AstriaS

The Chronicle of the Númenedain — Penned by Caraneth Aryantë Arthalion Prologue Hereafter is recounted in detail the full chronicle of the Númenedain, told through the lens of a hero’s epic, as is deserved. Yet, one cannot know in truth the meaning of the word Númenedain without knowing first the origins of that people. In the most ancient reaches of their heritage, the folk of Númendil foremostly trace their lineage to Harren the Conqueror, forefather of the Adunic people, and his Kingdom of Idunia. Known to all of course are that ancient warlord's crueler, unclean deeds, and rightly they are held in utmost revilement. Alas, even a sinful father is nonetheless a father, and so he is remembered in cautious solemnity. From Harren's Men do the Númenedain take inspiration in tongue, in dress, and in architecture, but in little else are they similar, for so too have they learned from the Middle-Men in ways of governance and faith especially. And, in fact, not all – though they do form the greater part – of the Númenedain are of Adunic blood, and among them there is a peopling of Adunians, Middle-Men, and even some few Elves, though the latter is rare indeed. Most directly, the Men of Númendil are the children of the Harren'hil who dwelt in Almaris, making their lives as rangers and warriors in their lands of Cartref Mor. When first the Harren’hil rose to notice, they were led by their Lord Nauthon, who in Common was known as John of the House Marsyr. In those times, the Harren'hil yet strayed from the path of our God Most Mighty, and so despite honorable intention were eventually swayed to darkness. Still yet did honorable hearts dwell among them however, and of those rose to prominence the one known as Uthyr, who is today Tar-Númenatâr Foronathor, and who in those times was but a common knight and mercenary soldier. In the course of his years, by wisdom and might, he who would become king did gather the Harren’hil to his banner, and in so doing, brought them into our Lord's flock. Serving first in the Great Strife of the Middle-Men, and then going on to raise a kingdom from the earth upon the dark-plagued plains of the Barrowlands, he did become far-known, first as knight, then as hero, and finally as King. So began the rise of the Númenedain. Chapter I. Exodus of the Númenedain When the Harren’hil took flight from the darkened lands of Almaris, they traveled not by sea but beneath the earth, driven under by sword, by spear and by encroaching night. Below they traveled, and in nigh endless caverns, black of stone and limned only by the glow of alien fungi, they came to dwell. Feeding upon tasteless lichen and the unscaled fish of the sunless lakes, they languished in that place, bereft of sun and wanting for warmth. Yet even in that darkest of realms, Harren’s Folk did not lose sight of the glory of God, and so inspired onwards did they press. By torch and lantern they braved the shadowed halls below the earth, they walked in long-emptied strongholds and they made battle with sightless beasts of the dark like no other. The Night would not take them, though certainly it did try. So long did the Harren’hil linger in the stygian depths that many indeed lost mind of day and night’s passing, yet by will, by persistence, and by providence they once more found the Sun’s light. Again, at long last, they were in company of verdant grass, vibrant skies, and waves that lapped at the white-sanded beaches. Spilling out into this land in rejoice, they set to exploration, and in time they established a tower stronghold which came to be known as Minas Amath. Here they dwelt only briefly, yet the conflicts were of some magnitude nonetheless, and they fought off undead, brigand and native alike. Once more, however, the time came to move on to other shores, and so they set to the sea and soon enough the Adunians once more found themselves upon solid earth. In their survey of this new land, the wanderers traveled the banks of a great river, butted on either side by great cliffs of dark stone, and soon they did find a sight most awesome; a grand mountain of shining white, at the foot of which lay an earthen bridge spanning the gorge with jagged, natural arches to hold its mass above the waters below. And here the Harren’hil came to meet another race of Men, though quite unlike themselves. These Sharadûn, as they came to call them, were a strange folk, their faces tawny and scorched by the sun, their dwellings made in houses of stone as well as tents of hide and woven wool. For a time, there was peace between them, and the Harrenites were welcomed happily among the Sharadûn. Yet, it came to pass that venom rose in the hearts of their hosts. In fear that the Adunians sought to bring them down by treachery and cast them out of their lands, the most dark-hearted among the Sharadûn drew their knives under cloak of night. Striking in secret, they sought to drive the Harren’hil from their holdings, yet did not expect to be met with such resistance as was mustered by the wanderers. Though at first put on the backfoot, the Adunians soon rallied to their king, and the Sharadûn’s fear was by their own hand made manifest. With blade and shield, those that stood against Tar-Uriel and his folk were felled, and those who remained made to bend the knee. Where once their city stood, another was erected, its bricks carved from the white stone of the mountain, and the shrines of heathen gods were demolished and supplanted by a great cathedral to honor the Lord Almighty. It was then finally that Tar-Uriel, who once was Uthyr Pendraic, swore his oaths upon the peak of the White Mountain, Alkayaban, and took for himself the name Tar-Númenatâr, and his new domain he named Númendil. And it was then that those who once were known as the Harren’hil took on the name Númenedain.

