You Reap What You Sow

[Supremacy 3361]

High above the cities of Leyulin and Haelun’or the once Sohaer, Kalenz Uradir, gazes down upon the cities of the elves. Most residents have long ago fallen asleep, their daily toil now punctuated by the quiet of sleep. Though, some lights still remained on, flickering in the night, as one or two elves decided it apt to work through the night. It was oddly quiet, particularly given the chaos and blood spilt of the last two days— The quiet unnerved the high elf.

 

“Silence is for a time when the just rest. Justice has not been exacted upon them yet.”

 

He held a pill, scribing some yet-unknown text upon an elegant looking piece of parchment. He gazed down once more, there was a disturbance in the night— Something had spooked the Evarir’thilln below— Perhaps a bat? A bird? A real intruder? It was irrelevant to him, the intruders would not linger long.

 

“Seek not the solace of silence, for silence does not protect.”

 

He swiftly penned a final quill stroke before rising from his seat, moving to cross the chamber and make his way to the exit. As he does so he glances one final time to the cities below, scowling coldly at Leyulin:

“I regret not our path: They reap what they sow”.

 

A thread to post character mindsets— Are you in another character's mind? If so, why are you reading their mind IC?"

[Sky 0]

Lyrell lays awake in his overly comfortable bedding, his arm being used as a pillow as Hileia's breathing hits his neck. Though usually such a thing would aggravate him, there was just too much on his mind this night, something that kept running around his mind until he allowed himself to recognize the world around him and as he does so, his thoughts return but instead dance with the very few noises that can be heard within the room. As Lyrell's gaze drifts from the sight of his wedding gifts, to Hileia and then to the ceiling, he couldn't help but have a smile plastered upon his face. 

 

"Everything is in motion." 

[Samler 1565]

As Seth tends to the chickens of Haelun'or, throwing corn out for them to eat he sighs and shakes his head. "Foolish Ibar... He truely doesn't understand actual politics." He then pats one of the chickens on top of the head which causes it to run away from Seth, only to come closer once again to eat the really tasty seeds. "But then again, few does so and I doubt my old lliran will return to bring us a light future."

[Baconthief 682]

Mizziyrn walks about the city of leyulin, searching for any heathenish Mori'quessir who may of choosen to slip into the nighttime city to feast on wood elven babes. In his hunt, as needless as it is, his gaze instead floats upwards towards another child of malin with equal thirst for blood equal to that of Mori he hunts.

 

"Honorless savage"

 

He'd state as he sees a lone schemer looking down onto the wood elven city

[WuHanXianShi14 0]

Artimec works through the night and muses to himself.

"I wonder if they're always mind numbingly pretentious or if they just put it on whenever they try to bluff the whole intimidation act. It was funny at first but now it's getting old."

 

[A post to describe a character's mindset, are you in Art's office at 3am? If so, why are you being such a creepy stalker?]

[HardstyleRaver2 56]

Alakagh simply wanders around in Leyulin to spot any intruders, using his voulge as a walking stick. His eyes shifts side by side before he sends a glare to the plateau.

"I never want to be associated with these savages ever again," He scoffs before he comtinues patrolling.

[OhDeerLord 673]

Dwyn sits in his living room, laying across the couch as he stares at the ceiling, hearing his life mate sleeping below but not wanting to be a bother- as he has no plans on sleeping at a regular hour, still awake even as the sun skirts higher.

Much on his mind, he let's out a sigh and mumbles "Useless bickering keeping everyone on edge. Why does everyone take the hard route when simply going our own ways would cease all of this nonsense" he passes a hand over his face, noting his need to trim his beard.

He frowns at his lethargy, forcing himself up and to the kitchen, distracting himself with recipes until his duties of the day take him from home.

