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Kaelan

The War of Ironwood

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Caestella Elibar’acal cackles from the depths of the Aureon Manor. She rolls over in bed and turns to Eryn with a massive grin on her expression. “Time to take their books like they took my oem’iian away from me.”

Edited by dumbblondeelf

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Keleyo took in a sharp inhale, shaking his head in disappointment at the news. He reached into his robes to reveal a scroll, quickly scratching out the word ‘Irrinor’.

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A proud kha of the Okarn’Ame sharpens his claws on the outskirts of Irrinor’s forest.






”Ajashuu’z pawz weell bee reaydy...”

Edited by Trintastic

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Sulraell dances in the eternal library T-time for w-war, time f-for war.., time for w-war..”  he chanted as he did the fortnite default dance

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Elanaril smirks, sitting down by a tree in the  Talus Grove.. “Go Irrinor!”

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“Here we go again.”  Lawrence commented with a certain annoyance

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Aroiia Elena Drakon would sigh before saying, “I knew this peace wouldn’t last, but then again what is peace but confusion between two wars.” Aroiia would then go to organize some trainings for the Ivae’fenn. 

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On 9/28/2019 at 7:22 PM, Your Favorite Impure™ said:

Aenor strokes his beard in contemplation, glancing over to his sheathed blade resting in the corner of his abode "The time has come again, it seems. For Irrinor."

 

Kairn looks to his father within the Ithelanen camp, offering a nod and appearing mildly disturbed.

 

”Only a fool declares war when they do not intend to make it. Foolish aristocrats, the lot of them, and soon their tyranny shall be absolved from Elven memory for time immemorial.” 

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Far far away, laying on the milky branch of a boisterous tree, a sunburnt Mali’ame plays a primitive lyre. Strumming along with the songs on the breeze, birds chirping and crying with vibrant glee. Alas, a sharp CAW silences the canopy. Infectious vigor coerced to be still as the corvid nests atop the elf’s head, his wild hair acting as an impromptu nest. “Karin’ayla, metta’ii.” He remarks, allowing his feathered friend a well-deserved rest. Time passes. As doves impatiently tap their feet and budgies start to tweet, the ‘ame relinquishes a decade-old sigh. “A dead horse never dies it seems. Alliman...welp. Here’s to hoping this time’s the charm!”

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