The Trials of Leadership or The Truth of the Events of the Exiles’ Isle When the men of Barrowton arrived weary upon the isle of exiles, having climbed their way out of those dreadful caverns below the earth, they were aimless indeed, and sought only to survive. Among them, however, was one who approached the challenge with unexpected spirit; none other than the young Princess Caraneth. Even the most mundane laying of bricks or raising of palisades she took to with a sense of glee, which much eased the hearts of those around her. And so, it was then the Knights of Barrowton, Ser Alwyn chief among them, resolved to make a test of it all, and so placed the young Caraneth in charge of this holdout they established – after all, they reckoned, it would be good to gauge the young Lady’s aptitude for leadership. However, in that land of anarchic chaos, the result was something to behold, and in the days and weeks that followed on the isle, a great many tales came to be told of the Princess’ exploits, almost all quite exaggerated – in no small part by spirited Caraneth herself. Hereafter is recorded the truth of the tale, stripped of its bombast and told in earnest. Most known, of course, is the war against the brigands. Alongside the Norlanders, the Halflings, the elves of Haelun’or, and a number of volunteers, the Princess of the Barrowlands rode into battle. Together, in the cause of law, order, and peace, they chased the brigands from their fortresses, and secured the surrounding hinterlands. And in the process there was conflict with the roving bands in the wastelands, though of these there is nothing of substance to recount. There were no grand, pitched battles as the brigands were few in number and chose flight for the sake of their own lives, and though those ne’er-do-wells were by many declared guilty of crimes most unholy, no truth was ever discerned on the matter. In truth, it was not even a war so much as a series of small scuffles, raids and chases. Yet Caraneth Aryantë took pride in the achievement, viewing even small victories as victories nonetheless. The conflicts with the isle’s native peoples as well were told in glowing, embellished words. Verily was the fighting with those disparate clans fierce, even against united Descendants of every race and creed. With blade and spell alike – and even calling upon the Dark Arts – the natives did struggle mightily to maintain their hold on the isle. Caraneth’s part in this was limited; one blade in the sea of battle. But still it served to prove her mettle, and her willingness to take up the sword. Though perhaps one or two of the natives may have been felled by her, it was largely a group effort that laid them low. As with the suppression of the brigands, however, the Princess again took heart in her achievements, proudly thinking herself alike to her father, Tar-Uriel, in her valor, small though her deeds may have been. Of the battle against the undead of the isle, the least of all was exaggerated, for that was the enemy which presented the greatest danger. Not a night passed upon the isle that worry did not linger, for often and unexpectedly would the necrotic beasts appear. With each wave, more and more of their black guts and ensorcelled bones would litter the ground, and it was against these enemies that the Princess truly showed to all the strength of her spirit. In the midst of one of the foul onslaughts, the Knights came to face a great giant wrought of the flesh from many corpses, stitched together by black sorcery. The creature stood some few meters taller than the largest of the knights, and it spoke in terrible, wordless groans. For a frightening time it tested their strength and their steel, until finally a Knight’s blade took one of its legs at the knee to sunder it and bring the monster low. Then daringly – or perhaps desperately – Caraneth began to scale its foundering form and latched onto the back of its shoulders. And finally, with a number of chops and sprays of foul gore, she loosed the beast’s rotting head from its shoulders, ending it finally, and for a short time after folk gave her the moniker ‘Giantslayer’. Even this glory, however, came to be short-lived and soon enough after it came time to once more depart for new lands. So is told the truth of the events of the Exiles’ Isle. Though the young Princess Caraneth was not quite a conquering hero worthy of song, she had nonetheless accomplished much in that place. Though Minas Amath, as she named their small holding, was not a radiant citadel – in fact it was but a small, fortified tower surrounded by cottages – it was yet a place where people’s spirits were eased and they could feel secure in spite of their recent misfortunes. And it was rightfully so that her deeds, exaggerated and less-than-grand though they were, earned her the title ‘Princess of Minas Amath’.

