struggled, by itself- but it would eventually be able to catch its own fish. She also spotted it foraging for its own food at times, gathering small berries and nuts. As she sat a small smile crossed her face as the cub started to survive on its own.

Though by now squirrels would climb onto her lap, and birds would perch in her hair- she stayed, determined to ensure the cub was able to thrive. Though she knows it may be disrupting the balance if its mother died of natural causes- she can’t help but worry that a hunter may have killed her, and this cub could’ve had a mother had someone not been so careless. 

As the second month of her being in the wilds drew to a close, and the moss had started to creep up her legs as she stayed in place, she suddenly felt a presence next to her. She peeked her eyes open once more- pausing as she saw a sleeping black bear cup curled up next to her, sucking up the small amount of heat she radiated. It had been slightly colder recently, as nature transitioned to spring- so it makes sense that he’d seek out a source of heat. And even if she didn’t have much.. She was alive. Breathing. Something perceived as safe, and close enough to what his mother would be like. She looks down, a smile playing across her face as she watches him sleep- glad that she could provide him some comfort for the night.

The next morning, she packed up. The cub was safe, and could take care of itself now- and she can only hope that it continues to thrive in the forest. But for now- it was time for her to return to her home.

Ava was on a relaxing walk down by a river when she heard a strange noise from the nearby forest, as she stopped it was the unmistakable sound of a baby piglet squealing, she would hear voices in the forest, unmistakable voices of hunters
“Where’s the mother? We need to get her.” said one..
“I thought YOU had seen where she went!” the other responded.. And they were met with the unhappy sounds of a male boar..


As Ava approached silently, she would climb a nearby tree, to get a better view of what was going on, she saw a hunter bleeding and running away as well as the other being chased up a small tree before ultimately being chased away…

Upon it being safe to come down, Ava would do such, approaching the rope and net trap that was holding the piglet in the air, she thought it would be easy but ne, ne such thing shall happen as she was soon met by the aggressive Boar and the mother of the piglet, she would have seen it barely before getting attacked by the male, skimming up  the tree that held the baby, she would pull her dagger out as she grabbed the rope starting to cut through it.. Meanwhile, she was talking to the two very aggressive boars on the ground. "Lliran, please calm down, I am trying to help but your aggressiveness to me is very uncalming..!"

With the two still screaming at the bottom of the tree she would cut through the rope, and slowly lower the piglet to the ground before lowering herself to the ground and cutting the net open so that the piglet landed safely on the ground, before quickly climbing back up to her original limb to where she resided for the better part of an hour, and when the boar and piglet and mother all left she finally came down.

I had come late, coal dust still clinging to my hands, diamond grit worked into the seams of my trousers. The mines do not let go of you easily. Even so, no one turned me away. No one spoke of cleanliness or purity. I was simply… allowed to stand.

Magnolia led the prayer.

Her voice carried with it a steadiness that stilled the space around her, not loud, not commanding—just certain. She stood beside a wooden woman, carved or grown, I could not say, her form surrounded by many creeds of life. Feathers rested near the altar, laid with care. Each one felt deliberate, as though it carried a story I did not yet know.

The words spoke of letting the world guide you. Of allowing it to support you when you believe you have no strength left to give. It was not a demand of faith, but an offering of reassurance—that even those who doubt still belong, still endure.

By the time I arrived, the donations had begun.

A young girl stepped forward first. She did not hesitate. She offered her gift with quiet resolve, and I watched her hands carefully as she did so. There was no fear in her posture. Only trust.

I cleaned myself as best I could—scraping the coal from beneath my nails, brushing the diamond dust from my legs. It was never enough, but it was what I had. When the ritual knife was offered, I took it without ceremony and gave a measure of my own blood.

It felt… right.

After me, others came forward. A young elf. A hummingbird, small and vibrant. Each offering was different, yet none felt out of place.

I said nothing. I did not know what words would be fitting, and so I kept my silence unless spoken to. I watched instead.

As the prayer continued, something changed.

The woman of wood—the one who stood beside Magnolia—began to glow. Not suddenly, not fiercely, but gently, as though light itself had decided to rest within her grain.

She murmured the prayer along with Magnolia, her voice low, woven into the ritual like roots beneath soil.

I found myself in awe.

Not of power—but of harmony.

A young elf came and sat beside me then, careful not to disturb my focus. They did not speak. They did not ask questions. They simply shared the moment, respecting my fascination with the ceremony as though it were something sacred in its own right.

And so we listened.

The prayer moved through us like wind through leaves—steady, enduring, unbroken. For a time, the mines felt distant. The weight of stone eased from my shoulders.

I did not leave changed in any grand way.

But I left steadier.

And sometimes, that is more than enough.

The epiphyte hadn’t expected much when she went out into the woods that day- maybe a dead animal or two, such is the way of the balance. But when she ventured closer to the valah settlements… she stumbled across a stag, its foot trapped within a metal trap created by those who couldn’t bother to hunt themselves. As she approached, the creature lifted its head slightly to look at her- watching her every step, as a quiet plea for help. She stepped ever closer, kneeling gently as not to disturb the foliage around it.

“Llir… what happened to you?” She murmured quietly, eyes sweeping over the injured creature. It tried to get up, stumbling as it did so. The epiphyte quickly held her hands out- reaching out to help it back down, to rest. “Shh… let me work, oem’ii. I can heal you, and set you free. The valah hunters will’ne find you here. Ne on my watch.”

She moved down to where the stag was trapped, working quickly. She retrieved two sturdy sticks- using one to hold down the spring, and the other to keep the trap propped open as the stag pulled itself out. It stumbled away, leaving a small trail of blood after it.

