glassyskies

A pair of hands trembled still, clutching at nothing but air with involuntary grasp made toward a tree who stood most stalwart and calm. Briefly did it come to her in comfort, reminding the newly ordained matriarch of the path her own mother had set her upon. It was she who saw the most potential in the young Vulnrith - potential she herself could not see, no matter how many times she might be reminded. Each accomplishment came with praise in hopes of rousing her spirit, but her false smiles and laughter could only go so far. Now, her farce was forced away by this tragedy. The reality of it was that she was meant to carry the torch, and it had already been placed into her hand. She did not feel herself to be ready, but when she looked into the wise eyes of her elder sister, she briefly felt resolute… calm… only for another of her siblings to hoarsely cry out behind her… Sulcelia turned to find her most troubled sibling, donned in harrowing garb, drenched in mud & congealed ichor. What came next was a fit of anger unbecoming of a leader, one that would haunt this new matriarch for decades to come. It was mercy… She might tell herself, only to second guess, and find both hands clamping at the sides of her head, twisting it until there was an ache in her neck. Each moment she felt the handle of her weapon within her grasp, she was reminded of her severity. Her hands began to tremble at the thought of carrying out a sentence, or even to defend herself. I am no leader… The aelf thought. What leader would butcher her own people in such a way? Was it glory? Spectacle? Had that pushed her so far as to maim one of her own? Was it mercy..? She lied. She would lie again. What cruelty it was, to be named matriarch when there were so many more sagely characters in her line. Many harbored a wisdom she did not yet have, despite her many years of attunement. Sulcelia was only a creature of habit - of anger, and explosive behavior. Then, came the letters… Her own note was read with the same trembling hands, each sentence repeated over, then over again as she tried to assemble each word into a proper string as her eyes stung and blotched with tears. Sonna’s own handwriting cemented the weight of leadership upon her. Not only that, but the legacy of her totem… The Amber bawled, her breaths coming out in choked wheezes or rattles that knocked the wind from her with each spasm to her body. Then, the fox. Crowned with a golden circlet, and a penchant for mischief… Past her tearful gaze - that accursed gaze, unlike her mother’s… she sniffled, and took in the sight of her moniker. In that moment, it was all she could imagine when she spoke the name Vulnrith to herself… but with each pass of the critter’s face, she was reminded more & more of her mother, and her final wishes for her. The fox bristled when Sulcelia sought to near, and when it had, she calmly pulled away. There was trouble to the critter’s eye, too, for it had just lost its own mother, too. Amber eyes met one another, and Sulcelia attempted again. She was met with a nip at her crimson fingers, budding now with small beads of blood. Quiet was her hiss, but her teary face showed none but care. Upon her third attempt, she shed her tears, weeping silently, and settling a hand upon her kin. Gently did her clawed digits rake through the orange fur, and while the vulpine did not seem to take so kindly to it, it eased when it heard a voice through the song… A promise. Shh… It’s okay. It will be okay.

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An elf named after the stars glanced down over the scrap of wood she had once used to cast her vote. Her gaze knit, and an angular smile darted 'cross her features so quick & easy. Once banished just like her mother, Sulcelia gazed from her seat at the pyre to the familiar sight of the closed gates belonging to Nevaehlen; this time, she was on the correct side, dwelling among those that welcomed her after so many years of a past leader's contrived and corrupt narrative. The shattered half of Miven's head - once a statue - tumbled about in her bag as she rose to locate Sonna, The Viridian Voice to congratulate her...

let me in.

Cast away was a barbaric looking weapon - an axe with many notches, and many a tear to its handle. In its stead, a leatherbound scroll and well inked quill were taken. The unsatisfied eyes of the wielder narrowed as the elf's maw curled into a slight grimace - their most serious expression. So rose Sulcelia, preparing for upcoming diplomacy, and to fully reach her potential at her mother, the Fox Druid's side.

The named abomination scraped stone from their corrupted body, leaving behind foul, soul-reaping scars that warbled and clung to him like sap. He repeated the same name. "Naele. . ." "Naele. . ." "Naele. . ." With each pick of his infected scales, Ren'vah, once that pale elf who faced the horde winced, finding the unfamiliar pain of his once conjoined soul and burning flesh uniting in a foreign sting. It made him feel mortal again. He grinned a bitter grin, finding a glimpse of joy in light of this occasion.

[!] Nailed into the posts and bulletin boards of the Watcher’s Roost, Nevaehlen, and the Sanctum of Illivira, is the following missive. THE GRAND MOOT The Druidic Order A Call To All Servants of the Aspects -=- To our Brothers and Sisters, OUR PATRONS CALL TO US! We have seen the ruin that will come to our lands and our peoples. It is not only encouraged as druid kind to convene and discuss strategy or solutions to the destruction of our natural lands, but as descendents as well. The visions that have been shown to us are warnings that must be heeded. You are called upon to gather in the Watcher’s Roost at the base of the elder-tree Kyorli’s vessel. He will grant us much needed insight in order for us to prevail, and to safeguard the realm from the foreseen dangers ahead. Furthermore, it is imperative we communicate with one another. Various escaped fae have been spotted around Aevos. While some are causing more trouble than others, it is our duty to deal with this situation with respect and haste. If you have any information regarding the locations of the escaped fae, please do inform others so we may better find a solution of returning them home. Gather in the Watcher’s Roost and join our ilk in discussing these issues, or forget your duties. OOC Note: Saturday, August 3rd at 6:30pm EST. Please reach out to glassyskies (boughtabride on discord) or Akrassia (akrassia_ on discord) with any questions.

Skin: - Armor Skin [6] Bid: - $60 Discord: - boughtabride IGN: - glassyskies

Skin: - Armor Skin [6] Bid: - $50 Discord: - boughtabride IGN: - glassyskies

Skin: - Armor Skin [6] Bid: - $32 Discord: - boughtabride IGN: - glassyskies

Skin: - Armor Skin [2] Bid: - $20 Discord: - boughtabride IGN: - glassyskies Skin: - Armor Skin [6] Bid: - $23 (my bad I wasn't sure if I could go OVER $3 so I'll just fix this one since pancho already replied) Discord: - boughtabride IGN: - glassyskies

Ren'vah discretely taps his foot in the taverns this tune might have been performed in...

An elder follower of the faith cast a pair of furious, blazing sights over the script. A taloned digit ran 'cross the name of the challenged, 'Aranur,' 'fore returning to the challenger scribed at the bottom. The prince garnered their typical grimace. With crackle and sizzle, the parchment was immolated by a sudden plume of dragonsfire, and the titan rose. A gauntleted fist coiled about the bleak glaive resting beside them, risen to fondly peer over the rayless sun crowning its design. The devout Neare marched elsewhere, seeking this trader...

where’s josey