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Heavy Lays the Head


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Evar'tir smiles fondly, for a man he recruited years ago had grown into a strong Royarch, and an amiable fellow. His own work was far from over, however the path was far from unpaved. 

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Levian'Tol Grandaxe sighs as the news officially reaches his desk before offering a solemn nod to the missive. "Can't ask fer much more t'an w'at 'e gave ta t'ose people." He sets the missive aside before ensuring that he had enough ale for Feanor's next visit.

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Somewher in a smoke filled tavern, A soft smile crosses the lips of Arevthor Tathvir as he learns of the news, reminiscing on the kindness that he was shown over the decades.  Lifting his glass into the air he offers a silent toast in the man's name before downing his last drink of the night.

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In the depths of the Atoll Grove, beneath a clear starlit sky glistening like far-flung gems upon crushed velvet, a Drui looked out upon the glassy sea as it glimmered under silver moonlight. Far across the strait, cloaked in mist, she could almost see the cliffs of Amaethea and the ships moored there with rich crimson sails. "You have always been kind and fair, ahllir.." she remarked, her breath fogging in the wintry air, "It is good that you have saved some of both for yourself."

 

 





Beneath that same sky flecked with silver and gold, there stood a Dwarf within a valley, cloaked in stars as beautiful as those which were set into the inky blackness above, sheltered by green mountains and a lush countryside. "Yea were alwees gud t'me an' mine Feanor.. e'en when we couldn' alwees be gud back." Ashen features grew warm and amber eyes looked up to the treasures of the great beyond, "Ah wouldy liked t'fight 'longside uh Prince.. but s'pose there's still time t'fight 'longside uh frien'.. an' forge toge'er 'neath teh stahs.."

 

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The scarred warrior lay on his dusty floor, surrounded by wood shavings and flecks of cigar ash. I need to clean this place up. He thought to himself with a grin, his lips parting ironically to accept the lit cigar in his left hand, drawing from it and sending the smoke up into the air. "Rest your weary shoulders, Mal'onn, the nation is grateful for all you have given it." He found himself talking to the shapes in the smoke, an expression of reflection came over him as it often did, accompanied by a perpetual look of half amusement as the 'ame spoke to his smoke. 

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Within the very docks of Elvenesse, stood a thoughtful Almenodrim. Once a Mali'aheral. His gaze gentle to the ocean waves, but his attention elsewhere. His thoughts remain on tonight's events. A soft smile forms upon his lips, "I met Feanor as a great Prince. He may be one no longer, but he remains a great friend."

Edited by Commander_Jester
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Someplace in the emerald dream, an old druidess is proud of the young Prince. Perhaps one day they will meet again.

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Sevrel smiles bittersweetly upon the young Feanor, as he officially stood down his position as High Prince of Elvenesse. On one hand, he is pained to see such a fair and pure hearted leader step down from leadership; on the other, he is happy to see his friend finally exhale a sigh of relief. He wonders what the mali will do, now that he has such free time.

 

Among the many mali and descendants wishing to speak to the Royarch, Sevrel offers brief well tidings and good luck to his future; though not goodbye, as their stories are far from over he wagered.

 

The elder 'ker sat upon the beaches of his home, pondering the newly crowned high prince. Will he rule with a firm and just mind? Will he offer a kind hand to those in need? Will Evar'tir be able to grasp the nation, who's heart falters?

 

These questions jumbled in his mind for some time, before he chose to stop pondering and let time tell the tale, as it has done so.

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A vision haunted a man within the vestiges of an empty realm, a place dilapidated and returned to nature, free from people. Beasts haunted the woods, tall trees and great boughs centuries old scattered across the flat woodland landscape. In the vision the man was younger, and behind him burned the cities of Courland as the Renatian and Dominion forces marched on. The wildlands of the Pale brought Kairn great solace now as he moved towards the end of his third century of life. 

 

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The Bronze Lord remembered still the vast conflicts, the conquering, the bloodshed. In his mind's eye, he remembered it all, yet he buried the bloodshed beneath his good conscience. It was after all the 1800's now, and such things were not to continue if he were to have a say in it. He thought still of the young boy, the one who had come to the Dominion. The alleged bastard of his former friend, a bygone scion of Lafthi Sylvaeri.

 

He remembered being brought before the King of Norland in chains upon the precipice of the Third Atlas Coalition War. By then, the son of Aenor had imagined his time had come. The angry, hungry smirk of the Orcs who led him forth before the King, the King he had been sent to stop. Yet, the King let him go to the annoyance of those many Orcs, and the Elf had lived. With a frown on his lips, he had left that place alive, when all he had been doing is seeking his own unruly demise. 

 

The Lord of Camlannen turned and watched his banner as it flew in the howling wind before his great fortress. The Green Wizard, he was called now. 

 

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With that, against his better judgement, the Alder-Imperial issued a letter to Feanor. 

 

Addressed to Feanor Sylvaeri on the 19th of The Deep Cold, Year 21 of the Second Age. 

 

It has been a rather long time, and recently I had pondered upon the shared history of our people, and the ascension of my kinsman Evar'tir to the position of High Prince of the Peoples of Elvenesse. No doubt, you have chosen wisely, as have those who elected him. The future is hardly in doubt and with time, I do believe that peace shall again touch the vestiges of the realm that you call the Arm of Malin and its accompanying lands and forests. It is of my belief that with this paradigm shift in the Realm of Elvenesse, the unruliness of past conflicts and wars shall come to an end, and once again there shall be a peace. Such quaintness brings the joy of music again to my otherwise tone deaf ears, and I hope verily that you enjoy your retirement despite whatever misgivings of the past once existed. 

 

Despite the blunders, the people live on, and you and Evar'tir have both made your fair share of sacrifices to keep those within your lands safe from foreign interference, stagnation, and the rampant imperialism of the various polities that wrestle for control amidst our known world. 

 

This shall likely be the last time we speak. Your mother was a close friend of mine, and with your father dead you shall no longer have anybody to stymie your true ambitions in life.

 

Sincerely, 

 

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"Although our encounters were fleeting, it was an honor to be of service where I could. Free of charge and all, I don't give a damn," says Albatross, having received notice of the Sea Prince's departure from the local mercenary network.

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Somewhere in the Cliffs of Amaethea, the Red-Haired Silma sat in silence as he read through the missive. Though, almost pathetic Ali'ere begun to slowly murmur something to himself. "- It was a great honour to serve you Feanor, as Oathblade in the past, and a Guardsmen in the present." After this, he would simply wander off to the Flame of Malin burning atop the House's manor, and as seemingly per tradition with these missives, he simply threw it into the Pyre, using it as kindling.

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Somewhere in elvenesse the occasional question comes from the ever so out-of-the-loop Leniandir, 

"Oi, yeh seen Uncle Faenor? Ah wan' teh show ehm somethin'." While brandishing about some new carving or bottle of mystery alchemical creation. Often times ending up showing it to Uncle Evar'tir instead.. Her attention span never let her look for too long.

 

She doesn't seem bothered, though. Knowing well that sometimes people just need time to themselves, to get away from the stress of these large, busy environments, full of drama and social events. Though she liked it all herself, she understood.

 

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