Mol Tunu Vou?

[ThatFunkyBunch 2818]

Spoiler

Score boards currently something like 13-0 let's see if the dark elves can make that a 13-1 in the next two years

 

Mol Tunu Vou?


[!] A moving depiction of the fall of Magara’lin. Fires burn from within a vast mountain, with caravans slowly moving away upon this page. Farms towards the coastline burn. Large towers reaching towards heaven crumble.  [Haruspex: Pages Alive [Non-Combat; 2 charges]

Dark Elf

Mali’ker

Maehr

Maehr’uhier.

We have had many names throughout history, but it all begins with the Maehr’uhier. Velulaeis guild of her soldiers, scholars and craftsmen. It is time for those who others have dubbed Mali’ker reclaim the titles given to us by OUR Ancestors.
 

My wayward and distant kin. Some of you have heard of me, others only met. Most do not know me. I am Daichia Jusmia, the father of Gusiam Jusmia.

I have seen the rise and fall of our people countless times since the days of Atlas. Yet this curse lingered long before I was ever born. I have seen their mistakes, my own mistakes. Our understanding of our history has been warped. For this, I apologize for the part I played in this. For history is written by the victors. Our ties to Luara have never been false. The fear and doctrine of older Shamanic Ker will no longer restrain us.

It is unlikely, for those that were around for the rise of Renelia to the fall of Nor’veylth, that the curse that drove our ancestors to madness lies within us. Our lives are our own to live. I am a Shaman, I am Maehr’uhier.

I have seen you gather with Elves, gather with Orcs, Dwarves, Humans. Scattered across cities. Some of you, until recently, still rule nations. Yet the Maehr remain scattered. Lost to the corrupting touches of this world.

I had spoken to many, many that wish to see something bear fruit. Though the same curse still lingers.

Our people are not ones for silver cutlery and imposing castles. Before the Era of Magara’lin our ancestors roamed the lands in search of information.

I come to you with an offer. In the past two centuries our knowledge of the past has deepened with the appearance of House Thyone and their documents. We can begin to piece together a picture of life for Magara’lin. I believe it was once the information capital of the world. The Maehr’uhier studied all magics, all Aneguls and Daemons they could.

We can not fix this alone, nor can the unspoken ever shape history if they do not rise to the chance.

I offer this, join me in this journey to find home, either be it people, or lands to call our own once more. The Maehr’uhier need little, grab your tents and a sleeping roll. Smoke jerky, boil water. My Acolyte Rangôth Nava'toul, tells me he is within Celia’nor. So I depart to make my way to continue his education. Bring ideas and plans. For our task from the beginning has always been clear. To learn all we can of Mundas. Politics can wait.

Bundle well, for winter is harsh in the north of Aevos.
 

Where we travel from here, I do not know.

To those I have spoken with already, the dreams we have spoken of, have not changed. Consider this a shove to get the ball rolling down the hill. 
 

[!] Members of the Shamanic Lodge receive the following letter.
 

Spoiler

To the Shamanic Lodge, worry not, fret not. For most of you are too young to recall my face. I am a pacted of Harzkhep. The Blood Moon of Luaras Council: That which represents change. 

 

[Tav 4336]

Eyes of maroon once more grazed the headlines of that evening, and before he knew it that young 'ker chased after his mother @Phersades - soon turning over the page so she can see it.  "Dark Elves mentioned!! Renelia mentioned!!" 

[AstriaS 4988]

Velsyni, matriarch of the House Indoren, and one-time holder of the title for 'Richest Person in Renelia', was awoken from her eternal dream by the mention of Renelia.

[PrinceJose270 1211]

"Father..."Was the singular word did the Clan head of the Jusmias spoken, his eyes reading his page, his memories flood of both good times and bad of the fates of Renalia. Though with a soft sigh, he took a second to grab one of his inkwells and feathers as he begun to write.