~ PINNED SCRAPS ~

INCONSISTENT SCHEDULE When time is measured by the sun and clockwork constructs go awry one simply cannot assure stability lest he would be dabbling in naive, hopeful and irresponsible lying. The best approach to have in this scenario - is to have no approach.

A SHARED DUPLEX A bigger house but a smaller room – a lucrative deal when it means more doors between indiscreet burglars and whatever meager possessions they might try to confiscate. A localized bathroom was definitely a selling point. How come they are not mandatory?

PETS AND COMPANIONS: MACHIAVELLI A sly little bastard, always shooting mischievous glances with those huge yellow eyes of his. He doesn’t display any vandalistic behaviors, but he sure looks like he’s going to at every moment. The rogue is quite a good listener, though.

REWRITES AND AFTERTHOUGHTS Does reality bend and buckle under the weight of amassing nightmares... or do nightmares arm themselves with snippets from my past and present? Whichever way the wind blows, my gaze deflects somewhere beyond, a place where I'm not meant to be.

MAP OF SCARS What better way to trace one's path through life, through time - than by an interweaving maze of bruises, wounds and traumas suffered in the past? What marks our progress more acute than they who break us, bit by bit?

~ BITS AND PIECES ~

. ..::⋮⋮ 1782 ⋮⋮::.. .

DUBIOUS HAIRWORK One may anticipate many things to happen upon returning to a place of their youth. Being scolded by a stranger for having dirty hair is not on the list. Well, at least there were no fountains involved.

AN ACQUAINTANCE : DELE SEREGON The first impression may not always be right. This one was, however. Stern but well-wishing, she does not exactly demand respect, no. It’s rather that she strongly implies that you should, probably, show her some out of your own volition.

AN ACQUAINTANCE : AESTENIA AEVARIS It is a welcome rarity to see children around. She has been bestowed two of those. A stranger with a handful of chores and a headful of troubles, finding time to help out another stranger with theirs. That is, at the very least, admirable.

AN ACQUAINTANCE : LEI No origin, no surname, no hesitations. Her eagerness to produce questions is rivaled only by the naivety of hew world views. It would be a miracle if she could carry those into adulthood. Sadly, the odds are against that.

UNDERGROUND LODGINGS The twisting maze of corridors. The moldy air, trapped inside. The torches lining up the walls. It all comes back, gnawing, scratching at the back of the mind. The Library must have some person-long benches. Hopefully, they have padding.

AN ACQUAINTANCE : MAENOR AILDHUIN One may be forgiven for not expecting such a grim sense of humor from a servant of the book. Then again, saturated aromas of archaic manuscripts do tend to take their toll. They also make you very efficient at correcting people, apparently.

THE POSSE A band of strangers, meeting together and crowding a single table at the tavern. Some stories may have been passed, some names may have been spoken. All in all, there is no harm and, maybe, just maybe – some joy.

AN ACQUAINTANCE : TARATHIEL MIRAVARIS Ability to consistently find trouble is quite an unwelcome detriment. The ability to make some on your own, however, is a rare skill. What do you call a person proficient at both? The untamed tongue must come as a bonus to that.

AN ACQUAINTANCE : VALORIN CELIA’THILLN It’s as if an image from a romantic novel came to life. A confident gaze, a perfect posture, and a neverending stream of intricate pleasantries. The rate at which this one adopts responsibilities will surely make him reach heights. And fast.

AN ACQUAINTANCE : NESSAROSE TELPERION She is rarely seen outside the tavern, a delicate flower that she is. There’s nothing particularly wrong with experiencing life at a milder, slower pace, but... There must be a story behind this doleful gaze. It might even be a good one.

OUTDATED NOTICE BOARD They had one job! Well... To be fair, they had several. Too many, if we’re being completely honest. Either way, among other, numerous jobs, they had this particular one. And they blew it! Everything is wrong! Some of it is, at least…

AN ACQUAINTANCE : AIERA SULLAS A keen eye, hiding behind glasses. An inquisitive mind, hiding behind words. Weighted down by her experiences, she wasn’t overly reluctant to share a few of them. Maybe, if convinced, she’d be willing to share a few more.

. ..::⋮⋮ 1783 ⋮⋮::.. .

LAWS AND POLITICS : MINOR AMMENDMENTS How rare it is to see the whole council in one place, actually doing their job. Aside from an exchange of a few low-brow comments, the event was quite civil and, to some surprise, even constructive. Huh.

FESTIVITIES : SOHAER’S SOIREE Near-death experience involving grapes, an unexpected family reunion and a visual demonstration of a clockwork prosthesis. Not exactly the conventional set for an informal get-together of this caliber. Oh, and the wine!

AN ACQUAINTANCE : NELGAUTH MAEHR’TEHRAL Those who dabble in politics tend to rapidly develop a bloated ego. What a welcome surprise to meet an exception to that rule. It’s better to be loved than feared if you cannot be both. Or was it the other way around?

AN ACQUAINTANCE : ARETHIL SULLAS The firstborn, apparently a little bit too adventurous for his mother’s liking. Not that bravery should be considered a detriment, not at all. A man of his standing is bound to live on a grand scale. And to be fond of horses.

POTS AND PANDITS They came looking for kitchen utensils. They found death instead. The pain-induced tears, the fading smile, the tremble in his voice as he said “It’s not your fault”. Oh, but it is… It is… May he forgive me, for I sure as hell won’t.

AN ACQUAINTANCE : SETH CALITH A person’s beliefs are forged by fate and struggle. This one seems like he’s been put to quite a hard anvil. Carrying the weight of many years and even more experiences, he is quite a tight bundle of stories to hear and secrets to unearth.

LAWS AND POLITICS : OKARIR’NOR ELECTION Political debates tend to turn into a complete mess. Quite expectantly, this was no exception. Who even are these people? Still, the organizers should at least be commended for keeping the meeting free of dismembered limbs and whatnot.

FESTIVITIES : NEW ELVES FEAST If anyone could have had any doubts about the obnoxity of humankind – they were dispelled by a single vocal representative of the race. The way he drew glares to himself was quite a spectacle to behold, truly.

AN ACQUAINTANCE : ULFGRIM Possessing all the subtlety and grace of a barrel rolling downhill, he seems to be, at the very least, an honest one. Still, truthfulness and good manners don't have to be mutually exclusive. Does he make a habit out of mispronouncing names?

A SCANDALOUS RUMOR : SILVYR URADIR He did what? And he got away with it? One may only muse at how much can be lost to time and ignorance. The suspicions were right, all this time. Something must be done about it! But what? And who’s to do it?

AN ACQUAINTANCE : GRETA GOODBARREL A wayward daughter, far away from family home, seeking adventure and fulfillment in the land of strangers. Will she find any? Who knows? There’s no harm in exchanging rumors with this one, so it should be safe. Right?

A CLUE : ILLUMIRAN What’s this? A magic-focused group with an obscured agenda? Why did it exist? How did it die? Why did HE, of all people, ask about it? It wouldn’t hurt to look out for the mention of this name. Actually, it would be wise to.

ADVANCEMENT : ETERNAL LIBRARY TRAINEE There aren’t many who would find this kind of thing engaging. Too bad for them. The rustling of paper, the gloss of ink, the long-lasting solitude. This would be a perfect place to grow fond of. If only most of it wasn’t underground…

. ..::⋮⋮ 1784 ⋮⋮::.. .

RESETTLEMENT : LAREH’THILLN APARTMENTS A note, mentioning an apartment… Could it be? A small key is wrapped in it. It goes to a cozy little thing, and on the top floor as well! It comes with all of the previous owner’s possessions, for some reason, and… a fox?

A SUSPICION : THAUMATURGY WING Work is postponed, tasks are delayed and time is lost. And all because… What, exactly? Some rumors of rats have been passed in jest. Then there was another thing… a disturbing one. Could it be true? Could it be the reason?

A SUSPICION : POTENTIAL CONSPIRACIES The whole thing is ludicrous, there’s hardly any basis for it. Then again, some bizarre behaviors did take place. Could it be that there are powerful minds behind it? It’s all too vague to be sure, but… It’s enough to be wary.

A CLUE : THE SILVER NECKBITER It’s said to look like a man clad in silvery-like armor. It’s said to prefer biting to other means of inflicting injuries. It’s said to be able to… float? Quite an outlandish array of descriptions. What thing could ever fit them all at once?

RECURRING NIGHTMARE : THE MASKED MEN Those antlers, those furs, those eyes. They all look so life-like. Are these even masks? They stand in a circle, not chanting, not moving, just… waiting. What are they waiting for?  Who are they waiting for? Should I wait too?

CEREMONIES : GOLDEN OWLS WEDDING If there would ever be a painting capturing the event – it will contain two ladies wrestling for a sword in the background. An outlandish addition to the ceremony, to say the least. Who even brings an arsenal to the wedding?

NEW EVIDENCE : THE SILVER NECKBITER Occasional troubling mentions and warnings escalated into an utter disaster. There are many of them, they hold power, they drink blood of their victims and use the remaining organs for some unholy rituals. Charming.

AN ACQUAINTANCE : EREDAEL RHENAER Chiseled manners and a silver tongue are a common prerequisite for a beast hiding behind them… but not this time, no. He seems to put no effort into appearing older and more experienced than he actually is. Is it a put-on?

THE HUNT : TARATHIEL’S ESCAPE Youthful naivety and misplaced determination produce quite a volatile concoction. The damages it does, however, are left for everyone else to take care of. Still, falling from a tree is quite a lucrative outcome, considering the options.

A CLUE : CURANTES GUILD A brief mention in casual conversation can sometimes change the course of history. Other times it’s merely an irrelevant noise. Time would only tell those two apart, but, for now, Curantes Guild is another thing to watch out for.

. ..::⋮⋮ 1785 ⋮⋮::.. .

NEW EVIDENCE : CURANTES GUILD While operating all across the continent they have a residence in Oren. The place is out of reach for now, but there is a link, several of them, even. They can be used, if a need arises. All the roads lead to the accursed city. To Helena.

LAWS AND POLITICS : SOHAER ELECTIONS An interweaving of words, a battle of wits, a juxtaposition of ideas. Yes, this is what an event should have been. A pity the whole thing was pretty much one-sided. A pity it devolved into an exchange of high-brow insults at the end.

A SUSPICION : POTENTIAL CONSPIRACIES Rumors and whispers, caught by a trained ear, are passed along as they perpetually grow more outlandish. Something stirs beneath the thin layer of smiles and courtesies. One family against another, one person against a dynasty.

BURNING OF THE THREE And so it was. Three presences, three burdens, three burnings. The first set ablaze his nightmares. The second threw into fire her distress. The third incinerated his spite. Truly, some things may only be cleansed by flame.

CEREMONIES : SEREGON AND ELIBAR’ACAL WEDDING Such a joyous occasion this would be if only any of these people were familiar. Inspiring words were spoken, inappropriate comments were passed, no weapons were brought. How can one complain about witnessing such a lovely snippet of peace?

THE HUNT : GOODBARREL IS MISSING It shouldn’t really classify as a disappearance when there’s a letter left and an address mentioned. To think that she would leave the residence unlocked for anyone to plunder! It's a miracle nobody unwanted came first to the place.

THE VULPINE TROUBLE Furniture is ruined with claw marks, carpets acquired an orange tint, and the closet… Oh… The closet… An extra pair of small nifty hands might’ve prevented a disaster. Both freeloaders were expelled, thankfully. Both? Weren’t there three?

LOCATIONS : BRANDYBROOK A sky, unframed by sophisticated rooftops. The air, filled with muddy countryside aromas. The uncomplicated tranquil atmosphere. And the short folk. Very short folk. Despite being a topographical mess, the place is soothing to mind and soul.

CONCLUSIONS : GOODBARREL IS MISSING A sore heart has been an incentive for many a disaster across all times. There’s nothing a discreet and timely intervention can’t solve, thankfully. This time a stern lecture was sufficient enough. Here’s hoping she won’t become a loose end.

. ..::⋮⋮ 1786 ⋮⋮::.. .

AN ACQUAINTANCE : ELLISAR AEVARIS A name that is mentioned only in good light, albeit not too often. He is eager to help out, provided he has time, and is not a stranger to a polite small-talk exchange. Not wearing strong opinions on your sleeve is surely a wise approach.

LAWS AND POLITICS : SOHAER OATHING Apparently it’s too much to ask to attend a public event in the Silver State without any hitches. A visage of the crossbowman taking his aim from atop the balcony, the busy clatter of Sillumir armor, all because of what, exactly? A prank?

THE HUNT : BOOK'N'COAL THIEF The door was left intact, all of the locks are untouched as well, leaving only a few manuscripts amiss. Some coal, too? Nothing was lost irreversibly, but… the incident itself is odd and distressing enough. Is there more to it?

THE HUNT : WARDEN It takes one impostor to recognize another, and the lad sure as hell sounds sketchy. There’re reasons aplenty to keep your name unknown, none of them are particularly noble. ‘Married to the entire village’ he is, eh?

AN ACQUAINTANCE : YAZMINE ALCAIDE An exotic little thing that, despite her youthfulness, is already making waves in research fields. Critters and beasts seem to be at the very top of the list of her interests. Not an outlandish feat, some would say, but... bears? Really?

CEREMONIES : ILLEGITIMATE WEDDING An impure and an outsider walk into Haelun’or to have a wedding. The joke wasn’t supposed to have any continuation as it’s a punchline in of itself. Unfortunately, it does. Questions had to be asked, testimonies were recorded. What a mess...

NEW EVIDENCE : THE SILVER NECKBITER There’s only so much one could do besides listen, sometimes. Quite often, it is enough to get a new lead to follow. A youthful researcher is delving into dark waters once again, searching for a particular fur-covered individual. Intriguing.

