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Five centuries ago, our people re-discovered their heritage and the legacy of Larihei within the Silver Walls of elcihi'thilln. In these early days we so followed the guiding light of Dio Astore — Maheral — an elf so revered it was said Larihei's legacy laced his words. But with time, all great elves eventually depart and Astore was lost to the sands of time.

 

Following his departure there came a time of uncertainty. What was to be of Larihei's legacy without Astore's guiding light to direct it? The answer was to come from none other than Lucion Sullas — then Tilruir'indor — who lit the path for the ‘thill. It is he who would become their second Maheral. Larihei's Children were blessed, and it was the wisdom of the Golden Pools each held within them. Untarnished by emotion they would chart their own course. Unlike the Reges of the Uruk, the Grand Kings of the Dwarves and the Emperors of Men the mali'thill were to elect their leader by teaching.

 

A new Silver Age of prosperity blossomed and so the mali'thill grew to be the most lustrous of their kin. Time and time again tyrants struck at the blessed pillars of Sullas' creation, but the foundations were sturdy. But over time, even the finest silver tarnishes, and grow dull if left unpolished. Many ‘thill became convinced Sullas' words were unwise. They gave into the whispers of Laethis Izalith and his fell lieutenants. Though Izalith's legacy was eventually destroyed, his poison lingered. It would seep through generations, whispering in the ears of well-meaning elves, leading them on towards taint and impurity. It is Sullas who set forth the succession of Maheral we have even to this day — but it is his words and deeds this council have rejected. Driven by a lust for power the wayward elves struck down the great Maheral Elibar’acal, convinced the masses would submit to their craven desires. Unrivaled they have denied the Children of Silver their voice, and corrupted he who claimed to be Maheral: Acaele Lazul. But Sullas is known for a second phrase one echoed through our Silver Halls in recent days:

 

“The Maheral simply is”

 

It is clear from the events of past days that the ‘thill have found Acaele unworthy of his position. It is Lucion who taught us that he who is not accepted at Maheral, never truly was Maheral at all. It is thus from the well of Silver another must be drawn – one who shall take up the mantle of returning the Sullasian legacy and Republicanism to our Blessed Silver State.

 

Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya.

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Anethra watched onward, distant as she gazed over the balcony of her tavern. Watching the loved, respected, and intelligent masses depart in droves, as the flocks of the populace departed Elcihi’thilln- for the time, or for good. She looked downward to her hands, black gloves cast aside quietly- she looked to her pallid and frail, bony hands which twitched lightly, normally, as they held themselves in the air. She looked to the pale whites, the peachy undertone and the ichor which coursed beneath the skin slowly. The untouched and blemishless skin reflected back little, as Anethra kept watching such- a growing terror ebbing over her, washing through as she began to be bothered by their cleanliness. She stepped back, and over to behind the counter- the door locked, keys switched during chaos. She alternated and entered her passage, crawling upon her belly through darkness until her destination met- she seemed more desperate as time passed, minutes ticked and her heart began to steadily pace. She moved further and forward unto darkness, unto light, into the kitchen of the tavern- started to thrash her hands into the basin. She tried as anxiety had fully washed over her, no matter how much she tried her hands remained dry- and clean. She stepped back and took glass- filling it from the barrels which still were familiar to her presence. She poured the glass upon her hands, where the red of the wine washed off, her hands remaining perfect and untouched. She turned the spigot, the cask pouring wildly it’s purple-red contents of expensive wine upon her hands to no avail, unmistakably perfect. She screamed and screeched, going to grab another delicate glass, crushing it between her grip- causing a yelp in pain and suffering.

She gazed upon her hand as shards of glass ripped into her delicate skin, red and voluptuous ichor spewed and streaked from her hand- coating it in a deep maroon. She seemed relieved through heavy breaths, her mind empty and devoid of thought as instict played in full. She looked back to her hand which shook violently in andrenaline and pain, wrackingly shocking her arm- glancing leftward toward the open maw of the tavern. An empty square, for an empty city. She slid over the counter trailing blood all the while, stepping into that abandoned place of what once was purity. Behind her a shadow, cast eight times her size in the sunset. She continued through the square, past the fountain, the steps, the citadel- all the while seeing none, hearing none. She walked through as normal but, as time progressed, they edged at her mind- her ears, her heart. They continued to wear at her, wear her down and her through. They continued to disturb her so as what once was uneasy comfort and home, felt now alien and unfamiliar. They undermined her, her thought, what she once saw as a bastion of purity and sanity- now it’s only resident, a bleeding blonde. She hummed uncomfortably, as she continued, the walls broken down and worn- the heart of the bastion within, beating weakly and faintly. She arrived unto her home, by the end in the tears of her own, blood of her own, in the home of her own. The walk to the manor was longer than usual. Quieter, with their whispers at the edge of her mind. She tapped the bloodied, glassed hand along the walls of her fortress, giving a single low hum to herself. 

