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Upon hearing of the news, Eir'thall's eyes widen in genuine surprise before he spoke, "If Evar'tir can't save this place, then no one can."

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"Based." Said a certain Laraethryn from Haelun'or as he saw his Sohaer and his people were invited.

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A rock, once bathed in courage, lays in glee. His kinsman was victorious, arisen before the morning sun.

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Lylianth Ithelanen turns to her son, waving the announcement at him as a rare smile bloomed across her features. "Look, Aenor! Evar'tir is Prince at last."

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“The sly bastard did it..” Tanyl would say with a grunt, a wryly grin etched upon his strained features. “I am grateful that I served beside you mal’onn, do our people proud.”

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*A goblin in the afterlife while flying through the air is disapointed.*

 

A dwarf in a bar: "Well finalleh he gets tah relax ah bit, good fer ye feanor"

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The former Okarir'tir, and now former Lord Marshal, looks over the notice with curious eyes and a pensive hum. Upon spotting the Sohaer's invitation at the bottom, however, his expression swiftly sours, and the elf crumples the paper, and looks about his private office, now nearly empty,

 

"Beginning his reign by breaking bread with the tarnished state, is he? An ill omen indeed."

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Amaesil Vuln'miruel reads the notice with a light smile. The elf exhales slowly upon completing his read. A relieved expression overtakes his face for a few moments before he turns his eyes toward the setting sun.

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The decorated commander of the high elven army noted the invitation of his peers with a wry grin. He made preparations to attend the ceremony, pondering the brief spat of bloodshed his state had engaged in but a single decade prior.

 

“The Woodland Realm awaits. As does its people.”

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2 hours ago, Bhased said:

The Sohaer of Haelun'or,  Othelu Orrar, his Council, and his Citizenry

 

"Nice." Haskir smiles with a nod. "I like that."

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Avaeramos pens a letter to Evar'tir with a crude drawing of himself giving a thumbs up -- commending the newly elected Prince for his ascension to the throne!

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"So the despot wears a crown upon his head..."

Olórin Telemnar commented, gaze bearing down from his coast side home upon the neglected, silent dockland.
"If we folk of Almenor are to survive, it shan't be beneath the heel of Evar'tir."

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While reading the letter, she would fold it back up and sigh

"I hope this wasn't a bad decision, but my words and others didn't get through.

I hope from the best that our nation won't fall."

Tahlia would then go inside and feel immediate sickness

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Having been present at the meeting in which Evar'tir was chosen to be the next High Prince, the Lilac Druid and Terin Elder wasn't surprised by the news. Vienele gave a nod of approval, folding the letter to tuck into her pocket. 

 

"I've faith you'll do great, Brother."

 

A thoughtful look came to her face, wondering if she'd be able to attend the coronation. Would a gift be needed for such?

 

 

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