Dyvynarth

Somewhere within the winding caverns of Wynlomere, or amidst the ceaseless bustle of Alba, or perhaps along the quiet, refined avenues of Iduna.. Penelope found herself suspended between places, anchored to none, yet belonging, in some small way, to all of them. With her daughter now grown enough to no longer need her constant presence, the nearly thirty-five-year-old woman had once more surrendered herself to the road, returning to the one constant that had ever truly felt like her own: Traveling. It was in the midst of such wandering that she heard of her uncle’s death from a close friend. Passed along in the careless drift of conversation, as though it were nothing more than a minor occurrence. Her own uncle. And yet, rather than grief, rather than even mild sorrow, she felt only a strange and hollow stillness. Numbness. “Sorrows, sorrows… Prayers.” She could still recall the words as they left her lips to her friend next to her. Had she meant them? Or had she merely fulfilled the quiet obligations of civility, offering sentiment where it was due, rather than where it was felt? Penelope didn't know.. It was not as though she had never tried. In her own way perhaps, and despite the distance he placed between them, through the coldness that seemed to cling to him like a second skin, she had cared, or at least, she had believed she did. Yet unbeknownst to her, and without ever intending to, she had begun to mirror him. Perchance not in gesture and restraint, yet in that same careful withholding of warmth. A thought her late godfather had once spoken of in warning. And now, standing at the edge of that realization, Penelope could not help but wonder whether the numbness she felt was truly her own.. Or something she had inherited.

That's a load of questions- haha, give me a sec to think about it. - How I feel regarding LOTC? And if that has changed? Well over the years I definitely matured, as I have been on roleplay servers for.. ten years now? Sorry my sense of time has all but died out from the mineman rps. I do believe I have become less... Murder hobo if you would say. And I've been trying to make my storylines a bit more realistic giving my characters reasons why they do the things they do even if its unhinged af. So, when I started I kinda walked around like a chicken without a head, now four years later, I still do but with a purpose this time :3 - My favorite character? hmm.. Either Avery, (rip my lil ghost boi) or Circe. I never expected to play Circe this long lol but why: bc their my oldest OC's so their very sketched out, and have all kinds of likes and dislikes. So I grow attached. - I.. Don't understand this question? Maybe im just pea brain who knows. - I honestly just.. roll with it. I usually have an idea in my head, like 'I wanna play a high elf' and then I go to planet minecraft start skinning, take ten years to think of a name, take twenty to think of a last name, give up, stick with the first name only and throw em into the world and see what happens. thats.. what happened to Circe ngl. my original plan for her was: 'Bard.' - I am well :3 focusing on myself, and juggleing 5 characters at once. somehow, i manage ;D - Don't be murder hobo, and don't be too controlling over other people. They can have good ideas too.. (Sometimes) - Melinoë @Hom(jk jk xD ur great too Neia) - Druids, but I looked at their lore, saw I didn't have time for it, and returned to voidal rp with Circe. (love my gardeners tho) - SURE! I'll let you know if penny ever has another kid or sumthin ;3 you have a good day too Neia ;3

He never turned into a darkstalker ? Oh my memories must be jumbled up then D:

HIII ;3 Well, more than I expected, As originally I started my persona Castien off as just a chef, and a random dude, not expecting I would A. Keep him for so long. B. Do so much with him. Then I met you, and we got that ball rollin. But it's been really fun! So I look forward to what more chaos Our characters spread in the future. ;D

@Kirakuru Probably Damian, Though i have enjoyed your darkstalker character for a time too when we were doing that. @Denmat0407 I have a dwarven OC, though I am a bit preoccupied with my current four characters. So maybe it's a thing in the near future I'll have to see. :D

I've been holding this off for, goodness knows how long. But ey, let's hop onto this train. I'll keep it short, ask me anything. :3

Upon one of the couches within the palace of Petra, Circe sat reading through the many letters she received the past few days, some positive, some negative. After skimming through each, she stumbled upon a missive written by her own son. Taking more attention to read this one than the letters regarding her one of her daughter's latest transgressions, Circe finally smiled, the face of a proud mother. "I knew he would achieve greatness; I should write to my boy when I am able to. I wonder what else he will do in the coming years…" After the missive was read, she put it away, continuing on with her day.

The new matriarch moved through the bustling streets of Grense when a bird delivered her a rolled up missive. Quickly skimming through its contents, Circe de Senna smiled, nodding. "Ah, this became time. I'll have to inform my husband when he is around... And my son!" Quickly the woman scurried off to look for her family members.

yeah.