Powerful.

Alara Camian, usually quite icy in demeanor and unemotive, showed a rare hint of sadness upon hearing of Vesta's departure. "Unfortunate indeed that the Mori got in the way of my lessons with her... But I will hope that she is sufficiently armed with what I was able to impart. May the Spirits guide her well."

I love this creature and I need five of them.

Warlord-Princess Caraneth Aryantë had not yet even finished erecting her new border markers when the scouts told her of the mustering of natives in the wastes. As she had become accustomed to doing, she began frothing rabidly in bloodlust and warlike glee. "GOD Almighty as my witness, these axe-wielding, demon-summoning savages will be crushed beneath the iron boot of the Adunian!" She then proceeded to order a cadre of passersby to deliver a cart of rotting undead heads and entrails to the natives as a threat.

Princess Caraneth Aryantë Arthalion was still wiping the sleep from her eyes as she was informed of this. Needless to say, the young Warlord was very pleased to learn that she was winning even during nap time.

It Came From the Sea Dated 18th of Snow’s Maiden, 130 SA As if cannibals, wasters, brigands and conjured demons were not enough, yet again Harren’s Folk have been tested! This time, however, our enemy was twice as evil and half as good-smelling. As in the Eastern Marches so too in the forests just beyond Minas Amath the dead were made to walk, and presaged by malicious laughter the shambling corpses did come to do us ill. Yet we of Minas Amath are not so easily taken, and most valiantly we took up shield and sword. By the Grace of GOD and our own skill at arms did we put those unholy beings to rest once more, slaying them in such numbers that the land became slicked with their black blood and rotting entrails. And yet still our trials had not yet ended, for soon after was conjured, by some unknown sorcery, a great three-headed demon of smoke and malice. Verily, to stand near it was to feel one’s lungs blacken. With the aid of forces unseen, however, this foul being too was laid low and Minas Amath was returned at last to peace. May the dark forces which set these beasts against us mark our fury and our might. AURË ENTULUVA! Signed, Her Royal Highness, Caraneth Aryantë Arthalion, Princess of Minas Amath, Conqueror of the Failorian North, Scourge of the Undead, Giantslayer, Harrenite Warlord

Princess Caraneth Aryantë Arthalion could not help but feel that she had been passed over in this affair, but she was far too busy slaying giants to pay it much mind in any event. With all the violence she held in her youthful Warlord heart, she did indeed wish ill upon the baby-eaters.

The Troubles of the East Dated 15th of Snow’s Maiden, 130 SA Artist’s Depiction of the Giant Heed well, fair folk of beautiful Failor, for in the East there is evil. In our blessed coalition’s patrols of the newly secured Eastern Marches, we found not the cowardly cannibals we sought to drive from those lands, but rather the Undead. They stood sentinel upon the battlements of the abandoned fortress, and again we made entry, this time with holy work to be done. Yet, even as sword and axe cleaved necrotic flesh and shattered bone, a greater evil arose. From the earth was raised a great behemoth, a beast formed of the conjoined flesh of a great many corpses. But even in the face of such terror, not a man among that heroic band faltered, and least of all the mighty Princess Caraneth. With righteous fury in her heart, the young Harrenite Warlord set upon the beast. Putrescent flesh sloughed from its aged bones as she cut into it, and in vain she wailed upon the creature. At last, she resolved to scale the beast, climbing inch by up its form to finally drive her blade into its skull, and at last the giant was returned to the earth. To rest and tend their wounds, then, the gathered men returned to the Halfling village, whereupon they were joined by the Silver Elves of Haelun’or, much to their surprise and rejoice. Once well-rested, the men of the great coalition again set out, and once more they searched the Eastern Marches for their flighty quarry. Yet again did they catch the trail of those foul creatures and their grey-skinned, axe-wielding masters, and they tracked them into the blistering sands of the wasteland. There, they found and made war upon the cavern stronghold of these creatures. The Failorian natives and their demonic allies fought with the ferocity of rabid beasts, and back and forth their battle did rage. Great charging quadrupeds and flame-flinging wraith alike were in time felled, and the barbarian stronghold was scoured. Yet even then, the battles of the day were not yet ended, for when the warriors emerged from that cavern, they were faced with the roving madmen of the wastes. Though wearied by their many contests already, the brave and glorious men of the coalition again proved their mettle, and by skill at arms did they win, at last, a path to return to their homes. Beware to those who travel in the East, for the troubles there are without cease. AURË ENTULUVA! Signed, Her Royal Highness, Caraneth Aryantë Arthalion, Princess of Minas Amath, Conqueror of the Failorian North, Giantslayer, Harrenite Warlord