“Wait- ne!” She quickly stood, jumping out of the way as the trap re-engaged. She stepped after it, holding her hands out. “I can help you- heal you enough you can get away from the hunters.” She held up a hand- a small branch of tippens root starting to grow from her palm. After- small blades of grass, pricking up beside it. “Come… let me help.”

The stag had knelt next to her quietly as she worked- a tippens root salve leaking from her finger as she traced along the wound to staunch the bleeding, and amberriddle sap leaking out shortly after to seal the wound. She lightly pet the stag as she worked, trying to keep it calm. “Ellaurir’Valleiansae, Hamatsa, siyueran myan’ehya ito heya’leh lye, kaean’leh ortilrun nae illerae.” She murmured the prayer quietly, almost like a song as she tried to heal the poor creature. “Kaean’leh Sirame ay’nae’leh lye myumierae. Oh lle orwaleh’ehya Hamatsa, nae’leh ahern kae illera.” As she finished the prayer, she retrieved a cloth from her medic pack to wrap the wound with- making sure to tie it in such a way the stag could shake it off, if needed.

“Narn lin, oem’ii. Be free” She stood, wiping her hands on the cloth of her armor as she gives the creature room to leave. She watches as it stands, and stalks off into the forest- pausing to look back at her one more time, before setting off back to its home with a limp. “Be safe” was her last whisper, as she looked back to the metal trap laying on the ground.

“Idiot el’orar” She muttered, picking it up. “Can’ne even hunt properly.” She looks around the area, pausing as she saw another glint of metal a little further away. She grabs a longer stick, moving over to prod at the glint- and flinching back as another trap was revealed. As her lips thinned she looked around- starting to search for and collect various traps left out in the wilderness. Once she was sure she gathered everything, she held up the metal traps, inspecting them.

“You may work well for a new blade… a new form that allows you to hunt properly, without cowardice.”

↟↟↟↟↟

One thing was certain...

Unprepared, overwhelmed, and overcome, one of the fiercest Zar'akal on the continent had been laid low in an embarrassing fashion. What remained unclear, however, was the fate of the beast. In the absence of it's usual preparations and adequate war equipment, it had undertaken a fierce battle for its own survival, and narrowly survived by the clemency of Fate herself. This embarrassment might fade within his mind, but there are days where even tyrants must be humbled.

The first victory against him. Perhaps the last?

As Vriza reminisced in pain, the Zar'akal could not help but feign respect for the two Zar'ei it had fought. It knew inwardly that had it been anybody else, the fight would not have gone to plan, and they would have been consumed. This embarrassment, he thought to himself, Will pass.

But would it really? The Twisted King languished in agony within his cave. Would the arm regrow? He could not tell and he dreaded the answer. His Striith, that vengeful skull which hovered close to his ear, whispered softly. 

"Such a monumental failure. You are better off dead. Even the girl Sylvara could not best you in such a manner, and she is ten times the fighter they are."

The Zar'akal could not argue. However, he coped inwardly about the situation, blaming the rocks, blaming the trees, blaming the grass. Rest assured, a creature so narcissistic and vain could not bother to blame himself for his own momentous failure. 

The life of young Taurion Vulnrith was filled with ambition from the start, first to protect the lands, then to nurture them, though finally he was content to simply learn about them. He ventured from his druidic homeland and briefly saw the lands of man before returning. He saw The Watcher’s Roost in its entirety, felt the plants and animals within, and read the books he could.

Yet a life filled with ambition leads to few accolades if not acted upon. This was the unfortunate situation of the young man, always a few moments too hesitant, a few steps behind his brothers and sisters. Even when the ball was rolling, it would often come to a sudden stop. This was the life of the young Taurion Vulnrith, who would meet his end in unfortunate circumstances.

Those few who had seen him frequently would no longer see his bald head, nor his silver eyes. The few possessions he carried on his person would never make it back home, nor would his soul reach the land of other druids. The circumstances that led to his death were unknown, though it was certain that he would never be seen again and his voice would never be heard.

The Vulnrith was dead.
 

The Wood Elven People

The Wood Elves, or the Mali’ame in Elven, are a sub-race of the elves alongside the High Elves and the Dark Elves. They have deemed themselves the ‘Forestborn,’ deeply in tune with the natural world around them. Worshiping the deities of Nature known as the Aspects, and their messengers the Mani, the wood elven people have devoted their lives to protecting Nature and the Balance; ensuring the flora and fauna exist in harmony. They live off the land in all that they do, and show a deep respect to the earth they survive off.

History

“Once the Elves were all united under one Elf. Malin. I am one of the few to remember him, you know. People speak of him now in a reverence that was well earned. Of course, When he disappeared, we were left helpless. Our brothers the Mali’ker went with their Velulaei, and the High Elves with their Larihei, and we were forgotten. We, the only ones who dared to stay with what our father had taught us.” - Archdruid Garthon

The history of the Mali’ame begins during a cataclysmic war between the fallen Aengul Iblees and the mortal children of the four brothers, including Malin, Father of the Elves. Amid this chaos, Malin raised Taynei’Hiylu, a young dragonling gifted with druidism, who played a decisive role in repelling Iblees’ forces through her command over Nature. Though victorious, Taynei succumbed to corruption and was sealed away by the Aspects to protect her from Azdromoth, the corrupted Arch-Drakaar. In the aftermath, Iblees cursed the elves with infertility, bringing deep sorrow despite their physical survival. However, Malin was undeterred, and led his people into a new age.

