Junoix

The journey to the secluded island was long and arduous, and perhaps unwise for a newly elected leader to leave her capital so soon after gaining the position. So much to do, so many to speak to - but this would gain precedence over all; the beginning to what was hoped to be a successful term. Must hire a ferry from the capital to here, too long of a journey for them to traverse themselves … check in on the Seed Chieftains and see what aid they require … the Grand Moot, I must call that before the next Elven year … ah, I must finish the children’s gifts … Her list of ‘musts’ traveled on and on, falling off her tongue as if a prayer. And yet, she had never been happier; had never felt so whole. Flowers bloomed freely at her feet, mapping the trail she walked through the many graves and murals. The sack slung over her back was heavy, but she paid it no mind - the weight scarcely anything compared to what she had been made to carry before. The sack fell from her hands as she reached her destination, kneeling before the looming statue. Eyes of admiration roamed the Matriarch’s carved features, the song of rushing water joining the serenity of the scene. Delicately, every candle was lit, fresh flowers spread before the altar, and then finally did she turn to the bag. Just as gentle and reverent as she had been with the candles and flowers did she grasp the cool stone, lifting the object from its confines. “You will never be welcomed in Nevaehlen.” Words of venom which repeated endlessly in her mind as she pondered the face before her; a sculptures head severed from the rest of its body. Once, she had cried over those words and the meaning behind them, had been buried in desolation and hate over the actions taken in the name of that sentiment. A gentle hand moved to caress the hard cheek of the figure, the corners of her lips lifting upwards. I am sorry I didn’t teach you better, that I did not help you master the ambition and fear within yourself. Her words were genuine, her intent sincere as she placed the head at the feet of the greater statue. Again did that gaze rise to meet its own, hands stilling within her lap. Warm tears rolled down her cheeks, shimmering with sage. I have found it, haelun. I have found peace. No longer did her soul burn with rage or scream for vengeance; no longer was the Fox separated from the skulk. Finally, she had been accepted by her kin. Finally, she had found peace. From Banished to Leader, the Viridian Voice rose from the ashes.

Amongst that tall Martyr within the legions of hellspawn, the ghostly figure of a woman would be seen perched upon the shoulder of the Zar'akal. O' how sweet the siren's voice was, as it whispered to R E N her desire for more calamity and destruction. Bathed in blood, burned in fire, these two souls would dance forever.

MC Name: Junoix Discord: z0ediac Image: Description of Image: A campaign poster for my character running for NL! Dimensions: 1 wide, 2 high

THE RETURN OF THE SIRAME Revival of the Ancient Seeds Posted on the 216th Year of the Second Age To the people of Nevaehlen, Before I became Chieftess of my own seed, the Vulnrith, I was a Chieftess of the Sirame Seed alongside my Haelun, Awaiti Sirame. The Sirame were created by her, named after Irrin Sirame, the mother of the Mali’ame. They are the Forestborn, devoted to faith and guidance, and known for becoming the most devout and educational priests. Their patron and ilmyumier are of Taynei’hiylu, the Green Dragon Spirit and Transcendent Druid. It is a beautiful and important Seed, full of history and wisdom for the next generation. After the unfortunate and tragic passing of Awaiti Sirame, the titles of Chieftain and Chieftess went to Oryl and Aedrie Sirame, until Awaiti’s own daughter Irrin Sirame became old enough to take the mantle herself. That time has come, and Irrin is now Chieftess, but she is currently traversing the wilds, as are Oryl and Aedrie. With the official permission of Chieftess Irrin Sirame, and Arle Sirame who is a long-standing member of the Seed, I shall be teaching about the Sirame Seed and giving out their trials. Those made Sirame under me will receive their ilmyumier, and will keep my Haelun’s Seed alive. Aspects Guide, Sonna Vulnrith Any Nevaehli interested in learning more about the Sirame, and possibly joining, please sign your name below. Ahernan

ME ME ME ME ME (if I don’t win can I still shower you in money my queen)