Princess Caraneth quietly looked over a report she had received from a loyal, handsome and brave coalition scout. "They went back down to the Underdark to hide from us? Quite the run, that."

Where Hides Our Enemy? Dated 13th of Snow’s Maiden, 130 SA TO THOSE RIGHTEOUS FOLK OF FAILOR, Let it be known to all that, in the face of the combined forces of Minas Amath, the Norlanders, the Hobbit-Lord’s host, and our blessed coalition’s auxiliaries, the Men of Darkness who dwell in Redclyf have been driven to such fear that they do not even muster to defend their holding. By heroic and valiant effort did a band of warriors make entry into their fortress, armed and ready to take the heads of the baby-eaters, yet even as we checked under the beds and in the closets, there was not even a pair of boots for the would-be defenders to quiver in! Thus, with their holding abandoned, and by the assent of the Thain Cyris, we do declare that the fort of the Redclyf folk is now under the dominion of Minas Amath. Henceforth, Ser Adrielle of Barrowton shall be appointed as the Military Governor of the Eastern Marches. To you Men of Darkness that yet hide from justice, submit yourselves before our authority, and face your impending crucifixions like men. AURË ENTULUVA! Signed, Her Royal Highness, Caraneth Aryantë Arthalion, Princess of Minas Amath, Conqueror of the Failorian North, Harrenite Warlord

TO DO UNJOLLY THINGS Issued Today (We lost our calendar.) TO THE SUBJECTS OF MINAS AMATH, Dire is the news of the day. As has become known to we inhabitants of beautiful Failor, the men of Redclyf are alleged to have slain and consumed the flesh of infants, and to have as well menaced women whose children are yet unborn. And most troublingly, these savages dwell not in the far off corners of this land, but just beyond our eastern border. Needless to say, this looming shadow cannot be permitted to grow and fester. Already, the Norlanders – though they may yet refuse the mercy of our GOD Most Glorious – rally to the cause of righteousness. Let us march with them, Righteous Men of Minas Amath, to secure our border against these barbarians most wicked! May these Men of Darkness come to fear the blinding righteousness of the White Flame of GOD, the Retribution of the Archangel Michael, and the austere, blessed penance of the ‘T’! AURË ENTULUVA! DEATH TO THE BABY-EATERS! BARBARORUM DELENDA EST! Signed, HER ROYAL MAJESTY, Caraneth Aryantë Arthalion, Princess of Minas Amath, Harrenite Warlord

Caraneth, Princess of Minas Amath, thinks that this will surely affect the trout population, and so she laments.

The Raising of Minas Amath Dated 24th of the Amber Cold, 129 SA TO THOSE WAYWARD, Let it be known to all that in the Northwest of this brave new land we Descendants have set upon, there has been raised the great fortress of Minas Amath. Those who seek shelter from the elements and good earth to till we do invite to share in the safety and security of our newly conquered lands. Those who wish for farmland may be granted such, in exchange for a tithe of their crop. Furthermore, we extend a promise of shelter to any men of the cloth who may yet lack accommodation in this place most untamed. Beneath the stalwart battlements of our fortress tower, may all find an easy, fulfilling life as we leave behind our lost homes in Almaris. Signed, Her Royal Highness, Caraneth Aryantë Arthalion, Princess of Minas Amath, Harrenite Warlord

I prefer past tense mostly because I think that my emotes sound and feel better that way, and it feels more like a story.

Alara Camian, Court Alchemist of the Barrowlands, was disappointed to find that her name was not listed among the citations.

