A Wilting Outrage

[Akrasia 265]

Spoiler

 

 

 

Rage, an unimaginable rage, coursed through his soul.

 

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

 

A venom that razed his mind asunder, twisting ideals beyond any truth. This anger was the only thing that brought warmth to him as he found himself floating in the dark, cold. Drifting in the pool of souls that he hated most, descendant kind did not deserve to be this close to his putrid heart. In this moment, he grasped onto his memories tight as if they might give him a foothold in damnation.

 

A life of a young dark elf, taken in by a community that was not his- one that would not accept him until he saw fit to adopt their culture. Without a home, a family, or the people he loved dearly, he quickly took charge of the first thing he had ever wanted. Soon, he had a family within Arvellon, and with that came a home he could call his own. A time when he loved art and mischief. Leaving glitter bombs at the doors of just about every resident of Nevaehlen. Giving Ilmyumier to those who wished for his art. Becoming friends with a blind elfess and a man whose mind was shattered, they were inseparable. Adventures were to be had, drama to gossip about, nights where the group would stay up late and watch the moon come and go, the stars telling stories of the brave and those forgotten.

 

Next were memories of his niece coming into the world, and though she was not bound to him by blood, she meant a great deal to the 'ker. Wanting to ensure she always had family to turn to, no matter what happened. Though in the later years, relations began to wash away. Family didn't feel like family, and home didn't feel safe anymore. The ones the young druid looked up to seemed to turn their back to save face. Leaving that poor child alone. He wouldn't have it. Visiting her in quiet when she was banished for being a child, one who makes mistakes. Knowing well that if he was caught, he too would suffer punishment. In this time, he still loved art, but mischief and fun were quickly replaced with that same tired feeling he would feel from here on out.

 

He found love around the same time. They were perfect- beautiful like the night sky in which their eyes shone moonlight upon him with a glance. There was comfort and safety within their gaze, so he sought to stay within it whenever he could. Cherishing every moment in their company as if there was never enough time left. They were kind to him, teaching him about his gifts while his family continued to squabble and tear apart. But that didn't matter as long as he was within that moonlight. Soon did they granted him knowledge of a power unfathomable; it came with a price, of course, but it was worth it if it meant being with them. He would never turn his back on his love; he promised such.

 

Many decades would pass, but time didn't warp his immortal skin. Though he grew weak... this power he claimed, tearing his body asunder. He needed a way to stay there... a way to stay present. An old mentor, someone he trusted, someone once burned by the very power he held, had trusted him with immortality renewed. With that, the elf was no longer an elf, but a lich bound to nature for the rest of his pathetic life. Furthermore, a more sacred gift. Though both of these things combined and morphed his mind into something new.

 

That was it; those descendants were the problem. The ones who refused the path of the Aspects. Taking and taking from the land they 'claimed' and it was never theirs. They never gave back. They killed each other, tore down forests, put up stone walls, and built these ugly monuments to their false success, but never did they credit the land and the people who cleaned up after them. There were people in his own order who didnt deserve the gifts bestowed, they were weak... unwilling to grow, such was not natures way. Those who refused power- refused growth would be culled in the end. Only the strong could survive. Those to whom he preached this perspective looked down upon his ideals, or falsely agreed but never acted upon it. His coven, however, he felt agreed with his sentiment, that was his community now, the Order would never change and never will.

 

Rage, an unimaginable rage, coursed through his soul as it was ripped from the song. He would not awake in the forest, but this was his repentance for the ideals he held. His final words, hoping to enlighten all who could listen to them... But he would never know. In that cold stream, he floated through the 'ker would close his eyes, accepting his fate. There were no tears, no remorse... The only thing he regretted was that he could not take more with him. He would remain in that emptiness forever if he had to, clinging to the hope that his love would not forget about him.

 

But then his back felt the soft touch of grass, and the warmth of the sun shining down upon him. The sounds of birds chirping and the wind pushing past the trees caused the field he lay in to come to life and fill his nose with the scent of wildflowers. When those eyes finally opened, and those gray eyes looked up at a sky so beautiful and unimaginable, he could not help but sob. He did not deserve this mercy, but something allowed it. 

