Junoix

Maybe This Time Years of wandering, years of solitude. She had told everyone to write to her if she were needed, but of course no one did. No one but her elder sister that is. It was saddening, but also comfortable. No one to yell at her, to accuse her or slander her. She had learned decades ago that only in solitude could she not be hurt, even if it was what she dreaded most. It was a valiant effort, she thought to herself as she trekked through the wilderness. If only for a moment, I had a taste of acceptance. I should be content with that. But she wasn’t, truthfully; oh how hard she worked to be a Matriarch, only to once again be hated by the very people she wished would love her. The flowers that once littered her hair had now dwindled to a few small blossoms, most of her crimson curls now overtaken with ivy and thorns. Her whole body was wrapped in the painful vines, sometimes pricking her as she walked; she was overgrown, but she paid it no mind. Nature seemed to prefer her this way, and in the end, that was all the acceptance she truly had. In a wondrous alpine she found herself now, a skulk of vulpines at her heels. I must be content, this is fine, is all I need. Such was her mantra until finally, one of her beloved foxes brought her a letter. She opened it more eagerly than she cared to admit to herself, and could hardly stomach the brief spark of glee upon reading a familiar title, upon seeing that she was needed. “Grandmaster Fox!” Those words were what led her to that dank swamp, trudging through dark waters to reach the meeting spot the letter stated. Only, when she arrived, there was no smiling monkey-boy to greet her. No, what awaited her was a betrayal not even she had experienced before. How many people had turned on her, and yet it all was but a raindrop in comparison to the storm which awaited her. There stood a congregation of demons covered in viscera, and armored figures clothed in red, standing around a circle of drawn runes in blood. However, it was he who stood in the center that made her stomach turn. “Ah, Sister. I knew you would heed my call. I am sorry for the trickery but I had assumed you might have been informed of my deeds. Come.” “With you now here we can complete what I’ve set out to do.” This isn’t right. What does he mean? Trickery? What it was he had done, she had not been informed. But one of the armored figures called to her in a tone so familiar and joyous; a sister from long ago. It was enough to cause her hand to instinctively twitch towards her brother of centuries, but then her trance was broken. A jostle of chains, and Sonna looked over the Thulean’s shoulder. There was her monkey-boy, though he held no smile. Only flickering, hollow eyes, blood staining his restricted and strung form. It all clicked at once. “You sent the letter. What are you thinking? What the nearby Grove deserves? They are our siblings, Asger!” A name she had not called him by in so long, but she had hoped it would bring back the elf she knew in Siramenor: a grumpy ‘ame who still had a heart, who was a father raising his children. “What do you hope to accomplish in doing this? To become the lowest of the low?” “Siblings? They have failed to showcase such a thing in years. I know it as well as you.” In a way, he was right, Sonna knew it all too well. She knew the pain of rejection, the sting of slander, and the ache of loneliness. So divided were the children of the Aspects, throwing blame and insult against each other like stones. “I mean to prove that they are no better than us. They treat us as disposable waste. From the Dragaar down to the lowest child of the Aspects, they spit on us, command us! No more, sister.” He had tripped up in his speech, had failed to understand a core concept that his dear sister truly believed in; that her owlish mentor had drilled into her long. No Druid is better than another. A hand drifted to the enlarged fang by her side, the very one her father and patron had given to her from his own maw. The crack within shimmered with faint golden light, the chittering of foxes only growing louder as she grasped the tooth. “You wish to slaughter our kin and corrupt our Gods for what? Prove a point? To soothe your own damaged pride and ego? I will not aid you in ruining yourself. Please, Asger, do not do this to yourself.” Her brother was always selfish, this she knew well. Perhaps appealing to such, convincing him of the harm he would bring upon him, could be enough to turn him away from this wretched path. If only she knew that he had already taken the first steps; of the carnage he had already wrought. I can do this. The Fox steeled her heart, should he refuse. With the fang of Sonnos, with such reminding her of her duty to her children and people, she could fight her elder brother. She could shift and run to go get others, to save the monkey-boy from his chains. She was ready, but a desperate whisper broke her concentration. “You must help … There is no other way.” She knew that voice, the thunder of a delicate storm barely strained behind it. No mother could ever forget the song of their own daughter. It was enough to catch Sonna off her guard, for the slippery Fox to suddenly become frozen in her steps. It was only a second of shock, and that was all the Spore needed to make his move. The foxtrap was expertly sprung, only the Matriarch realized too late. “Grandmaster Fox! Run! Get away from here!” It was too late, for as soon as the monkey-boy cried out, Sonna felt a sting like no other. Asger was too quick for the spiraling Sonna, and it was all too easy to grab the fang from the mother’s hand to then pierce her stomach with maddening force. Her midsection, the womb in which she had carried the very daughter who screamed out now. The ilmyumier of a bear’s paw was torn along with her flesh, the mark of Bolomormaa now naught but viscera and sorrow. Blood trickled down her legs as she struggled to stay on her feet, falling into the arms of her kin and murderer. “I do not need you alive for this sister. The others have already ruined any other path for me. This is the end one way or another.” There were screams and struggling from her child and the chained, oh how she hoped they wouldn’t be harmed for doing so. Sonna coughed and sputtered thick ichor as she was dragged into that circle, laid within its very center with a tenderness that sickened her. She mustered whatever strength she could, first looking to the monkey-boy who had always treated her with reverence. “Shh … I-It’s ok.” The Fox retained control of her muscles just long enough to then turn her head towards the struggling armored figure, now being held back by another. She