After the war with Iblees, Malin established his kingdom on the isles of Axios. Deeply connected to the Aspects, Malin built a realm in harmony with Nature, its cities seamlessly woven into forests. His people, united and fair, lived as one under the kingdom known as Malinor. The druids, revered and wise, were integral to guiding elven life alongside Malin, who often received visions from the Aspects. Though Malinor thrived for centuries, conflict and hardship tested it, and when Malin vanished into obscurity, the kingdom's slow decline began.

With Malin’s disappearance, the unity of the elven race unraveled. The Mali’aheral, following their prophet Larihei, bathed in the golden pools and transformed; taller, fair-haired, and devoted to isolation, science, and logic. The next split came with Veluluai, whose quest for forgotten gods led her and her followers to be cursed by “Poison,” driving them mad. These exiled elves, later known as the Mali’ker, formed a pact with the moon spirit Luara to regain sanity, at the cost of ashen skin. Thus, the elves fractured into three: the coldly rational Mali’aheral, the cursed and exiled Mali’ker, and the dwindling remnants of the old ways - elves who saw themselves as Malin’s true heirs. Disheartened by a world that no longer honored their values, these last faithful departed into the untouched wilds, becoming the Forgotten Folk.

Irrin Sirame, once a Princess of Malinor and a devout worshipper of the Aspects, led the final faithful elves in an exodus from the cities overtaken by the Mali’aheral. Disillusioned by the abandonment of Malin’s teachings, she guided those who still revered the old ways into the wilds, allowing them to scatter and form independent tribes called Seeds. These Seeds believed they were the beginning of a return to true elvendom, though reconciliation with the Mali’aheral or Mali’ker proved impossible. Over generations, the Aspects slowly reshaped these elves to better suit life in the forests - shorter, stockier, and earth-toned in skin. Druids joined them, acting as spiritual guides, and through this deep bond with nature, the Seeds evolved into a new race: the Mali’ame, or Wood Elves. As their culture blossomed, the Aspects prepared to offer one final gift.

Centuries after being buried for her protection, the druidic dragon Taynei’Hiylu was awakened by the Aspects, her divine purpose renewed. She attempted to reunite the fractured elven subraces, but was rejected by the Mali’aheral, who favored arcane advancement, and by the troubled Mali’ker, still battling their curse. Finding hope only among the Mali’ame, who still honored the Aspects, Taynei became their grand prophet. She introduced two major reforms: founding the Nealu’ir, a formal Druidic Order to guide all Seeds, and instituting the Omentahu, a decennial gathering of every Seed to share wisdom, settle disputes, and celebrate their spiritual bond. Though the Mali’ame remained scattered, Taynei’s leadership brought them a rare unity, but darker days loomed on the horizon.

Following Taynei’Hiylu’s reforms, the era of the Seeds blossomed into full cultural expression. Each Seed tribe developed its own identity, marked by ilmyumier, distinctive tattoos denoting lineage and leadership. Though united by the Nealu’ir druids and their shared faith in the Aspects, the Seeds grew apart in practice, becoming hunters, seafarers, or most revered of all, Ame’lie cultivators, masters of tree-farming who grew forests that fed and clothed their people while maintaining balance with nature. Though decentralized, the Seeds thrived under Taynei’s spiritual guidance, and wise wanderers like Irrin Sirame helped preserve unity. Peace held, but the harmony of the wood elves was destined to face trials once more.

The era of peace among the Mali’ame ended with the rise of Garthon, a once-revered Archdruid appointed by Taynei’Hiylu herself. Secretly driven by a lust for power and unity, he sought to conquer all elves and restore what he saw as a lost age under a new king, himself. When Taynei rejected his ambition and stripped him of his title, Garthon fled and discovered a forbidden word altar, an ancient relic that allowed one to enslave Nature itself. With its power, he coerced or rallied Seeds to his cause, plunging the wood elves into a brutal civil war. For ten years, the forests burned as brother fought brother. In the final battle, Taynei fought valiantly in her dragaar form and routed Garthon’s forces. But when she confronted him with mercy, he betrayed her, binding her beneath the earth using the altar’s power. As Garthon prepared to reclaim control, he was struck down by Irrin Sirame, the legendary leader of the exodus, who mourned Taynei’s loss as deeply as that of a mother. With Taynei sealed away and the Aspects silent, the war left the wood elves fractured and grieving, no closer to unity, and with their greatest guide lost once more.

With Taynei’Hiylu sealed away and Irrin Sirame vanishing into self-imposed exile, the spiritual heart of Wood Elven culture crumbled. Grieving and divided, the Seeds called one final Omentahu, where leaders from both sides of the civil war agreed: their scattered nature had made them vulnerable. In a solemn pact, the Seeds disbanded, and the Wood Elves embarked on a great migration from the war-torn forests of Axios to a new land, Aegis. There, they built Laurelin, a city of woven trees and forest halls, and established a new Malinor, ruled by Princes, not kings. Over time, worship of the Aspects faded, Seed culture dissolved, and elves of all kinds, high, dark, and wood, intermingled. It seemed the ancient ways were lost. But in elven history, nothing is ever truly gone forever.

Appearance

Skin Coloration

The Wood Elves are identifiable by their dark and rich pigments, the most definitive of these traits being within their skin tone. Mali’ame skin coloration can vary between olive, cinnamon, and deep shades of brown. While lighter complexions are possible, these are not native wood elven traits, and denotes almost assured mixed heritage with either High or Sea Elves. The same applies to cooler shades of dark skin, denoting a mix with Dark Elven heritage.

