Juno.

Peregrine locks the **** in.

Peregrine sat upon a stool in the corner of their shared space, her head bowed and hands clasped upon her knees. Her wide eyes stared at nothing as she learned of the demise of her one and only student; the fallen Prince she uncovered from the ashes. He had risen like a phoenix, his flame snuffed out too soon. "I'm ready to see them bleed." Her fists tightened, the sapphire scars marring her skin sparking with lightning. There was no sadness in the heart of the Martyr Undying, but a rage that could only be cooled with blood.

Sonna looked over the missive from within the Watcher's Grove, her brow furrowing. "Prideful ... And petty." The Heirophant concluded, her head shaking in disappointment. "Do they forget how ruin will cause the destruction of Balance? How Azdromoth razed Amathea to the ground, and how his sons hunted us into hiding. To turn our back now ... Ne, I shall not, nor will my kin." The Matriarch rose to a stand then, whistling for her foxes to join her as she marched.

The Martyr Undying studied her sapphire branded skin, clutched at her reformed heart. Other than the scars she bore, her reflection remained unchanged. Was she truly born anew? Was Isabel no more? Peregrine fell to her knees before the altar, holding that strange feather gently in her palms as she prayed. "Father, give me your strength."

Across the known world, on a small and buzzing island, the earth began to tremble. In a matter of weeks, oaks the height of fortresses sprouted from the ground. Walls made of twisting roots and vines wove between the magnificent trees. Huts of clay and leaves were constructed by tiny, wooden hands. Fairies both seen and unseen zipped around as they surveyed the construction, excited chatter filling the space. Then finally, on the last day, an ancient sapling was guided into growth by the hands of elders - An old soul reborn to watch over the Grove. -=- [!] Scattered across the Wilds, within every known Druidic Circle, and across the nations of Amathine and the Isle of Nevaehlen, is the following missive. THE WATCHER’S GROVE The Druidic Order A Home For All Servants of the Aspects -=- To our Brothers and Sisters, Throughout ages, The Druidic Order has dutifully served the Aspects and has become their guiding hands. As we have discussed years ago during the Grand Moot, we have, throughout the decades, become splintered off from one another. This has weakened our foundation and has caused some of us to grow stagnant. While many of us have found victory in the forests, there is no reason for a spear to grow dull. The time has come for us to join once more, beneath one tree. For as we learned during our respective trials, whether we are experienced protectors or green wanderers, it is our responsibility to serve as best we can. The saplings we have planted have grown into strong oaks that will protect us from any threat that dares obstruct our destinies, or stop our stories. As long as we are together, never again shall we know the dismay of defeat, nor shall we ever look down upon our brothers and sisters. The time has come to unite beneath the Watcher’s Grove.

The Fox gently cradled her beloved daughter's face in her hands as she wept, her sweet Magnolia stuttering as she relayed the news of their elder brother's loss. The shock and pain of it rocked the Elder Druid, hot tears stinging her cheeks as she pulled Arle into a tight and warm embrace. "Do not fret, my sweet girl. Haelun has him now. Although he was taken from us too soon, we shall always honor his memory." Sonna looked out to the setting sun as her fingers gently combed through her daughter's hair, closing her eyes as the memories of the last Son of Awaiti washed over her. "You died a warrior, mal'onn." She murmured to the horizon. "Morea and Moccus shall be proud."

The woman gazed upward in astonishment as the creature emerged, its scaly skin and yellowed teeth captivating her attention. Gore dripped from its numerous tendrils, while a claw extended to gently stroke her porcelain cheek. She trembled, uncertain whether her reaction stemmed from wonder or horror. “Do you love me?” The woman's voice broke the silence, her moonlit hair cascading down her figure. The creature's mouth contorted into a twisted grin, its voice resonating with more than just one tone. “Of course I do.” As the creature leaned in for a kiss, a crow cawed from somewhere nearby, and a different voice filled the woman's mind. “Liar.” -=- =-= In shadows deep where moonlight fades, There lurks a love of twisted shades. The Lady gazed at the inhabitants of the Manor, their hushed whispers failing to capture her interest. With a sigh, she leaned back against the banister of the rafters, idly swinging her feet. Abruptly, a looming shadow startled her, prompting her to open her eyes once more. “You’re in my spot.” A voice as smooth as honey flowed into her ears, and she couldn't suppress the smile that blossomed across her features. “And?” Her chest tightened as the man returned her grin. Their love devours, it knows no bounds, In flesh and blood, its truth resounds. Veiled in white, her heels crushed the flowers beneath her steps as the Lady clung tightly to her father's arm. Onlookers cooed, but her gaze remained fixed on what stood before her, unable to tear her eyes away. She smiled at the man, and he returned the smile. An all-consuming symphony, Where love and hunger intertwine with glee. Aquamarine fire spilled forth from her veins, enveloping the two in the storm's cacophony of cawing. Within the eye of the tempest, she stood, her feathers and horns emerging from cracked skin. She was hideous, she was monstrous. He didn't balk, didn’t hesitate. The man walked into the fire and enveloped the Lady within his arms. Though whispered tales may cast them dread, In love's embrace, they're ever led. The Lady stood on the edge, peering down into the pool of gore below. There, her lover began to disappear beneath the surface of the ichor, slipping away from her forever. “You are a fool.” The voice filled her mind with anger, urging her away from the edge. “Ungrateful brat. After all I gave you, after all you could’ve been.” Ignoring the Crow's caw, she jumped, her hands outstretched toward the man's as he reached for her. No power can save me from this madness. No ambition can be greater than my obsession. It hurt, it burned—the sundering of flesh and the consuming of her body. The Lady's cries were drowned by the blood, silenced by the echoes of all who had been devoured before her. It seemed to last for years, it really lasted for hours, until finally, there was nothing left but her very essence. Nothing remained of them but their souls. Forever and always? Forever and always. In the darkness, their hearts merged, two flames forever dancing to the tune of devotion. For in the depths of darkest desire, They find a love that will never tire. -=- =-= Not long after Vasati Thelin died, crows carried letters and items throughout the realm: To Azra Thelin To Margosha To Marion To Ruben Thelin =-=