RECURRING NIGHTMARE : THE UNDERNEATH Layered shadows close in as the feeble candlelight gradually gives up on its life. The twisted entanglement of nonsensical corridors loops in on itself in an impossible knot. Am I to wander through these halls forever? Am I to find an exit?

THE HUNT : DWARVEN ESSAYIST A peculiar and as of yet unseen species counting only three members and they’ve already been wronged, and by whom? A dwarf! If there ever was any doubt about the underlying rapacious nature of these undersized bastards. It’ll be a pleasure.

. ..::⋮⋮ 1787 ⋮⋮::.. .

CEREMONIES : APPLEFOOT WEDDING What could possibly tarnish a cheerful and bustling Brandybrook wedding? A terribly mistimed political sermon, for example. Such an adorably dangerous sight it was – a runty crowd, foaming with insults and bristling with sharpened knives.

NEW EVIDENCE : WARDEN The abundant list of his admirers dwindles, while the number of those striving to uncover his lies increases. What will he do when confronted? How will he respond when his mask shatters? It’d be best to stay away if and when that happens.

CEREMONIES : THE HAELUN’OR PROPHECY A phony bravado of an eccentric performance can only get you so far. Rhymes, on the other hand, have a knack for penetrating unguarded hearts. It must've been composed beforehand, but that does not exactly signify its falsity.

A SCANDALOUS RUMOR : THE CONVERTED How easy must it be to abandon vows, how little do laws and creeds mean when they contravene one's lust for power. Provided hearsay becomes true and known to the public, an outrage is inevitable. There's not a chance it will end well.

LAWS AND POLITICS : DEBATES Since when are children allowed to host political discourses? Aside from providing an opportunity for already established parties to convey their biased viewpoints, the event was as fruitless as an appletree in the winter, and... dull.

A SUSPICION : SHROUDED IN CRIME Reinforced doors and barred windows cost quite a sum to install, more so if the locksmith is any good. No modest person would consider such an investment. No saint would either. Be it riches or secrets - the prize is always worth the risk.

SIGHTSEEING : ARCAS A long trek across the landscape of a dying world. Barren roads wove around capitals and obscure hamlets alike, both rich and poor in their merchandise. All in all, Haense takes the main prize for the variety in liquors and a hearty welcome.

FESTIVITIES : COMING OF AGE Alcohols were hauled from all around the continent to accommodate any taste. Naturally, the drinking game had to involve the foulest one. The bitterness of Carrion Black was fully negated by the sweetness of attendees. And by presents!

AN ACQUAINTANCE : EARNEST A fitting name for someone as straightforward and amicable as this one. A go-to person for a casual chit-chat, a drinking competition, or some peculiar pastry. It’d be insane to suspect him in plotting, but... maybe, that is the point?

. ..::⋮⋮ 1788 ⋮⋮::.. .

BLOODSHED : FROST WITCH IN TOWN! It will take time to forget the screams of children. It will take a few bottles to forget the sight of spilled blood. What will it take to disremember the severed head? The amount of frostbites doctors will have to mend is... astonishing.

THE COUNCIL UNDERNEATH Somewhere inside the city limits a fresh band of accomplices flocks to a singular purpose. The most important words are not passed in a chit chat, neither are they reiterated in the court. They are whispered behind closed doors.

THE HUNT : IREHEARTS Products of the outside world mirror and venerate its implicit barbarism. When one collects morbid trophies from people – they are considered a psychopath. When one does so within a tradition – they are only accused of exotic upbringing.

A SUSPICION : FORKED TONGUES When conflicting testimonies collide, opinions are bound to diverge and ambiguity is expected to arise. Healthy skepticism may be forgiven, but an outright denial of discretion? What trust can those who refuse to keep quiet possibly expect?

IDENTITY CRISIS How does one define the line between friend and foe, between law and virtue, between lies and truths? All things said and done are nothing more than a means to an end, a crude and sorry act played by all. Oh, but sure, I too can play along.

OMENS AND PREMONITIONS : THE BLACK BOOK What separates a skeptic from a believer? Proof? Faith? Perhaps, only the passage of time, or ample desire, but… who in their right mind would desire this? The nightmare began a long time ago. Now… Now it only overgrows with details.

AN ACQUAINTANCE : FLORENCE An occasional walk onto unwelcoming outside does wonders for one’s head. Prolong your journey, and you face the risk of growing perilously detached. And charmingly bizarre! Those unordinary colloquialisms of her are so amusing.

RECURRING NIGHTMARE : THE MASKED MEN The eerie circle shifts, its members change places and fall back in line before an opening presents itself. There is no escape, but I don’t mind. I feel an obscured pair of eyes drilling for my soul. Beneath them, there’s a smile.

SIGHTSEEING : CATTLERIDGE LAKE A charming little spot, devoid of unwanted presences or watchful eyes. Or guards. Clear waters aren’t deep enough to host any dangerous species, making this a site perfect for fishing, resting, and… other things.

. ..::⋮⋮ 1789 ⋮⋮::.. .

FESTIVITIES : MIRAVARIS’S PARTY A bustling crowd of pleasant acquaintances is always so unbearably alluring, how could one possibly refuse the invitation? Where better to dissolve griefs and abandon worries than in a company of sweet and fabricated smiles?

LAWS AND POLITICS : DISAMBIGUATION OF PURITY He who simply is reflects the public opinion on matters of tradition and orders of conduct. Public opinion, in turn, is shaped and bound by him who simply is. My-my, what a quaintly recursive little notion. Let’s see how far it will take us.

A SUSPICION : ERRONEOUS SMILE Oft are the virtues and necessities of proper upbringing are looked over, neglected, even. Well, now there’s a living, insipid testament to that notion. A ghastly precedent is enough of an incentive to keep an eye out. Or two!

ENCOUNTERS : NIGHTMAREBOUND When eyelids close shut, when darkness engulfs the mind, when reality fades away – the nightmare begins. A pair of damaged minds combined can, at the very least, work to mend each other, provided the incapacity to do so on their own.

ENCOUNTERS : VOIDWALKER There he stood, brandishing an impossible blade, sloshing in a violet aura, and resonating words of truth, of progress, of legacy. Does it actually matter whether he was real or not? The message stands firm either way. It is time.

FISHING SQUAD One would think a small, cheery crowd would be enough to negate the healing effect of solitary recreation. Apparently, it wouldn’t. A weighty mask can be lowered even in a circle of bystanders, it seems. More so if that circle is inattentive.

. ..::⋮⋮ 1790 ⋮⋮::.. .

ENCOUNTERS: KNOWLEDGE-WEARIED WRETCH There are few things as good as a paid-off suspicion. There he stood - a delicate, withered flower, ready to be swept away by the faintest gust of wind. An exchange of secrets can cement friendships. Now, there’s something to bargain with.

THE DARKROOM What rhymes with nothing more than an unsettling concoction of darkness and silence? The deficiency of light, the lack of sound, the absence of thought. What could possibly be born amongst those things? Maybe not born… maybe only… discovered.

BUSY DAY AT THE LIBRARY Halls of knowledge stand dormant all-year-round, but not today. On any other occasion, this pleasant, bustling crowd of lovely visitors would’ve been a long welcomed surprise. This time, however, they merely contribute to the headache.

AN ACQUAINTANCE : PLUTO As if the town had room for another misaligned, ill-accommodated wretch. Those smiles are enough to make paint peel off. Her attempts at comedy are even more devastating. Ah well… the poor thing can be commended for her efforts, at least.

REVEAL OF CARDS Anything that can go wrong will go wrong, and horribly. A long-anticipated development, really, yet quite a pity nonetheless. All the rumors that’ll spawn, the gossip, the finger-pointing. What a complete and utter disaster!.

SIGHTSEEING : CATTLERIDGE LAKE Lacking the expectedly decrepit façade this haunted household radiates a jarringly unsettling ambiance as a maroon trail stains both ground and floor. The place speaks volumes, but specifics of the story it’s telling elude me. What happened?

SIGHTSEEING : BRANDYBROOK RUINS A little town, desecrated, devoured by some unimaginable calamity, turned to dust and rubble and ash now. The heartbreaking sight, the horrid smell of sulfur in the air – these are enough to leave a somber imprint in one’s mind.

. ..::⋮⋮ 1791 ⋮⋮::.. .

OMENS AND PREMONITIONS : NOTICE BOARD MISSIVE A particular missive found its way into the usually trite array of memos. To peek beyond the horizon of present, to glimpse into uncertain future, to encapture the fate itself. A preposterous notion, yet such an enthralling one, too.

ENCOUNTERS: BACK FROM THE DITCH A walking, living, breathing testament to the friendship of old, to the broken bond, to the unfulfilled ambition. Like a ghastly apparition he reinserted himself into our existence as if nothing had changed, but, in fact, everything did.

A SUSPICION : MARKED FOR DEATH Making waves in the world is tantamount to making enemies, a certain percentage of those are bound to eventually bare their teeth. To discern whether a threat is hollow or not takes some guts. The risk, however, is never worth the payoff.

CALAMITIES : THE OTHERWORDLY STORM Marble walls strained under the weight of otherworldly downpour, brickwork melted from the heatwave, malicious voices echoed all around. The State is breached by an unfathomable foe. It is no longer safe. It never will be. It never was.

A CLUE : WIIVAI The voice rumbled thunderously above the silver peaks. “I am the storm that is approaching!” it said. “I am reclaimer of our name! Born in the flames, dragonking had been cursed! Our biding crest is a daemon of death!” What does it mean?

ENCOUNTERS : LIQUOR-ADDLED LIBRARIAN What does it take to break a man, to drive him down a self-harming spiral of misery and woe? Perhaps, a sight of a friend turning to ash in an instant. How much does it take to cure the poor soul? More than a cold shower – that’s for sure.

RECURRING NIGHTMARE : THE UNDERNEATH A twisting memory of fractured key rests in my palm, all that’s left of it is a bow, a collar and half of the stem. I took it. I gave it away. I threw it to the ground. Which of the three did I do? Why would I recall this? Why now?

A CLUE : BOOK PLAGUE A supernatural affliction brought by the not any less supernatural disaster. The books are safe, for now, as its aim was off a little. To much dismay – there are still casualties, a pair of injured minds. Where will this go from now?

SIGHTSEEING : EMPYREAN ENCLAVE What is the reason for this uncanny allure which places of utter decay radiate? Oh, but this ruin is different. Through cracks and breaches seeps a ghastly odor of untimely, concentrated death and mud, intermixed with dried blood.

. ..::⋮⋮ 1792 ⋮⋮::.. .

NEW EVIDENCE : BOOK PLAGUE This is what all-round neglect of arcane gets you – a dire, desperate and exclusive option of burying a magic-imbued shank inside patients, hoping the act will somehow lift the curse. The list of victims will dwindle, one way… or the other.

LAWS AND POLITICS : ALL HAIL THE NEW ‘MAEHR A modest gathering with the sole purpose of giving the voice to she who deserves it the most. The politely upbeat and rapidly dissipating crowd was more than the library suffered for quite a while. Here’s hoping this will change soon.

AN ACQUAINTANCE : ANYA ALFAKYN To get a new start, to be bestowed a blank slate, to escape the ambiguous past: a noble array of things to pursue, but a hard one to get. She knows it firsthand, this faintly somber soul. A mountain of ancient books is as good a hideout as any.

BLOODSHED : THE CHECKER-FIELD The stress, the pressure, the overwhelming thrill of battle. Steeds were mangled on the frontline, mighty towers crumbled and many footmen laid their heads for royalty. A good fight it was, superior to its real counterpart in all regards.

ENCOUNTERS : A FATEFUL MESSENGER A plate-clad equestrian, though lacking a horse, trotted up and proclaimed a name he should not have known. A trinket glimmered in his hand, an invitation from nowhere. It would’ve been ludicrous to accept... but... foolish to refuse, too.

VENTURES : THE SEALED MAN Ushered by frigid drafts, he shepherded us beyond the realms of men, towards forbidden truths. Guarded by beatific constructs were the decrepit yet awe-drawing halls immemorial and, beyond even them, there was… something… unfathomable.

DESTINY-BOUND SQUADRON The most diverse of bands, containing but not limited to skilled arcanists, noble chevaliers, rebellious naturalists, exactly one blind lady and… a librarian. Haphazardly gathered and just as suddenly separated, they await the next turn.

A CLUE : THE SEALED MAN Quite a troublesome task it is to go fishing for facts in the seething ocean of otherworldly exposition. Wretched insights overlap one another, cluttering the mind, but there is something to pluck. A few names, Setherion, Xandraza, and…

BURGUNDY TABLE Many invaluable insights were passed over that night. A quick deal it is to reveal a secret. To recover it, however, is impossible. The one culpable for arranging such a get-together must surely possess ulterior motives… or insufficient wit.

. ..::⋮⋮ 1793 ⋮⋮::.. .

THE HUNT : ORB OF NIGHTMARES It brandished impenetrable illusions. It bordered between reality and nightmare. It had… tentacles. We, an ill-prepared lot, hunted it down. The general consensus remains that the thing did not perish, oh no. It merely retreated.

PARTNERS IN FRIGHT There was much left to decipher, too much to fathom in scarce numbers and on a sober head. As usual, fate does not discriminate between whom to pierce with her devious needlework. An agreement was forged - to meet again, to finish the job.

RECURRING NIGHTMARES : VISION FROM IN-BETWEEN The unfathomable beckons, the undiscovered calls, how long can the invitation be ignored? Every facet of an ordinary existence fades before those skies unwitnessed, frontiers unreached, lands untrodden, and, most of all, secrets unlearned.