Nevaehlen and the Mali’ame culture are struggling with the current format of leadership amongst the nation, a majority of its citizens unsatisfied with how Nevaehlen currently is. We propose a return to how the wood elven nations of old were set up, in line with tradition, but with a carefully crafted series of checks and balances, and the addition of guilds in government in theme with Nevaehlen’s unique culture. To deter tyranny, every decision made by Nevaehlen must be voted upon by the Greenblades in Omentahu. Leaders must also be voted in through Omentahu, and can similarly be voted out: even the Viridian Voice. This ensures that Nevaehlen enjoys the benefits of having a defined Head of State, but also that the people still benefit from freedom and democracy. ◈ The Viridian Voice ✾ Leader of the Nevaehli The face of Nevaehlen and guide of the people, responsible for overseeing preservation of Nevaehli culture, the enforcement of its law, diplomacy with foreign leaders, and the safeguarding of the Nevaehli people. 🞚 The Triumvirate The Triumvirate act as the foundation which supports Nevaehlen, directly aiding the Viridian Voice in the varied affairs required for the community to prosper. ⛣ Head of Faith A High Priest of the Wild Faith, responsible for overseeing the circulation and cultivation of elnarnsae’ame. ⍟ Head of Military The leader of the Halerir’elame, responsible for overseeing all offensive and defensive military endeavors. ⭗ Head of Stewardship The leader of the Stewards, responsible for indoctrinating new citizens and regulating housing. ◇ The Guilds 🙝 Head of the Iron Antler Responsible for the daily livelihood of the Nevaehli people, the Iron Alter handles food supply, agriculture, and common festivities. Manages the tavern, fishing, farming, and common festivities. ➶ Head of the Tree Singers Responsible for the artisan productions of Nevaehlen, the Tree Singers create everything from trinkets to weapons to boats. Manages shop stalls and trade regulations. 🕮 Head of the Cedar Archive Responsible for domestic affairs and record-keeping, the Cedar Archive oversees the library, gathering knowledge and keeping track of history. Occasionally handles assorted internal affairs, such as aiding in diplomacy, when required. ✤ Head of the Verdant Whisper Responsible for the clinic and apothecary, the Verdant Whisper ensures the medical and alchemical needs of Nevaehlen are well-circulated and always in supply. Prepares means of treatment for both the Nevaehli people and visitors in need of medical care. ⛯ Head of the Thorned Compass Responsible for expeditions, hunting, and handling miscellaneous domestic concerns, the Thorned Compass serves as the adventurer’s guild of Nevaehlen. Helps regulate monster threats, as well as organizing bounties and quests from both citizens and the other guilds. ❖ The Vigilant Council Overview The Viridian Voice, the Triumvirate, and the Guilds exist to ensure the prosperity of Nevaehlen’s community, working together alongside each other to ensure smooth operations. The Nevaehli people may be members of as many guilds as they please, as well as be stewards and members of the military at their discretion, so long as they meet the personal requirements of each group they wish to partake in. Each council member may only represent exactly one position within the nine-person council that forms Nevaehlen’s leadership. Council members may not hold more than one seat in the council, any unfilled seats being left open until an independent individual can claim the seat, or if a member of the council changes from their current seat to the vacant seat. Temporary means of regulation may be performed by the council, but there should be an active search for a new council member whenever a seat on the council is vacant. The Viridian Voice, the Triumvirate, and the Guilds all hold the right to check the other council groups to ensure they’re doing their job properly. Council discussions are to be held in civil regards and remain orderly at all times, and are always open to the Nevaehli people and visitors alike to spectate unless specifically stated otherwise. All council members must be voted in by the Greenblades in Omentahu. Their leadership may also be called into question at an Omentahu, and they may be voted out by the Greenblades. These rules also apply to the Viridian Voice. ⬥ The Nevaehli & Greenblades Nevaehlen is, first and foremost, a community rather than a country. Nevaehlen’s people, the Nevaehli, are its heart and soul, thus meaning Nevaehlen is wherever the Nevaehli are. While all members of the community are kin of the wilds, only those who truly embrace the way of the wilds are permitted to influence the future of the community. These members of the community are known as Greenblades, those who are vowed to the wilds. Greenblades are permitted to own housing without paying tribute, vote in Omentahus, and become members of the Nevaehlen Council. For one to become a Nevaehli, they