 

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((Well lets hope this turns out well))

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“May the elections bring back order to the city, and an efficient council.” Elathion said, shaking his head. “I regret having to do this, but if the Council, the Maheral and the Sohaer fail to listen to the people, this is inevitable.”

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ay’Larihei

 

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Well played to the council. No hard feelings boys.

 

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Dele stared at the document. She twitches, not meaning too. Her anxiety had shoot through her when it’d all came to play. The armored mali, the chase, the blood in the streets. She’d not been so sure what was going but here she stood, on the precipice of the future, staring into the unknown. There wasn’t going back and there was no going forward alone. Ikur, a former Sohaer and now A Maheral. 

 

Well, she’d be damned. It sounded like a joke, a musing told over rum and wine in the house of the Maehr’tehral, lounging by the fire. It wasn’t. She’d felt the fear of her grandchild Lle’an, how she’d shook and clung to her arm. The way she’d been frightened. She recalled seeking Aylon and Eldaenerth, to make sure they didn’t get swept up by men who weren’t watching for anyone but those they’d been told to arrest. She’d seen the fear, heard the cries. It hit her heart like shards of glass but here she was. She’d sip the rum slowly, staring out across the city from her balcony. She was in shock. 

 

She’d lived another day and so would the hill upon which she stood. For Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya, for Azorella, for Ikur now too. This was their Hill, their cihi, their home. She’d inhale and call a praise into the night. 

 

”MAEHR’SAE HIYLUN’EHYA!”

 

And with nothing else left to add, the elfess retired to her chambers, to sleep through her drained adrenaline from the day’s hardships.

===================< ✵ >===================

 

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Ikur looks up from his newspaper, propped up on a crossed leg in his luxurious armchair. Mild concern splays on his face as he watches Anethra succumb to the throes of grief, awash in her own blood and tears. He takes a sip of his tea, and decides now is not the moment to leave her basement.

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Posted (edited)

Alluin was exhausted from the news he heard over the last couple of days, concluded by the coup which came far swifter than he expected. He was tired, but sleep couldn't catch up on him, as he was being chased by tumbling thoughts. Had he failed his mal'onn by not warning him about the coming threat to his position? Had he misjudged by awaiting more information before deciding, in the end leaving him in the middle of it all without having chosen a side? Had his brother really made the mistakes they claimed him to? And even if, was it not his duty to stand by Alaion's side?

 

The coup had become so swiftly, it was over before he woke up, finding chaos in the streets and no sign of Alaion. His emotions were like a tornado and his lack of sleep did certainly not help that. Of course he would stay in elcihi, carry on, see if he could help his mal'onn, restore the peace, carry out his duties, speak to his family. 

 

But first, he needed some wine.

Edited by Arachne_07

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Seth had watched it, not having slept the last day his mind still clouded. They had after all agreed to trial Ikur, but for what, no one said. Suddenly Acaele had left the trial, putting the Sohaer in charge, of what was a dismissed trial? It was first then steel were threatened to be drawn, he realized. A coup. After all, had it been a revolution of Larihei students, steel would not had been used as a threat against kin- He asked time and time again, would Ikur also remove the title of Sohaer? But other questioned seems to take priority over his.  

As the mali gathered to vote, he frowned deeply, none he would gladly call Maheral, none that would be his Maheral, at least it wasn’t obvious snakes, he thought as he moved to abstain his vote between Maheral Nuala Uradir and Maheral Ikur Sullas, of which the latter became reality. 

Staggering through the city, he clutched his dagger by his side, yet he wont be the first to draw, not here. No blood might had been spilled yet, but he saw the Kinairan, Killers roaming the streets. After two short conversations with family, he moved homewards, to roam his basement, to keep himself awake, to wonder, why they went from one dark regime, to what the Betrayer, Kalenz Uradir has forged for himself and silently admitting the praise, that Ikur did not make the mistake of seating himself upon the throne like a king.

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