 

That man picked himself up and wandered forward in a land bathed in warm rays. Seeking out others, perhaps in death he could at least find clarity.

 

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

 

Spoiler

OOC Note:

Woah my first death, uh I started him like 3-4 years ago I think? Regardless, this was my favorite to play and none of my other characters really had the same appeal this one did. But in truth I too grew bored of him too which is why I suspect im not so beat up about this death. Besides I chose a dark path for him, it was only natural for him to be taken out back and shot.

 

I enjoyed all the rp that lead up to his end from back then to present, and I hope for those I interacted with enjoyed him as well despite his aloof nature. That being said, staff threw me a bone and has allowed him into the forest despite being unattuned... so I suppose you can still call him up on the druidic telephone spell if you wanted. So thank you staff team, I appreciate you dearly.

 

I was going to do some letters and stuff but I dont think I will, ill probably just distribute some items that I feel have significance to his story via like a will or something? 

 

Anyways thanks for the good times, maybe ill make another character if im feeling up for it. Kind of bored of lotc right now and pretty busy so it all works out.

 

[NightOfTheWind 3226]

[marsloll 1384]

Spoiler

 

 

 

[By H. W. Carpenter]

 

⭒₊ ⊹ ⏾ ₊ ⊹⭒ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ꜰᴀᴋᴇ ᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ. ⭒₊ ⊹ ⏾ ₊ ⊹⭒

 

The ache was no stranger. That mourning drone, the tolling bell - It was even a comfort to feel in the void of nothingness - a break from the boring mundane. They knew not who passed, or who disappeared from the mortal realm this time. Being so surrounded by death made it an inevitability, that it almost came as an embrace. That stabbing of the knife to remind her that she was still alive.

 

Days had passed. Weeks, even. These periods of quiet were ordinary, as the pair seemed to enjoy their peace together or apart. Given the dire circumstances in the past years, however, these periods of quiet came from a foreboding tone. The masks, the games, the lies, the secrecy - all of it was done for the sake of their safety. Their peace. Even with nothing, they would be something together, so long as they had each other. Looking back upon memories through the centuries, dark purple talons combed through black locks - a moonlit glow locked in a tender gaze with ichorous hues.

 

Nedai. My blood-soaked luna. Mi querido.

 

Where would I be without you?

 

I would be nothing without you. Nothing.

 

=+=

 

It was the dead of night as they traversed up the side of the mountain. Harsh winds whistled past snowcapped peaks, shrouding soft footsteps that ascended up past rocky cliffs. One foot in front of the other - quicker and quicker. A walk, turned into a jog, turned into a run - desperation seeped through the very marrow of the nocturnal creature. 

 

The silence could not be heavier. A boulder, a mountain, dropped down onto their chest - the whole world, disintegrating and crumbling into the void beneath their feet. The lone tree that stood before them - silent. Nothingness came from it, still as could be. For the first time in decades, the creature experienced true, unadulterated, fear. 

 

This isn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. He promised. He promised me.

 

She was right. She said this would happen, and she was right. Was this her doing? 

 

How could he have done this to ME? 

 

How could he leave me here TO ROT ALONE?

 

The agony clawed and twisted at their organs like wild beasts seeking to eat them from the inside out. The grief was an unbearable feeling, something that felt like it was wringing their body out like a wet rag. Crumpling onto the snow-covered dirt, hands grasped at the side of their head as if a migraine threatened to cleave their head wide open. All those years, the bottled-up emotions that were packed away after so long - everything felt like it was going to burst wide open. 

 

The earth began to seep a terrible red hue as the creature writhed in front of that silent tree, stained with an inhuman amount of blood that pooled outwards - overflowing over the cliffsides in a reddened flood. The blades of grass seemed to wither and die underneath the flow of blood, flowers turned brown and curled in on themselves, and roots turned brittle and grey. Muffled whimpers grew to sniffles, grew to sobs, before growing into a singular, blood-curdling wail - filled with the pent-up rage and anguish of the past century. Nature answered this despair in turn - that red mist exploded outwards, staining the mountain with bloodied ruin.