must first embrace the wilds, taking a vow of choice to acknowledge their sincerity. ❖ The Wild Vow | Ceremony of the Wild-Hearted The first step in joining Nevaehlen, the Wild Vow, is a ceremony hosted by either a steward or a member of the Council and consists of two parts. The first is speech of recognition, during which the vow-taker will publicly elaborate on the individual to take the vow, offering them words of encouragement and congratulations. After this has passed, the to-be Nevaehli will proclaim a personal vow to the wilds, consisting of an oath to defend the natural world and a declaration of a creed to live by. This personal creed is to be based on a select fauna of the vow-taker’s choice, and ought to represent the values and lessons that can be gleaned from them. One may declare their willingness to become stalwart and resilient in the name of the tortoise, or cunning and witful in the name of the fox. Another might proclaim themselves to pursue wisdom and patience, tempering themselves akin to an owl in the hunt, while another may seek to hone their leadership and responsibility, akin to a wolf who leads the pack. This vow ought to hold sustenance, reflecting the individual’s intent to grow and refine themselves rather than a statement of what they’ve already achieved. To qualify to become a Greenblade, one must complete at least 3 of 6 Greenblade Proofs and be an active member of at least one guild. Once the proofs have been completed and a member is recognized as by the Vigilant Leader of at least one guild, they may become a Greenblade by taking their Wild Vow, a ceremony in which the to-be Greenblade takes a personalized oath. Upon the completion of their vow ceremony, the community member shall be recognized as one who has truly incorporated the wilds into their way of life. ❖ Greenblade Proofs | Complete at least 3 of 6 🗸 Lead a Hunt. Lead a hunting party to hunt for an animal of choice with regards to proper hunting practices. 🗸 Become a Green Priest. Complete the Priesthood Trials of the Wild Faith and become Oathbound to a Mani. 🗸 Host a Celebration Any form of celebration does, whether it’s a tavern night, a cultural festival, or a miscellaneous party. 🗸 Guide a Lesson Teach the others within the community in any fashion, whether it be crafting, combat, culture, etc. 🗸 Train with the Halerir’alame Hone your skills in combat by joining combat training or sparring a member of the military. 🗸 Protect the Wilds Participate in guarding the natural world against darkened forces alongside other Nevaehli. ❖ Be a Guild Member | Help the community flourish All Nevaehli may join guilds as they see fit, but partaking in them and leaving a mark on the community is another story. For this step to be completed, one must be recognized by at least one leader of the five Vigilant Guilds for their efforts. Recognition may be granted for any means of effort so long as the Guild Leader believes the member to be sincere in doing their part. ❖ The Rite of Family | To Embrace the Community The final step in becoming a Greenblade, a ceremonial rite in which one is formally acknowledged for their efforts and oathed to the community. Led by a member of the council or a steward, the rite of family consists of three parts. The first is a speech acknowledging the individual and their efforts, after which any attending individuals may offer their words on the soon-to-be Greenblade’s character. Afterwards, the members will carve their name upon the wall of the Memorial Room, where all Greenblades take their oaths. The final step in the rite is to mark a weapon with one’s blood, staking it into the ground of the rite room to display one’s willingness to protect the community’s way of life, as well as the wilds which they thrive within. Those who have earned the right to be a Greenblade are to stand proud, but must know well that they are still Nevaehli. Greenblades are expected to be model members of the community, upholding the way of life within Nevaehlen and encouraging others to do their part as well. Greenblades are to guard their kin and ensure the well being of the community, as well as seek to ensure the prosperity of Nevaehlen moving forward. Those who defile the integrity of the Greenblade’s Code may be revoked of their status by a 90% vote from all current Greenblades. Reasons one may be revoked of their status as a Greenblade include, but are not limited to, exploitation of the community, becoming condescending to kin over ‘status,’ ignorance of duty, or violation of one’s vow. The situation will be case-by-case basis, and should a Greenblade be brought to attention for removal of their status, then a public trial will be held where the Council, the community, and the Greenblade accused of misconduct may voice themselves on the matter. The Council will keep order within the trial and during the voting period following its conclusion, after which they will declare the verdict and enforce the decision..