Hair Coloration

Hair tones maintain the same principle of dark and rich variety, with shades of auburn, ginger, brunette, and even black being possible. Lighter hair colors are possible, as they are with skin tone, but as a result, denote mixed heritage.

Eye Coloration

The most common eye colors amongst the wood elves are shades of green, gold, and brown. Other colors, such as blue, are less common and often denote mixed heritage as well.

Height and Weight 

The Mali’ame height range is between 5’0’’ ft, or 152 cm, and 6’2’’ ft, or 188 cm. This range encompasses all wood elves with very few outliers. An ‘ame above this height range would struggle to present a muscular build, as their physiology is stretched once above 5’10’’ ft, or 178 cm.

Wood Elves vary in weight, as all people do, however, given that the ‘ame are shorter than the other elven subraces, a general healthy weight range can be determined. The average healthy and fit Mali’ame on the higher end of the height spectrum would be upwards of 200 lbs, or 90 kgs.

Clothing

Wood Elves typically dress in earthy tones and pelts, utilizing whatever they can from the world around them. They use the bark from their Ame’lie Trees to make silk, and the furs of their hunts for cloaks. Wood and bone are often whittled and painted into jewelry and accessories. Their style can be described as tribal, and often includes living plant life. The Mali’ame take pride in their vibrant tattoos, so they tend to wear clothing that does not cover them.

Culture

The Wood Elves are well known for their distinct and rich culture, full of history and faith. Due to their deep assimilation into the wilds, the Mali’ame hold close ties with and reverence for Nature. It is this natural connection that formed the basis of their culture, and their faith guides most of their daily decisions. The ‘ame are also known for their expression of their culture, wearing it proudly on their skin with colorful markings. Family ties bind the Wood Elves to each other, loyalty amongst kin highly valued. Due to their worship of the Nature Gods, Mali’ame live a life of hunting and gathering as needed, often rejecting the large farming practices of their fellow Descendants.

The Wild Faith

The religion of the Mali’ame is known as the Wild Faith, or elnarnsae’ame in the elven language. It is the worship of the Aspects, the Dual Gods of Nature, and reverence of the Mani, animal Gods of their respective kin, through various prayers, rituals, and offerings. Shrines and statues are often erected in the likeness of the Aspects and Mani, where offerings are either burned or laid. 

Among the followers of the Wild Faith exists the Green Priesthood, a collection of the ordained Priests of the faith. These Priests are tasked with leading rituals and prayer, teaching others about the religion, and administering the trials acolytes must go through to become a Green Priest. They are the pillars of the religion and its community.

Druidism

While not all Mali’ame are Druids, and not all Druids are Mali’ame, the importance of druidism in wood elven culture cannot be ignored. As an Aspectist culture with religion deeply rooted in their daily lives, it logically follows that many Mali’ame swear fealty to the Aspects and accept their gifts. Preserving the Balance and co-existing alongside Nature are core values of wood elven living, which also happen to be the duties of the Druids. The philosophy is the same, and so it is common to find many Mali’ame that are Druids and vice versa.

Ilmyumier

Ilmyumier is a traditional practice of permanent vibrant skin markings used by the Mali’ame to signify identity and status. Seed Ilmyumier marks familial or tribal affiliation, while Standing Ilmyumier denotes an individual’s role and rank within their society, and Creed Ilmyumier displays what Aspectist Creed the Mali’ame follows. These tattoos serve as obvious visual language amongst elves, preserving cultural identity through continued practice.

Omentahu

In the era of Irrin Sirame and the primitive Wood Elven Seeds, the elders oftentimes called for an Omentahu beneath the canopies they called home. The word "Omentahu" denotes a simple gathering of people, its purpose varying on who calls it; It could either serve as a meeting to settle disputes, or celebrate revolutionary events. In recent-day, Omentahu's facilitate community polls, where all individuals are gifted the chance to speak their minds. Once every perspective is shared with the floor, the gathered conclude their meeting with a vote. 

An Omentahu ensures that all voices within the populace are heard, fostering unification within the Mali'ame people.

Ame’lie Trees

Ame'lie Trees are a creation of old, a legacy passed down to present-day Mali'ame. Their ancestors viewed farming as an anathema, who instead cultivated a special species of trees to fulfill their needs. For generations to come, the Ame'lie have supplied the Mali'ame people - with clothing, food, smoking and pungent, alcoholic sap. 

The most famed is the Ikurnamon, a remarkable wood that rivals the density of iron. It rapidly became crucial to the nomadic life of Mali'ame - offering sharper arrow-points, spearheads, blades and hooks. Though strong, it embodied lessons of patience and precision; any error in its crafting rendered it brittle, failing to achieve its renowned substantiality.

Tiva

The Language of Tiva is an ancient Elven craft rooted in the traditions of the Mali’ame. This practice gives meaning to flowers and integrates them into daily life, worship, and communication. It is centered around three pillars: Offerings, where flowers are woven into wreaths to honor the Aspects through symbolic gifts; Guidance, using specific floral arrangements; such as petal lines, to mark paths and guide elves through the forest; and Identity, where particular flowers signify personal traits such as status, occupation, or age.

Sacred Hunt

As all animals are the Aspects’ creations and subjects of the Mani, Mali’ame solely hunt for necessity. Hunting for sport upsets the Balance and could even anger the Mani, which the wood elven people revere. It is this worship of Nature’s Gods that drives this mentality. Prey is to be taken down swiftly to keep their pain short, and a prayer thanking the Aspects is spoken after each kill. Every part of the animal is used, even its entrails, so that nothing is wasted. Each hunt is a blessing from the Gods, and must be treated with respect.