At the prospect of Norlandic Trivia, Alara Camian, the self-proclaimed (and actual) foremost living expert on Norlandic matters, prepared to be as malicious as possible about winning.

Well. I was conflicted on this while I was writing it. It's part of the reason I included the option to bring them on board diplomatically as well. However, here's a potential option: "• If more than half of a Lesser Spirit's total health pool (38 HP) is taken in a single round, the Spirit may be immediately forced into submission, ending the war." Or something similar.

SPIRIT WARS OVERVIEW Ever a tumultuous realm, the world of the Spirits is well-familiar with conflict. Whether fueled by the ambition of the Lesser Spirits or the animosity between opposing domains, it is not uncommon at all for Spirits to turn their power against one another. Depending on the intentions of the aggressing Spirit, these conflicts can have a great many purposes, ranging from the weakening of the Spirit’s enemies to simple, indiscriminate violence and bloodletting. COURSE OF WAR Spirit Wars are separated into three phases. In the first phase, Spirits and their followers declare intent and make the necessary preparations to begin their war. In the second, conflict between the Spirits begins, with their respective forces and followers taking up the cause. In the third, a winner is declared and the results are detailed in a final roleplay post. • PHASE I - Declaration of War - The Spirit war is declared via a roleplay post in the Spirit War subforum. This post should be made by the leader of the aggressing side. Additionally, it should specify an intent from the list below: • Bloodletting: A war of simple violence, carried out to prove superiority, humiliate rivals, or have violence for its own sake. This goal has no lasting effect on either Spirit involved. • Conquest: Carried out between Lessers to build power for themselves, this type of war sees two Spirits attempt to drive one another into submission. The result of this can be either submission, in which the losing Spirit declares fealty to the victor, or annexation in which the loser is cast away and its domain is taken over by the victor. • Deposition: A war waged by a Lesser Spirit to take over the realm of a governing Greater. These conflicts can only be waged after at least three other Lesser Spirits are conquered, or otherwise convinced to support the endeavor. • Secession: In this conflict, a Lesser attempts to seal away a portion of a Greater’s realm for its own. Similarly to depositions, at least three other Lesser Spirits must be brought under control to begin this sort of war. - Establishing the Roster - At this point, the initial roster of worshippers is set. For this purpose, a list of usernames should be included in a spoiler on the declaration post. For the opposing side – should any players choose to oppose the aggressing Spirit – a leader must be declared, and a list of supporters likewise documented. This roster cannot be changed until the first round of Phase II is complete. • PHASE II - Conflict - Conflict is the core of the second phase. It is at this point that the Spirits begin to exchange blows within the Spirit World. Each Spirit begins with a set pool of health and deals damage according to a handful of cumulative factors. The results of this are determined by simple addition and subtraction, as detailed below: • Health Points are determined by Spirit power – Greater Spirits begin with 100, and Lesser Spirits with 75. • Each Spirit deals 5 damage per conflict stage. • Each Worshipper contributes 2 damage, and Shamans contribute 4. • Ceremonies, if performed, can contribute 5 damage. • Great Sacrifices, if performed, can contribute 10 damage. Below is an example of how this would look in practice. Before Laklul HP: 75 Base Damage +5 5 Worshippers +10 2 Shamans +8 1 Ceremony +5 28 Damage Freygoth HP: 100 Base Damage +5 3 Worshippers +6 3 Shamans +12 23 Damage After Laklul HP: 52 Freygoth HP: 72 - Recovery - After the completion of the conflict round, both Spirits will take a reprieve to recuperate from their struggles against one another. During this period, worship from the Spirits’ followers will serve to restore their energy and vitality. • 1 Ritual will restore 5 health. One ritual may be performed each round and should be documented on the Spirit War thread with Screenshots. • 1 Ceremony will restore 10 health. There is a one-round cooldown on the use of ceremonies. • 1 Great Sacrifice will restore 15 health. There is a three-round cooldown on the use of ceremonies. - Repeat - As one would expect of a conflict between immortal beings, conflicts between Spirits may very well last for several years, and the successive rounds of conflict will continue until either one Spirit’s health reaches 0, or the war is called off. Each round will last for 1 OOC week, beginning on the day of the week that the declaration was posted. • PHASE III - Conclusion - Once one of the participant Spirits is defeated, or the conflict is ended in some