NEVAEHLI NEEDED For the Restoration of the Isle Posted on the 212th Year of the Second Age To the People of Nevaehlen, To the north and west of our wilds lies crumbled ruins and valah agriculture in mass. Both are stifling the growth of Nature, and a reminder of how unchecked descendant intervention can harm the Balance. I plan to aid Nature in its cycle, by riding the oppressive stone in the north, and decreasing the greedy fields in the west. Native flora will be planted instead, and whatever Ame’lie trees take to the soil. I welcome anyone interested to aid me in my task. I’d love to hear your ideas on what flora we could plant. Aspects Guide, Sonna Vulnrith and Liriana Any Nevaehli interested in aiding this restoration project, please sign your name below. Ahernan

THE ILMYUMIER Markings of the Mali’ame Tattoos of Status The elves are a vibrant and expressive people, deeply attuned to beauty in all its forms. This passion for aesthetics is especially true of the Mali’ame. For millennia, the wood elves lived in wild, tribal communities within the deep forests, organized into groups known as Seeds. They upheld a fiercely naturalistic way of life, their devotion laying with the Aspects of Nature and the Mani of Beasts. Yet, even in their simplicity, the Mali’ame never abandoned their innate love for color, artistry, and expression. This passion manifested in a ritualistic tradition of vibrant skin markings that symbolized the core tenets of their identity, both as individuals and as a culture. The first of these was the Ilmyumier of Seeds - a term derived from old elven word meaning “to carry.” Each tribe developed a unique marking or crest, inked onto the skin to signify allegiance to their Seed. Over time, the Mali’ame expanded this practice to include the Ilmyumier of Standing. These tattoos indicated an individual's role or status within society. Initially, these marks varied widely in style and meaning, but through numerous Omentahu, the system became standardized. As a result, wood elves could recognize the rank and role of any fellow Mali’ame by their markings, regardless of tribal origin. More modernly, Ilmyumier of Creeds have also been created, made to mark an individual with whichever Aspectist Creed they follow. Unfortunately, much of the ancient Mali’ame tradition has been lost to time. Once, hundreds of Standing Ilmyumier existed, forming a complex hierarchy of roles and rituals. Now, like the old Aspectist prayers and the names of many Mani, most have faded into obscurity. Yet, not all is lost. The teachings of the old Seeds endure in modern wood elven nations, as do their traditions. Among these, the practice of status tattoos persists, albeit in a diminished form. For the Mali’ame, these markings remain a vital link to their heritage - one they refuse to let slip away. -=- The Glade of Hileia’s Ancient Archives Scribed by Sonna Vulnrith, Keeper of the Glade and Fox Druid Cerridwen’s Vines Healers, Caretakers, and Mothers -=- The Vines of Cerridwen, also known as the Mother’s Mark, is one of the two most significant standing ilmyumier of the Mali’ame. It represents the essence of Cerridwen herself, embodying the nurturing and gentle spirit of nature. This sacred mark is worn by those who reflect the Green Lady’s compassion - mothers, healers, and caretakers. The Mother’s Mark is a vibrant teal, reminiscent of spring water. Its design may flow like a winding river or flourish into floral patterns, a sacred symbol of Cerridwen. The mark is traditionally placed on the hands, symbolizing the healing touch. Cernunnos’ Horns Warriors, Hunters, and Fathers -=- Alongside the Vines of Cerridwen, the Horns of Cernunnos - also known as the Father’s Mark - is the other of the two most significant ilmyumier in the old Aspectist tradition. This mark symbolizes the father’s role in the balance of nature and signifies one’s status as a warrior, hunter, or father - roles that demand strength, bravery, resilience, and a protective spirit. The Father’s Mark is a deep crimson, evocative of blood. Its design may sweep gracefully like a blade or mirror the rugged, jagged form of a stag’s horns, the sacred emblem of the Huntslord Cernunnos. The mark is placed either on the face or the hand that wields the tools of the hunt. Morea’s Teeth Princes, Chiefs, and Archdruids -=- The ilmyumier known as Morea’s Teeth is named after the Mani Prince of Wolves, a patron of leadership, particularly in war. This mark is among the most prestigious tattoos, reserved solely for those in positions of authority or revered mentorship. Princes, Seed Chieftains, Archdruids, Oracles, and military leaders are eligible to bear this symbol. Morea’s Teeth are golden in hue, their jagged and sharp designs evoking the fangs of a wolf. The tattoos encircle the flesh, imitating the form of a crown. This mark is traditionally worn on the forehead, wrist, or forearm. Only a Prince or King, of which there are none but Malin, may wear it upon the forehead as a symbol of their supreme authority. Leaders of lower rank, such as Seed Chieftains or Archdruids, must place the mark on their arms. A Prince or King, of which there are none but Malin, may further signify their higher station by incorporating additional parallel rings of “teeth” into their tattoo, emphasizing their elevated status. Amaethon’s Antlers Fathers, Justiciars, and Priests -=- Amaethon’s Antlers are named after the Mani Prince of Stags, a revered patron of justice and compassion. This sacred mark is often worn by justiciars, individuals entrusted with upholding their tribe’s justice, as well as Priests of the Wild Faith. It is also a symbol of fatherhood, complementing the significance of Cernunnos’ Horns. The mark takes the form of majestic antlers, rendered in various shades of dusty brown to reflect the natural hues of stag antlers. These antlers span across the back and shoulder blades but may also be inked beneath the collarbones. Those who aspire to embody the compassion and fairness of Amaethon’s justice are encouraged to carry this mark upon their skin, serving as a living testament to their dedication to balance and benevolence. Bolomormaa’s Mark Mothers, Protectors, and Priestesses -=- Bolomormaa’s Mark is named after the Mani Princess of Bears, the revered patron of protectors, especially mothers. This sacred mark is most commonly worn by nurturing and protective mothers, as well as Priestesses of the Wild Faith. Alongside Cerridwen’s Vines, it is considered a deeply feminine emblem. The mark features a bear paw print, typically rendered in shades of deep red or earthy brown - symbolic of the rich lifeblood and the strength of a bear’s dark fur. It is traditionally placed on the stomach, representing the children the bearer vows to