Seeds

The notion of family, and loyalty to one’s kin, is deeply ingrained into the wood elven culture. Family is a symbol of strength, faith, and devotion, and a Mali’ame’s pride in one’s tribe often guides their behavior. These tribes are known as Seeds, and rather be solely defined by bloodlines, they are made up of wood elves who follow the same Mani and mission, embody the Seed’s traits, complete the joining trials, and proudly display the mark of their Seed upon their skin-the ilmyumier. Many Seeds have survived and vanished, with some claiming ancestry from the days of Irrin and some dwindling in living members until none remain. While names such as Aureon, Tahorran, and Arvellon have faded into obscurity, there are several old and new ones that still stand today. 

Caerme’onn

Caerme’onn is one of the eldest Seeds of the mali’ame, rooted in the early days of Laureh’lin. Forged by hunters, guardians, and leaders, the Seed stands unwavering in its devotion to mali’ame culture. Its people are skilled trackers, survivalists, and craftsmen of the wild—many rising as Archdruids, Princes, and community voices across the ages.

Caerme’onn values seven core traits: Loyalty, Piety, Dauntlessness, Strength, Determination, Ambition, and Leadership. These are not mere words, but lived truths passed from one generation to the next. Spiritually, the Seed walks closely with the Mani. Chief among them are Amaethon, the noble Stag Prince, and Bolomormaa, the fierce yet gentle Bear Mother. Amaethon teaches wisdom in leadership and protection through dignity. Bolomormaa guides in guardianship—fighting only when kin is threatened, yet with unmatched ferocity. Together, these Patrons reflect the heart of Caerme’onn: to lead with compassion, protect with strength, and live in harmony with the wild.

The individual decides where they wish to wear their ilmyumier, be it under their eyes, on the chest or along their arms. The member is inked with sanguine dyes before the entire seed, representing the antlers of a stag. This process is what welcomes them to the seed, and an official means of taking on the name Caerme’onn.

Cheiftain: Nalinor Caerme’onn

Sirame

The Sirame were born in homage to Haelun Mali’ame, Irrin Sirame herself. She who rose from the common folk to serve at Malin’s own table, whose blade defended the Elven kingdom, and whose footsteps carved the path the Mali’ame would follow for centuries to come. She bore no tribe, no bloodline to claim her name—only the legacy of the Seeds she birthed, and the forestborn culture she guarded. Centuries later, a family of ‘ame rose to carry that legacy. The Sirame Seed, founded in 1760, devotes itself to the sacred teachings of the Aspects and the enduring traditions of the Mali’ame. Where others teach through word, the Sirame lead by example—living proof of faith, walking in the shade of the wilds.

Their beliefs are rooted in five ancient pillars: Faith – in the Aspects, as Irrin once held; unshaken, eternal. Unity – a belief in the strength of a united elven people. Stewardship – a sacred duty to preserve the homes of the forestborn. Fortitude – to endure the long road of elven life with resilience. Connection to the Wild – the wilds are not just a place, but a spirit, a bond deeper than blood. Though they honor all Mani, the Sirame hold no singular patron. Instead, they walk a path of balanced reverence—guided by the wild, but grounded in their own harmony.

Their Ilmyumier is that of Taynei’hiylu, the Green Dragon—a serpent of viridian ink winding up the arm in flight, symbolizing wisdom, strength, and oneness with the forest. Some may also bear the Spring Mother's Wreath, inked upon the palm—an offering of peace, gifted not only to kin, but to those who protect harmony.

Cheiftain: Irrin Sirame

Vulnrith

The Vulnrith serve as guides to the lost, keepers of memory, recorders of history, and guardians of artifacts. Their highest priority is ensuring that stories live on, learning from the past, and shepherding those who need it. Nearly no soul is beneath redemption, if they are earnest in seeking it, and no dead shall be forgotten, for better or for worse. 

The main patron of the Vulnrith is the Fox Mani Sonnos, Prince of Vulpines. He represents cleverness and wit, traits valued by the seed and seen as necessary to combat whatever life may throw at you. The Founder also believes in a folk tale she heard growing up that if you follow after a fox’s fleeting tail, it will lead you to good fortune. Overtime, as the Vulnrith's mission evolved, two more Mani became representative of the Seed's values and mentality. These two added patrons include Siss'siru, Prince of Serpents, who represents redemption, and Kholibrii, Princess of Hummingbirds, who represents hope.

The seed’s ilmyumier is that of a fox, typically winding up an arm or across a back in shades of gold or brown. However, those who follow the path of the Ichorian may choose to receive the ilmyumier in red.

Cheiftain: Sonna Vulnrith

Prisgoth

The Prisgoth lineage traces its earliest roots to the snowlands of Fenn, a realm where Snow Elves forged their history. In the unforgiving biome of winter, survival became a constant, demanding pursuit - morphing resilience and adaptability into their people. It was amidst the hoarfrost, that the earliest of Prisgoth first learned these important values of self-reliance. Despite the Mali’fenn dissipating in numbers, the values continue under Wood Elven interpretation. 

They pledge to a single Mani, known as the Panther. She represents three core aspects of their existence: The Hunt, Self-Sufficiency, and Elusiveness. Being quite the experienced group of hunters, they prefer to gather in calculated bursts, while maintaining responsibility and consideration to not disturb the Balance as they know it. Due to their values, it is common for a Prisgoth to be perceived as a gossipmonger, or just flat out lazy until absolutely needed. 