 

The landscape was marred in devastation - desolation crashed against the cliff like a meteor from the skies. No living creature was left in sight, and not even a blade of grass stirred awake. Trees were left barren - weak husks of their formal selves. In the middle of the destruction, there the creature lay - limp and weak, curled up in the bloodstained dirt. The silver glow from their unblinking eyes hid their true bloodshot, teary nature as they seemed to stare off into the ether - at that tree that stood so still in front of her.

 

I am nothing without you. Nothing.

 

⋆⭒˚｡⋆☾⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ʙᴇ ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴅɪꜱᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀ. ⋆⭒˚｡⋆☾⋆⭒˚｡⋆

 

Spoiler

Shout out to the goat Akrasia for real! I'm so glad that you got to play Nedai and got to experience his story in the way that you did, and I'm especially glad that through him, we were able to become so close. While it is terribly sad that he as a character is gone, I cannot wait to see how he influences the stories to come! I'm gonna put my favourite Arceliadai art here though, mostly to guilt all the bad people who killed him /hj - they were my favourite evil freaks, and I will miss their antics dearly ;;

 

 

 

 

 

[RaiderBlue 1064]

Spoiler

 :(


 

 

[NightOfTheWind 3226]

In a realm where the clouds were heavy enough to carry a soul, and books stacked high enough to tower over most people, there was a narrator finishing the last excerpt from his story. A retelling of a past event. This is what he wrote:

 

· · ───────────༺ ｡° . ༻𓆩𓆪༺ . ° ｡༻─────────── · ·
The realm of reflections was a haunting place indeed. A place in which you were forced to face yourself, where the only enemy was what you allowed there to be. In the deepest corners did he travel with his companions, the one who bore the name Decay. An ironic name, that he would preserve life wielding a name that most would think to be the antithesis of that. We ask you a question, dear reader, is decay a state of life, or is decay the result, or perhaps the beginning?

 

When the man awoke in the field, the boy he sought to save was nowhere to be found. He and his companions took a moment to recover, only to find a bloody scene nearby; the aftermath of the battle. There was a lone figure standing amidst the blood-stained flowers, the wind drying the ichor staining his circlet. Those red eyes pointed towards him, along with a smile. Slow steps were taken towards the dark elf, the pair greeting each other once again, as if they were a father and son reuniting.

"Thank you for saving me, Master."

It was something, someone, who he'd never forget.

───────────────────────────────────────

 

Our story shifted away from the narrator, down to the clouds we went to view that same spirit laying down in the grass, tired from a long day of taking care of the many animals that sought rehabilitation from injuries or malnourishment. His eyes traced the skies, the smile on his face fading as he watched a hawk move overhead. The bird reminded him of his own flights in the sky, ones he took with one he'd never see again. The boy rolled onto his side, the blades of grass obscuring his vision. There was only a single thought on his mind, now.

 

"I wonder if he'll come by soon?"

[Phersades 1710]

☾༒︎────────༒︎☽

 

There was a pressure so great on the shoulders of the little fox, one placed there by the people whom she loved most. Some days it was her guide made her feel the worst or her mother, and she would grow bitter and lonely under those endless canopies.  Some days her mind would fill with a hate that shone brighter than anything, one narrowed in on a specific ungrateful, lackluster group of people.

It was Nedai who had eased her mind, one of the few who she believed listened and assured her that she was not the violent dog they made her out to be. By then she had not had many friends, at least none so willing to sit with her and speak on what it was that festered within her mind. She held a great love and respect for Nedai, and she thought he was one of the greatest of druids. Of all the useless ilk she had to prattle with here and there back home, Nedai was the prime example of what she believed to be a good use of the gift. 

...yet he was gone. 

For the first time in her life did Vayan feel true grief. It was a pain unlike any other, and with it came the knowledge that the war to come was going to be long, grueling, and deserved.

☾༒︎────────༒︎☽

 

If what she said was true, then Vayan could not stop fore this was a great loss to her.

 

Spoiler

 

Like it should have been Caius..... omg.... 

