Demented_Delila

Somewhere, an aging Templarii Hedge-Knight, without purpose or prose beyond her protection of pilgrim roads and lost souls, lay. Sleeping. In a cot that she did not own. She had no bed. She had no home. She awakes from a dream of yesteryear. Yesteryear was broken glass and raging fires, but it had been his shield beside her spear. And she begins to weep for a missing piece of her heart that seared terribly upon her soul. Who else would this world take from her?

The Ventures of the Cúndil

Rossiel happily applauds her son and soon-to-be daughter-in-law's marriage announcement! Then remembers she doesn't know what to get them for their wedding. . .

A ranger squints at the missive, brow raised. She had not been afraid of the dark for some years, recalling a time when there was a true danger in the King's wood. The nagging little voice at the back of her mind laughed. "Who is this woman to dictate where I might not go? I have fought long and hard to be able to walk these woods. . . I have nearly come to my death, to just be able to go and catch frogs at the pond. Gawaith Halbarad borders the woods and has been there for years. I will not have the peace I fought so bloodily for be usurped by someone who is not even one of us. . . She owns nothing and will continue to own nothing. How dare this woman . . ." And so that ranger donned the green cloak and the boots her father had made her many, many years before when a war with a shadow was waged at their very doorstep. She adjusted her cloak over her head and went for her walk. The nagging little voice at the back of her mind still yet laughed about how silly it all could be. A note is left, tied carefully to a tree branch by a blue ribbon.

My two questions are: How have you been? and Can you give your cats extra head pats for me? My favorite is probably either Diana, Erik, or Fauna.

Ophelia applauds for her cousin-in-law's writings, then remembers to go feed the Puvgump!

Rossiel Marsyr paused to read such a missive as it was handed out. . . and she beams in endless pride for the good heart and kind mind that resided in her niece.

"Is six saint's hours even a day?" questioned Ophelia of Astor, who goes back to her needlework after pinning the notice to the corkboard in her room.

ISSUED THE 4TH OF THE AMBER COLD, IN THE YEAR 190 OF THE SECOND AGE BY THE WILL AND AUTHORITY OF THE ROYAL PHYSICIAN For many years, Númendil and her people have thrived under both the current leadership of Tar-Caraneth, and the prior leadership of her father, The Lord-Father Uther. I have had the pleasure of watching what was once just a small conclave of rugged knights swell to the beautiful nation we now inhabit. In the days of Barrowton, we made due with a handful of healers. As this new generation prospers and comes to their adult years, I believe now is the time that I begin to look for apprentices. Thus - the Curante Project. Any willing and or interested individuals seeking apprenticeships to learn medicine; not just alchemical medicine - only need to get into contact. BY ORDER OF, Physician to the White Court of the Númenaranyë, Templar of the Aengul Malchediael, and Knight of the Realm

Caliene signed the contract, shrugging. "This makes sense to me." Rossiel did much the same.

A templar elf closes her eyes as she leans out the window of her home in the city. . . The winds had changed. A new era had begun. And another Barclay of great renown had gone to the great thereafter. She hums an old drinking song that she recalled the first of those Green-and-Blue clothed boys singing so many years ago as she tends to the Reinmaren rose buds beginning to claw their way into bloom in the planting box. "So long, Brandt." And so that Templar Elf, a Baptized Owynist, goes for prayer in the Bastion Temple of the Saint King Caius in memory of the departed Pontiff.

Caliene awakes in a cold sweat in her bedroom, sat up in a blind panic. . . then there was nothing wrong. It was just her bedroom. The window was open, letting cool dawn's breeze in. Seeing as it was evident enough to let the paladins and the dragon-spawn continue on their usual ways, the Templar laid back down and tried to get some sleep. "That seems like something to handle later. . ."

The Other Marsyr Sister glances from the letter, to the Princess, then to her handmaiden, having been presumably walking around. Somewhere. "Eri, he learned the harp to impress her- you didn't think they were that serious?!"

A certain elvish knight chokes on her morning tea after getting her PERSONAL INVITATION. "OH ****- HE'S GETTIN' CORONATED? AND MARRIED?"

We who have bled shall be redeemed We who have fallen shall be remembered We who have sacrificed shall be rewarded We who have died shall be avenged It has been forty-four years since the shadow fell over the Kingswood. Forty-four years that we, the Númenedain, have bested the hardships of. The spirit of the Númenedain is eternal and that which is eternal cannot die. Our enemy was a shaded beast, a geist with no name and no soul. In turn, the name Delgorthad, the Horror-Wraith fell from the lips of our Tar-Caraneth, to at last address this enemy. This predator, hunting, stalking, killing, all for feeding its endless primordial hatred and hunger. It has been dealt with now, driven back into its den and slain, reduced once more to the shadows that it had come from. Weeping, screaming, and dying, finally. We are free at last. Cálienë of Caladras Templar of the Aengul Malchediael and Knight of the Realm The Complete Timeline: The Rise and Fall of Delgorthad The First Missive OOC This post is a timeline and a special thank you for @DAENGIEfor his work over the last eight to nine months. He has lovingly and carefully planned, prepared, and ran most of this event line by himself for our community. He is a talented storyteller who has a gift for influencing the emotions of those he tells those stories with. This event line has inspired a million and one little moments between players, or even between players and NPCs, that have been beautiful and heartbreaking but most importantly- amazing. The last couple months especially have been a ride. As the event line came to a close, I opted to begin work on this timeline, so that everyone who came to interact with it had an idea of what was going on. Because I'll be honest- and I'm sure you can tell- there is a LOT of lore that was put out for us to keep track of! Thank you to everyone who attended these events over the months! And thank you to @DAENGIE for all his hard work. ❤️❤️Remember to thank your Event Team Members and to support your local ET Friends! ❤️❤️ Now! Enjoy some screenshots taken by folks over the event line. Sources will be cited based on discord usernames, rather then forum usernames. Mostly because that's a lot of work and people don't usually have identical usernames. Sorry! Thanks, Target Practice! (MIne) The Ghost Skirmishes & The Queen's Siege Fell Omens Speaking with the Heartwood, Muriel What Remains of the West Watch Various Skirmishes & Deeds The Great Distraction The Minas Morgul-ification of Caladras The Ar-Aduniam Siege of Numenost The Final Event If you've got screenshots that I haven't included here, please feel free to post them. Thank you to Daengie, again, for all the work he put into this event line for us! And thank you to everyone who attended them! See you next time on the Daengie Cinematic Universe!