[!] A neatly bound thesis is found within the library of the Brotherhood of Virtue, a sigil stamped into the leather cover. To Build A Home I’ve known since I was a young girl, recently recovered from the kidnapping and mutilation done by my mother, that I wished to walk the Sunlit Path; to follow after my father and the brothers who helped raise me. At such an age, I knew little of what being a Brother of Virtue entailed, and less of what it meant to be a Knight of the Sunlit Lord. Even as I began my trials as an initiate, and past my connection, I struggled to find what it truly meant to be a paladin - what separates us from the brave soldiers of this world other than the gifts given to us? I thought that I had the answer, though confusion caused me to doubt as I looked at the contradicting teachings of our two Keepers at the time. I could not tell who was more right. I journeyed to our most holy site to pray for an answer, hoping our Lord might grant me clarity of mind. What I received was most unexpected, but in the light of that blazing dawn, I found what I was looking for. “What makes a good paladin?” I asked, but instead found that question turned back upon me. I answered as follows: “A good paladin is righteous and courageous, capable of being both ruthless and merciful when needed. A good paladin is clever and strong, ready to either lead a charge or strike from the shadows. However, what ultimately makes us good is our willingness and readiness to die - To sacrifice everything, even our lives for the cause.” I was met with an apology, and a gentle correction. “You, learn young. Hearing tales of heroes who live and die saving the kingdom. That we should learn to love like them, and do better like them. To be like them. But it is not dying which made them heroes. Nor is it dying that we should focus upon. But that act of selflessness, and love, is one among many. To die is to end your service, that love. These traits, that state of being, are not traits inherent to all. Perhaps to some. But think of it like this. I have seen men who are born, grow up, and die in one home. It is a good home, and maybe they expand upon it. A garden, a hall, a new well. They have things prepared for them, and one of their greatest needs met. But there are men who spawn from nothing, too. The temptations of darkness and power so easily gained beckon them, yet they refuse. They, despite all odds, despite every setback, continue to push forward to build their home stone by stone. It may fall once, twice, three times - but they never surrender until their work is done or they die trying. Tell me. Which makes for the better man? The better story? They both have homes, in some way. But who earned it? Who would you say is a good man, despite them both achieving the same thing? What makes them memorable?” I pondered the question for a few minutes, but in truth, the answer came quickly. “I don’t think one is necessarily better than the other, nor do I believe one is more deserving. While one certainly had to work harder to have what the other was given, I don’t think that makes him better than him. I think what makes them memorable is what they do with such a home - If they fill it with love and compassion. Both men are capable of good the same, regardless of being afforded fortune or no.” I was met with the following response. “Then no paladin is truly greater than one another. Become that person you wish to be. A heroine, an angel, a lifesaver, even one of the most devout. Build the stones of your home, and fill it with love and compassion.” I’ve pondered these words for decades, carrying out my duties and building my home as decreed. Stone by stone I have laid, but I would be a liar if I said there were not times when I doubted those words of wisdom. As a Wyrmstalker, I am filled with my Lord’s wrath: his rage and merciless towards the darkspawn of this realm. How could love and compassion make me a good paladin, when the lightning in my veins dictates otherwise? It wasn’t until our greatest ally’s true form was revealed, that his words finally started to sink in and make sense. He had to struggle to build his home, temptation constantly knocking at his door, and yet, he did not give in. He is the kind I am most sworn to kill, and yet also a beacon and messenger of our Lord. We represent the two men of his analogy, in comparison to his struggle, my home came easy. And yet, I stand by my original answer. It matters not what he is made of, where he came from or how he has struggled. It matters what he has done in his life, what he has done with his home. To be a good paladin to become the person you wish to be; To build your home stone by stone, and to fill it with love and compassion. Signed, Isabel Amaranta Falcone van Wick The Attached

GREEEEEEEHN

Within the trees of that very isle, lounging with the sprites as they buzzed about, a foxlike grin began to curl. "How bold." A voice snickered, throwing the missive to her wolves. "And foolish."

Speak your truth! Thank you for being so brave

[!] Scattered across the Wilds, within every known Druidic Circle, and across the capital city of Amathine 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, For too long have we been scattered amongst the Wilds; for too long do we wander alone, no longer leaning on our kin for aid nor freely sharing information amongst each other. The threat to the Balance has only grown in our time apart, and we suffer the consequences. No longer shall we be lone wolves, but attack as a pack. The time has come for us to step outside our tight-knit circles; the time has come to join under one Order once more. The time has come for a Grand Moot. The leaders of our circles and beacons of wisdom know the way. Turn to them for the time and location of our meeting, and come be amongst your kin once more. The Mother Circle, The Father Circle, The Sun Circle, The Glade of Hileia, The Harvest Grove, the circleless. We shall await your return.

thanks creamynoteblock