The Prisgoth hold two distinctive marks, which denote their allegiance to the Seed: one granted upon officially completing your task, and the other given upon claiming the title of a Green Priest of Norra. The ‘Gleaming Eye’, a cerulean marking beneath both eyes, holds a special quirk - it glows brighter, as the moon replaces the sun, making it rather useful for nocturnal hunts. ‘Vehemence’, the second mark, spans across the sleeve and left pectoral, depicting a splayed panther standing amidst a pool of blood. Its fangs signified violence; a moment of strike.

Cheiftain: Caius Prisgoth

Norväyn

The Norväyn Seed are storytellers above all else, believing that knowledge is sacred and must be preserved. To them, it is not just a duty but a fundamental truth—stories are immortal so long as they are spoken, sung, or carved into the world. They pass down their history not only through words but through action, embedding their lore within the very fabric of their lives. Hunts become living parables, poems whisper of victories and tragedies, plays reenact the trials of their ancestors, and songs ensure that no name is ever forgotten. Even their crafts—intricately woven tapestries, engraved weapons, and carved totems—serve as vessels of remembrance, each piece telling a tale meant to endure beyond the hands that shaped it. 

They follow Morea, the Prince of Wolves, one of the two great War Mani. To the Norväyn, Morea represents the unyielding strength of the pack, the loyalty of kin, and the relentless pursuit of one’s purpose. He is both hunter and guardian, his fangs bared against those who would threaten the balance of the wilds. They believe that to follow Morrea is to embrace the way of the wolf—standing together in the face of adversity, hunting not for sport but for survival, and never abandoning those bound by blood or oath. Before battle, they offer prayers to him, carving his sigil into the earth or their own flesh to invoke his ferocity. Shrines to Morrea are scattered throughout Norväyn lands, often marked by wolf skulls, claw-carved stone, and offerings of weapons or pelts, given in tribute to the eternal hunt.

Every member of the Norväyn Seed bears the Wolf-Mark Ilmyumier, a sacred carving of ink and blood etched into their very flesh. This mark, a grey-green wolf’s skull, is imprinted upon either the shoulder or forearm, a constant reminder of their duty to Morea and their kin. Around the snout, daubs of color represent the individual’s personal journey, while from the top of the skull, a canopy of interwoven branches stretches up the arm and shoulder, creeping along the chest and back. These branches are never static; they grow with the wearer, each one added to commemorate a great hunt, a battle fought, or a lesson learned. In this way, the Norvyn do not simply tell their stories—they wear them, ensuring that their past is forever etched into their skin, carried forward through blood and ink.

Chieftain: Wulff Norväyn

Alhanavir

The Alhanavir are a Wood Elven clan devoted to the practice of creating, archiving, and defending the faith of the Mali'ame, having turned the creation of holy parables, prayers, and shrines into an expression of art. In their prime, they cared for forest far from the eaves of Malinor, in which the very massive, redwood trees were carved in massive prayer tablets. 

The Alhanavir value the tiger, Rahar, and Amaethon the Stag above all else. From the Tiger, they derive their sense of strength. Many Alhanavir are said to carry a ‘holier than thou’ mentality, in a literal sense, as Mali'ame who worship and devote themselves better, and closer to divinity. From the Stag, they derive their cause. To the Alhanavir, Amaethon is known as the ‘SHRINEFATHER’, defender of all sacred places.

The singular mark that denotes a Mali’ame as a member of the Seed was known as the ‘Crowned Sun’, a bleeding and radiant glyph adorned with a rack of antlers and the marks of a tiger. Typically, it was worn on the back, but was able to be placed anywhere; On the shoulders and biceps, or even upon the stomach. Faint prayers were inscribed along the larger body of the marking in a pigment slightly darker than the mark itself, only able to be read standing extremely closely.

Chieftain: Ghilean Alhanavir

Terin

The Terin Seed is a branch not grown through rigid trials, but through the steady winding of kinship—both blood-bound and chosen. Its origins lie not in ceremony, but in the quiet forging of trust, of long-earned familiarity. It is through shared labor, woven friendship, and a lived sense of loyalty that one draws near the hearth of Terin. When such a bond deepens into something familial, the name may be offered as a gift—or requested as a rite of belonging. In the latter, the hopeful is sent to speak with the Chieftain. Should they carry the spirit and mind of kin, they are welcomed, and the emerald mark of Ilmyumier is inked upon their shoulder.

Rather than a codified path, Terin is built upon authentic bonds and proven actions. In theory, it may seem the easiest of Seeds to join. In truth, it is among the most arduous—for what is harder than earning a place not through checklists, but through time, heart, and presence? Terin holds fast to six virtues: Stewardship, Perseverance, Loyalty, Forgiveness, Self-Sufficiency, and Respect. These are not recited, but lived—quietly shown in the way they serve, endure, protect, and grow. In pursuit of these traits, the Terin follow the Beaver Mani Meracahe.

The Ilmyumier of Terin takes the form of swirling designs, stylized in a way unique to the Seed. Always inked in deep emerald, it rests traditionally upon the shoulder—an outward symbol of an inward bond, quietly radiant in its meaning.