A Numenedain Templar prepares for the gathering of the Warband. "They call for my Tar and so we shall answer. . . I'll be damned if another people is displaced to these wretched beasts."

12th of Snow's Maiden, 179 S.A. “A thousand knives for your grave, king of lies, and no mourners for your tomb.” In the aftermath of Caladras’ liberation, there is no wine poured for the lively. There is no cool rain that washes over the rooftops in the night to coax its residents to sleep. There are no roses left blooming in the field, not even a bulb to salvage into something new. There were no hearth fires being lit or candlewicks left to burn so one might read by candlelight. In truth– there was no one left to liberate. And with no one left to liberate, there are no lively souls to pour wine for or residents for the rain to coax to sleep. There are no scholars or guards who might stop to smell the roses or take a few of the vibrant red blossoms home to their loved ones. There was no one left to tend a hearth fire or to light candles to read by the flickering light. Perhaps it was incorrect to say that nothing remained. When the life is gone, the spirit is all that remains. It clings to the shell of what once was something alive like moss clings to the headstone. It was still a surprise, however, to find that the resolute spirit of the Caladrasi Elves still lingered, ever-present now that the usurping oathbreakers had been driven from their homes. Living first as a whisper on the wind, a cool breeze on a warm night, a presence not quite there. Then an elvish voice carrying a tune in low Adunic, kissing the stonework and haunting the courtyards. The tall, armored forms that still walked their patrol routes on the borders of the forest and lingered on the gangways of the walls, the echo of a lost life reflected in pale mist. The wisping figures that still went about their daily chores. . . They were best seen at night when the moon was full and the stars were bright, their glimmering forms reflecting the lives that once stood here. Here were the Caladrasi Elves, meeting their fates with the cry of “Aurë Entuluva!” until their very last breaths. Here were the Elves of Caladras, but no more– only the spirits remain now, haunting what had once been a home.

Rossiel Marsyr, who works for the Paddy's Pyre part time, squints at the document, scratching her head in thought. "I'm pretty sure that this counts as breaking and entering if you got into our kitchen- where our meat and fish is stored, and is being actively used? It's not unattended, you broke into our kitchen. And if there's food on the ground, it means someone dropped it recently." The Marsyr, who is a full-time Radiant Guard Ranger, goes to find a superior officer to report the breaking and entering to!

[Congratulations Josh, I'll pour one out for your sanity later]

An aging, Canonist High Elf peers over the missive as she leans out the window of her home in the fair city of Numenost, shaking a few of the ashes of her herbal cigarette out into the wind. . . She takes another deep inhale from the stick, before pressing the end of it to the missive. It ignites, burning up, before the embers are carried away with the same wind. "They grow dangerously close to the ways of my Diarchy-loving kin. . . Same cards, just a century later, in someone else's hands. . . God save your outcasts and your downtrodden-- it is no wonder they return to burn down the village for the warmth we have denied them." The elvish woman signs the Lorraine and at last turns to return to her writing. A young woman, an Adunian, remains seated on the back of a black mare as she rides from the gates of Numenost to Reinmar. She peers over the missive and shakes her head in some dismay. "Innocence comes with our milk teeth and we lose it, slowly, with each tooth we lose. Many of these children were robbed of their innocence before those teeth had even come in. Who is to determine those who grow into wickedness were born wicked from the start. . .? Souls are not born wicked, they are only made."

A young Adunian girl smiles as she reads the decree, going to make sure she puts a little extra ham in her favorite Corgi's food dish after she cleans out the offering bowl from the night before.

Somewhere down south, an Elvish Knight prepares to write a letter about getting an old blade she purchased from the Starbreakers reforged.

I concur with Satinkira. Two Emotes for Bows and Three for Crossbows simply makes sense, anyways. I could three emotes for NORMAL bows if we had like, special alchemical arrows or something.

An Astoran teenager descends from her room at the start of her day, rubbing the grit of sleep from her eyes. She sets down at the kitchen table, pulling one of the papers strewn about on its surface to read it. She liked to keep up with the news, if she could. . . Then she pauses, staring down at the document for a time. There a soft utterance of . . . "Vafae?" before she reads it a few times over as she eats her breakfast. "A blind man denies the truth because he cannot see it before him, but I didn't realize there was a chance this man was made deaf, as well. Maybe if they get him eyes like Uncle Konstantin, he'll not make a mis-step like this again. . . I should ask fadhir and Uncle Artel more about this later - I wonder what else this blind man might have left out."

+1, delicious lore additions