protect. Women who seek to embody the fierce, unwavering strength of a mother bear are encouraged to wear this mark with pride, as a testament to their devotion and resilience. Ohowaki’s Crest Scholars, Teachers, and Keepers of Knowledge -=- In all civilized societies, knowledge and history are deeply cherished, and the woodland elves are no exception. Among them, a standing ilmyumier exists to signify one’s dedication as a preserver and seeker of knowledge. This mark is named after Ohowaki, the Mani Princess of Owls, also known as the Great Moonlight Bird. Ohowaki’s Crest is worn by those whose life’s work revolves around the pursuit, preservation, or sharing of knowledge. Teachers across all disciplines are encouraged to bear this mark, whether they teach history, lore, faith, or practical crafts. Librarians, record-keepers, and storytellers of oral traditions also wear this ilmyumier as a testament to their calling. This mark is traditionally placed on the palms of the hands or the back of the neck, symbolizing both the act of offering knowledge and the weight of its preservation. Moccus’ Tusks Soldiers, Warriors, and Commanders -=- Moccus’ Tusks are named after the Mani Prince of Boars, a Dual Mani of War alongside his brother Morea. As the patron of soldiers, warriors, and commanders, Moccus embodies the resilience and strength required of military leaders. It is tradition for a soldier to receive this mark from a Priest after completing their first battle, symbolically christened in blood. The mark features a stylized tribal depiction of a boar’s profile, crafted in shades of deep terracotta to reflect the earthy strength of its namesake. This tattoo is typically placed on the shoulder, most often on the sword arm of the warrior, serving as both a badge of honor and a symbol of steadfast might. Siss’siru’s Grip Atonement Seekers, Stayers, and Those Beginning Anew -=- Contrary to its common perception in other cultures, the snake is not seen as sneaky or deceitful among the wood elves. Instead, it is a symbol of cunning, resilience, and formidable power. Siss’siru, the Mani Prince of Serpents, is often regarded as a patron of those who have strayed from the Aspects' path, committed sins, or undertaken wrongful deeds. However, Siss’siru does not condone these actions; instead, he wields venom in his fangs to punish the wicked and oathbreakers. Siss’siru’s Grip is a mark worn by those in elven society who have committed crimes, betrayed their Seed, culture, or faith, or caused harm to their people. For those who have been forgiven and reintegrated into their communities, it serves as a constant reminder of their past misdeeds and symbolizes the second chance they have been granted - a chance to redeem themselves and start anew. Thus, Siss’siru’s mark is both a brand of shame and a symbol of redemption. This standing ilmyumier encircles the wrist or neck in a design that depicts a serpent biting its own tail, evoking the traditional ouroboros - a powerful emblem of renewal and the cyclical nature of life. Meracahe’s Tail Craftsmen, Builders, and Creators -=- The craftsman has long held a place of honor among elvenkind, valued for their essential contributions to the well-being and prosperity of their people. Among the ancient Wood elves, trades such as Ame’lie cultivation, basket weaving, canoe carving, bow crafting, and tailoring were revered as noble and vital arts. In modern times, this tradition has expanded to include architects, blacksmiths, and any profession that demonstrates ingenuity in the creation of useful or beautiful things. Merchants and wealth-makers, who provide for their Seeds and communities, are likewise honored under this tradition. Meracahe’s Tail is a standing ilmyumier dedicated to Meracahe, the Mani Prince of Beavers, who symbolizes craftsmanship, diligence, and prosperity. The mark features a pine-green cross-hatch pattern reminiscent of an abstract beaver’s tail, a fitting tribute to the industrious spirit it represents. This ilmyumier is traditionally worn on the forearm, the palm of one’s hand, or the small of the back at the tailbone, symbolizing the creator’s connection to their work and community. Hamasta’s Dorsal Fishermen, Whalers, and Sailors -=- Wood elves are no strangers to the sea. Many of the ancient Seeds navigated coastal rivers and even braved the open ocean, earning renown as fishermen and whalers. To this day, some wood elves maintain this oceanic heritage. For these seafaring Mali, there exists Hamasta’s Dorsal. This standing ilmyumier honors Hamasta, the Mani Prince of Dolphins, who has long been revered as the patron of the sea and all who derive their livelihood from it. Fishermen, whalers, swimmers, sailors, and those who embrace life along the rivers and coasts bear this mark with pride. Hamasta’s Dorsal is traditionally worn on the forearm, shoulder, or legs and features a depiction of a bottlenose dolphin breaching from the water, symbolizing grace, resilience, and connection to the sea. Kwakwani’s Wings Artists, Faith Leaders, and Pioneers -=- The great raven Kwakwani is a powerful Mani and one of the most prominent figures in wood elven folklore. Known as the trickster, the deliverer of the sun, and the dealer of fate, Kwakwani is the patron of freedom and the spiritual and emotional needs of the soul. His image has become a symbol for priests, explorers, and artists of all forms. To bear the mark of the Raven is to declare oneself a servant of the soul, unbound and free. Musicians, painters, authors, poets, and other artists are encouraged to adopt his patterns, proclaiming their devotion to their craft and their pursuit of emotional and artistic freedom. Kwakwani’s ilmyumier depicts a full-bodied raven with pitch-black feathers, its wings perpetually outstretched, ready to soar. This mark is traditionally placed on the upper back, upper chest, or under the eyes, signifying the boundless spirit and the freedom to reach beyond constraints. Felixii’s Leep Secret Keepers, Silent Hunters, and Seekers -=- Felixii’s Leap is named after the Mani Princess of Wild Cats, a symbol of secrets and mischief. As the patron of secret keepers and seekers of forbidden knowledge, Felixii also guides silent hunters, second in this role to her sister, Norra. The mark features a leaping wildcat, encircled by patterns reminiscent of a cheetah’s spots. Rendered in hues of orange, sand, and gold, it reflects the diverse coats of wildcats. This tattoo is traditionally placed just below the collarbone but may also adorn the arm, leg, or hip, for the placement is not significant to its meaning. Some may choose to have it inked on a not often seen part of the body, a private symbol of secrecy and personal connection to Felixii's enigmatic spirit.

