Balmakka

A solemn, trodden elf would walk upon that scene in the tavern, glancing over the horrid, lifeless form of his once-fallen comrade. Acquiescent hues would pan its figure, looking knowingly upon the wooden smile. There was no happiness that lingered there. There hadn't been for some time. He knew now, more than ever, that his friend was truly beyond him. Sighing within the crisp silence of that tavern, he vocalizes only "My Pride and Joy."

Reserved as the amputator smh

A particular elf looked upon the bird, taking up the missive and deftly reading over its contents. Sighing softly, he shook his head and tossed it into the nearest flame, before setting back to his own studies.

Paris Langren looks upon the missive, reading over its contents once more. Deftly would he take up his quill, saturating it in red ink and placing his mark upon the parchment. "A new path. A hopeful path." With this, the elf would pass the parchment along to the next of table.

A poet of wander views the missive "A perilous journey is it; One that is wrought in tyranny, and slicked with inherent unawareness. But doubly so is it cast, upon two villains of each other's stories. This....shall be interesting."

A particular elven sir takes up the notice, looking over it duly. A soft smirk adorns his lips, his head coming to shake lightly. "Help is naught, if one does not choose to accept it." The man then crumbles the parchment within his grasp, tossing it into his flame; more fuel for the inferno.

Heck yea.

A particular elf would take up the flyer, looking over the guests invited with some smile curling his lip. "This should be good." He states, folding and pocketing it as he heads home to fetch his vintage.

I absolutely adore this lore. Mega +1. I think it has the draw and lore backing necessary to out-do wonks and the stereotype of memes. You can 100% count on a musin coming from myself. (Always been a fan of rp niche over power, regardless. The same goes for sprites.)

Silas Astasel would look over the notice with a light exhale "If only matters were that simple.." Afterward, he folds the parchment and places it within his robe. He has manners to discuss.

Silas Astasel would read over the missive with quite some intrigue. "I suppose the true trials of purity shall now commence." After this, he folds the letter neatly and places it within a drawer.

Silas Astasel reads over the letter with little more than a smirk. He tosses it aside. Big things are in motion.

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A giant icy construct stomps through the realm in the name of his maker. He comes to the missive upon a board, leaning in with a frosty misted exhale as he reads, answering only with a grunt.

Why you so cute though

Silas comes home to a crow bearing a letter. But this crow...wasn't just any normal avian. It was a memory. It was regret. It was the bittersweet sorrow that cooed in the back of his mind all these years. Upon the sight of the bird, Silas slowly slips his helmet from his head, a fresh-bladed dent in the side of it, tossing it aside. He kneels down, extending one hand slowly to the creature as if it were some mythical beast from a realm not his own. "By the gods, Peter....what happened? How are you here?" Naturally, the bird would peck at his hand, to which Silas quickly scoops him in close, rubbing his beak like he always seemed to like. Much to Silas's dismay, the birds croaks were hoarse, and it was greatly aged. He slowly takes the letter, bringing both it and the bird inside. As he enters, the crow's lifelong companion, Silas's falcon Annil, would appear in spectacular spectral blue fashion, and the two would dance about in the sky of the living room as Silas takes a seat. He slowly unveils the letter, sitting before the flame of his living room, casting blue eyes upon the words within. As he reads, his eyes grow glossy, his mind clouded with endless questions that will never be asked. He finishes the letter, setting it beside him and pouring a glass of vampiric red wine, gazing into the inferno as they always used to do together. "Nous ne brûlerons pas.." he whispers, taking a sip of wine as the wave of his oncoming life rushes toward him.