CEREMONIES : GOODBARREL WEDDING… AGAIN Another turn around a precarious corner of life. Another chapter in wayward halfling’s lustrous story. Another disaster, involving a blood-soaked child, a political controversy, and a suicide attempt… by a five-year-old.

CEREMONIES : OKARIR’MAEHR OATHING What a surprise from the Silver State to avoid any jarringly misplaced improprieties. She held her speech, she added something extra, and then it was done. Official, charming, unhazardous, as only she could have done it.

. ..::⋮⋮ 1794 ⋮⋮::.. .

ENCOUNTERS : HOSPITABLE PHILOSOPHER Paths to knowledge are treacherous and hard, however, they won’t necessarily involve a mountain. This particular trek did. What could be a better follow-up to a precarious adventure than an invitation for another one?

AN ACQUAINTANCE : DRESDEN DE WEES There aren’t many things in this world more wasteful, more tragic than lectures falling on deaf ears. What a cruel joke it is to trap such an inquisitive mind inside this transient body. What disaster it would for all that insight to remain unshared.

CONCLUSION : BOOK PLAGUE A puzzle consisting of several pieces, many of which were meant for someone else to assemble into a solution. The matter was resolved somewhere in the background - all misplaced memories found their way into the meek and fragile minds of their owners, presumably for good.

FESTIVITIES : ELIBAR’ACAL FI’VELULAEI BALL A modest venue atop an abandoned battlement might not exactly convey the expected sumptuousness… Oh, but such are the times – desperate, dull, and ambiguous. Not even an apparition could spice up the trivialities with its sudden appearance.

ADVANCEMENT? : TILRUIR’INDOR A spontaneous decision. A correct one, too. Having spent so much time, so much effort on the maintenance of knowledge, he truly deserved the position. The library is in good hands now, or... whenever it reopens to the public again.

THE HUNT : ORB OF NIGHTMARES, BELOW Seek it once – an honest mistake. Seek it twice and… Well… Just don’t. Deep underground it hid away - a tormented soul, malformed, abhorrent, weeping viscous tears of pitch black. It invited us, and we followed, despite our incompetence. But to where?

RECURRING NIGHTMARE : THE UNDERNEATH These walls vomit darkness, these floors slosh under heavy boots, these muddy airs swallow me whole. Every step is infinitely harder to make than the previous one. Moving forward is unbearable. Every facet of my being wishes to give in.

. ..::⋮⋮ 1795 ⋮⋮::.. .

CALAMITIES : FALL OF LAREH’THILLN Buckling under the unbearable weight of exfoliating reality, the Silver State followed in the footsteps of a world suffering a violent death. Melted by an otherworldly fire, Silver Peaks are no more… for now.

SIGHTSEEING : EYE OF MAN Little regard is held for anything beyond dull utility when it comes to stony bulwarks such as this abhorrent disaster. Twisting pathways, nonsensical flights of stairs and concealed catacombs. What does this place hide? Is it even wise to find out?

RESETTLEMENT : NO PLACE LIKE HOME Sometimes, a cold bunk, a prickly bush or a damp corner on some rotten deck is as good as one might require at the end of a long, eventful day. Other times, it’s as good as one can manage. The comfort and safety of a proper home are overrated anyway.

ENCOUNTERS : THE PUMPKIN RAID An impossible task it is to find a smile more genuine, more thorough, more dashing than that which is carved in the flesh of a vegetable helmet. They came to us, the grinning lot, and offered respite from our haggard, civilized masks. We… accepted.

HAPHAZARD DEPARTURE Short-lasting humans bustled, bickered, and partook in their abhorrently indignant mating rituals, but then… The steadfast vessel, brandishing vibrant sails, resurfaced over an unfamiliar horizon, making the apocalypse ever so less unbearable.

. ..::⋮⋮ XXXX ⋮⋮::.. .

NYRHEIM : FIRST ENTRY After being flung onto unfamiliar shores, we, wretched little things that we were, scattered around the virgin lands to claim whatever bounties nature would provide us with. An unexpected addition to our original party might’ve been a welcome surprise.

NYRHEIM : SECOND ENTRY Civilization’s burgeoning begins with banners and continues with liquors. Science is found far down the list. Charts do not make any sense, however they’re mapped. All these lines overlap, intertwine and… metamorphose? Is it merely a trick of the eye?

NYRHEIM : THIRD ENTRY Deeper we ventured, hacking away the dense, virgin shrubbery and tripping over an occasional root. We faced no natives to bargain with, no animals to hunt, no dangers to overcome. Only an expanse of land to inhabit, which we so indiscriminately did.

. ..::⋮⋮ 1796|0 ⋮⋮::.. .

RESETTLEMENT : A SHARED DUPLEX A bigger house but a smaller room – a lucrative deal when it means more doors between indiscreet burglars and whatever meager possessions they might try to confiscate. A localized bathroom was definitely a selling point. How come they are not mandatory?

A CLUE : AGGRESSIVE SIGNMAKER It was akin to a museum, an impressive array of showpieces, except this collection was of a more disturbing nature as if some lunatic had cracked his troubled psyche open, introducing the world and walls to whatever ghastly nonsense it concealed.

SIGHTSEEING : PROVIDENCE A testament to the unfathomable grandeur, irresponsible wastefulness and, frankly, hilarious overcompensation humans so indignantly exercise. Such a location was, naturally, designed to be gawked at, to be bragged about, but not to be lived in.

SIGHTSEEING : VARHELM A corpse-less, giant tree was surely a bit of a let-down from a tourist perspective, but oh well. Burning braziers provided enough decoration to induce delight. Unexpected northern hospitality did even more in that regard.

Overview
Rahar is a less prominently recognized mani among the Wood Elves than those such as Morea, Nemglann, or Amaethon. He is often revered as the patron of rebellion and power — worshipped by those who undermine authority and act on their own accord. While he is not rejected entirely as a mani, in the past it has led many wood elves to feel aversion towards him given what he is interpreted to represent in old elven history.

However, there are ancient tomes of yore that speak of different interpretations. Where some refer to him as the mani of resistance, instinct, and dominance, others may refer to him as the mani of courage, independence, and strength. Wood elves may pray to him if they are feeling afraid or weak, or even if they wish to become stronger as a person. Resistance, for those who tend to subvert leaders for the greater good. It is often a trait that is admired for one's willingness to think for themselves and act on free will. Instinct, for those who do what they feel is best deep down, with no regard from those who would coax them into doing otherwise. Finally, dominance, for the power and strength that is often an admirable trait among warriors  — both physical strength and mental vitality.

Additionally, Rahar, Kri'ki, Moccus and Morea have been noted to be collectively worshipped by Wood Elves in the past. Where Rahar is the god of vitality and dominance, Kri'ki is the god of armor and patience, while Moccus and Morea are the gods of war and battle. Rahar also finds fellowship with Kwakwani for her deceitful nature, which warriors may sometimes use to get the upper hand in battle, where others will lie and bend the truth to fool others. On the other hand, it is Kholibrii who Rahar feels disdain for. He tends not to favor those who squabble with the arts of every day life. 

Offerings: Orange lilies, blood, canines, weaponry of any type (though battle-axes and war-hammers are sometimes favored).

Ritual of Worship
The ritual calls for total darkness in any room, with the exception of a small bonfire. With this, the elf is to kneel before the fire and recite a prayer of their choice, or perhaps a muse of what they seek and desire  — perhaps it could be aid in overcoming a daunting task, or confidence for a confrontation. After, they will drop an orange lily into the flames, then strike a slit into their palm, letting the blood drip into the fire.

The fire is not to be put out by man made methods. Instead, the wood elf is to sit before the fire until it naturally burns out on its own. This may take several hours depending on what the fire is burning with. Should they leave before the fire dies out, the ritual will be rendered null, prayers and wishes left unheard by Rahar. Instead, such will deal them a great misfortune and hardship in their duty  — a great displeasure for abandoning the ritual too soon.
 

12th of the Amber Cold, 1793.

The union of Aegrothond-Siramenor, or Elvenesse colloquially, was once regarded as a great thing by our people. The homeland of all elves, a place to live in unity, peace, and fraternity. Until their crimes stained the roads black with blood. A village intended for peaceful and nomadic people to settle down after the Fall of Irrinor and the abdication of the High Prince Lyemar Aureon. However, this does not abstain the dual-state from their grave crimes against us. Time and time again we have outstretched our hand and offered peace; but not unlike a sore temptress in a brothel, the elves cling instead to their flagrant denial of any wrongdoing. So for the sake of clarity, we bring forth your crimes so that you may offer us penance for your libel, murders, and barbarity. 

Grievances: 

+ The slaughter of Abelas Caerme’onn, the King of the Dominion of Malin, who was slain by Atandt Irongrinder and Belestram Sylvaeri in a grievous act of regicide and kinslaying. Shortly thereafter, not even a century later you turn upon your own allies the Irehearts and refuse them the lives of their kin. In an act of barbarity, your own vassal cuts the dwarf Urist ireheart’s beard off and then guts him without trial.

+ When brought before a jury to decide whether or not there was wrongdoing, you rig the proceedings to allow Laetranis, the murderer, to live on unpenalized for this grievance against the Dwarven People.

+ The Siramenorites, as the true ruler of the Aegrothondi Nation, propagated libel insisting that the Azdrazi are servants of the Fallen Daemon Iblees. This is unsubstantiated by fact and spits in the face of the creeds of our hallowed order. In the midst of conflict against the otherworldly Inferi from the High Hells, you propagated this information and attempted to get the Firewatch Alliance to turn on us and do your dirty work. 

+ The Siramenorites, the true rulers of the Aegrothondi Nation, after purporting this libel attempted to collude with the piastdom of Farrador to assault wayward Azdrazi as influenced by their racial hatred. Farrador promised to deport their Paladins of Xan, and then reneged this agreement to instead work with them and plot against the Black Titan. 

In the past, one Abelas Caerme’onn II threatened Eluitholnear in the city of Aldemar, and attempted to challenge him to a duel. In response, Eluitholnear subjugated him with nery a scratch. An unprovoked attack made by the leader of the Siramenori militia against Eluitholnear. 

+ Elradir, a Herald of Eluitholnear, was assaulted and beset by foes in Siramenor when asking for water during a day of hardy travel on the roads near Sutica. In a cowardly act, they all ganged up on him and slew him. For this, we shall claim all you who walk down those roads again, and our retribution shall ring through your empty halls in the form of deafening silence. For every one of ours you slay; however few, we shall claim twenty of yours. 

+ In your act of smearing our hallowed Order and all that it entails you have enraged not only the primeval Black Titan to whom we owe our birthright; but you have evoked the ire of Thrictonoparic the Conqueror and his sworn brother Eluithonear the Inquisitor-Eternal of the Draconic Court. It is to our knowledge that when your people lose limbs you replace them with stone or wood. This pleases us for now we shall ensure that each and every one of you must find four replacements for your soon-to-be severed arms and legs. 

+ For the enslavement of the Siramenorian people and the persistence of your Royarchy in silencing opposition: in silencing contesting religions, in promoting barbarity and going against the common good, we shall offer the Elven Clans a simple message: You will apologize if you have wronged us or you will forfeit your weapons outright and refuse the call to fight. To those of House Sylvaeri, we shall hound you to the ends of the earth, the Line of Five shall end now. The Seven Songs shall sing again. Time for us is lengthy still, but to avoid the harsh realities of war you must now hide behind your walls. And should you ever step outside of your gnarled grotto, the cage of your ambition that has left you bereft of laurels and morals, we shall be waiting to cleave you in twine like the rabid beasts you are.

To our brothers and sisters throughout this world who are wronged. To the Irehearts, to all who seek to take up arms. There is no time greater than now. Avenge your brothers and sisters, and let us bring freedom, peace and fraternity to this realm henceforth. We shall sever the head of the snake together should recompense offered not be to our liking. Six of us killed twenty-five of you proud elvish warriors. As you tary in your keeps, in your fields, and on the roads six of us shall kill you still. Our army grows, do not tarry -- to us shall go the laurels of victory, the wrongs of the past shall be righted.

Signed,

The Hanged Man

Thrictonoparic

Mitnedronilr

Eluithonear

Ithirnaktar

Gudour

To the lost children of Velulaei

To unite the blood of Renelia

A hooded figure stood on the palace rooftops, his journey had come to an end. He was expecting a warm welcome, a new beginning. His kin were gone, and with them the promise of a safe haven for the ‘ker. He had spent many hours within the city, admiring its intricate stonework as well as the fungal overgrowth that began to take control of the ruins. Pale eyes filled with sorrow gazed over the rooftops of what was once known as Renelia. He did not come here without purpose, he would find his kin no matter what.

He seated himself, against one of the towers, the sign above its entryway reading the tower of Two Princes. A reference to a tale of Dark Elf folklore, or to distant relatives? There was only one way to find out, so the ‘ker retrieved a single piece of parchment from his bag, and began to write a letter.

To the blood of Renelia,

It pains me to see that our supposed home is left in ruins, as nature slowly takes back what our ancestors took from her. It is my hope I am not the only one left. As much as I am worried, I am also hopeful- we come from a strong line, you don’t need to look far into the past to realize such.

I hope this letter reaches you all, and if it does then please respond. I wish to meet you all, I will be setting up camp within the ruins of Renelia for the time being. Seek me out there or write a response, so that we may discuss the future of our Clan.

Be safe my kin, and may we meet eachother soon.

Velulaei y nae ilumeh

Signed,

Alyndel Velulaei’onn

“You are broken.”