retained her hearing just long enough to sob at the crying of a slain cub; substantial feeling so that the bear’s fur warmed her skin as it was dropped beside her. But none of that mattered as she looked at the masked girl, and even within such wretched armor, she knew the lightning that crackled within it. My youngest daughter, my precious gem. Váyan, my powerful storm. In her final moments, despite the horror of it all, Sonna could think of nothing but the love she held for her children; the motherly instinct to reach towards her troubled child. But her limbs no longer held blood, and her breath became more difficult by the minute. Her maw was overflowing with ichor, and with a final desperation she called to her baby. “I love you. I forgive you. The scream of the slain cub echoed louder within her head, the pain of her carnage and the roar of an angry mother drowning out all other senses. Greener and foggy did the world grow, until all she was left with were the passing images of memories. Sun Bleached Flies It started with the neglected child who ran wild in the woods, blooming into the curious dedicant eager to learn everything there was about the world. Eventually she grew into the sapling Druid who kept exploring, even after kidnap and torture; who hunted monsters with other misfits on Arcas and took in orphan after orphan to nurse and heal. The elf grew into a vulpine Druid, who helped the King of Norland escape the armies of Oren. Who fought beside the paladins of Last Light Camp against the hordes of Inferi, and served her new-found mother as fellow Chieftess of the Sirame. Who served her people as Naelu’ir of Siramenor, healed them as a Springmaiden of the Clinic, and led them in prayer as High Priestess of the Wild Faith. Who awakened the slumbering green Dragaar, and continued to fight against all odds. Who earned the dragon’s respect and trust with an Aspect Stone that was kept from her. Who held her first friend in her arms as he bled out from a Scyfling’s arrow, and birthed her first two children with a man who would eventually disappear. She became a force to be reckoned with as the Red Bastard of the Sylvaeri, then the Chieftess of her own family, the Vulnrith; Who continued to serve despite the difficulties as Head of Faith in Elvenesse. Who spread the teachings of both the Ichorian and Sage Way as its Heralds, and birthed another two children to a man who would be fatally ripped from her arms by a voidal disaster. Who served a century of forced isolation after she made enemies with too powerful of people; after she spoke out against their hypocrisy and cruelty. She nearly lost herself in those lonely years, but somehow kept going despite the many voices and lies keeping her down. She grew into a wise Elder who overcame the slander thrown her way, who was able to soothe some of the scars of violent division. She served and served as Keeper of the Glade of Hileia, ensuring all the dead were remembered and that truth was kept straight; as Archdruid of the Druidic Order working tirelessly to mend the rift created so long ago and join the Druids together once more in efforts to support Nature. She finally completed her greatest mission in awakening the Staff of Malin, unlocking the abilities of the first ever Elder Tree for her people to use in the centuries to come. She found love a third time, and bore three children who filled her heart with such joy and hope. She taught student after student, and found purpose in each one who succeeded. However, it was as the Viridian Voice of Nevaehlen and Eliheuihii of Iryalen where things became dark again; a cruel Natural Cycle of her own. Even as some honored her as Matriarch of the Mali’ame, there were still serpents in the shadows who continued to allow hatred to fuel their hearts. It wasn’t long before the crown of leadership attracted blame undeserved once more, and the Fox was forced to leave again. If they need me they will call on me, except they never did. She had failed. This slow realization was all she felt as her soul made an unusually turbulent journey through the stream all dead must travel, jerking from left to right before finding herself amidst shrill screeching and wrathful roars. All manner of beast ran amuck as blighted, bile spewing bears chased after them, charging blinding in pain at the newly arrived soul; That was until a swirl of fallen leaves whisked her away to somewhere else. I have failed. It was her only thought as she landed within a valley of serene beauty, surrounded by crashing waterfalls and lush abundance. She clutched at her womb which still bled even in her eternal rest, sobbed at the black blood which oozed from her mark; proof of my failure. Agony and sorrow shook her, almost too much to bear, until she looked down the path before. The figure in the distance caused her to crawl, stumble, and then limp towards them, her shame almost enough to force her back down; It was only her respect for the figure that kept her going. She expected rage and disappointment, disgust and disregard. Perhaps even hated for failing to accomplish what any worthy Matriarch would have been able to. But no, such was not to be for the fallen Fox, even as she sobbed her apologies and regrets for her own weakness. Such was not to be, as a verdant hand of kindness and acceptance welcomed her into her greatest duty yet. After all, there was always work to be done, and she could not rest yet. Not while she still bled. [!] A few days after the death of Sonna Vulnrith, foxes wearing golden circlets would travel across the realm, delivering letters and parcels alike to their recipients. Every note would be sealed with golden wax portraying a sitting fox, leaves of sage and blossoms of fairy foxglove stuck beneath the stamp. Only those who receive these letters, as denoted by who the letter is addressed to, will have knowledge of their words and the items delivered. Please do not metagame. Sulcelia Mayan Vulnrith | @glassyskies Laurië Vulnrith | @Spoopy_Duck Váyan Vulnrith | @Phersades Aurelion Vulnrith | @Deer__ Arle Sirame-Vulnrith | @craneia Laltyl Arvellon-Vulnrith | @JuztLizzy Idril Sylvaeri | @JJosey Feanor Sylvaeri | @Wand Traskaath D’hrolo | @DankuzMemuz Caius Prisgoth | @Tav Chaosheng | @NightOfTheWind Revian Winterleaf | @NightcastorKitty Naeri Sonnos’ii Vulnrith | @Kholibrii Ophelia Bol’maa Vulnrith | @BlueBudgie Faen Vulnrith | @exanimated Briala Sirame-Vulnrith | @FenHarel Seraphina Vulnrith-Prisgoth | @Endaaron Suliin’yuln | @Chuuwys Asger Nria | @RaiderBlue The Emperor of Mankind | @Werew0lf Thank you all who took part in the story of Sonna Vulnrith. A message to the community will follow in the days to come.

