Wand 932 Popular Post Share Posted April 28, 2021 Art by Jia Ming In the dimmest reaches of Urguanite Axios - in Malin's Welcome, 1625, was born en Elvish boy, whose father held him aloft. So the father proclaimed to his fellows - clerics, Dwarves, and Ascended of the Order of the Mongoose - "Fëanor Sylvaeri has been born! Rejoice, for he shall lead you." The child had nearly not been born - nearly slain within the womb at the ill-will of malignant Gazardiael. Such an omen would surely forebode the grim fate of the Elf. Despite this, despite the raids at the will of angered Descendants and dark forces, the Elf would live to suffer through Caras Eldar, marked seemingly forever with the ethereal glow of the Aeriel-blessed. To enlist at the age of twenty was unheard of for most Elves, yet where the Dominion of Malin called for the Elves, the Flameborne would answer. It was through the Virarim, he would come to understand Elvish for the first time, and understand the responsibilities of doctrine, law, and order. Where a threat to the realm of Elves was declared, his blade was given in answer - even though the Elf himself would know no peace, for this was his belief instructed to him: give service to the Elves wherever his people made their home, even though he troubled, knowing he may never be truly ‘Elf’ within their eyes. Time passed, and the Flameborne was made officer by thirty. He had faced down with his allies against the War-Nation in the Orcish Wars of Atlas, against a gluttonous Archprince-Zentharek who commanded legions of undead and wicked Inferi. He had nearly perished at the hands of malflame personally, and given his life to the cause against the September ‘Prince’. Duty was purpose, yet this was not love. Yet so, when the King-slaying fell upon Caras Eldar and sundered the Elves in twain, he was torn. Despite his youth, he was made standing House-Lord of Sylvaeri and designated heir of his respective kin. In the following years, he would ascend to the Dominion Council as Praetor, to become Annilir under Mortal Queen Renn. This cycle of responsibility and duty would prove to repeat itself, and the shadow of his progenitor hung over the young heir like impending rainfall. With the formation of Caras Aegrothond, migrating into Arcas, he was made Prince of all Aegrothond. Arcas would not be kind to the Elves. Shortly following the Compact of Lethadlen and the Elven Union pacts, the Renatus-Marna and the Silver State fell upon the Elves, seeking surrender of the signatories under threat of death. Nearly all of humanity came for the Elves, and very closely, they had nearly severed the younger Flameborne’s head - failing to take his, though they had taken that of his allies. Had they done so, perhaps this is where the tale of Elvenesse would have died. Silence followed for a time. The Almenodrim would come at last to rejoin their kin in Aergrothond. The Voidal Incursion would come and pass, and soon after too would arrive Siramenor. Beneath the ebon curtain of night, the Elf swore upon the stars to offer a home to the Woodland Faithful. This, promised to the late Awaiti of Aureon, then Sirame. Together, a great home had been made, and over time stone walls would be slowly chipped away, for the Almenor and Siramenor folk to see equals in each other. Such a union, though blessed, was not without tribulation - for there is no such thing as a love not worth drawing steel or blood. The Flameborne’s old enemy arrived upon the continent - the Inferi, whose wicked malflame was direct and wicked contrast to the long-lost majesty of soulflame witnessed in his youth. The Sea Prince had been to one of their war-claimed planes, and knew the capacity for war. His last war had arrived - a testament to his old grudge against the daemonic foe. This would be a test of all his knowledge against the Inferi, and a test of himself to inform and lead the peoples against this wicked foe. This Inferi War would nearly break Aegrothond and Siramenor, which withstood only with the assistance of the whole of the continent. Eventually, the Inferi would be pushed back to Korvassa, and there the hands of the prime mover exposed: the wicked Gazardiael of his youth, who had nearly slain him. At last, the Descendants had done what the Holy Orders could not - slaying Gazardiael, at the cost of the continent and the Realm’s safety. Amongst the declarations of prophecy and holy war on behalf of Courage, wicked other omens would come to afflict the royarch. Signs of the foul Dagnir had surfaced, and so the Elf was sworn by blood to seek this god-weapon. Led far down Shadow’s road, he would come to awareness of a cycle, teachings which ominously led into beliefs of the natural cycle. All that would grow and live was bound to return to the earth. It was clear that in a matter of years after, the Elf’s time would come. The exhaustion of the decades wore upon him - an Elf then of barely over a century and a half, yet he had ruled for over eighty years. The prince and all the folk of Elvenesse were soon beheld with a lush, coniferous woodland upon the new continent, and blessed with an ‘Arm’, a blessed sign of the potential these new lands bore. Over time, his Council would be drafted - the law, faith. The Flameborne was never certain when he