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In the flush of morning a Sullas studied the paper, one hand propped him up at the counter of The Night Owl Parlour, as ochre light seeped into the building.

TO INFORM / VIGILANT 'THILL From the Office of Elokarir'mali, Issued 10th of The First Seed, Year 77 of the Second Age Every member of the Blessed Citizenry should be aware of late assaults, committed by a coven of Frost Witches. These creatures are devious in appearance, possessing fluctuating forms, they feed on the blood of men and attempt to lure women. It is advised that citizens manoeuvre in the company of another or optimally multiple others. Report any suspicious happenings or beings to Elokarir’tir or another councillor. Be on your guard — vigilant ‘thill. Through the schisms of Lomal and all who have attempted to do so since. Through the assailment attempted by Aengudaemon and Draconic beings, and various grand tragedies of the natural elements. Through each and every migration of the descendants, battles great, challenges multifarious, The Silver State of Haelun’or has endured. When the Motherland is faced with any prospect of danger, it is our sworn duty to end the threat as soon as possible. ALL RISE TO DEFEND THE MOTHERLAND AY'SOHAER ALAION MIRAVARIS, AY'LARIHEI MAEHR'SAE HIYLUN'EHYA

Elarhil Sullas drank hot, bitter cocoa with a frown — the island dwelling elf clearly not fond of the lessened temperatures, "Feta’kariman... hope it passes soon." He huddled closer to a heat-emitting sapphire in his parlour, and wrapped a fourth scarf around his neck.

A councillor of The Silver State drew a smiley-face on the frosted window of his manor house.

A councillor of the marble city returned home alongside his silver kin. In the square, with swords sheathed and the evidence of war still present upon them — blood dirtied their hair, mud marked their trousers — they saluted one another's efforts before dispersing.

[!] Unnoticed by many a busy halfling, two mysterious works of literature had appeared in the museum of Honeyhill, one informed could easily decipher these as historic. Pib Mala, the Song Spirit II by Micah O’Connell Brilliant starlight shone over me this night, illuminating the sky with cold light, the eve I saw Pib Mala. I unwinded upon the Brandybrook docks, as I do habitually, a couple whiskeys down. With me was my beloved guitar. I fiddled with it for some time, plucking each string, checking it was tuned to my liking. Then I began a little song. It was ‘Song of Springs Past’, an age-old halfling composition of beautiful artistry. https://soundcloud.com/doctorplat/song-of-springs-past Looking over the water, I was halfway done playing when I caught him, watching me from amongst the bulrushes. He was smiling broadly. Perturbed by the presence, I paused. This is how I upset him. I could tell - the frown that took over his visage next was woeful, it almost brought a tear to my eye. He had the form of a bearded frog man. A beard so lengthy, it covered what I could see of his body with streaky hairs. He is hairy in the way a halfling is hairy. His size remains unclear, for half of his body was submerged, obstructed by the murky water near the riverbank. A droll creature. Though, there was an uncanny resemblance to him, one I still cannot get past. My missing son, Pilip. Huge amber eyes made Pib Mala a dead ringer. However most striking were his expressions — the contrast between his dismal frown and elated grin! Continuing with my encounter. Seeing his upset, I too felt dispirited, and tentatively restarted ‘Song of Springs Past’. His twinkle returned. His head swayed with the bulrushes. Right till I finished playing, he danced, and my initial unsettled feeling was by the end of the song replaced by overwhelming and true tranquillity. He stood taller in the water now. A melody he played for me in response, not with his hands. Pib Mala needs no instrument, for his voice mimics the harmonious lute, the powerful tambourine and ethereal flute. I asked his name and in a low and croaky voice, one you’d expect from a frogman, he answered clear as a bell, “Pib Mala”. I have no real knowing from whence he came, however, I theorise the swamp North of here. The river that flows through it travels down to the section we call The Dinkle; Where the docks are built. It would explain how he arrived here. Frogs are animals that thrive in swamps, and I have heard of the monsters there — perhaps he is one of them?

[!] Unnoticed by many a busy halfling, two mysterious works of literature had appeared in the museum of Honeyhill, one informed could easily decipher these as historic. Pib Mala, the Song Spirit by Micah O’Connell A halfling festival will never be quiet, for Pib Mala fills the silence. It is his tune you hear when no instrument is near. Dawn is when he awakes, shrouded in rivers and lakes. Yet only when daylight is gone will he take the time to judge your song. From among the bulrushes, Pib Mala watches. Please him with your melody and when he sings he gifts you his own ability. Music that will put anyone in a jolly trance, merry enough to make a whole village dance. It is a bard’s greatest honour to earn a gift from Pib Mala.