other way, the war is called to an end and the effects are detailed in a conclusory roleplay post. - Aftermath - Spirit Wars are often devastating for the losing Spirit. Many will have their domains absorbed by other Spirits, or otherwise have their name tarnished by the black mark of failure. Those Lessers who try and fail to rebel against their masters, meanwhile, are almost always stripped of their domains and cast deep into the far reaches of the Spirit World under a new name. WORSHIPPER CONTRIBUTION Though worshippers do not directly take up arms in conflicts between the Spirits, they are nonetheless an essential asset to their success. Through their reverence, they can direct power to their patron of choice, aiding in their battles. This can take three forms, as detailed below. • Rituals: The simplest form of worship is a ritual, consisting of group prayer, performances and/or offerings from worshippers. One ritual can be performed in each round, which will restore 5 health to the Spirit being honored. • Ceremonies: Ceremonies are a more intensive form of rituals, which must be performed at a Shrine of Tier 1 or higher, and must have at least 1 Shaman and 3 Worshippers present. Through a ceremony, the worshippers may contribute either 5 damage or 10 health to their Spirit for that round of conflict. After completion, 1 round must elapse before another Ceremony can be performed. • Great Sacrifices: The most powerful form of worship, worshippers may gather and contribute a significant offering to empower their patron. This offering must be pertinent to the Spirit it is given to, for the purposes of proper reverence. For example, while human sacrifice may please Ogrol, it would displease Akezo. The following are acceptable as offerings for a great sacrifice: • 1 Descendant sacrificed (PK is not required) • 10 mechanical stacks of a material/item • 10 unique roleplay items • 10 animals sacrificed Once completed, 3 rounds must elapse before another Great Sacrifice may be performed. DOCUMENTATION Below are outlined the proper processes for documenting and tracking each phase of a Spirit war. Phase I Phase II Phase III An Abridged Timeline of a War REDLINES General Restrictions • One must hold a valid Shamanism MA to declare a Spirit War. • Once posted, information provided (rosters, contribution, etc.) is final. The post may not be edited, for the sake of fairness. • Wars between Lessers may be moderated and conducted by players. Conflicts involving Greater Spirits will require review by an ST at the war’s conclusion. For the sake of limiting staff-side paperwork, documentation for wars will be carried out and overseen by players. • For all combat rounds, damage will always be factored in before healing. • Abuse or loopholing of the system may result in the cancellation of the war. Greater Spirits • Greaters may declare wars against other Greaters, however they may not conquer their realms outright. • Greaters may declare wars against their own Lessers at will. Lesser Spirits • Lessers may declare wars against other Lessers within their own realm, or against their governing Greater. They may not declare wars against any Spirit in realms beyond that of their respective Greater. • In the event that a Lesser Spirit suffers 38 damage (half of their total HP rounded up) in a single round, they may be forced into submission to immediately end the war. • When conducting a Deposition or Secession war, links to either forum posts or screenshots should be included to prove the involvement/loyalty of the prerequisite Lessers. Worshippers • A worshipper may only take the side of one Spirit at a time in a given conflict. They may switch sides, if they so choose. • Any changes made to rosters will not take effect until the round after the change is documented. Contribution • Each type of contribution may only be performed a single time in one round. That is to say, one could perform a ritual, a ceremony, and a great sacrifice in a single round, however one could not perform 2 rituals. PURPOSE The mechanics for Spirit Wars, at the time of this writing, are unfortunately somewhat difficult to follow, and the process is time consuming to the point of being a hindrance to the potential RP to be gained from them. The intent of this amendment was to more clearly define the process and potential outcomes of Spirit Wars, as well as to make them, overall, take less time to carry out in full. The hope is to allow more conflict in Spiritualist circles, and to bring a bit more RP and player influence to the Spirit World, as player interactability is one of the Spirits’ strongest points overall. While this piece is, admittedly, very mechanics-heavy, the goal is for said mechanics to serve as a foundation for roleplay to be built upon, and provide avenues for new roleplay in the process.

Dual-citizen Alara Camian felt a degree of inner conflict, being pleased with this turn of events on one hand, but still mumbling something to herself about graves and people rolling in them at the same time.