knew his time would come. Perhaps it was the prolonged threat of war, that which would be his fourth in his time. Perhaps it had been the death of Awaiti, or the royarch’s understanding of the Wild Faith. In further consideration, however, it was simply that he came to realize more than half his life had been given to princeship, and yet the Sylvaeri was not even two centuries old. To raise a child into rulership from a young age was assuredly a mistake. While a sustainable measure for human monarchies and Empires, an Elf’s life was long, and moreso bound to the consequence of a cycle - to witness war again and again, an inherent madness was to be found in recognizing the patterns of an age. Just as a sailor was bound to sense and read the sky for rain and ruin, so could any long-lived Descendant learn to read the signs of war. There was a mercy and wisdom in knowing when one’s time has come, much as one knew to relinquish duty over that which they no longer had the resources to maintain. A crown, a rulership, ought be like that among Elves, he realized: lived in love, and ended in its time. As to the future ahead, the Elf could ne’er again help but seek the horizon in search of inclement weather, but one thing was certain: somewhere out there, his final challenge would one day arrive upon the shores of Elves, seeking him. On that day, gladly will he march to face this Nameless One - and on that day, he would see at last the meaning of his name. Spoiler OOC: It's been an interesting few years playing an Elf - I very much did so on a whim, since before LOTC I've legitimately never played any before. The character of Feanor was originally just going to be a combat focused character as a break from my original cleric - after getting into the Dominion back in Atlas, I decided I wanted to keep him as my main character. I didn't even know that much about Elven or even LOTR going into playing him, but I learned over time and found myself a niche - and also realized I was definitely not good for PVP, seeing as how I've got carpal tunnel and essential tremors (PVP is necessary given the core of the server's conflict systems, something which of course I just can't do to most extents) These past few weeks I've decided my time was due to step back - I have a new job to look forward to, in which I will eventually be up for manager duties, and thanks to the server I've gotten back into art. I might be doing art commissions in the near future, but who's to say. Thanks for the good times for those that had any with me, and remember to take it easy on yourself. This past year has been difficult on everyone regardless of your playerbase given the worldwide pandemic. I've known people who've lost family, friends, jobs, or other people they care about. Because of it, I've also been faced with some personal health issues which I won't get into here - but since I'm in a position to financially take care of myself and others, I feel an obligation to do so. Anyways I'll be around still for smithing and maybe event stuff, if any of you already know me you know where to reach me. Cheers. 46 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Bhased 3588 Share Posted April 28, 2021 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. 6 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Willstertheking2 1101 Share Posted April 28, 2021 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. 1 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
SwampRump 171 Share Posted April 28, 2021 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. 2 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Luciloo 2653 Share Posted April 28, 2021 Spoiler 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.." 4 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
CRP Goon 71 Share Posted April 28, 2021 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. 2 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Commander_Jester 162 Share Posted April 28, 2021 (edited) 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 April 28, 2021 by Commander_Jester 4 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
NomadGaia 924 Share Posted April 28, 2021 Someplace in the emerald dream, an old druidess is proud of the young Prince. Perhaps one day they will meet again. 6 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
CorweenieTheJedi 889 Share Posted April 28, 2021 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. 1 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
excited 10833 Share Posted April 28, 2021 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. 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. 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, 15 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Nectorist 7423 Share Posted April 28, 2021 "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. 2 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Evonpire 1834 Share Posted April 28, 2021 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. 1 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Sybbyl0127 618 Share Posted April 28, 2021 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. 1 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
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