The shadowed sentiment echoed in the rivers of his mind, the patchwork of streams that made up his shattered psyche. Then came the shrill cries of loved ones, long from this world and without form, a stark and painful silhouette of his past misdeeds, his lack of concern.

The parasite had plagued his soul from the day he was born – attributing to an astonishing lack of discernment. His torment had come at the hand of his father’s tormentor; he was naught but a pawn in their twisted game.

“Crumena..” The elder elf breathed, vocalizing his understanding to the shadow within. He sat up then, head in his hands as his mind whirred, scanning the history known to him. Years of shadowy deceit, cruel manipulations, and the overbearing patriarchs. The Spider, Kalameet; His dark appendages had woven the groundwork for a shadow Empire; long since disappeared. The Mentor, Adorellan; He had pushed his ideals on the young elf in days of yore. The Reformer, Lorien;  The elf whose cunning brought upon a new era, to which this elder had wanted no part.

Their cruelty was unmatched to that of the Archmage turned Paladin, who cursed him so many years ago. Caedwen’s focus centered on his perception of his Shade forefather. This tainted image had warped and deviated from what he knew to be true. However, he expressed no doubts concerning the veracity of the figure. Though reformed, Ilwindior was the real monster of his past, the author of this gloomy tale.

“The Shadows will betray you because they serve me.” The firstborn Camoryn spoke, drifting to the mouth of the cave, he’d taken his overlong refuge. The abyssal orbs of his countenance were cast out over the expanse of mountains surrounding his home; he carried molten eyes and a smile made for war. “He will crush you.” The voice in his head berated, echoing out its opposition. “His enemies remain, and we will find them.” Rang back the son of Artimec, as he moved for the bag of his belongings - a dulled elven blade, and a dark gem, long past its prime and stagnant. At long last, the ancient one set out, a growing pond of stygian mist encompassing his lithe and withered form. A new era was on the horizon, the very same which he trudged towards; his frame was withered, weakened, but he would rally those of worth and bring an end to the reign of light.

“I’m coming for you.” Shouted the elf defiantly, his obsidian gaze fixated on the night’s sky. His head fell, at which time he sputtered out a mist of blood. “I-I’ll be ready for you.” The Father groaned, disappearing into the barren night.

New Elven is based off of Ancient Elven but has been developed and spoken shortly after the fall of Aegis. The Language was used almost exclusively by the Tos’Mali, and has only recently come to mix in with the language as the Tos’Mali move from their home to Arcas.

THIS IS A WORK IN PROGRESS! And will be updated frequently. If you have a word, either from the old post or one that’s not here - comment it and I’ll add it! Note: C & Z words are not in this modified Elven

ELVEN SUFFIXES

Plural / Superlative / More / Intensity
-aan suf. many, high, large, big, high
-ala / -la suf plural, many, large number
-el suf. more (Usually only used adjectives). Also used to create 'st' nouns with numbers. Also used to indicate intensity. 
-en suf. many, plural, multiple
-is suf. unknown number, plural, intense, more, most, forever, similar to the english 'innumberale.' It is a number so high that it is not worth counting. It is not, however, infinite, in the same manner that uth would be. I.e. Belannar / Bellanar = many years. Belannaris / Bellanaris = eternity. 

Possessives

-an suf. possessive modifier for nouns ending in s, l, y, d, and t. Plural is -aan
-es suf. possessive modifier for nouns ending in consonants except s, l, d, and t.  plural is -esan
-re suf. possessive modifier for nouns ending in vowels except for y. plural is ren
Creating Nouns
-athe suf. Creates nouns from other nouns, adverbs or adjectives meaning the physical manifestation of, or the people/places/things embodying the idea. I.e. Dead from adjective dead, the noun living from life. Fearful as a noun from fearful the adjective, or fear the noun. Sometimes used to create adverbs/adjectives
-elan suf. added to a noun or verb to create an agent noun. i.e. dhrua (to believe) + elan = druelan (believer)
-os suf. a suffix that creates an abstract noun from adjectives and participles, denoting quality and state. similar to the english suffix -ness
-sh / -sha suf. suffix creating a physical or abstract noun meaning the product or noun variation of a verb
-the suf. added to verbs to create a noun meaning the action of the verb (I.e. comparison, rejection).
-un suf. creates a noun from a verb or adjective meaning the physical manifestation of, or having the quality of

Creating Adjectives/Adverbs

-ast / -st suf. creates adjectives/adverbs from nouns, verbs or other adjectives meaning 'characterized by or inclined to' also used to create nouns meaning 'the action of,' with verbs that already end in th
-ne suf. a suffix used to create an adjective/adverb from a noun meaning "Similar to or representative of."
-or suf. suffix similar to 'ish' in english. meaning 'belonging to' 'after the manner of,' 'having the characteristics of,' like,' or 'inclined or tending to.' 
-sha / -asha suf. suffix creating adjectives/adverbs from nouns, verbs or adjectives meaning 'characterized by or inclined to'

Diminutives

-lin suf. diminutive suffix, used exclusively with a non-person, i.e. animals and objects. 
-ain suf. diminutive suffix meaning a child version, or childlike, or a cute something. 
-u suf. short, small, singular, lonely, isolated, lonesome, empty
-udh suf. diminutive suffix, meaning small, cute, pretty or feminine. Similar to the french -ette. 

ELVEN NUMBERS
Sa ar. one
Ta ar. two
Tan ar. three
Ny ar. four
Va ar. five
No ar. six
Noa ar. seven
Han ar. eight
Uan ar. nine
Asan ar. ten
Asan'sa ar. eleven
Asan'ta ar. twelve
Asan'tan ar. thirteen
Asan'ny ar. fourteen
Asan'va ar. fifteen
Asan'no ar. sixteen
Asan'noa ar. seventeen
Asan'han ar. eighteen
Asan'uan ar. nineteen
Alan ar. twenty
Atan ar. thirty
Anan ar. fourty
Avan ar. fifty
Aloan ar. sixty
Anoan ar. seventy
Ahan ar. eighty
Anuan ar. ninety
Salan ar. one hundred
Talan ar. two hundred
Tanlan ar. three hundred
Nylan ar. four hundred
Valan ar. five hundred
Nolan ar. six hundred
Noalan ar. seven hundred
Halan ar. eight hundred
Ualan ar. nine hundred
Alan'en ar. one thousand
Alan'el ar. one hundred thousand
Alan'en'el  ar. one million

A

B
 

D

E
 

F

G
 

H

I

J

L

M

N

O

P

R

S

T

U

V

Y

Credits: Most of the words and work here was done by Fenxshiral, I just took the words - added and removed some, and changed the sentence structure a bit. This is a WIP and will have more words added as they are needed. Now with no words correlating to the dirty – which is kinda sad, I wanted to see some wicked insults.

NOTE: I was a co-writer on this project with Fenxshiral like... five-six years ago. I credit them most of the work, but I was apart of the Project and am only now LOTC-ifying it. I don’t care if you use, hell you can refuse to! But please don't talk **** just to talk. I will be adding more to flesh out the language, as it will be used primarily by an Elven Sub-Culture I’m working on.

“Freedom, at last” breathed a particularly average Mali as he exited the tall silver scapes of Haelun’or. For the past months or perhaps years he had been lost wondering inside the city as he tried to make friends with those who lived inside; however ultimately once more an anxiety manifested and forced his departure to yet another land for the time. He was never a stationary kind and that caused a lot of sudden coming and going to wherever the road led him. This time in specific it took him deep out into the unclaimed lands not too far from the wildlands where he mulled about for a time and as he walked he soon realized that he was far gone from the world and in fact he was lost. It was not long before he decided that his only true option was to stay a night and find a place to sleep- a place to relax for now. With this on his mind he gently tied a blindfold around his eyes and searched only for a short time before finding a comforting tree to which he leaned against and quietly calmed his mind.

Sleep was often a commodity not granted to those with the ability to see past the norm and for once he felt as though he had been granted such only by the will of fate. A peaceful slumber overtook him at first although soon what he assumed would be a nightmarish hell overtook him. His typical dreams were skewed and wretched, things only the most insane of men would dream on but to him they were visions of what to come or perhaps what had already arrived. On this particular night a dream unlike any other manifested, one so unlike a dream for it was as if he drifted aimlessly through a reality far from his own. Suddenly it was as if a third sense had opened as in this scope of dreams his eyes suddenly shot wide and with it came the start of a new reality.
 

Infinite and yet at the same time impossible images shot by as he was pulled through dozens of different scenes. The first was burned into his mind and it was as though a million vastly tall trees all warped and bent around into a seemingly endless tunnel and soon the trees warped and twisted into gnarled lines only hardly existent but at the same time so apparent. Impossible geometry and shapes warped across his vision as he was sucked through what seemed to be the circular but endless depths of his mind. Then began more and more confusing appearances and facades that opened his eyes more and more as his hasty and unwilling venture continued. Faster and faster did he move before suddenly it was as though he moved rather too fast to understand the details anymore or as if he had come to a total standstill; regardless of those movements he saw what can only be described as a single eye amongst a million different stars. 

The scene and the orb were so familiar yet totally unknown to the blind soothsayer and as if he was instructed to he reached out his arms and from the heavens above him descended an impossibly shaped and strew object ridden with fractals of warped light and rays of twisted energy. It was as though it was a piece of the pure abyss, a piece of something that hardly an ability to exist. It was only for a moment that in his confusion he glanced up once more to the entity impossibly familiar but at the same time fully unknown and within that last moment wherein his own orbs made visual contact with the massive entity did he suddenly appear in the realm of living once more. Instead of crossed arms as he had originally positioned himself, there was now a dark spherical mass that warped and churned at the air around it. 

“Then it seems that a paradox manifests.” The man whispered to himself as he looked up and saw the sun on the horizon. 

|| IN THE PRESENCE OF SPECTRES ||

”Lo’ return the age of Lutaumen, conduits to Kor. Purge of the remnants to the Soul Stream, that shall be the law.”

              EAR HERE, LO’ DESCENDANTS AND BRETHREN IN ARMS, AND LET IT BE KNOWN GHOSTLY APPARITIONS OF ALL ILK,

AND DIFFERING IRE HAVE SPAWNED WITHIN THE HEART OF OUR REALM. THEY HAVE TOO LONG TAKEN TO A TRIFLING WITH

THOSE UNDESERVING OF THEIR UNBEKNOWNST TOYING WITH.

             ROTHERS AND SISTERS IN HOREN, MALIN, KRUG, AND URGUAN, OF ALL IRE, REJOICE IN THE NAME OF KOR; SERVE

CONDUITS TO HIMSELF, ALONG WITH THOSE OF MY OWN, AND SO SHALL WE PURGE THE SCOURGE WHOM HAVE LEFT THE

SOUL STREAM WITHOUT HIS OWN FAVOUR, THE SPIRIT OF PERISH.

Dominus to His Rexdom, Ugrad Lur,

Grishnaakh’Raguk.

Lûp’Izgul, Afar Izgul.

Malin’s Call of Unity

Brother and sister Mali, once again we find ourselves at the crossroads of destiny and destruction. Amongst the last few decades we have seen many of our nations fall and few and far in between to rise and take its place. First the lands of Irrinor, and now the Renelian Hegemony have fallen victim to the splintering of our people that we have grown so used to within our hearts. Even within the bay of Aegrothond, the citadel has fallen to the decay of the salt laden breeze of the sea, only being supported by the woodland realm of Siramenor as its vassal.

And to only glance once to the south of Aegrothond do we see the true threat to not only the extinction of our people, but the races of this world and the places that we have come to call home on this continent we named Arcas. The growing hordes of demonic forces train ruthlessly to bring their blades down upon the necks and soul of our people. And yet we seem to falter and fall from rising to the occasion of quelling such a threat.  But this is merely a symptom of a greater illness within our communities.

The pain of our splintered people has been felt time and time again throughout the annals of history. Within our minds, we often tell ourselves and our individual peoples that the best for us is to develop as separate societies of Mali; however what history has proven to us is that through such course of action we put our individual communities above the greater whole of Elfdom. Because of this train of thought, we allow our brothers of other subraces to fall in decline from what their original dreams were for their people, when all along it was our duty to uplift each other and help the progression and development of each of our individual and separate cultures.

So I call forth to you, my brothers and sisters. The necessary urge of unity and fraternity arises in such times as these, with the hordes of Inferi to our south and the internal division that we feel. For in peace we find our egos grow amongst ourselves and our respected cultures… however in times of tribulation we find that the best hand that we are dealt is the one in which we stand together in unity and communion amongst one another. Such is the way it once was, and such is the way it is once again necessary to be.

Together once again, we shall dance amongst each other on the beaches, in the caves, and throughout the forests.

In Malin’s name, my kin, we rise again… stronger than before.

-Yours truly, Cyrus, the Mali’ker in humble service to the united mali people

[!] A self-made oilpainting by Rha’kir, illustrating the Inferi battling his scouting team, preventing them entrance to Korvassa

-The Scorned Blockade-

A scouting report written by Rha’kir

It is to this one’s dismay that he will have to deliver mostly bad news in regards to the Inferi.  Two Elven days ago, this one organized a scout team to enter the Korvassa. We were with a total of  5 members, whom this one will list. Brave warriors, each one of them.

-Lorelei Miravaris

-Lenora jusmia

-Qudlia Jusmia

-Twilight Qua’Req

-Rha’kir Therkul-Morthawl

Our group  gathered at the gates of Sutica, where we discussed tactics and the plan. The plan was simple, at first. We would cross the bridge connecting Korvassa and the mainland. We would move over to set up camp and scout whatever was left of the old city of Thyra. We assumed the rubble and ruins would be perfect to take cover at. We expected to find information within the rubble. We  speculated that the ground could be perfect for certain defenses to secure the bridge, considering it is a direct but fragile line that connects both us and the Inferi.