KINDRED MINDS With the shuffling of paper and the gentle thump of a tome snapping shut, Alara pushed herself away from her desk, rubbing at weary eyes with a thumb and forefinger. A grumble of mild frustration escaped her, and she gave a small gesture in the direction of an ever-attentive living doll, a silent order or perhaps a request. In course, the obedient construct trotted off into the next room, leaving the elf to her lonesome. A silent moment to herself was one to be cherished, she thought – though of course her entire evening had been relatively silent and solitudinous, apart from a knock or two at the door, but that was neither here nor there. In the quiet she allowed herself a moment's rest. Poring over tomes, as ever, had proven a surprisingly taxing ordeal. Toil, she ruminated, was all that it was. Was there gain to be had? Certainly so, but it yet eluded her grasp. She cradled a cheek in her palm then, and her eyes drift shut ever so briefly. Within but a moment, the familiar, languid drift of sleep found her. Yet, in the darkness, the quiet departed. A voice called, its words unintelligible… Alara roused from her momentary trance with a mild jolt, a hand clutching at the arm of the chair. She gazed about, finding only the living doll assistant, tugging at her sleeve to present her with a fresh cup of tea. This she rewarded with a flash of a smile and a gentle pat upon the doll's wooden head. Taking her teacup in hand she drew a sip from it. As was her preference, the tea was quite strong and sharply bitter, though not overwhelmingly so; perfect, in her opinion, though perhaps offensive to the palates of more people than not. Either way, it seemed, that was just the thing she needed, and between her tea and the gentle aroma rising from her desktop censer, the fatigued woman began to feel just a touch of renewal in her spirit; a much needed respite from her stresses. Yet it was to be a fleeting thing. Her leisure was interrupted by a sensation rather unfamiliar and uncanny, akin to a sudden change in the wind. This she found quite perplexing, and it made her overactive mind begin to churn. Worry and concern bubbled up in her thoughts and began to eat at her. This only worsened as the sensation began to linger, and finally after some few minutes of fretting over the matter, Alara decided to seek answers beyond, in the Otherworld where the Spirits dwell. And so, despite her weariness and with an anxious urgency, she began to arrange her usual ritual circle. Lines and sigils were drawn on the floor in chalk, candles set in each cardinal direction, and a pungent incense set asmolder in a ritual bowl. Alara settled in and set her focus. As straightforward as ever, moments later she found herself caught by the familiar pull of the Spirit World, and soon enough her mind was adrift on the current. That, however, was where familiarity ended. No longer was Alara in control of her direction or destination. Plucked from her intended path she felt as a ball rolling down a cluttered staircase, tossed about and crashing into obstacles in her descent. She soon found herself pulled into a place of substance, however, and began slowly regaining her wits, her mind scrambled from the disorienting experience. As she came to, blinking dizziness from her eyes, the Shaman found herself amidst seemingly endless shelves in a maze of a library – the realm of Theruz, by her recollection. Yet as she wandered, all was not as expected. The corridors began to wind and twist further with every step taken. The confusing rows of shelves carried on for what felt like an age, the pathways becoming more ill-lit and cluttered increasingly by scattered tomes, the floors becoming uneven, and eventually inclining at paradoxical angles. Shadows of curious denizens lingered at the edges of her vision, eyes lingering on her as she passed. Finally, she tired of her wandering and came to a stop, a glance cast ahead and behind, unease washing over her. The path before her looked identical to the way she had come. Had she gone in a circle? Surely not. There was nowhere to go from here, she thought, except perhaps to get lost enough to get unlost – a trick concocted by a vexsome Lesser fond of oxymoron and paradox, perhaps. It was then that she decided that it would be best to return to the waking world, to retreat and attempt her journey again on the morrow with her mind rested. But, even as she considered it, the floorboards below her feet began to warp, twist and creak, the wood near screaming as it suddenly opened like a gaping maw beneath her feet. Scrambling for ground Alara began to fall, catching herself unsteadily by the edge of the newly-opened pit. Her mind raced in terror. Below lay only an abyss, stygian darkness with not a speck of light to be seen. And as Alara struggled an appendage stretched from the depths of that horror and coiled around her ankle. One swift tug and she nearly lost her grip, and with the second she began to plummet into the black depths beneath the endless library. Falling. For a moment it was the rush of a headlong, accelerating fall. But, then things began to slow. From what light trickled in through the aperture through which she had been pulled, Alara could see as books fell from the shelves above. Through the air they tumbled haphazardly downward only to be caught on a gentle current of sorts – the same current which seemed to have caught her, carrying her towards an unknown destination. The air became tense, a chill at the back of the neck caused Alara to shiver. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught the flash of a low, green light, only for it to disappear before her gaze could fix on it. In the darkness, shifting could be heard – the rustling of papers, and the thumping of books being stacked. Then, silence. Stillness. All around Alara came to a sudden, unnerving halt, and a great eye opened before her, bathing her in a pale, green light. A voice rumbled in the Old Tongue. “Neither tome nor scrap of parchment are you… Why do you enter this place?” Before Alara could answer, a tentacle-like limb surged from the darkness to coil around her form and lock her in place. Another eye flared to life in the darkness, and then another, and a third and a fourth. The drifting, seemingly disembodied eyes floated about her, circled her like a predator circling prey – an appraisal of a sort, it seemed to be. Again the voice rumbled, echoing deep into the sightless void around them. “Ahhh, you. I have seen you, mortal… Or those like you mayhaps. The hunger to know, it marks you.” The grip of the cephalopoid appendage tightened around Alara’s form as it coiled around her, cementing its hold. As of yet, the binding was unthreatening, but Alara was no fool; one wrong move could be the end. More eyes began to illuminate the space and they slowly drifted onwards, continuing to bear down on Alara from all angles. Anxiety high, the situation seemed fated to escalate in any event, as thick, viridescent mist began to coalesce. As the Spirit kept her in its grasp, the Elf’s head began to throb, and her mind was wracked by a foreign presence. The glowing fog lazily changed in shape, dripping like a viscous semi-liquid as it warped and twisted into grotesque tableaus of Alara’s memories. The eyes watched on silently for the time, absorbing what the Spirit’s probing had revealed. “You are Alara. Shaman… Most curious indeed.” It was only then that the being’s grip on Alara was loosened, and she soon found herself standing upon a solid floor again, though there was still no light to be found. The eyes slowly moved to gather, with the great eye in the center, all looking at the elf head-on. “I am the one they call NAAGATHOTH, the Hoarding One – you have come to me at an opportune moment, as the winds begin to shift. This meeting is beneficial to you, is it not? Speak, Alara the Seeking One; shall we enter into an agreement?” For a Spirit to be so forward, Alara thought, that was a strange thing. What could it want? Why was it so eager to make agreements without so much as setting a price? Was it ambition, simple opportunism or something else that motivated this creature? These questions and more raced through Alara’s mind as she pondered a response. After some few moments – the delay of which seemed to raise a tension of sorts from the Spirit – the shaman mustered a reply. “T’was not my intent to seek you out, Spirit. What is it you offer, Lord Naagathoth? And what do you wish for in turn?” The eyes shifted then, drawing in closer until Alara’s face was limned in their dim, emerald glow. And, in fact, by that light she was momentarily able to glimpse the silhouette of what she could only assume to be an enormous stack of collected books – ostensibly taken from the library above. Again, the ever-so-forward Spirit spoke. “You and I are not so different, Alara the Seeking One. A craving unquenchable, the one that drives you is. This I know, for the need to know is deep-rooted in my mind. Like yourself, however, there remains much that eludes my collection, grand though it may be.” With the Spirit’s final word, a mote of sickly green light came to hover before Alara, and as she extended a hand to touch it, light suddenly returned to her. Though dim and tinged in pale green, Alara now looked upon the hoard unhindered by the darkness that protected it from prying eyes; she saw it as the Spirit itself saw it. On shelves, in stacks, and in piles, books, scrolls and loose parchment decorated the lair in numbers beyond counting. And lording above it was a form of writhing, coiling tentacles and glowing eyes, thick, dark mist rolling off of its otherworldly appendages, and occasionally forming into new ones altogether. “The terms, shaman, are simple. You will contribute to my hoard, and grant me greater sight into your world. In exchange, you may peruse the contents of my hoard at your leisure, and learn all that you like – but you must not share what you find here, not with any soul or creature. And, of course, I will lend you my power as your patron. Together we will prosper.” — “What say you, Alara the Seeking One? Have we got an accord, you and I?”

Aeva Camian regarded the missive with a mild curiosity, "Opportunity presents itself. Let us see just how much they dislike what I have to say."