USELESS?? USELESS?!?!?! WTF!!!! Please pass this, it's so freaking good please please please I can't keep doing this PLEASEEEEE

[!] Scattered across the Wilds, within every known Druidic Circle, and across the Crown of Amathine and the Isle of Nevaehlen, is the following missive. DIVIDED NO LONGER Reunion of the People In the Name of Progress “I hope that in my death, people can see me as I was. As I am. Simply an ame’ trying to keep her people together.” - Awaiti Sirame -=- The Watcher’s Grove has stood as the home of the Druidic Order, as it will forever remain, and the Glade of Hileia has dutifully served the wood elven people, as it will forever do. Though one cannot deny that these efforts alone have not been enough. The schism all those decades ago was too great, the tyranny over the mali’ame too oppressive. Our people are scattered, both wood elven and druid. Our numbers have dwindled, and our faith verges on extinction. So many of us have lost the old ways, forgotten them or simply have never been taught. The younger generation struggles, left to wander the wilds alone. Awaiti Sirame would weep if she saw the state of her people now; the people she gave her life to guide and protect. No longer will we sully the progress and wishes of the late Matriarch. The age of tyranny is over, and long have the offenders been gone. It is time to bury the mistakes and slights of the past. It is time to reunite. As we did under Irrin. As we did under Awaiti. To those druids who are not of the mali’ame, or do not wish to partake in our culture, no bother will come to them. The Watcher’s Grove remains as it always has, and any druid regardless of practice is welcome. Ideally, the home of the druids is separate from any nation, including wood elven ones, in order to remain out of politics and to focus on the duty. However, with the current state of our people, such is not a possibility. Together, we can work towards a day where a Grove may exist on its own once more; when our people are stable and survival is no longer a concern. Together, we can make the change we wish to see. With the pardon of High Princess Idril Sylvaeri, the Watcher’s Grove has left the Crown of Amathine and joined the Isle of Nevaehlen as its vassal. Aspects Guide, Sonna Vulnrith, Keeper of the Glade and Fox Druid

Shakey hands reached for the severed head, cradling it close to the Fox Druid's heart. The once tranquil and joyful Grove had then turned gloomy, the voices of Nature crying out in pain and anguish. Sonna wept as she held her student's head, fingers gently running through the beloved Lysanthir's hair.

Oh, I shall have to stay here for a while In glassy water, in a seaweed net, Until this fact and I are reconciled: I wasn’t loved, it’s as simple as that. - Ophelia, 1962 -=- =-= It called to her like a siren’s song, rousing her from her dreams. Her body already knew the path, vision a haze as her feet met sand and eventually sea. The Princess knelt within the approaching tide, seafoam clinging to her skirts. The full moon shone brightly above the pristine beach, stars glimmering in the clear night sky and bioluminescence glowing within the waves. And yet, all this beauty was left unappreciated by the blinded lady. There is no other logical reason for your lack of understanding. It is simply a choice. What are you doing here? You are so blinded by your grief, your pain. This loyalty you speak of is a disservice to all that she is. “Arrogant fool.” The Sea Elf’s balled fists crashed into the tide, saltwater spraying across her features. Her dark brows furrowed as she squinted in the dark, unable to make sense of the various shapes dancing across her vision. “Is this punishment for insulting your lover? Have you taken back the gift you have given me?” The Priestess scoffed out into the open sea, her fingers now clutching at the front of her gown for something to hold on to. Her heart hammered widely in her chest, breathing difficult as her lungs constricted; she began to wheeze. “He left you, you lovestricken fool! He left you and then killed himself in an attempt to return! You deserve better. We deserve better.” Tears had begun to roll down the woman’s cold cheeks, landing within the rolling waves. Silence had fallen upon the beach save for the crashing waters, no animal daring to disrupt the unfurling scene. “Fine, cast me out. Drown me in your waters as Faunus once did. I am unwelcome at every turn, so return me to what I once was.” Her pleas were met with nothing, so the blinded Princess had resigned herself to her fate. As she prepared herself to be washed out to sea, something warm touched her cheeks. Still unable to see, the Sea Elf leaned into that sensation; akin to a gentle caress. Sweet pearl, why do you cry? A gasp left the Priestess’ lips, her shoulders falling at the sound of that voice; lovely and lulling, multifaceted and layering. It washed over her, the sadness and relief at being answered. She couldn’t help the sobs that assaulted her chest. “I am lost, I am forgotten. For every step forward, there are so many steps back. I can never be happy, never be content. I am so starved.” Starved of what, Priestess of mine? “I don’t know. Everything. So much was promised to me, so much has been taken. I thought faith could fix me, but even in that I am ridiculed; denied.” I have done no such thing. “The village has.” The village is not your Goddess. The Sea Elf fell silent, temporarily robbed of words. That warm caress wiped away her tears, salt left sticking to the woman’s cheeks. You are a Daughter of Almenor. They can never take me from you, for I am your birthright. My waves are in your blood, my salt in your bones, and my song in your heart. The warmth began to spread from the Princess’ face down to her limbs, something strange buzzing beneath her skin. In patches of seafoam, her vision began to clear, leaving her with the view of a peaceful night over the still ocean. You shall see through my eyes, and you will speak with my voice. Then all will know you for what you are, Princess of the Sea. The moon and stars overhead glistened within the dark waves, their reflections dancing amongst the water’s surface. Together with seafoam and bioluminescence, visions and prophecies did they begin to play out. The budding Oracle drank up the sight of her Goddess’ message, her starlit gaze filled with the swirling depths of the Sea.