Chieftain: Nenar Terin

Winterleaf

Among the eldest of druidic lineages, the Winterleaf Seed traces its name to a time predating even Aegis, whispered of in the histories of the first ‘ame and ancient druii. Reborn through the union of two sisters—Vailoen and Lillith Winterleaf—the Seed rose once more as a cornerstone of craftsmanship and quiet perseverance. Known for their work as artisans and merchants, their legacy spanned cities and centuries: from armor and weapons to jewelry and carved wood, each piece was a labor of soul, etched with the care of a family that viewed creation as sacred. In time, the pulse of their forges faded. The Matron Vailoen passed into memory, and Lillith vanished into the Wilds. Yet the Seed lives still. Revian Winterleaf, Vailoen’s daughter, now bears the name and tradition forward—offering her work not for coin, but as gifts, already blessed with the mark of the Seed.

At the heart of Winterleaf lies a triad of virtues: Craftsmanship, above all, is their calling—work done with devotion, never hastily. A Winterleaf does not create for wealth, but for the art itself. Family, bound not only by blood, but by chosen kin—sisters reunited, daughters adopted, each embraced into a legacy of togetherness. Willpower, silent and steady, like snow pressing down upon the boughs. They do not falter, and they do not bend. Their spirit is watched over by three Patrons: Merecahe, Prince of Beavers—the silent craftsman. He is their root and reason, a reminder that creation is duty, not pride. Amaethon, Prince of the Cervidae—not protector, but contemplative force. His presence is the silence of winter, the strength that walks quietly through storm and stillness alike. Machana, Princess of Steeds—a spirit of calm strength. She does not seek conflict, yet when it comes, she meets it head-on with loyalty unbroken and resolve unshaken.

The Ilmyumier of the Winterleaf bears three maple-shaped leaves, inked in a light blue and trimmed with gold—a mark worn with reverence, as timeless and patient as the snow.

Chieftain: Revian Winterleaf

The Mali’ame people can be found all over the realm, but most of Aevos have settled themselves within the Vale of Nevaehlen, and their vassal the Sanctum of Illivira.

Credits

@Juno. | Author
@Tav | Writer
@RainbowRoad1234 | Writer

Lots of old Wood Elf posts
 

[!] This letter would make it’s way to the Vale intended to be seen by Beau L’Rathra.

[!] A sketched profile of Barrius Black is included

“Nice Book Beau”

I’m taking the time to mass print this missive and distribute it to make you aware The NOTORIOUS Barrius B. has acquired your Wedding Invitation Booklet.

Sneaking in to a band of Holy men was quite easy and the rewards were COPIOUS, I was able to slew your kindred and acquire this book and the horse I write this letter upon

A Reminder that “I love you!”

I’m so glad you’ve found love in this world Beau, this Wyn fellow must be a lovely fella. I quite adore the Sketches you’ve made of presumably the Elf in question.

And of course,

A shout out to the Priest of the Soon to be Wedding known as Sonna and ALL the guests who were to be invited.

Sasha

Liriana & their Husband

Faelyth and their Multiple Wives/Husbands (I can’t quite tell the amount)

Nasir

Kelpie (What an odd name, sounds Elven)

These supposed “Twins”
Hesperia

And Malii which I hope doesn’t mean all Elves that, would make it quite the LONG wedding list.

I’m looking forward to our next meeting where I shall demand yet again

BLOOD FER COIN!

~ Barrius Black, The NOTORIOUS Barry B.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨ 

It was in the gloom of the jungle that the statue rose. Amidst the vibrant greenery and calm birdsong, flames flickered to life, into being, consuming all nearby flora in a strangely harmless dance. An emaciated, almost entirely skeletal figure rose amidst the trees and from these flames. Carved of quartz and brimstone, blessed of blood and darkness. 

The metallic scent of blood accompanies the smell of burning stone and the lack of burning life. Corpses. A pair flayed into unrecognizability, dangled from cruel chains. Hung by the neck, these stolen sigils to the black faith creak from their position beneath the forked staff of the towering creation as dark-cloaked figures amidst the flame bow and worship before the corrupted visage of an old God. The Gore Mother, they chant—sacrifices of blood and bone. Of gore and viscera, they litter the ground in ritualistic circles as the night closes in around them. All in the name of their Black God, martyr of Iblees, patron of Blood, Gore, and Death.

Night and Blood.

 Fire and Gore. 

Time is on their side now. 
୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

Nevaehlen and the Mali’ame culture are struggling with the current format of leadership amongst the nation, a majority of its citizens unsatisfied with how Nevaehlen currently is. We propose a return to how the wood elven nations of old were set up, in line with tradition, but with a carefully crafted series of checks and balances, and the addition of guilds in government in theme with Nevaehlen’s unique culture. To deter tyranny, every decision made by Nevaehlen must be voted upon by the Greenblades in Omentahu. Leaders must also be voted in through Omentahu, and can similarly be voted out: even the Viridian Voice. This ensures that Nevaehlen enjoys the benefits of having a defined Head of State, but also that the people still benefit from freedom and democracy.

◈ The Viridian Voice

✾ Leader of the Nevaehli

The face of Nevaehlen and guide of the people, responsible for overseeing preservation of Nevaehli culture, the enforcement of its law, diplomacy with foreign leaders, and the safeguarding of the Nevaehli people.

🞚 The Triumvirate

The Triumvirate act as the foundation which supports Nevaehlen, directly aiding the Viridian Voice in the varied affairs required for the community to prosper.

⛣ Head of Faith 

A High Priest of the Wild Faith, responsible for overseeing the circulation and cultivation of elnarnsae’ame.

⍟ Head of Military 

The leader of the Halerir’elame, responsible for overseeing all offensive and defensive military endeavors.

⭗ Head of Stewardship 

The leader of the Stewards, responsible for indoctrinating new citizens and regulating housing.

