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UGRUNG AFOOT - A Desperate Plea


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Seers, contact nadiné#8677 to read a hidden Caecic message. #001.

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THE SCHISM

 

“What was once a charitable people scattered like roaches into crevasse, clan, and cairn alike, seeking shelter in the places where none others go save for need. Mali’ wrought for themselves an existence of cruelty and mindless fear, despising each other within their hearts- for they each served as an eternal reminder of their fallen state. Their sire was gone and they were now hunted, surviving each day in huddled terror and abundant mistrust. 

 

Rue the day that wrath burned hotly enough in one of our kin’s bellies to spur them towards revenge. For as swiftly as a hand was raised to lash out in violence, we were damned to shrivel and die from within.”

- Dubh Lorelei, A Record of Sorrow

 

     Words wrought of my mother’s memory, scribed above in a labor of love, leveled towards my kin. Mali’ of Nevaehlen, please, hear me and understand. The pamphlet pinned below  was delivered to several individuals, locations, and response-boxes. Each was written on my parchment, by my direction, and was cast forth by my bird.

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     It was not my intention to feed into the vicious cycle of seclusion and exclusion, however. By no means did I expect real, sweeping banishments to come of this. The Vale of Nevaehlen is strong, and it will never fall prey to such ridiculous delusions. But that does not mean the sad reality it faces is any better, kin; it does not mean that this unequal, unorderly, unchecked status quo is any less threatening. A friend, a sister, a daughter of our community was cast out. Without a trial. Without the chance, even, to offer any goodbyes.

     Shortly after, we were warned off- by silent missive- from following in her footsteps. From associating with the banished and shunned, lest we suffer in kind. All the while, more brazen injustices were kept from the public eye. When shoved into view, these accusations were approached tepidly, bereft of the fervor their uglier nature demands. Few were capable of focusing on the raw truth of these issues, and instead took to the safety of hidden nooks. All too comfortable in their correctness. In not  having been named for their crimes, they assuredly found peace.

     It remained unknown to you all that Miven, our dear Matriarch and the leader who has given so much for us all, was likewise tied to the likes of Qard by way of binding contract. This is an issue no more, surely. The same might be said about many of the issues outlined in my pamphlets. But if Vinwë was judged for a folly so-old, and without a chance to appeal to her family, her community, where is the line drawn?

     These are my pleas, to my kin of Nevaehlen.
 

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Do not cast eachother out into this wartorn, fetid land. We have cowered and readied ourselves in the face of repugnant Malinor’s threats. Do not pretend that the world is a safe place for a discarded Nevaehli, not now.

 

Do not allow your betters to levy judgment without your say. They must not pretend our community, our family, is unfit to take care of its own. Demand a right to trial.

 

Do not stand by and allow your wooden walls to be cast in silver, or pearl luster. The value of a community as ours is not in its uniformity. It is in the purity of our love. Abandoning a member of the family for their differences, as opposed to trying to help them improve, adapt, or teach you in turn, is a vile symptom of perverse arrogance.

 

     At this point, I know. Unity is only ever a lie fed to us by would-be tyrants or foolish idealists. We are fragmented as a people, and a heavy burden is set on us as a result. What few elven communities do exist, must be fair, and prosperous. If nothing else, I hope we can all agree on this.

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Desperately,

Dubh Ainmhí

Edited by thequeennadine
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Dakath blinks. ". . . What the, Ainmhi, what've you gotten yourself into?" he'd say in a confused manner. 

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"I can nae read tha' well, bu' I don' think I've ever heard o' the words ugrung afoot before." Ellenore Eiriksson comments, after having briefly glanced over the missive.

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"If this is how ye 'ave felt all along, Ainmhi, ye were ne kin of mine. Those who side with the Dragonkin are cowards, snakes - there is ne justice or trials te be given te fools." The Bruin states as the missive was read out loud to her. "If we could ne teach ye what it means te 'ave thick skin, values, n' morals then I do ne know who else can. Perhaps one day ye could learn why it is we punish the way we do."

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Aenor reads over the missive alongside Nedai and Eretria, holding the smaller elf up so she could read the notice. His azure gaze scans over each line before a faint huff of amusement emits from him "Vinwe must have held her ear for some time, then. I spoke with Miven on the topic, and was honest with her when she came to me. This is a poor attempt to shed negative light on a topic that has already been dealt with. As for 'Van'el', I can't say I've heard the name. It's not uncommon knowledge that I rarely leave my house to interact with people, save for a select few." He pauses for a moment "...Who is Ainmhí, again?"

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“Holy shit, Qard. You helped these people out? — why them?” Redmane mused. “I think your standards for company has soured during the years.”

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Enscribed within the woods, Mali'ame of the Irrinite denomination could see simple words etched paper attached to a handful of the trees.

 

"I tire of their indolence. The blood of Ithel'an shall not be transgressed against. Heed the warning of what happened to the Elvenessi. Heed the warning of the countless burned, slain, and decapitated for defaming the House of Calithil.

 

Make not the mistakes of your forebears in assailing the blood of the Princes of Morea."

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Talim read over the missive with a frown, then posted a pin beneath. I am unsure who you are to claim to know of my dealings with Qard and even swear that your knowledge of it is unequivocally true, but all dealings that I did have with him were long concluded before he was banished from Nevaehlen. You could have contacted me and I would have happily told you as much as well. The motives behind this message you have left do not seem well intentioned or informed, but hastily written and manipulative. -Tali'mordu

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A far-flung warrior of the House of Ithel'an smiles with callous joy, reminiscing on the days he and his kin butchered elves in an act of vengeance for the death of his brother.

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1 hour ago, PXY said:

“Holy shit, Qard. You helped these people out? — why them?” Redmane mused. “I think your standards for company has soured during the years.”


The Darkest Lord of Blackness sauntered nearby Redmane, and tenaciously hefted a tight-fist into the air. “I see. My brother has suffered more than I have, to meddle with the lowly scum of the Vale.” Malik draped his black robe, and walked past his eldest brother, collapsing into the confines of a rusted, silver ring. 

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A woman sits overlooking the quiet village. Wyvern staff laid against her shoulder, wooden fingers tapping an idle beat upon her own leg. Mulling the words on that missive over in silence. Crimson eyes watched the wood and sea alike. Keen ears perked for the merry sounds coming from below. 

How easy it was for those to speak up from blissful ignorance. How easy it was to cast accusations unfounded. Her gaze wandered towards a certain shrine, Malikki the Ape, defiled since by a strange creature. She recalled the words it had spoken, that twisted daemon she'd summoned from an innocent facade.
"Ne today Qard. Ne tomorrow either. You may wish to dance on my grave, but you have to kill me first. You've taken my niece. You've taken my lliran. You'll have ne others..."

A match was struck, pipe being lit. Trailing aromatic smoke behind her the 'Ame slipped from the wall. Procuring a torch, she'd head for the Ape. "Duty calls..."

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A Thin, Redheaded Child reads the missive from a clinic bed, a frown beginning to form on her face.

 

"Is this why you haven't visited?"

 

"... Will I see you again?"

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Prince Kosher Daesmon of Amaethea, formerly the lands of Elvenesse would sigh as he looked to the Western Sea. “Thousands of dead Uruk and yet the Vale still doesn’t rally to the aid of their kind. Truly frightening how lost they are in their own world.”

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