[Booklight12 481]

Streaks of various hues of light radiate from his home in Leyulin.  As he lays asleep on his desk various knick knacks and enchanted ware remain activated waddling about, shining, prodding, and dancing aimlessly as he had fallen asleep in the midst of an experiment. He does not have the will to stay awake throughout the night, nor is he foolish enough to give up much needed sleep that will assist him throughout the day.. Though, neither does he let the state of sleep prevent him from thought and meditation.. For in his own world, in his mind he sits atop a spire of winding stone that is raised to the beautiful canvas of the evening sky. By some odd strand of luck, he ponders, of the same thing many are thinking of tonight, perhaps by chance? Or maybe the Mali'Aheral, Mali'Ker, And Mali'Ame are in fact not so different after all. 

 

"Why must brothers and sisters fight one another.. Why must they strike axe, spear, and sword into each others flesh.. For what? Pride? Hate? Skin color? If Malin is truly the father of all elven people, what would he think of his children fighting..?"

 

As the pink sun begins to rise upon the horizon and streaks of reddish-pink light stretch across the land of the elves, Beranabus would begin to slip out of his state of stasis, cutting off his questions.. And leaving many of his questions unanswered. 

[Dakirennis 959]

Dak'ir mummers quietly, his head bowed low as he kneels before a statue of Malin. The statue was beautifully carved to represent how his order viewed the Hearth Father, armed and stern faced. He rises slowly, placing an apple on the altar and offering another quick prayer to both the Ancestors and the Spirits before turning on his heel and making his way home for the evening. As he wanders through Leyulin his eyes drift to the general populace even taking a passing glance at the plateau. He scowls slightly and clenches his fists as he drags his feet.

 

Fools... All of them.

 

His scowl fades as he steps into his home, shaking his head before making his way up the steps to retire for the night with his family.

[SodaiKamikaze 652]

Tiuth Ni'leya sits silently in study at his desk, his left hand adjusting the silver bracelet circled around his wrist. His brow scrunches up in thought as he glances outside the window at the mali'aheral pacing up and down the pathway across the water. With a short pause, Tiuth extends his hand from the bracelet towards the table, picking up a thin ring and sliding it wordlessly over his finger, a clear gem in it's center giving off a faint glow. 

"Tiuth? What are you doing?" 

The purple eyed mali'aheral's head sharply turns to look at who spoke, his brother standing in the doorway. "...Ah, it is just you Adaephon." He pauses again, letting out a short sigh. As he opens his mouth to speak, the gem's glow fades into nothingness. "I.. am preparing for the worst. I fear that no matter who is elected, it will all end with the blood of our people." He rises to his feet, pushing his chair back and grasping a shard of stone. "Though, I have no intention of being killed in my own home." 

A soft smile appears on features of the two brothers, Adaephon speaking finally.
 

"Come then, we have much work to do."
 

[CosmicWhaleShark 2488]

On the same night, Phaedrus would be toiling away within Petrus, crafting armor for officers of the 2nd regiment. He is alone within the parade square, or so he thought he was. Without saying a word a man approaches his forge and begins loading a crossbow, the cranking of it giving away his presence to the smith. Phaedrus pauses his work, draws his falchion from his waist, and engages his would-be killer.
 
After pinning the man down on his back, Phaedrus begins to saw his falchion down into his throat, releasing an enraged scream as he stares down at the mangled helm of the assailant. He makes several more cuts for good measure even after crimson blood stained his sword and sprayed across his apron.
 
 

Literally happened last night. Just put this in because the OP mentioned it being last night.

 

 
Upon collecting himself once more, Phaedrus strips the man of his belongings, and throws his corpse within the bonfire of the parade square. Returning to his forge after cleaning himself of the blood, and completing the set of armor he was working on before.
 
The time for words and shared thoughts has long passed, it passed before Laureh'lin was even created. Whether one side was foolish, or others savages did not matter. The causes had been established. Was one really seeking justice, was one really seeking peace? It was irrelevant now, because both sides at this point sought war. 
 
Phaedrus did not need to make snide remarks or witty banter to reinforce his superiority over the other side. He merely needed to gesture to his military record, and Haelun'or's lack of one. Despite their "century trained soldiers" they were keen to forget they were commanded by a Wood Elf less than twenty years ago.
 