In lands far from the village of Honeyhill, a wee woman stood with her feet firm in hot sand, her arms folded neatly over her chest. A salty breeze rolled by, forcing the locks of russet, spun gold she wore to caress the contours of her bronzed visage. She observed a number of others, as they transported an oaken rowing boat to the lapping shores of a sea murky, and tinged yellow. One of them faltered, prompting the woman to call out, "Need a wee 'and with t'at?" She began a determined stride, however went on to break this, suddenly. A surface unnatural had met the hardened skin of her bare foot. Flashing a squint to it, she subsequently added, "Tough, yer no' gettin' 'un!" The object lightly buried, the woman kneeled. She clawed at the firmer sand that held it, till all that was left was to dust it off. A scroll in a glass bottle. A glint of sunlight transiently blinded her as she arose. Between her grasp, she twirled the object in deceptive consideration, as in her mind, no question passed, the cork thereafter being pried away expeditiously. The missive inside brought a crooked smile to spread across her visage. She tucked away all components in an orderly fashion. Sharply her next cry rang out, "Change o' plans! We're 'eaded North-East." The ochre horizon cast splendorous lustre upon her. The vastness, the blazing heat, the uncertainty of it all was ever thrilling.

This post is ooc, do not comment ic unless your character knows of these events. Thank you! The High Pumplar Jeannette, third of the title, was chosen in person by The Pumpkin Lord Knox himself and the chaos of lightning — at the trifling age of thirteen. In her time, she bore witness to six halfling villages, and the eventual fall of five. This meant she spent a good deal of years following her ascension preserving the sanctity of The Knoxist Doctrine, at odds with the false King Cyris, in addition, her own cousin; Cardinal Jorenus of the Haeseni clergy. Always though, she put peace between weefolk before her disputes and pursued making amends. On a particular, unremarkable day she set off, seeking enlightenment on the hidden truths of her people. Entering the marble vestibule of the library eternal, she was unknowing, unaware of the feuds between bigg’uns that shortly would leave white stained red. Alongside a high elf, and two others, she ascended to an upper floor. She had taken these two others to be fellows, unobtrusive visitors, unsuspecting of their forms. The smouldering fire in the eyes, mouth and chest of the one beside her only brought to mind the one she trusted in most. Lord Knox, the Olden Overwatcher of the Weefolk The concept of ‘trust’, between wee-kind is paramount, but seldom does it extend to bigg’uns. In a few fleeting moments, Jeannette was reminded why. Her own blood-curdling howl rang out — the high elf she was in company of smothered, whilst freeing herself, only able to protest Jeannette’s entanglement in the abrupt attacks with a fruitless flail of an arm towards the unfortunately misplaced halfling. Her nimbleness allowed her to be spared barely, for once she was grasped, it was over as swiftly as the bellows of the wind. The air was pulled from her throat, guilty fingers squeezing her flesh as they sought to draw the last breath. In her reposeful home village of Honeyhill, her grandma, ‘Meemaw’ Applebottom, awaited Jeannie’s return for supper. The elderly woman tapped her cane on gravel persistently, peeking above whilst the skies darkened, a brooding omen of the message the weefolk were soon to receive. For the screams of The High Pumplar could cultivate clouds that thickened with thunder and lashed with flashes. Beyond their blackness, brewing teardrops to collect and cascade, to grace the landscape with wistful drips. Finally, to bleed streams into thirsty earth. A hefty collection of screenshots

"There must a be a Fennic spy within our walls," A high elf concluded, "Who else would write such blather?"