“We were wrong”

As we traveled onward and crossed the bridge to Korvassa, we quickly found what this one has decided to call The Scorned Blockade. When we arrived, we quickly found a large wall complete with working gate to be set up, blocking entrance from the bridge. The wall did not stretch much in length but trying to jump in the water and walk around it would not have been an option. There were  A few dozen Inferi Troops  lined up behind the wall. If we had attempted to walk around, they would have just impaled us the second we tried to climb upon the  shore.

Upon arrival, we also encountered a large Olog who tagged along for the ride.  There was no way around and we did not give up. Our shaman, Qudlia Jusmia protectetd by Lenora, proceeded to summon a large Earth Elemental to aid us with lifting the gate. Unfortunately, this one never got the Olog’s name but he helped us try and lift the gate.  In the end,  The Inferi themselves lifted the gate to challenge us head on. We were exposed like this and their archers took the opportunity to shoot us down, yet we were lucky with the Earth Elemental ‘s arms around us. Though, that was not the largest problem. These Winged Inferi flew above our heads. They continued to lay a barrage of fallen debris over us. This one does not know where they got those pieces of rock precisely but the debris could have come from Thyra.

Unfortunately, we never made it to the ruins of Thyra. The many Inferi guarding The Scorned Blockade proved too much for our scouting team, even with an Olog and the Earth Elemental.  We had to retreat after having fought only a fraction of the troops present. Even with Lorelei and Twilight fighting the troops left and right to keep them at bay.  However, we did not leave empty handed.  The Inferi were commanded by what we assumed to be their Captain. We took his life and his head before the Earth Elemental gave in and exploded, clearing a way for us to depart quickly.

[!] A crudely drawn sketch is illustrated here. It depicts the journey the scouting team were intending to make.

Now, this is what this report will conclude to.

The Inferi are aware of the bridge connecting us with them and have blocked it off accordingly. This is a dire problem and most will not see why. The option of taking a ship to cross the waters is risk on itself due to these Winged Inferi and the rumors of the Naval Inferi.  The Winged Inferi on their own could  make a ship sink if they do enough damage. The rumors of Naval Inferi have yet to be confirmed by this one, though it would not be a surprise if it turns out true. Our only somewhat safe passage to Korvassa has been blocked off by  the heavily guarded Scorned Blockade.

There is no  secure direct line of connection to Korvassa as of now. 

-Report written by Rha’kir Therkul-Morthawl

[!] The Kha would then proceed to make many copies of this document with the help of his fellow Kharajyr. The group of Kha would then freely distribute the documents through every city on Arcas, either by giving it out by hand or by bird to keep the population of Arcas updated in a transparent way.

Tyranny

Time had been cruel, a tainted repetition of sorrow that the elfess found impossible to shoulder. It wracked her stature akin to a serpent, constricting the precious air from her burnt lungs. Days had turned to months and Vyasaldris lost track of it all, buried beneath her moments of grief; spent kneeling at her son’s resting place. 

A warped coldness rendered her tanned complexion, pale. The woman looked starved, opting to prioritize her woe; for such is all that felt natural. She had lost many friends, family and love. The capricious attachment to those around her dwindled, leaving behind a mere sense of duty. An importance to uphold all that the banner of Farro represented, for such meaning was unchanging unlike all those she had found to adore. 

Thus, she began to pen and sob. Cementing the inevitable history that was to come, through ink and parchment. 

[!] A large array of letters were left pinned to public notice boards throughout Arcas, namely all the nations and settlements inhabited.

A time of survival has befallen us, 

The descendants sit at the verge of an entire extinction, the southern lands of Korvassa having already fallen to the malicious grasps of the inferni and now their forces merely seek to move onward. Until there is not a living soul in sight, trampling upon our corpses as if nothing but meaningless twigs littering the forest floors. Many have already fallen, many more will surely follow. 

It is of descendant nature to fear, it is what makes us mortal; living. Yet we must protect our dismay, for those that seek our fall weaponize it for their gain. What makes us vulnerable, they will manipulate. Namely The Titan, those that express their fear he latches upon; moulding it with fanatical fantasies of protection and hope. Though with him, hope fails to flourish. 

Those that have accepted his bottomless promises are the most fearful of us all, we mustn't blame them or punish them for striving for anything to merely survive. For it is what any of us would do, an infectious instinct that comforts a weary soul. 

However during these darkening eves, we must remember what foes we are truly standing against. The oppressors of inferni, that Azdromoth romantacises with. For the yearning of acceptance drives him, as he will never be upheld as greatly as the GODS. This yearning will drive him to utter madness, the illusion of a united civilization that solely worships him; will be the only promise he shall fulfill to any of us. To achieve this, first he must wipe clean the slate; remove the traces of the four brothers and instead erect his own creation that fits his definition of perfect.

When word mentioned Azdromoth being set free from the influence of Iblees, it was never truly complete. For we still see the affiliations he keeps withdrawn, swept under a rug of theatrical commentary and vagueness. He has made no efforts against the threats of Inferni, not once pursued in defence of the southern desserts and will not protect any of us from what horrors are to accompany the loss. I would be more inclined to hold an ounce of belief in his promises of safeguarding if any efforts had been made, yet I still sit in anticipation.

Now we must stand united, for in this war there has never been a singular side; the inferni have many allies and The Titan stands as one of them. Prepared to do what it takes in ensuring he gains our realm. Those of you that scoff or question the validity of my claims, seek answers for yourself; yet do so with diligence for the Titan lacks the patience with those that ask logical questions and will rid those he deems as pests.

Azdromoth stands as no saint, nor deserves the opportunity to be revered as a GOD. The beast will merely remain as a coward, wrapped in tethers of greed and lust for credibility. For those that upholds worship in his name, choose to kill innocent lives of descendant, druii and paladins in the name of the Titan. Murder for favour. 

Thus, to those that still have a fight left within them, to those that can muster the energy to survive. I implore you to polish your steel and fight a battle that might well be your last. Though one that will protect the living, to sacrifice so that those whom come after us might live another day and praise our valiant battle. Remembering the day the descendants refused to be shackled.

To another day,

Ducem Corvus of the Orrir’Ullral

Together Again

Only Ash Remains

The sheets under him were soft and comfortable, though the pillow supporting his head was a bit damp. His eyes cracked open in the bright light of the room, squinting as his head turned. A taller man sat at his bedside, deeper voice greeting him,”Morning, Ailmar. You get enough sleep yet?” His brother asked, and Ailmar tugged at the bindings around his limbs. “Would be easier if you took these off.” He grumbled drowsily, voice low and throat dry.

“You know I can’t do that. You were down in that cave a while, you know. The doctors-“

“The doctors cured me. Cut out big chunks of me to do it… I’m fine, Aroen. I’ll b fine. And I’m ready to get out of this damned bed.” He cut his older brother off, head turning from the candle across the room. “It’s not too late to get Renelia back together. With the two of us leading, nothing can stop us.”

“I’ll talk to them about it when I get the chance. Though ti, we’ll need to deal with that girl and get the family back together. Lunela, Deldrach, maybe even Aya. Haelun. The good ones, at least. Rabid dogs… What an assassination attempt.” A grin formed on his brother’s face, and Ailmar swatted in his general direction. Stopped by the sweat dampened bindings. “The Velulaei’onn brothers are back together again. Nothing can stop us!” Ailmar’s grin widened.

The door creaked open, and the two men looked toward it.

The doctor opened the door, and looked down at the struggling ex Archon with a frown. Drool soaked his pillow, and blood dripped from his wrists and ankles from his wild thrashing. Even in the dim room, the robe clad woman could clearly see Ailmar’s bloodshot gaze locked on her. Lips peeled back in a furious snarl. The muscle around the bites had been cut away- but it had been too little, too late.

“Good morning, Ailmar. We found your sons, last night. They said they’d be here by noon.” She got a growl and weak grunt in return, going to set her metal tray on the empty chair beside him. It held a syringe and two small jars, blissfoil and tippen’s root. She picked up the syringe in her gloved hands, beginning to fill it with the tippen’s root. “This should help you feel a bit better, llir. Just try to relax. I’ll put the blissfoil on your neck here.”

All she got in response was mindless snarls and teeth snapping at nothing.

The door opened again, a familiar face once again standing there. “Mal’onn, the doctors said you were ready to go home.” With relative ease the former Archon stood up, and followed along with his brother. The twin Archons, former Mortal Kings and brothers, were finally together again.

Event Time: This Saturday at 3:00 p.m. EST/ 7:00 p.m. GMT

Location: Island behind Siramenor

Type: PvP single duels and a free-for-all melee

Details: Free entry. Leather armor, shield and wooden swords provided.

Restrictions: Elf contestants only. Exception for any non-elf race who receives permission from any Elf leader and provides proof of permission via a signed book or screenshot. 

Single Duels Reward: 1000 minas, a trophy, and one other secret reward to be named on the tournament day

Melee Reward: 250 minas

Sign Up: Send a letter with your entry in a box located on the island (OOC: Use this thread) 

Brothers and sisters, the wild anguishes in pain. The personal and communal harmony with nature upon which our way of life is founded upon is threatened to its very core. A blackened maw opens up in the desert, pouring disease, malflame and the cold, impassionate obsidian blades of war from its foul jaws. The Elves of Siramenor have woven ironwood into our hearts, we are resolved to fight until the last tribe falls against the Inferis of the desert, but spears and arrows alone will not bring us salvation. 

Brothers and sisters, it is time to invoke the fury of the wild. It is time to act upon the prayers and the precepts of the elnarnsae’ame, by which we have lived since the time before Malin. I call upon us to summon the ancient spirits of the forest. Let us bring down upon our blighted foe the chaos, the cruelty, and the cold, impassionate hand of the Children of Cernunnos. The Mani of War. 

I call upon all the Green Priests of the Mali’ame. I call upon every wise druid across the Irrinite Glade to the Savannah of the Talus Grove. Let us convene, let us draw council on how to draw the attention of the Gods. Nature is in anguish, brothers and sisters, and it is time her guardians rise with fang, tusk, and claw.

Hiylu’evar,

Priest of the Coyote

@
 

-

A pale mali’aheral woman stood in front of an old chipped  and dusty mirror, her golden eyes lacking any emotion; she simply stared examining her reflection. The room around her was dim, only lit by the large cathedral style candles that sat aflame in the corners of the room, coating the floor in a thick layer of wax as they burned away. The woman took in a short breath, eyes tucking shut for a moment, her hands lifting upwards to slowly release her silver hair from the uniform braid it was typically kept within. Her hair fell around her shoulders as her eyes slowly opened, staring into the mirror once more.

Her hand slipped downwards to grasp at the knife that rested sheathed upon her hip. Her eyes looked over her face as her free hand wrapped around the bottom section of her hair, with a movement she placed the edge of the knife against the bundled locks, slicing away the new growth with a grunt, strands of silver falling to the ground. As she lowered the knife away from her freshly cut hair, she smirked.. Glancing down to her hand to witness a crimson ichor dripping from the new cut. She’d stare down at the bloody liquid, frowning softly as she concentrated.. After a second, she took in an angered breath, swinging her hand outwards towards the mirror, which caused droplets of blood to splattered forth onto the eroded glass.

The golden eyed woman sighed tenderly, dipping her fingers into the satchel that sat upon the floor, only to withdraw a small tin can. Her eyes lifted to the mirror image once again, while her hands began to remove the lid of the tin container, after which they dipped down into it, a red paste coating her fingers. She paused, staring at the image before scowling, her hands quickly moving upwards to slather the red paste over her silver locks, as she did so her scowl faded away, making room for a wicked smirk to plaster over the woman's face. She released a chuckle as she stared at the mirror image.  She stared, smiling… watching her reflection, her fingers slipped within her robes, taking out a pack of cigarettes which she quickly opened and withdrew one, placing it between her lips. She’d huff softly as she lifted a finger to the tip of the cigarette, a cherry flame springing to life and setting the cigarette aflame.

As time passed on, the woman simply smoked her cigarette, her gaze remaining upon the old antique mirror. A pail of water sat by her feet, and soon she leaned over and dipped her fingers within the water, scooping it up and beginning the process of washing the red paste from her hair, revealing that the once silver locks had now been dyed a dark crimson color.

The woman stepped closer to the mirror, drawing her cigarette forwards to extinguish it upon the glass. “She’s back.” The woman murmured quietly, turning off with a quick spin.. “The Red Lady..”

I know a lot of the grammar etc. is incorrect but you know, incomplete language, gaps need to be filled. Most of them actually have a rhyme scheme so I'm pretty proud of that. And I tried to make at least one for each sub race. Here you go:

When Malin Walked the Forests

Malin elamean narn ito elker’ante

Elvish:

 

Ito cruan igne’sae

Ito cruan toh’sae

Ito cruan miar’sae

Malin elamean narn ito elker’ante

 

Lenan kerante len’sae

Noran kerante nor’sae

Malii ito linan’sae

Malin elamean narn ito elker’ante

 

Lye andria adont ito

Lye llum adont ito

Lye vira’n adont ito

Lye elkarin’ento adont  Malin narn elamean marn’oem

Common:

There was no war

There was no razing

There was no harming

When Malin walked the forests

 

Songs were sung

Lands were farmed

Elves within towns

When Malin walked the forests

 

We wait with hope

We wait with mourning

We wait with vigilance

We wait for the time when Malin walks the forests once more

War Seeker (Dark Elven Song of War)

Igne’sae Uhierir

Elvish:

 

Div’cruan

Div’wyn

Div’san

Div’lirrin

 

El’tos’narn lye adil tuva

El’tos’narn el’igne’sae uhierir

El’tos’narn lye adil tuva

El’tos’narn el’igne’sae uhierir

 

Miyumier berr

Miyumier sil

Miyumier ker

Miyumier ihnsil

 

El’tos’narn lye adil tuva

El’tos’narn el’igne’sae uhierir

El’tos’narn lye adil tuva

El’tos’narn el’igne’sae uhierir

 

Chul igne’sae

Chul evar

Chul miar’sae

Chul okar

 

Lye igne’sae uhieriran

Common:

Devoid of pain

Devoid of happiness

Devoid of speaking

Devoid of smiles

 

This is the way we want all

This is the way of the war seeker

This is the way we need all

The way of the war seeker

 

Carry bow

Carry sword

Carry dark

Carry spear

 

This is the way we want all

This is the way of the war seeker

This is the way we need all

The way of the war seeker

 

Must war

Must protect

Must harm

Must safeguard

 

We war seekers

Melody of Sleep

Ciw Lenniel

An Elven lullaby often sung to get young children to sleep.