This is a prophetic vision accessible to Seers of Vaasek, Naztherak, Farseers, Vivification Clairvoyants and Mystics with the knowledge of the Hexing ability as per Prophecy Lore. Whether in dreams, or by staring into a reflective surface, you would find their vision slowly overtaken by a dense fog. Leaves and shrubbery scratch your skin as you find yourself traversing a dark forest, only the full moon illuminating your way. The call of a raven breaks the silence, and you’re full of an intrinsic sense of danger. You break into a run as the raven takes flight, its voice cut off by the crunching of bone. The snapping of twigs and the tearing of barks follows your sprint; something large having given chase. You pray to whatever God you believe in to save you, but all you hear is animalistic laughter that grates upon your senses as your ankle twists. Your flesh tears as you hit the ground, blood seeping into the forest floor. Hot breath hits the back of your neck, smelling of carnage. You are helpless to cease the slow movement of your head, glancing back over your shoulder. There He stands, elongated limbs of fur towering over and gaze of pale death starting down. Deep grooves are clawed into the trees, raven feathers and blood strewn across the soil. Hunger. The last thing you see are monstrous canines, glinting with the light of the moon as they close around your throat. The crying of wolves and screaming of man jolt you awake, the force of your heartbeat causing your hands to tremble.

The final tome of Sky was slammed with a force, tears already staining its pages. It was flung across the library with a cry, slamming into the shelf where the rest of the tomes sat. The daughter of Almenor marched to the shore, a lunarite band pried from her picked fingers. She flung such ring into the rising tide, watching as the waves took it away ... ... A splash was heard as the Priestess of the Sea dove beneath its foaming surface, eyes stinging with salt as she combed the ocean floor. She washed up onto the sands with that band held close to her chest, heaving with the effort of her sobs. "Curse him.."

[!] Invitations are scattered throughout the Watcher’s Grove, The Crown of Amathine, The Isle of Nevaehlen, The Underlight Grotto, and the Princedom of Caurost. These letters are sealed with golden wax, and decorated with a small bundle of clover, fairy foxglove, and baby’s breath. UNION OF THE FOX AND THE FALCON -=- Sonna Vulnrith, Keeper of the Glade of Hileia and Fox Druid, and Aurelion Vulnrith, Lord Aratir and Falcon Druid, humbly welcome you to their long awaited union. Atop the Elder Tree of the Watcher’s Grove, and beneath the eyes of the Aspects, these two shall take their vows and swear their love to each other. The ceremony shall be led by Arle Sirame-Vulnrith, Priestess of Sha’maiden and Magnolia Druid. Please join us for this lovely ceremony, and the celebration to follow. The festivities shall commence in one Elven Day. We look forward to celebrating our love with friends and family alike.