Phaedrus' thoughts that night were not about the High Elves, nor even the man who just attacked him. Phaedrus' thoughts were on his projects and works, assessing the profits he would gain from his latest projects, in order to further fund the weapons he would make later on. Weapons to kill High Elves.
 
 

[Chaqery 427]

((Written on a phone so no fancy text))

"-Steady, evarir. It is merely a bird."

The tall, lean figure of Meltinir Taltaur stood at the head of a formation of evariran that patrolled the silent and dark streets of Haelun'or. With a raised fist the Annilir had calmed the nerves of his Mali, who mistook the rustling of a tree nearby the walls for an intruder. He could not blame them for such uneasiness. The past few days had been rife with violence.

After a moments pause the formation of elves resumed their patrol. The dull thud of boots upon ground and the creak of banded steel armor were the only audible sounds at such an early hour of the morning. The monotony of the task coupled with the all too familiar patrol route allowed for Meltinir's mind to wonder.

His thoughts turned to the daunting task ahead. Haelun'or had always possessed the potential but lacked the structure nessecary to succeed militarily. That could no longer be the case. In the coming days the fate of many rested upon the shoulders of a few. He sincerely wished himself capable of defending his home.

Annilir'ailer Taltaur came back to himself as the sun began to peer over the walls of the city. In the gray twilight he could see the smoke of Mali'ame chimneys curling into the heavens. His contemplations rested upon the relationship of Mali'aheral and Mali'ame. Two proud races intertwined in some cruel play of fate. It seemed a rather tasteless conflict, fueled by proximity and cultural aversions.

Perhaps it might end one day... until then, there was a storm to weather.

And weather it they would.

[Rubitintin 2]

Silonn leans against a tree trunk within Leyulin smoking a long pipe as he scans the city casually. He glances up to the plateau as he sees movement of someone leaving. His still golden eyes blaze in the night's darkness.

[susitsu 871]

After his conversation with Ceruberr, Lucas Black walked the Elven city for a bit, thinking to himself. All was quiet at the time, nearly no one about. He saw one or two High-Elves, but they seemed to be upon the same state he was in. A wandering mind with wandering feet. There was but a glance between any of them, regarded only enough to avoid walking into each other.

 

A quiet sigh would come from him as he thinks of what Ceruberr told him, "Your people seem to be seeking their own deaths, Ceruberr. Kalenz Uradir seeks the same, it appears. Has he simply forgotten the massacare that occured due to his and his ways alone? If he claims Sohaer, the same will happen once more. Even if he doesn't and he attempts to rally those to his cause, it will happen anyway."

 

The Half-Elf's gaze would raise to the high buildings of the Silver Enclave. Staring for a moment he would turn, beginning to stride away into the less constructed areas as he says "You have made a rather grand mistake, Kalameet."

[Aelu / Rel (Combustionary) 1540]

Ac'Aelu sits beneath a pile of blankets on the large, padded couch in the living quarters beneath his tavern. His gaze wanders from the small fire across from him, to the sleeping figure of Titania leaning against him. He can't help but let out a smile, as faint as it may be.

 

His mind turned to the war, as it oft did. The very situation was no small source of confusion for him, as he attempted to ascertain the reason for the senseless violence. He held no hatred for the Mali'aheral, despite everything. Only a deep sorrow for what was taking place.

 

He noticed the ornate bow leaning against the wall of the room, still stained by the blood of its previous Mali'aheral owner. He'd expected more glory to come from the death of an enemy, from the successful blow in a war still raging, but the prevalent sense was shame. As hostile and belligerent as they had become, the Mali'aheral were still kin.

 

He shook his head to nobody in particular, and closed his eyes as he leaned against the one he cared for above all else. Tomorrow would bring its own problems, and if violence truly was the only way to respond to the High Elven aggression, he wouldn't let a lack of sleep work against him when the fight came.