◇ The Guilds

🙝 Head of the Iron Antler 

Responsible for the daily livelihood of the Nevaehli people, the Iron Alter handles food supply, agriculture, and common festivities. Manages the tavern, fishing, farming, and common festivities.

➶ Head of the Tree Singers 

Responsible for the artisan productions of Nevaehlen, the Tree Singers create everything from trinkets to weapons to boats. Manages shop stalls and trade regulations.

🕮 Head of the Cedar Archive 

Responsible for domestic affairs and record-keeping, the Cedar Archive oversees the library, gathering knowledge and keeping track of history. Occasionally handles assorted internal affairs, such as aiding in diplomacy, when required.

✤ Head of the Verdant Whisper 

Responsible for the clinic and apothecary, the Verdant Whisper ensures the medical and alchemical needs of Nevaehlen are well-circulated and always in supply. Prepares means of treatment for both the Nevaehli people and visitors in need of medical care.

⛯ Head of the Thorned Compass 

Responsible for expeditions, hunting, and handling miscellaneous domestic concerns, the Thorned Compass serves as the adventurer’s guild of Nevaehlen. Helps regulate monster threats, as well as organizing bounties and quests from both citizens and the other guilds.

❖ The Vigilant Council Overview

The Viridian Voice, the Triumvirate, and the Guilds exist to ensure the prosperity of Nevaehlen’s community, working together alongside each other to ensure smooth operations. The Nevaehli people may be members of as many guilds as they please, as well as be stewards and members of the military at their discretion, so long as they meet the personal requirements of each group they wish to partake in.

Each council member may only represent exactly one position within the nine-person council that forms Nevaehlen’s leadership. Council members may not hold more than one seat in the council, any unfilled seats being left open until an independent individual can claim the seat, or if a member of the council changes from their current seat to the vacant seat. Temporary means of regulation may be performed by the council, but there should be an active search for a new council member whenever a seat on the council is vacant.

The Viridian Voice, the Triumvirate, and the Guilds all hold the right to check the other council groups to ensure they’re doing their job properly. Council discussions are to be held in civil regards and remain orderly at all times, and are always open to the Nevaehli people and visitors alike to spectate unless specifically stated otherwise. All council members must be voted in by the Greenblades in Omentahu. Their leadership may also be called into question at an Omentahu, and they may be voted out by the Greenblades. These rules also apply to the Viridian Voice.

⬥ The Nevaehli & Greenblades

Nevaehlen is, first and foremost, a community rather than a country. Nevaehlen’s people, the Nevaehli, are its heart and soul, thus meaning Nevaehlen is wherever the Nevaehli are. While all members of the community are kin of the wilds, only those who truly embrace the way of the wilds are permitted to influence the future of the community. These members of the community are known as Greenblades, those who are vowed to the wilds. Greenblades are permitted to own housing without paying tribute, vote in Omentahus, and become members of the Nevaehlen Council. For one to become a Nevaehli, they must first embrace the wilds, taking a vow of choice to acknowledge their sincerity.

❖ The Wild Vow | Ceremony of the Wild-Hearted

The first step in joining Nevaehlen, the Wild Vow, is a ceremony hosted by either a steward or a member of the Council and consists of two parts. The first is speech of recognition, during which the vow-taker will publicly elaborate on the individual to take the vow, offering them words of encouragement and congratulations. After this has passed, the to-be Nevaehli will proclaim a personal vow to the wilds, consisting of an oath to defend the natural world and a declaration of a creed to live by.

This personal creed is to be based on a select fauna of the vow-taker’s choice, and ought to represent the values and lessons that can be gleaned from them. One may declare their willingness to become stalwart and resilient in the name of the tortoise, or cunning and witful in the name of the fox. Another might proclaim themselves to pursue wisdom and patience, tempering themselves akin to an owl in the hunt, while another may seek to hone their leadership and responsibility, akin to a wolf who leads the pack. This vow ought to hold sustenance, reflecting the individual’s intent to grow and refine themselves rather than a statement of what they’ve already achieved.

To qualify to become a Greenblade, one must complete at least 3 of 6 Greenblade Proofs and be an active member of at least one guild. Once the proofs have been completed and a member is recognized as by the Vigilant Leader of at least one guild, they may become a Greenblade by taking their Wild Vow, a ceremony in which the to-be Greenblade takes a personalized oath. Upon the completion of their vow ceremony, the community member shall be recognized as one who has truly incorporated the wilds into their way of life.

❖ Greenblade Proofs | Complete at least 3 of 6

🗸 Lead a Hunt.
Lead a hunting party to hunt for an animal of choice with regards to proper hunting practices.

🗸 Become a Green Priest.

Complete the Priesthood Trials of the Wild Faith and become Oathbound to a Mani.

🗸 Host a Celebration

Any form of celebration does, whether it’s a tavern night, a cultural festival, or a miscellaneous party.

🗸 Guide a Lesson

Teach the others within the community in any fashion, whether it be crafting, combat, culture, etc.

🗸 Train with the Halerir’alame

Hone your skills in combat by joining combat training or sparring a member of the military.

🗸 Protect the Wilds

Participate in guarding the natural world against darkened forces alongside other Nevaehli.

❖ Be a Guild Member | Help the community flourish

All Nevaehli may join guilds as they see fit, but partaking in them and leaving a mark on the community is another story. For this step to be completed, one must be recognized by at least one leader of the five Vigilant Guilds for their efforts. Recognition may be granted for any means of effort so long as the Guild Leader believes the member to be sincere in doing their part.

❖ The Rite of Family | To Embrace the Community