 

[Hyperdron 355]

How many years? How many decades? How many centuries...?

 

An 'ame of shattered mind had never quite been settled with the passing of time for a long, long while, ever since moonlight had graced their sun-sewn soul. Friends they had met only yesterday found only distant memories, yet companions they had not seen since their reclusion to the Wilds a lifetime ago remained burned in the forefront of their thoughts. From the Grove to the Isle, to the Cove, to the Vale, they would trek the mirror sea within, dance through the Artisan's garden, listen to the Worldflower retell the stories of those stars witnessed in quiet, tranquil moments... and they would reminisce.

 

Nedai was an old name - but forever a familiar one, and a cherished one. They still recalled the 'ker's first steps into the Bardic magics, where he made discoveries no other artist had since truly replicated; they still recalled their own first steps into the practices of medicine and alchemy, where his knowledge and mentorship had led them to ideas they may otherwise have never conceived. Despite being the elder in age, they had always looked to him as a peer worthy of recognition, a man wielding a dedication their cursed existence could aspire to, maintaining mischief and maturity as if one and the same. Yet ultimately, that curse had won, and the 'ame had faded from community, and had wandered once more.

 

Now, Nature's mourning haunted them.

 

The Chorus knew not the path Decay had walked. They may never know it - the depth of rage that strung him; the depth of duty that bound him; the depth of love that fuelled him. Fate had seen to it that their paths would never cross again while they both stood upon this earth. Had they ever had the chance to meet, after all their transformations, what words would they have exchanged? What morals would have clashed? Would the last of their connection have crumbled, or been reforged anew?

 

Av knows what they would say to him, before anything else.

 

"Ker'ayla, llir."

 

Good night, friend.

 

Spoiler

Man, I miss Nedai.

 

Colour me impressed by the way you've handled this character over the years you've played him. It was always a joy to interact with the lad back in the day, even as he started his journey towards the place where it's now all ended. As sad as I am that I've missed out on witnessing the meat of that development and its conclusion, in the grand scheme of things that matters little - you've clearly brought some incredible storytelling to the server, and I really look forward to seeing you keep that up on new characters to come. (As long as I'm not murdering my sleep schedule this time!)

 

And fair warning, If Av ever finds out Nedai's gone to the Forest, you'd best believe he's getting Skyped immediately. :3c

[Tav 4336]

Spoiler

 

 

♫♪♫ | Eye For an Eye

Kept within his arms, that sapling began to wither away—decaying, in mimicry of its source. The Prisgoth was never one to mourn, he took pride in it; yet this was different. Something of value was lost, someone of value. Their plans hadn’t crumbled with the demise of Nedai, but it almost felt wrong to continue without him. It almost did.

“They will get theirs.” He spoke to that sapling in its final moments, a last effort to muster a goodbye to his dear mentor. It hardly worked, but it was nice to think otherwise.

[MayRndz 1830]

[!] It was in the dead of night that the riptide called for Druids to her aid, an alliance that had been a long time in the making. . . It was perhaps that wickers death pushed them all to create some semblance of order again as that gathering was not from one walk of life. 

Beneath a shrouded cloudless starlit sky did they march into the forest, endless roots tangling at their feet until they reached that mountainside.

 

A place where you would not suspect his tree to lay- and yet it did. None spoke plainly at who they had marked for death, but it did not matter for that jade eyed elf from Aelwen. All that consumed her was vengeance, she was out for blood.

 

So they fought.

 

For hours uncounted they clashed at the roots of that old tree, azhl rang against bark, and Druidic energies flared. Even the forest itself seemed to recoil in rejection at what was happening. Just when she thought it was her that had ripped his soul and severed his connection did she hear nature ring out in agony, and a shudder consumed her form. She did not seem to care if he got the end he wanted, she herself did not want that robbed from her so it brought some level of peace to the Arvellon that his soul would rest within that forest.