THE TALONNII WINE LEAGUE Issued 11th of The First Seed, Year 75 of the Second Age The Office of the Okarir'mali is delighted to announce the opening of The Talonnii Wine League. Wherein, each talonnii can enter one drink, in hopes of being awarded STELLAR prizes! It shall commence over this next elven week. Karinah'siols vineyards are in prosperous condition, and readily available to the citizenry for utilization. To learn the labour behind the luxury, moreover to gain new prowess, all Mali'thill above the age of 50 should try their hand at the art of wine-making. Maehr'sae hiylun'ehya! Rules Each talonnii may enter one wine beverage Entries submitted by the succeeding month of The First Seed - one elven week from now Points Wines will be reviewed by the Okarir’mali, their Tilruir and Sohaer. Each will give their rating out of 5 stars and judge on a 5 point basis. Visual presentation Aroma Taste General quality Stand-out points Sullas Star Rating System 5 Sullas Stars: Superlative ✰✰✰✰✰ 4.5 Sullas Stars: Outstanding 4 Sullas Stars: Excellent ✰✰✰✰ 3.5 Sullas Stars: Very Good 3 Sullas Stars: Full of Character, Attractive ✰✰✰ 2.5 Sullas Stars: Good Wine for Everyday 2 Sullas Stars: Casual Quaffing ✰✰ 1.5 Sullas Stars: Quite Nice 1 Sullas Star: Very Ordinary ✰ 0.5 Sullas Stars: Ordinary Prizes The winner is to be announced, publicly, shortly following the finishing time for entries. Top prize 100 mina Mystery prize of great intrigue Runner up 50 mina Sohaer Alaion Miravaris Okarir’mali Elarhil Sullas MAEHR’SAE HIYLUN’EHYA

[!] Floral envelopes are posted about Karinah'siol! The Roman Ruins in Schönbrunn, Friedrich Frank A Party in the Gardens Issued 12th of Malin's Welcome, Year 75 of The Second Age Gather Mali’thill, for you will find a glorious garden party by the splendour of the blessed bathhouse, next elven day! At the event, Elokarir’mali will be making an announcement that may be of interest to a collection of the citizenry. Moreover, you will have the opportunity to taste wine and cheese pairings, reviewed and chosen by fastidious Mali’thill at The Night Owl Parlour’s recent evening gathering. Visaj Red & Miravaris Cheddar Sillumiran Sparkle & Farmer’s White Cheese Hyptos Honeywine & Mammoth Cheese We have much to discuss and, progress to pursue. Haelun'or rises to meet each day, ever to follow the path of Larihei, the Lady of Silver! OOC: Friday 6th, 2pm EST/7pm BST May your paths be safe, your floors unbroken and may Elcihi'thilln fill your eyes with beauty. Okarir'mali Elarhil Sullas MAEHR'SAE HIYLUN'EHYA

[!] A yellowed, once wettened and now dried note, flutters — hung up infront of The Night Owl Parlour by an elfess dressed in blue. The ink cursive writing is splodgy and rough in places. It's contents contain indications as to why. It is so very cold, and so very dark, now that my oil lamp has burnt out. The dampness of this tomb I wait in worries me. I notice, in this space where I have lost one sense, that of sight; my other senses feel heightened. A pounding in my head, at times, seems all I can hear. Dreariness too overcomes me. No doubt both caused by my dismal conditions. I try to scheme a way out, but my mind is equally as empty as this cavern, now that no other descendants nor monsters roam it. A man who’s been here far longer, a skeleton pirate makes for OK company, though I long to be able to listen to his life tales. Please, rescue me, expeditiously. Larihei kae annilereh. ito kae Dio mya’leh.

As a group of Mali'aheral continued to work away at a heap of debris, the unstable sapphire mine they stood in would rumble, pieces of the cavern walls and ceiling crumbling down as they chipped off pieces of the bottom. “Is it falling there, too?” “It is!” “Ve can’t leave him!” Hræthån growled, “If we continue to mine, we’re all going to die, including him!” “Just — go!” Elarhil Sullas gave the muffled cry out, agonizing to be witness to, “The death of one Mali’aheral is better than three.” “The death of none is best!” Soris shuffled towards the stairway, peering toward the water. “We could go higher, is there another place we can get him out?” Questioned Okarir’tir Edgars An’asul. The stairs shook as the structure of the cave was compromised. From above, rocks began to cascade. "Please!" Elarhil pleaded, curling up besides the pirate skeleton that rest in his otherwise solitary hollow, as sand and water flooded in. Hræthån grumbled in anger, "SHIT!" He roared as he begun to hammer as quick as he could at the sandstone. Soris snapped her attention to the ceiling, dropping the shovel as she brought both hands to her helmet, holding the sides, "Shit, shit." She cursed, before turning towards the others. Hræthån grasped then that he would have to take a different approach. He turned to Edgars and Soris, "We have to get out NOW!" He shouted, "We can come back later, when it's safer!" Wide-eyed with alarm, Elarhil nestled further, "Ti, Hræthån! Please GO! You'll kill all of us!" He choked. "Alright, time to go!" Ordered Edgars. “ito kae Dio mya’leh!” Three of them made it to the surface. First spoiler — emotes Second spoiler — screenshots

A weefolk woman commented over the shoulder of Filibert, "Oi bet t'ey use logs too long, 'n a leave a gap too small between 'em. Bigg'uns can use t'e regular, CORRECT soize. Our feet are larger!" She snickered to herself!