Elvish:

Narn ito ciw kae Malii’leh

Narn ito ciw kae Malii’leh

 

El’asul karinah marn’oem

Narn ito ciw kae Malii’leh

 

Ker ito par’karinah

Narn ito ciw kae Malii’leh

 

Ciw’sulier hileia’ehya wyn

Ciw’sulier ayla’marn lye

 

Ciw Malii

Common:

Go to sleep my child

Go to sleep my child

 

The sun will rise again

Go to sleep my child

 

Dark is here before sunrise

Go to sleep my child

 

Dream of peace and happiness

Dream of a better world

 

Sleep child

Wood Elf Song of War

Mali'ame Len Igne'sae

Elvish:

Sil’saneyr ito tuva nae ayilu!

Ito el’amean!

Sil’saneyr ito tuva nae ayilu!

Ito el’tosan

 

Van’ayla ito nae’leh hae

Van’ayla ito nae’leh Maliian

Van’ayla ito nae’leh akaleh

Van’ayla ito nae’leh linan

 

Sil’saneyr ito tuva nae ayilu!

Ito el’fennan

Sil’saneyr ito tuva nae ayilu!

Ito el’nor’wehn

 

Sil’saneyr ito tuva nae ayilu!

Sil’saneyr ito tuva nae ayilu!

Sil’saneyr ito tuva nae ayilu!

Common:

Fight for all you love!

Within the forests!

Fight for all you love!

Within the deserts!

 

Goodbye to your wife

Goodbye to your children

Goodbye to your wealth

Goodbye to your houses

 

Fight for all you love!

Within the ice!

Fight for all you love!

Within the grassland!

 

Fight for all you love!

Fight for all you love!

Fight for all you love!

Silver Leaders

Sohaeran'thilln

A High Elven song that is more of a recitation. It is expected that all young High Elf children learn this song, which tells the metaphorical history of the Aheran leadership. 

Elvish:

El’Ibar narn’acaele, oem Sohaer

El’wehn’fihir’lentos fih el’vilut’fihir’akal

El’Ibar narn ito el’tos’fihirii

 

El’tos’fihirii narn ito el’acaele’narnirii

El’acaele’narnirii narn ito el’acaele’narnir’ibar

El’acaele’narnir’ibar narn ito el’acaele’narnirii’fiyem

 

El’acaele’narnirii iller acaele’narn ito el’acaele’narnirii’ata

El’acaele’narnirii’ata kina’fih ito el’acaele’narnirii

El’acaele’narnirii cihn ito el’ame’narnir’thilln

Common:

The owl rose, first Leader

The deer devoured the lion

The owl left for the worm

 

The worm left for the butterfly

The butterfly left for the swan

The swan left for the butterfly reborn

 

The butterfly gave rise to the moth

The moth was devoured by the butterfly

The butterfly yields to the lynx

Song to the Forest

Len Ito El'Ame

A Wood Elven song professing the love of their race for the forests.

Elvish:

O! Ame, taynei!

Nae okar lye ito aelor!

O! Vallel vallei!

Narn el’nor!

 

Marn’ceru thilln!

Marn’ceru thulin’ayal!

Marn’ceru thulin’barbu!

El’ame ito marn’ceru tuva!

Common:

O! Forest, green!

You guard us from evil!

O! Blue river!

Travel through the land!

 

More strong than silver!

More strong than bronze!

More strong than onyx!

The forest is stronger than all!

The Lover is a Wanderer (All credit to Gaius)

El Ayilun Avern

A song composed by Durandir Thill'onn: Len el-Hiylu :: Songs of the Spirited

Elvish:

Dil'an ito narn'eyae

Heialer ohn vallei

Ehya kae sulier'ne kae tali'taynuel

Av'illern!

 

 

Kae ehiere el'taliyu'leh ay dil ay nae

Ehya ehiere siol'leh iyul'ehya kae nae'onn

El'kaeleh ma'tahu

Hae ehiere iyul parithe'ante il'hae

Sanere tal'hae ohn sanere tal'kae

 

Irrin luci'terhalan, indor'len, nor'saen taynei

Nae! Kae! Lye taynuelan omentae okarn ehier'ante

Chulane saner, taynuelan ito suliian

Valleier iyl'acaln'seth, karim narn'acaelen

Common:

Desires have their travel

Circulates like water

but I can't see your part of my vitality/heart

[The heart!] Given to wander!

 

I search the secret of my heart for desire for you

but I find only myself and that I am you

and the spirit higher

She finds that I am raptured in her

She speaks of herself like she speaks as part of me

 

 

A flask of wine, a book of verse, a wild field

You, me, our hearts entwined, paradise revealed

No need to speak, our hearts are in our eyes.

Drink deep this treasure of oblivion, the moment is flying

“Elves of the Southern Chains” by ChangingHand on DeviantArt

Summary 

Nominally, there are a number of clans under the Alderfolk umbrella, all hailing from descendants of Lathadlen’s Revolt in Malins Kingdom. The pureblooded Ithelanens are descended from the Lord Ithel’an Lathadlen, who rebelled against Malin in days of yore and forbade his clan from assisting in the cumulative wars against the Hou-zi and Azdrazi in the years following the Foundation of the First Kingdom. However, Lathadlen was brought before Malin and executed. This began a tumultuous revolt, resulting in the expulsion of the Ithelanens to the Alderwoods, where they first congregated and kept their clan alive. In the modern era, the Ithelanens rejoined their Irrinite cousins during the reformation of the Dominion of Malin in Atlas, but now they are a far-flung Wood Elven people amidst a diaspora. Many live in small communities, though some have taken to living as imperial subjects in The Pale. 

Historical Chapters

The sigil of the Gladewynn Tribe by Numirya

(For the sake of brevity, this is very condensed. If you wish to learn more you can post a question on this thread or interact with Alderfolk in role-play. Furthermore, many of the historical tidbits on here are well-known, but I ask that you do not meta-game our cultural practices that are at the bottom of this thread. Thank you! 😄) 

Foundation of the First Kingdom

As the First Kingdom was formed by Malin and Taynei’Hiylu, an elf by the name of Ithel’an Lathadlen rises and lords over his own tribe and several smaller ones subjugate beneath his banner. Refusing to sally his people for war alongside King Malin, he and his subjects were exiled and founded their own sacred grove in the Alderwoods, a far off forested island by the furthest reaches of the continent.

Lathadlens Revolt

Eventually, Lathadlen would be recalled to the capital to stand trial -- and upon arriving he was executed for treachery against the crown. Furious, the Ithelanens, now dubbed “Alderfolk” due to their deciduous home, severed themselves from the outside world and slew any foreigners who entered their woodland realm. Upon the destruction of Aegis, they relocated to Asulon and remained an obscure and far-flung people amidst every successive diaspora in Elven History. Nomadic, they would wander from settlement to settlement and live among refugees or for a time establish their own groves and communes in which to live on the run for centuries. During this time the clan was presided over by Din'an and Har’el, who kept their people secretive and far away from the reaches of the Malinite elves for the years to come. The two clan brothers were the twin sons of Fang-and-Fury, and vowed to preserve the strength of Elvenkind, forming a pact with the Twin Gods of War, Morea and Moccus, prince of wolves and boars respectively.

Malinor

Some Ithelanens settled in Malinor before the conquest of the capital of Luminaire by Emperor Horen V. As the city burned, they gathered by a rock -- an old burial site for their kindred known as ‘The Great Cairn’ and renamed it the Aldersrock in honor of the fallen who died in the siege. Escaping the remnants of the refugee camps and Wood Elves to form their own enclave, the Alderfolk who survived formed a settlement known as Gladewynn, from where the families Torena, Vanethelan, and Corrin hail-- as they were three of the original Seven Clans that survived the Fall of Malinor. As recounted by the Scribe Arcann Vanethelan:
 

The Wardens were said to be a once powerful army. Brought from the plentiful lands of Elvenesse, they drew the collected strength of a united Elvenkind: boundless and terrifying. In those days that Malin walked the earth, Elvenesse was pure and true to their purpose. They, noble as their racial cousins. But those days are no longer. Cursed is that Demon’s tongue, who is called Iblees: by his words, Elvenkind’s light fades.

Sewn into Mali culture was the excess of life. The elder elves were buried far into the droves of forests and wildlands, enjoying respite from churning tides of war that engulfed the rest of the world. They spread far and wide from Malinor, drawing from the earth druidic powers to amplify nature’s bounty. They drunk evermore on the lust and comfort their lengthy lives afforded. The elder elves sat, fattened, and weakened. What was a proud bastion of the Wildlands sunk into pits of depravity. The Great Tragedy loomed as a hidden beast; each act of wanton ardor and surplus fed the unconscious nightmare stirring beneath

In these days, the power of Humanity was nascent. Yet it was clear the strength of Horen and his sons grew. Soon, their ever expanding eye turned to the sleeping state of Malinor. Rich, old lands ripe for the bounty; wicked elves bound for the cross.

Purple and coal banners, the Black Dragon, the White Rose.

Armies forward, the cross alight, the Crusade set.

Forests afire, wails, woes.

The Sack of Malinor had begun.

A black drudge settled above the sky, blotting what perfect blue hung above. Smoke billowed from the Eternal Trees of Old Malinor; screams of doomed souls to sing amongst burning embers. All along the carnage lay the banner of the Black Dragon, that who smote the elf high. An Imperial presence hung there for it's first and it's last: decimation followed the Black Dragon, and none remained. No secret or ancient wisdom was saved reprieve from those consuming fires. Butchery was set upon ancient elfdom with little to escape. Within this chaos, the founding clans convened.

When the news had reached Har’el and his kin, few were surprised. Elvenkind had remained scattered for nigh centuries. The home of all mali, Old Malinor, laid bare and exposed to the eastern Kingdom on her fringe. They came by many names, though all will remember them as the Rose. There was little time to act. Summoning the strength of the Ichorian clans, Ithelanen led the Alderfolk into battle.

What hopes and ambitions laid in defending Old Malinor were utterly destroyed. For every elf fought a dozen men, pouring in droves with the fire of their god inside steel helmets. The native elves were distraught, relying on the ancient powers of the Druids and Mani to defend the city. Great roots tore from the grounds below. Rifts to rend the land asunder; beasts of the wildwood to defend what remained. It was not enough.

Ithelanen retreated from the front gate’s breach.

Vanethelan’s numbers reduced to almost nothing by the Emperor’s own western sally.

Corrin retreated to the city’s rear by a retinue of Carrion.

The remaining four clans, split and pushed by the White Rose.

Half the day had passed before the defenses were nearly overwhelmed. What remained of the Ichorian clans coalesced in the city’s rear, mounting in sum of their strength a final defense. They surrounded a massive stone known as the Aldersrock, preserved since the ancient times of Aegis. It was not enough

Utterly driven by the assaulting forces, the Ichorians fled southward towards the secret exitways amongst the the Southern Walls - obscured in vision from the Imperial assault. There they climbed cliff and tree, losing their attackers and gaining both ground and safety. Turning, they could not imagine a sight as this.

Malinor burned. A thousand times they had looked on evergreen pastures and comforting woods - only now to see the dread and black consume what souls lived beneath. Their home set aflame, and all was lost.

There, the Ichorians mourned. Their fragility was shed; their hearts turning cold as tears dried on elven cheeks. To each clan, a song was sung  - seven voices in haunting harmony whilst Old Malinor fell to ash and flame. In this time, Old Gladewynn quickened within the womb of Malinor, birthed on His mother's dying throes.

No Malinor from this point on would be recognized to the Seven Clans - it had died that day, buried amongst the rubble and sins of dead elves. Old Gladewynn was created in the wildwoods; the old forest far from Man - far from anything. But there would be one last return to Malinor.

In the ruins of that city lay the Aldersrock, stained with the blood of Ichorians. Those of Ithelanen took the stone, hauling the relic to their young settlement. There, the Chieftan of Ithelanen would proclaim himself ruler of this stone, its history, and those who bled upon it - that he would become the Prince of Alders, and all beneath the Aldersfolk.

Thereon the stone was inscribed with the histories and songs of Old Gladewynn. By it, all would know their past. All would sing the Seven Songs, just as their ancestors had in years past. In time the stone would fade; sections of inscriptions would wipe - and with it, their histories. The Seven Songs and her clans were partially lost, though not forgotten.

--

When the light settles, seven fires are lit. When elves mourn, seven songs are sung. What forgotten magicks were birthed in Old Gladewynn, only the dead know. What ancient spires and Old Gods of the wildwoods - what hymns, and lovely things, and the dead and black things - our mysteries, our heritage, and the Songs that bound us all together. The Aldersrock alone shows.