A small laugh left her, before she fell to silence once more. She dared not blink, not wanting to miss a second of her most favorite sight within the realm. With her head against Feanor’s, and Tahariae’s light flooding her senses.. the darkness upon her peripheral began to close in. “... I love you, Feanor.” “And I you, Delimira.” With these words, Delmira Sylvaeri’s sight ended, and though darkness was all she saw.. Light consumed her. Vallei Sylvaeri awoke to darkness, her eyelids blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear her vision. It was to no avail, for the Princess had woken up completely blind. She was expecting it, she should have been prepared; her vision had been failing her for months. Still, the Sea Elf had held out hope; faith. She reached to her side, her fingers sinking into ashen fur. It had been long since her hand had met a muscular back. The slumbering direwolf was roused, yawning as it hoped down from the miniscule bed. The shack was much too small for the creature, but Vallei could no longer stand to be without her trusted companion. The beast, named Vangwё, turned back to gaze at her impaired mother, her voice a low rumble full of softness and compassion. Come Mother, I shall guide you. The loss of vision was a slow process, so Vallei was able to adjust quite well. She and Vangwё went about their day as normal, the Sylvaeri seeing to her usual activities while the direwolf guided her. The large, old creature had always been dutiful; even more so now as the Princess’ condition worsened. A root, Mother. Someone approaches. The duo adjusted well, until Vallei’s vision worsened so much that could no longer swim or sail. Vangwё would lead the Sea Elf to the tide pools, where the Sylvaeri would wade for hours with her head towards the blowing breeze. It was not enough for her, they both knew; it was not freely diving amongst Thalassa’s waves. “Thalassa, hear me … Help me.” Everyday, the Princess prayed; everyday, she was ignored. At the end of the day, the moon long overhead, Vallei and Vangwё returned to their shabby abode. The former had just passed the doorway when something brushed her bare feet. The Sylvaeri bent over to pick it up, her fingers curling around the soft material in her hand. A feather. Images instinctively flooded her mind; a crumbling throne, children blown away by the wind, waves crashing against the shore - A husband, back turned, departing in a flock of ravens. She couldn’t take it anymore, not without her swimming; Vallei entered a rage. With a scream of pure wroth, the Princess began to rip and tear all within her path. “DAMN YOU.” Paintings were shredded from the walls, jewelry mangled into several crushed pieces. “DAMN YOU.” Warm blood dripped down the Sylvaeri’s hands from her ruined nail beds, the pain a solace in her state. “DAMN YOU.” The Sea Elf collapsed in the center of the rubble, ichor smeared over her face as she attempted to wipe her tears. There she laid for hours upon hours, unable to stop the crying; unable to stop the screaming. Eventually, her voice and body gave up, falling into silence within her hurricane of destruction. Gingerly, paws traversed the scene, a nose gently prodding Vallei’s side. Come, Mother. Let’s rest … Come to me… Vallei tossed and turned in her sleep, struggling for comfort amidst the ruined interior and her own bloody wounds. Come to me… A voice unidentifiable sang to her, and no matter how hard she tried, the Sylvaeri could not ignore it. She rose to a stand, and as if puppeted, her feet carried her out. Vallei did not need Vangwё to guide her, her soul already knew the path. Warm waves washed over the Princess’ feet, and even still, that sweet sound lured her in. All have left you. Your family, your friends, your children, your husband. Even your royal eyes have failed you, and you are left with nothing but a loyal beast. Vallei’s feet carried her forward, the lashing waves crashing against her midsection. But I have not left you, nor have you left I. Still you sing my praises, even while robbed of your ability to traverse my waves. The Sylvaeri paused in her forward trek, salt and sea spraying her face. But you could still be with me, my sweet thing. My beautiful Princess of the Sea. Come, won’t you be with me, lonely pearl? Vallei’s head ducked beneath the water’s surface, her weakened body carried out by the lashing waves. Be with me, forgotten daughter. There was nothing but darkness and the chill of the sea, it sank through her clothes into her very bones. Be with me, abandoned wife. Water forced its way into the Princess’ nose and mouth, flooding her lungs and robbing any ability to breath. Be with me, tarnished Heir. Be mine, and I shall see that you rise. By morning the storm had cleared, and Vangwё startled to wake without Vallei beside her. How the Sea Elf got past her, the direwolf could not comprehend. With a panic, the creature broke through the front door, only to see a figure amongst the sands. Covered in debris and kelp, the Princess slept upon the shore, and the beast went bounding over. Mother, wake up! The Sylvaeri still lived, the direwolf could hear her heartbeat. Vangwё began to nudge Vallei’s head, a piece of seaweed strung over her shut gaze. Mother, please … Open your eyes. Vallei began to cough and sputter, wincing as salt stung her throat. Soon, however, she’d fall silent, as she opened her clenched hands and witnessed a pearl within her grasp.

The Fox rested with her Sisters within the Fae Ring, the trio seeking rest amongst each other. As her body laid there, Sonna's mind continued to buzz - The questions that remained answered.

The Keeper of the Glade reads over the missive with furrowed brows, chewing on her inner cheek. "Nedai must be warned." Sonna murmured, setting off to find the man.

The Fox, a dual Herald of both Sage and Ichor, was utterly perplexed as she received her fellow Herald's missive. "Creeds? Pact? Where? I have seen no such publication ... Hrm." The Elder grew concerned then, her brows furrowing.