[!] Leaflets are posted in the marketplace as well as outside the bastille of Karinah’siol. Scout Pamphlet, Vol niut – The Sapphire Mine Issued 9th of Malin’s Welcome, Year 74 of the Second Age Theme Last elven day, a band of brave Mali’thill descended into an abandoned sapphire mine that was discovered North East of the Haelun’orian isle; What awaited, was altogether an unknown. Here are the findings of Okarir’tir Edgars An’asul, Anara Elervathar, Hileia, Stelios Kekemos Hyptos, Valazaer Calith, and myself, Okarir’mali Elarhil Sullas. We could infer that the last descendant visitors to the cave were a crew of pirates. Their forsaken ship docked close by, a code found upon the vessel allowed us to enter the mine after decryption. Maneuvering through the cave formation was in itself a task. The walls ooze a luminous lime green slime, adherent to touch, it has the possibility to entrap an entire Mali. That which blocked our path we singed by handheld torches, allowing us to proceed. While it had been evident descendants had not entered for quite some time prior to us, other creatures inhabit the area still. A colossal coconut crab, disturbed by our presence, put up an arduous defence till the creature could no longer — retreating to a crack in the wall. Curiously, frequent throughout the cave were locked chests, each with further unique codes needed to be opened. One chest, relatively near to the surface, we found had a ship carved onto the top and buttons on every side marked front, back, left and right accordingly. A quick-witted Hileia solved the puzzle, noting the order of the directions mentioned in a journal scrap found on the nearby pirate ship, pressing the buttons on the sides of the chest, bow, stern, port and starboard to open it. Deeper in the mine, as close to the bellows as we could get, we were faced with an enormous web that crawled with spiders. Ideas were thrown around as to how to surpass this. However, we concluded it would be wise to conserve energy, establish a plan and return later. As such, we are returning to the site on The Grand Harvest. Above ground, a rescue party will be stationed on the beach as a precaution — with refreshments, naturally. Take your best adventuring gear; advised is a light source, a weapon, a shield and light food and water rations. OOC: Saturday 30th April, 4pm EST/9pm BST Uhieran Scout Leader Elarhil Sullas MAEHR’SAE HIYLUN’EHYA

A wee lady cracked open a drink in an early celebration, "Oi love me 'ome, but KNOX, if oi ain't 'alf glad fer a reason ter leave it!" She turned to her grandmother, "D'ye t'ink ye can make it, Meemaw?" @ImNerdiie

"Ay'Maehr'sae Hiylun'ehya!" Reflected Okarir'mali Elarhil Sullas.

Painting in the Park Issued 10th of The Deep Cold, Year 72 of The Second Age Cerin Amroth in Lothlórien, Ulla Thynell Creatives of Elcihi'thilln, On The First Seed of this elven week, a session of painting in the square will commence! For the innovative minds of Mali'thill are not limited to any kind of study; there is much value to be found in artistic fields. All are encouraged to come explore, practice and enjoy. There will be three categories of painting, which will we run through, in the following order: Still life Model Free form For each category, the object of your painting will be up to choice! Nevertheless, should you find trouble within the vast beauty of our State, finding just one matter in your surroundings to focus upon, there will be a selection laid out as an aid. You may find a model in any other willing participant. No need to bring your own brushes - all equipment will be provided by the State! OOC: Friday 22nd, 3pm EST/9pm BST May your paths be safe, your floors unbroken and may Elcihi'thilln fill your eyes with beauty. Okarir'mali Elarhil Sullas MAEHR'SAE HIYLUN'EHYA

In his parlour, a high elf diligently arranged two bouquets, one of varicoloured carnations and the other of herbs... a gift. Out of sight, footsteps alerted him. "Wait!" He told the approaching Sillumir, made a few more touches, before he peered over his shoulder. His blue gaze lowered to the missive, and with his middle and index finger he beckoned to be handed it. "Larihei, this news brings me... strange sorrow. I suppose I'd better stop this." He turned back to the bouquets, stepped away and clasped his hands behind his back.

Elarhil Sullas broke into a cold sweat after he scanned over the late RSVP... he stared towards the many bottles of sparkling beetroot water.

A toga-clad elf wishes to invite Ben Jones to The Iron Temple, for a session of intense HEFTING!

A fair elven hoplite adjusted his chlamys and picked up a spear! "For the motherland." He proclaimed.