The Kinstrife

This new enclave the tribe of Gladewynn was presided over by dual Ithelanen chieftains directly descended from the Lord Ithel’an Fang-and-Fury. The lineages of Din’an and Har’el conflicted over who would lead the clan and eventually this escalated into a civil war that engulfed the entire clan including their loyal allies. A war waged in secret, brother slew brother, and for years the mantle of chieftain was unoccupied. Eventually, the majority of Har’el’s line were killed or expunged from their lands. A daughter of Har’el however would go on to marry a dark elf by the name of Corrin the Clanless, establishing another family branch related to the line of Din’an. Peace was established and over the years Din’an would welcome his cousins back into the groves as a show of mercy. 

The Dominion of Malin

Dinlasel’an Ithelanen and many of his clan members relocated to the Dominion of Malin following the Treaty of Adriante in 1643. Fascinated with the Bronze Elves led by Kairn Ithelanen, the Dominion’s Prince of War, Kairn was given permission to use the surname Ithelanen and was indoctrinated into the clan. Following the disappearance of Dinlasel’an and the pureblood Ithelanens once again on the Path, Kairn founded the familial branch of Vanethelan -- the namesake of which was Van’el, an elf of the lineage of Din’an who would recruit elves into the clan -- and set to recruiting the best warriors the Dominion had to offer into his clan. 

He gathered a great many of the nation’s most promising soldiers, politicians, and scholars and taught them the ways of the Alderfolk that had been shown to him by Dinlasel’an. For many years the Ithelanens joined the Virarim, and fought alongside the Renatians in many wars of succession, and wars against mutual enemies. As rulerschanged twice after the resignation of Awaiti Aureon, Kairn remained in a myriad of different positions maintaining the military and acting as the High Princes’ right-hand advisor in many different wars and conflicts. With the departure of Loriens Silma, Kairn was unanimously bequeathed the position of High Prince, thereafter changed to Mortal King by his council. Upon the ignition of the War for the Loftywoods, the war was said to have been ended by the stroke of Kairn’s sword to the neck of the Orcish Rex Morlak’lak. However, many spectators are known to remark that they believed the Elven King was shorter, and that the man who they witnessed in the armor struck with far longer arms than those of Kairn himself. It remains a point of historical contention to this day.

The Atraedean Kingdom of Gladewynn

”I am the blood of the Alderfolk; I alone invoke the name of Old Gladewynn, and by my Rite the Seven Songs will resound through these halls once more!” 

-- Mortal King Kairn Ithelanen

Sigil of the Empyreal Princess Layla Arvellon by Numirya

After the conclusion of the successful War for the Loftywoods, the Mortal King Kairn resided two-years in the Dominion, and handed his crown to his successor Elvenking Abelas Caerme’onn in the Dominion Square to signify the transition of power. Wordlessly, the former king sat upon the bench and watched over the many grateful faces that surrounded him. Out of all the Elven clans in the Old Dominion, Ithelanen had suffered the most egregious losses during the war, with famed heroes such as Valkorion Ithelanen and Rimlav ‘The Noseless’ Ithelanen just to name a few honored souls in the Virarim who passed on to the next world. Unrest stirred when Belestram Sylvaeri watched wordlessly as his Dwarven ally Atandt Irongrinder-- later a famed Grand King of Urguan in recent years-- slew Abelas in a forced duel within the throne room. The Elven Military had failed to intervene and separate the conflict between the two dignitaries during an international meeting, and as a result the Elvenking had lost his life. With the dwarves departing back to the Kingdom of Ord after the murder, Kairn flew into a furious rage. Coldly, he assembled the Ithelanens and seized the city alongside High Queen Koralon Onyxheart of Kaz’Ulrah and her men, bringing Belestram and a few of his house bannermen to the Dominion Government Building to sort out the problem. 

Resigned to the possibility of executing Belestram for High Treason against the Dominion, as Belestram had been his adoptive brother and a famed Bronze Prince alongside him and Khaine Csarathaire during the Bronze Rebellion, he demanded Belestram duel him to decide who was righteous in the conflict. Belestram believed that he was no more liable than the other elves in the throne room for being unable to stop Atandt from committing the murder, but the Ithelanens claimed that he must have been complicit due to him forming the treaty-- the Elder Alliance-- to unify the post-war Dominion of Malin with the Kingdoms of Haense and Ord, despite the fact that the Renatian Empire of Man would defend Kaz’Ulrah. Military advisors such as Kairn, Arwenia Ithelanen, and others among the Officer Corps believed such a war was unwinnable, especially with the famed Camel Bandits being in service to the Renatian Emperor. 

Eventually, it was settled that Kairn and Belestram would each select three champions who would duel to first injuries and subdue one another. Kairn selected Kaz Ithelanen, his adoptive son, to lead the other two against Vydrik Volaren and Feanor Sylvaeri. The Ithelanens were successful, and Kaz Ithelanen spared Belestram’s life. However, he spoke: 

“As you are  a man of the quill, I will not abide by your ability to write lies and mistruths. So, I shall claim your hand.” And struck off the right hand of Belestram Sylvaeri then, before banishing him from the Woodland Realm. Several orcs and an elfess hailing from the Woodland Realm would soon after attempt to assassinate Belestram, only to be routed and killed by Kaz and Evar’tir Ithelanen. As the years went on, Belestram would gather his loyal followers upon the first resurgent Isle of the Almenodrim and form Aegrothond in resistence to the rising nation-state known as Gladewynn-- a nation of mercenaries, spearheaded by Kairn, and living within the territory of the Barrowlands which he seized upon leaving the Dominion as the reforms he attempted to push in the Dominion were fruitless and the city was waning. An order of elven mercenaries, the Company engaged in many conflicts alongside the Empire of Man; but a cold war began as tensions began to escalate between the triumvirate of nascent elven powers. Aegrothond seeked to topple Kairn, whereas Renn sought to keep her ailing kingdom alive without the fear of Gladewynn’s persecution. Gladewynn, neighboring the Dominion of Malin in the Barrowlands claimed from the War of the Loftywoods, was witnessed assaulting the Rexdom in San’Kala laying waste to it alongside the Empire of Man in the waning years of Atlas, along with Nordengrad and another nameless Nordish state. 

Upon the completion of this victory, Renn passed her crown to Awaiti Aureon, and Awaiti dissolved the Dominion of Malin to form Irrinor. Irrinor was then vassalized by Gladewynn alongside the elves of Fi’Halen (later Haelun’or) and the Sable Enclave of Vira’ker. After many years, Kairn Ithelanen disappeared and his son Kaz took the throne under the surname Atraedes. Renowned for his prowess in the many wars and as a decorated war hero in the Avchirran (Common: Wandering Wolves), Kaz was a goodhearted King, and his consort Layla would fall prey to grief as he too disappeared in the waning years of Gladewynn. 

As Gladewynn dissolved, many unnamed remnants formed and fractured, before in Arcas the Elven Union was established and warred upon by the Empire of Man; before dissolving as the many elven factions fell into obscurity and humanity pressed its claim to the majority of the known world. 

The Camlannen Company

The Camlannen Keep sigil by Trintastic

Kairn Ithelanen returned to Irrinor and finding it less palatable, he took up living with his followers the Alderfolk in the secluded Keep of Camlannen upon the Lanthres Planes by what is now present-day Renelia. An imperial vassal, the keep fell into disuse after it was demolished by a drake and the Alderfolk were again forced onto the Path. However, those who lived there have now reunited with past allies to form the Camlannen Company, a militant organization dedicated to the preservation of Alder traditions and Vir’Amelanen.

Traditions 

The Ithelanen adhere to a strict code of conduct known to them as the Vir Ame’lanen - a direct translation being the way of the forest. Its mandate is simple.

Revere the Gods in all things.

Act in temperance and with restraint.

Debt of blood must always be paid for in blood.

Beware temptation for it assumes many forms.

Beyond these four tenets, it is all-encompassing. The traditions of the Ithelanen, be it their religious rites, the tattoos they proudly bear or the nomadic way of life they have for millennia followed are all considered to be apart of the Vir Ame’lanen and for an elf to walk the path, they must stay true to the customs of their forebears.

The Practice of Esalathe'lan

The Alderfolk inscribe tattoos to their flesh in honor of their ancestors so that they might carry on their legacy. The art represents the glory of the fallen so that those elves who fell before their name are consciously remembered and honored for their sacrifice. Ithelanens possess blue tattoos, and one who assumes the ‘Prince of the Alders’ or ‘Chieftain’ role have often inscribed their Esalathe’lan with gold ink as to signify their role as a leader of the clan. The practice of using gold ink however  is a rare practice, one they fell into disuse after the disappearance of Kaz Ithelanen and the self-imposed exile of Layla Arvellon. 

Culture

The Alderfolk are not reluctant to conflict and instead welcome it. It is the motive of all men and women within the clan to triumph over the other races in honor of the twin gods of war Moccus and Morea. Din’an and Har’el both draw parallels to the twin gods of war, and were the first to take up their worship and spread it among members of the clan. Furthermore, the Alderfolk are expected to be calm and collected and to live their life by the creed Vir Ame’lanen, no matter the consequences. To triumph over others, triumph over your own desires, and triumph against all odds is the intention of this philosophical path. Many Vanethelans and Corrins have in recent years also taken up the practices of San’Taliyna was discovered by Warden Lathadlen II and the Bronze Code belonging to Haumel as their own paths of Vir’Ame’lanen. Referred to simply as ‘The Path’, all Alderfolk endeavor to travel nomadically and rarely stay still. Conclaves, groves, and all manners of princedoms are temporary for the Alderfolk who live in self-imposed exile from their agrarian Irrinite cousins. 

Many Ithelanens are staunchly traditionalist and detest Malinism; but more liberal members of other Alderfolk clans have been known to shirk the hatred under the pretense that the death of the martyr Lathadlen Fang-and-Fury was an ancient feud worth shedding. It is through wandering The Path that Alderfolk shall discern the secret for living after death, and thus they shall always wander in the pursuit of enlightenment. 

All Alderfolk who pass honorably with a weapon in hand have their names inscribed upon the Alders Rock, and tales of their deeds are written upon the walls of secret grottos with chisel and hammer or with chalk. Many Alderfolk take up the practices of fighting in foreign wars or joining elven militaries, as proven by the incumbent ‘King of the Ashen Folk’ Evar’tir Ithelanen who has been known to take up the titles of his enemies through witty plots as a gag at their succinct desire for power and influence. 

Many elven groups pay homage to the Alderfolk’s traditions, as proven by the long-lasting Wild Path instilled by the Kingdom of Gladewynn sixty-years ago which persists in Siramenor to this day. The Renelians are garbed in armor with the old Gladewynn design, bearing the skull-helmets and spiked shoulderpads of their former lords. Furthermore, many other influences are visible from their demonstrable influence on elven culture and design.

Contact

If you have any concerns, contact me at E.#0666 on Discord. If you are interested in joining a pre-existent clan under the Alderfolk umbrella, you are free to contact me and I will relay you to those people who manage them.

Credit

Thank you to Bagley for the original post we used as a reference. Major thanks to ChaseusBelli for assistance in the creation of this guide.  Immense thanks as well to Treshure, as I quoted his history post When Malinor Burned.

Kairn Ithelanen sat before his two allies, his weathered, beaten features betraying his years. There may have been such a time where he maintained a regal look, when the world was all but his. Land, riches, and intangible sorcerers gifts. He was a king, a triumvir, the Bronze Lord. It was only natural that he acted, looked, and spoke in the manner of one. Those were times when he cared, though. Now he was a nigh-broken man, but one with renewed vigor and purpose had found him once again.

 As worn as his body was, time had done worse to his mind. It was even evident to him that he was mad; every day he questioned whether such knowledge made him sane. His thoughts split frequently, ghosts haunted him, the past was never very far away, yet there was something to hold on to: a thread. This thread came from what was eons ago, but what was also so familiar that it was the only truth he could discern among the life of lives that he now lived.

Once they saw our world in decay, they thereafter burdened it upon me and made me king ages ago. I became the pack leader by the will of all I put down in its place; and what I directed them to do was done as per my desire.

Yes. Decades, maybe centuries, ago such a call had roused him to action. Elvendom had fallen into the depths of corruption and degeneracy, its weakness causing it to rot from the inside as if it were a door one sharp kick from caving in. First he had ripped it asunder, next he had gathered the shredded pieces, and finally he had made it anew, made it in the vision that he was called to exact. It was a good dream, if ephemeral, but what could be more tempting than the prospect of immortality, the thought that one could create, or even be, something that could never die?

Such thoughts consumed him, but never for long. He suddenly found himself looking around the woods where he and his two comrades had been residing for some time. The sun had begun to set, and the falling autumn leaves allowed the sinking rays of sunlight to pierce through the forest cover. Night was approaching, and his allies had taken to making a fire without him. They were some ways away, but he didn’t mind the walk. The sounds of the forest- the animals running, the birds chirping, the winds rustling the leaves- all calmed him, allowed his mind to be free of his afflicted consciousness. Thus he walked, and as he walked he hummed a song, one whose words he had forgotten but whose tune had been imprinted in him since he was a child. After a short amount of time, he reached the camp his friends had made. The two sat beside the fire, sharing a meal and laughing over something that he couldn’t make out.

The first of the men was his son, Galar, a muscular, tall lad who took after seemingly all his family except for his father. He had not seen the boy since he was a child, and seventy years of separation had made the two men distant, but Galar was a good fighter, if rash and prone to cruelties. Even though he had only spent a few weeks with the lad, he wasn’t a hard one to figure out. He held little love for his father: It was clear a challenge was to come tonight.