Even as he plunged the fang straight into her stomach, the Fox could not help the pity she felt for the Spore. He had damned himself for all eternity, and even in death, it was this reality she anguished over.

Somewhere within the Eternal Forest, the shell of a Fox wanders, the screaming of dying cubs echoing in her footsteps.

STEPPING DOWN FROM THE MANTLE A Message to the Iryalii Written on the 264th Year of the Second Age To the Iryalii People, After much thought these past Elven weeks, I believe my time as your Eliheiuhii has come to an end. The winds change, and with it, so should this nation’s leadership to keep up with the shift in directions. I shall still remain as an Elder, to always provide guidance and knowledge to whoever may seek it. My life’s mission shall always be in service to the Mali’ame and Nature, and the Vulnrith Hall remains to continue its own mission within Iryalen. Let us allow someone new to be the guiding torch of our forests, and I look forward to the next season in our lives. Aspects Guide, Matriarch of the Mali’ame, Chieftess of the Vulnrith, Hierophant of the Druidic Order, Warden of the Glade of Hileia, Priestess of the Wild Faith, Fox Druid

I used to fear the Empire, but then I had a conversation with @Werew0lfand now I understand it. They're villains, and the ones in charge actually have a pretty interesting narrative going. Of course there are some bad apples in the Empire, as there are in EVERY community let's be so real, but I'm excited to see where Werewolf takes it next. And of course, if I don't like it, I can always log off.

The Fox dragged her offering up to the statute, its great antlers framing the setting sun. Carefully did she paint herself with it's blood, still warm from the fresh kill. Her head was bowed in prayer, pleading to be bestowed with the Stag's grace for these times to come. Both his compassion, and his justice.

The Matriarch's jaw dropped as this news was relayed to her ... but too late did it come. The Omentahu had voted, the pact was signed, the fate of the 'ame was sealed. Later, she sobbed silently in her home, praying to her patheon of gods to at least spare the children in the violence to come.

The Fox read the missive as she walked between her lands and that of her new neighbor, smoking from her dragonfly decorated peace-pipe. She wondered, as the words on paper filled her mind, if this conflict would ever be able to be solved within themselves. Or, if salvation could only come by the claws of something else. She did so long ago. When will she be free to do such again?

Sonna laid back against a branch high in the trees, her legs kicking back and forth as she puffed on a pipe of green. The missive came to her by way of fox, and as she read the missive, she couldn't help but allow a bitter smile to cross her features. There would no justice now - Not on this plane, from her hands or the hands of the 'ame. How could there be, when they are so small compared to the armies of Man? No, this vengeance would be slow, and only at the hands of higher powers than hers. All she had to do was wait. Luckily for the aged elf, she had learned to be patient.