 

“You are right, it is ironic to die by the hands of an Arvellon, no less the one that was once problematic” she echoed his words back at the tree a coldness lingering in her own expression “I changed my ways for the sake of who I love, you have no love in your heart anymore. I will not thank you, but Nenars death has shown me that I have many things to get done”

[DragonofTaters 920]

Armor weighed heavily upon her. Plate, never before worn, hundreds of years and this was the first armor of this nature that had been donned. Upon the mountainside, the 'Fenn stood against an onslaught of roots and branches. A mission to be completed, though the details were not known.

Conversation was low, largely conducted through singing threads that barely graced the 'Fenn's senses. An exchange, quick and heated, between the elders she defended and whatever twisted soul dwelled within the accursed tree. Or so she thought...

Then a name was spoken aloud. One name. Nedai. Familiar, familial. 

A man she had known; a man whose niece she had saved. One she respected, and would dare even refer to as a friend in conversation.

Wood split and pain echoed amidst rage as attacks landed. As the grasping of elders sought to tear that man's soul from the mortal realm. The weight of the Blightsteel she held seemed to double. Her armor constrictive, crushing down upon her. 

A charge she'd been given, and defend those behind her she would. Blade lifting to beat back one branch, then plunging to drive away a root. It couldn't be true. It must not be true.

In the silence that followed, with cold wind echoing down the mountainside, truth weighed heavy. No stranger to half truths or manipulations. Experienced in usery and deceit. The man was dead. Her friend was dead. Through lies, through trickery. Voices around her claimed it was a deserved end; that the man was 'draoi'. He'd helped attack her home, bring harm to her family.

Claims, so many claims. But no physical proof, one way or another. Stories, and hopes only. Hope that the right decision had been made that night. Others departed discreetly, scattering down the mountain. Rain began to pour down, thunder rolling in the distance. The sea called to her. The leviathans of the deep beckoning the wayward soul. Too far had she wandered, snakes of the land pulling her far from the safety of the sea's abyssal depths.

Weight and memory pressed down upon her. Rage and disgust at her own weakness battled the desperate need for those who brought her to be right. 

A choice unable to be unmade, now to haunt her for the rest of her days...

~*~

Within the realm of the Aspects, spirits and Fae moved about freely. Life moving in a never ending cycle. Harmony found even in moments of pain and loss. Everything balanced.

One spirit walked alone, drawing away from companions. Turmoil since their own parting twisting the soul. Love and hate in constant battle, duty and compassion arguing ever onward. Conversations had been had, anger vented, but still, love would not turn fully away from those she'd been told to blame.

Then nature stilled, and songs went quiet. A heaviness passing over everything. A sound she'd come to learn meant the return of a soul to this place. Turning, she sought them out. Trekking across strange landscapes, passing alien creatures until she found the cause: a familiar form, a 'Ker she'd known since his youth.

Freezing, choice being weighed. An eternity before them...

Long before, she had made an admittance. She could never harm her children, or her family. She could never hate them. And whatever else he was, Nedai was family.

Nenar moved forward, a hand offered. An embrace next, if he allowed.

Love would always burn brighter than hate.

[Rig 17579]

The Demon King remembered the sight of trees burning in the grotto. Swarmed by Inferi and Blood Druids, the grotto was shattered. The Falchion of Malchaediel stolen. Zap!

 

He shifted into his False Prince body with relative ease, exiting a plume of smoke and shattered stone, before he felt malflame travel the tip of his finger. The electric fel-flame shot in a ball from his hand and razed the final tree to cinders. The smell of burning wood did not linger. A soul was burning; it shrieked with fear and disdain, before wallowing in despair and disappearing.

 

Vriza almost felt a bit of guilt. In his mortal shape, he was capable of as much, but he was still warped by his own malice. His greed drove him here, and he knew that these feckless creatures would have tried to kill him too. The brief feeling of regret at killing something so beautiful disappeared as his form briefly turned to stone, and he emerged from that shell the Demon King once again.

 

Years later, he heard rumors of the death of a Druid, but he knew not if it was one of his allies from that day.

 

I hope not, the Demon King resolved. We have a great need for sorcerers.

 

While he could not possibly know, Vriza anticipated that the cost incurred by that invasion would not be paid by him. In quiet, he resolved to assist the Blood Druids should their foes seek them out, because their Blood Magic was useful to him.