The second of the men was a truer friend, Lyemar Aureon. He too knew the truth of ruling– the taste of glory, the pain of war, the fear of failure. While he had led his people through war, the man wasn’t a fighter in nature. His prowess and ability lay in his mind, for it would succeed where his strength wouldn’t. He was a crafty man on his own; but one to make change within, not force it by his hand. Lyemar would follow the victor tonight.

“Care for a plate, father?” asked Galar, offering Kairn a covered tray. “You were out there for ages, so we decided to go ahead and make dinner. Next time, though, if you’re going to call us out for a meeting, might as well, y’know, be awake for it,” he laughed, elbowing Lyemar in the side and eliciting a chuckle from the man.

Kairn grunted in response, taking the plate and sitting down. Son or not, he would enjoy beating the child as he had done to so many others while he was in the army. 

“Don’t tease, Galar,” Lyemar chided, stifling a grin himself. “But, in all seriousness, what did you call us for?” he asked Kairn, lazily leaning back on a log as he looked up to the man.

Is it not evident enough? Do the misdeeds of what we had both created and stewarded over appear before blind eyes? Kairn wished to scream these words and to grab Lyemar by the collar and let him hear the truth but such violence was unbecoming. There was a new way, a better way, or so he had been trying to tell them.

“Over a century ago the state of our people forced my hand into action. By my hand, and by the hands of Khaine Csarathaire and Belestram Sylvaeri; a greater Dominion was forged from the ashes of the malformations we cast down. I thought we had ensured a new golden age for our people, but to my… grief… it seems that history now repeats itself,” Kairn began, rising to his feet and looking to the flames below him. They had begun to subside. Time, the most abundant resource in the world, was now fading. “Such times of weak people require the strong to guide them. It is not my desire to save my kin, but it is my duty. However, just as it took a triumvirate then to restore our place in the world, so too must I have the two of you by my side.” His eyes lifted from the fire as he gazed to the two men before him. Neither showed fear, but where Lyemar’s visage held concern, Galar’s look was one of almost… contempt?

Of course it was- the boy was too predictable for his own good. Kairn’s second eldest son sprang to his feet but not out of  impassioned fury. He had learned some, but not nearly enough. “Father!” he decreed in a mocking, pitying tone. “Your appeal to our history doesn’t fall on deaf ears but isn’t it time for the torch to be passed? Even elders must recognize when it is time to step down and advise the next generation, lest they lose their dignity?” His goading meant nothing to Kairn, for he would soon learn his place and respect his elders.

“Does being this ignorant come naturally to you? You couldn’t have made your case any worse,” Lyemar scoffed at Galar, dropping his relatively carefree facade. He stared daggers into the youth, locking eyes with him for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, the younger mali’ broke the stare, sharply turning to face his father once more.

“We know you’ve gone mad, gone soft!” he jeered, glancing back to Lyemar for a moment. “Even you know it’s true!”

“You’re making a fool of yourself,” spat Lyemar, crossing his arms as he looked to Kairn in kind. “Friend, he’s simply acting as all young men do. It’s nothing.  He’ll be thinking clearly come morning,” he tried to assure the Leatherback, albeit with a harsh edge to his tone.

Kairn was tired of thinking- the very act itself was tiring and burdensome. “No,” he muttered simply, wrapping his stiffened fingers around the pommel of the sword at his side, freeing it from its sheath and brandishing it forth. “He wishes to challenge me? I’ll show him what occurred the last time someone had such a foolish notion.”

Galar said nothing, but he did smile as he went to his tent to grab his spear. It was an arrogant smile, one that would soon vanish, but it was reassuring to Kairn that there would be some fight in his son. Perhaps, when this silly affair was over and done with, he would shape him into a proper soldier. A moment later Galar returned, gripping his weapon as he stood opposite of his father some twenty paces away. Nods were then exchanged, signaling that the fight had begun.

I’ve seen him. He’s fast. Kairn thought, slowly, tentatively approaching his opponent. However, there’s something… off to it. He is fast, but looks to be slow. Use his bravado against him.

A series of thrusts from Galar was sent to his father, but his spear never even came close to its mark. Kairn had avoided each attack- a taxing effort, but one that was well worth it. He moves well enough, but so does every man with an ounce of training. It takes something more than that.

Another two missed thrusts, and Galar had overextended himself. It was then that Kairn went on the offensive, knocking the spear downwards with a strike from his blade. He then freed his weapon as he closed the gap between him and his son, leaving little time for his opponent to do much more than bring his free hand to his face. While he did make it on time, the counter was not nearly enough, and Galar was met with a series of blows to the face, gut, and jaw. A short cry came from him, then he fell limp, covering his marred face as he writhed on the ground.

“Over in a minute…” Kairn mused, mostly to himself, as he retrieved and sheathed his dropped sword. He shifted his attention to Lyemar, who bore an amused, albeit partially shocked, look. 

Kairn returned to where he had been sitting previously, finishing the meal that he had set aside. It was just venison, but it had been cooked well enough to appreciate it for the few moments he had. After he had cleaned his plate, he looked up to his companions, who had joined him beside the rekindled fire. Galar still clutched at his face, but his eyes, which were still visible, stared back at his father. They were softer now, announcing to all the shame and humiliation that coursed through him. Good.

“Triumvirate… Chirran… The Camlannen Company…” muttered Kairn, gazing to the night sky, whose moon shone a brilliant silver and whose countless stars all twinkled for him. “May such a dream be relived again.”

And thus the Camlannen Company was reborn. From the ashes of the keep that once rested in Lanthres, Temesch, and Gladewynn an idea was rekindled. The blood of monsters shall be claimed. The traditions of the Alderfolk shall live on. Suffer not the infidel, who cowers before the thought of confrontation. Who cowers instead of fighting evil. 

If you have the sack you can not return it to the one who gave it to you.
You are not allowed to give it to people who had it in the last 5 elven minutes

I wish you the best of luck in the repulsion of this sack

Signed by:
Reinald Otherwind Steward of Vira’ker

 

Nobody responded. Nobody ever responded. The mali sighed, bringing the straw hat down from the crown of his head. He closed the door to the wooden cabin and began to prepare his dinner. Grilled fish and buttered bread. Again. The sun filtered through the windows of the study. The mali opened the loose door with a nudge of his foot; the smell of sawdust and fresh parchment filled his nose. It was perfect. Too perfect.

The mali took his seat and inhaled. The meat smelt wonderful. He reached a worn hand across the oak desk and slid his fingers around the stem of a quill. Dotting the tip in ink, he unfurled a new parchment piece. He set the tip of the pen to the upper-left corner — a pause. “It is time, I suppose,” he said with a labored sigh. No tears came: only words.

To those who knew me,

Have you ever found a memory too important to forget, yet not? A memory so vibrant and real that you swear that you could pluck a rock from it and it would appear in your hand? It is a feeling that is stronger than any emotion I can express on parchment. I have a memory like this. I am sitting on a small dock outside of Hawksong Manor. The city of Caras Eldar dwarfs all of my ambition in the sheer excellence of its architecture. A bird chirps; a fish splashes. I dip my feet into the pond and think about what I shall title my next published paper. It does not matter, but I dwell on it anyway.

I have lived my life. I have loved, hated, cried, laughed; and everything in-between. I have written papers about the struggles of mortal-emotions in politics while contemplating my next satirical play to perform at the Bedevere Theatre. I have many regrets, but none worth voicing. Those I have wronged are either dead or damned. Perhaps I will see them in the corner of the Nether I will establish Iblees’ treasury. A joke; or so I hope. Dreadful, the exchange rates on souls nowadays.

The truth, reader, is that I do not know what to say. My life has been so unendingly complex that to summarize my triumphs and failures in a single letter would see my skin rot away before I began to explain my time in Anthos. I suppose I shall write what I find most important right now: the world is a scary place. We live our lives as children at the park: wise to nothing but the blades of grass tickling our noses. However, we have each other. No policy or Prince of a nation impacts the world more than a helping hand. This is a lesson I had to learn the hard way.

I love each and every one of you very, very much. You changed the life I lived in unfathomable ways. You made the world I occupied the world that I wanted to thrive in. You — yes, you — are the reason I am blessed enough to write these words today. I can never repay each and every one of you for the love you have shown me, reciprocated or not. Know that it meant the world to me, nonetheless.

That memory I think back to. That memory sticks with me because it was the time of my life that the world meant nothing more than paper and politics. It was the day that I saw the world for the first time, and I never looked back. I look back every day now. Today, though, I look to the future: the future I’ve done my best to make possible. The future I will never see.

Keep the memory. You will need it someday.

Azoth Hawksong

The mali set the quill down. His eyes turned to the windowsill; the sun was setting, but he could still see the soft blue of the sky. A streak of white began to slide across the horizon as the soft blue of his eyes began to fade. The clouds were beautiful today.

Nobody responded. Nobody ever responded.

[An OOC message is below]

The Woman wailed and wept for Him, abandoned at the altar of mortal coil and furthermore isolating herself from all— instead choosing to relish in overwhelming anguish, mourning the loss of her lover and once-hopeful dream. Few, frail and audible steps manifested in the reticent silence, contrasted only in the forceful crackling of path upon layered-snow, fatigued persona in odd lethargic venture inside the seemingly discarded settlement. 

“I return.”

Alas, she continued forth, now obscured in the cobbled-pillars that surrounded her. The Woman shifted a singular digit to delicately rub at her exhausted visage, dark circles vaguely visible in her seclusion— albeit, she’d make little attempt to obscure it. Yet, the Vixen held a heartrending posture in inattentive path beside the Man, so that the duo faced one another, once more. An environment shared in many aspects, albeit it differed for once— an irregular, restrained silence bestowing itself once the clicking of her footwear halted.

“TAKE HER AWAY.”

The Woman erupted in belligerent speech that encompassed a silhouette of meddled mind and destructive utterance, sudden displeasure contorted into a fading, wicked smile in her agitated actions. The Cuth’arlin presented a new figure to the Man, one of bitter and anguished past— maddened umbrage settled beneath the facade of posture. Her cloth-obscured digits grasped a ceramic object in delicate motion, offering a slight ascent of it before pressing it to a narrowed mouth.

“I shall, once more.”

A skeletal figure awakened from restless slumber, cadaverous countenance bombarded and engulfed in the relentless force of her own treacherous thoughts, blustering the abysmal night-sky that encompassed outside, against the bitter conditions she had faced. The Woman mourned, then withdrew into the inner den from which she had been drawn out of, momentarily. She chided, nigh upon the thunderous congregation that appeared around her.

“FAR FROM THY WARM LANDS.”

The Woman’s dulled expression presented immobile, final regard of the rotten setting, dim visage accompanied by the glossed, cursed sights that she held. Alas, occupied by delusions of those of her past, twisted and weaved into abysmal monsters. The blighted Witch cried out once more, in tender submission to the sin-striking gaze that peered beyond flesh, directly toward the mantle of her very soul. 

“And so it concludes —”

The tale of the Woman halted in frantic admiration of the desperate countenance of the valiant Man, once-prideful demeanour descended to the ground beneath in cordial but hesitant farewell. Her cerulean-dark eyes shone, though not with pleasure— rather, with the shaming doom that this Vixen had bound herself to, in this action. Adeline grumbled beneath hushed inhales, converging her sights with his own once more— a twitch more prevalent, now, as the pythoness perused his demeanour, countenance marred by scar and stare alike. 

“For now.”

Events shift quickly in the world, and many times we miss important matters and proceedings without knowing. Due to this, the Principality of Vira Bay extends to you a humble and personal invitation to the coronation of Zaos Val'Ullr-Puerir, first High Prince of Vira Bay. Proceedings will begin the 17^th of Malin’s Welcome, 1763, and followed by a celebration in the local bar and eatery, the Drunken Sailor Tavern.

[OOC NOTE: Time: 4pm EST, Thursday April 9, 2020]

Signed, 

Advisor to the High Prince of Vira Bay, Miray Palmer.

The Spiritualists Gather

One to guide the Ashen Folk

With the formation of The Stargûgshob, the spiritualists of Arcas opened themselves up to a new era, an era of glory. The unity of the Arcasian spiritualists is but the first step, and a more specific action is to be taken if this era of prosperity is to be reached.

To the Mali’ker of Arcas, we invite you. We care not for politics, we care not for where you live, we care for unity. We call out to you, to the Ashen Folk. Internal alliances and politics matter little to the unbelievers among us, and so we may be brought together by our faith. There must be one, one child of Velulaei to cast their watchful gaze over the spiritualist ‘ker. One ‘ker to guide us during these troubled times, in a world where our people are at constant risk. 

We call to you not in the name of our own settlements, or our individual agendas. We call to you in the name of all Ashen Folk, so that our kind may prosper once again, wherever they may be.

The city of New Magara’lin will open its gates to all Ashen Folk and Spiritualists, and there we shall chose a leader for the spirit worshipping ‘ker. All are welcome if they are devoted to the spirits, regardless of who they are and where they hail from.

We hereby invite the Mali’ker of the Kingdom of Renelia, Lunar Domain of Asimu’lei, Principality of Vira Bay, and any other Arcasian states home to spiritualist ‘ker to join us within New Magara’lin, where we shall usher in a new era for our kind, and together elect a representative for all of the Mali’ker, within The Stargûgshob.

Only Ash Remains

Signed,

Ailmar Velulaei’onn, Mortal King-Elect

Of The Kingdom of Renelia

Rhaella Ashwood-Uialben, Lunar Sage 

of the Lunar Domain Of Asimu'lei

Miray Palmer, Advisor to the High Prince

of the  Principality of Vira Bay