In the safety of her home, Circe sat lounging on her couch near the fireplace. Reading the article in the newspaper, the woman donned in crimson nodded along. Before her eyes squinted. "Circa de Senna…?" She muttered under her breath as one of her children's nannies looked at the woman confused. "They spelt my name wrong! If you mention me, at least do it correctly.." Circe de Senna remarked to the woman behind her while holding up the newspaper. After placing it aside, she went back to pondering when her husband would return.

Circe Whitewood, Ex. Goth, A waterevocationist, who's social status elevated when she joined the courts. And Married, now in exile she spends her time taking care of her six children and her husband. Caring too much about people she shouldn't. She also likes traveling, and writing, A very social woman.

In the safety of her new abode, 'Theodora', as she called herself these days, quickly skimmed through the missive. Usually not that concerned regarding church affairs. Yet this time it left a frown on her face. "I spoke to him last month; I would see him again… And now this?" She placed the missive aside. Before resuming her daily activities. This time less happy than before.

Evergreen & Enchanted Penned, 11th of The Grand Harvest, In the year of our Lord 2038 ======================================================================================================================================== In times of change yet steadfast tradition, there come moments that call for gathering in honor and celebration. It is with great joy that we invite you to witness the marriage of Mistress Circe and Ser Leif Aladir Whitewood. Their vows will be exchanged within the revered walls of St. Raguel Cathedral in Alba, in a ceremony conducted with solemn grace and heartfelt devotion, under GOD. Following the service, all are invited to join a reception held nearby, where fellowship and celebration will be shared. Where food and drink will be provided. Gifts are warmly welcomed but never expected, and will be received with sincere gratitude. We welcome all to attend with open hearts and good will. ======================================================================================================================================== [Invitations go out to the following people] His Royal Highness, Edward Of Balamena & Family @ErosTea Cosima Von Leopold & Family @Frank_Dog Ledicort de Senna & Family @Nescaffier Edith Barclay & Family @OwlOfMiracles Arturas Miklos Whitewood & Family @_RoyalCrafter_ Ser Nathannennel Eruedraith @LazyBacon220 Ser Aurellius Greye & Family @xDisarray Pixtus Starbreaker & Clan @Cheezboi9 Arowyn De Lyons & Family @harvestskies Belegar Grandaxe @Denmat0407 Siegfried von Schwanstein @AurelianCraft Her Ladyship, The Countess of Dover, Helaine Elizabeth @Cubicita Tylina @Ariiinchen Velrithae Nythalune @Hexstein Dementio @Sr_Dimentio Dion @Argo Arthur @Xo31 Damian @Kirakuru Kirkigar @Kirkigar Melisa @estrella Gedeon @blesseuropa Vivieon Maelstorm Fi’talareh @Frisket Gwen Kagura @Xein000 Lorandil Sindarin @acronius_ Circe, bride Ser Leif Aladir Whitewood, Bridegroom

+1

A flame extinguised. [TW: Suicide] -={Valaendir Ciradyl}=- 187 SA - 217 SA The morning in Celia’nor began like any other—bustling streets filled with merchants calling out their wares, citizens hurrying to their daily business, and the hum of life echoing off marble walls. Yet, amidst all the motion and noise, one soul wandered restlessly. Valaendir paced aimlessly through the streets, ignoring the greetings and well-meaning words of those who attempted to engage him. His mind was elsewhere, clouded and distant. A wedding was set to take place that day—a joyous occasion for the bride and groom. He should have been happy for them, yet inside, he felt nothing but an aching hollowness. It had been months since he had last seen Maiya, his fiancée. Her absence gnawed at him, a constant whisper at the back of his mind that he could neither ignore nor silence. He was drowning in the weight of it, and his fragile emotional state only pulled him further under. The knowledge that he had been neglecting the duties he once held so dear did nothing to ease the guilt pressing against his chest. The day unfolded as expected, the city falling into the natural rhythm of celebration and ceremony. As dawn faded into dusk, the wedding came and went, with Valaendir in attendance. Yet, as the hours crept by, the emptiness within him only grew, gnawing at his resolve and leaving him utterly drained—hollow, exhausted, and alone in a sea of revelry. Finally, deciding that he could no longer bear the weight alone, Valaendir pulled a friend aside, seeking a moment of solace and understanding. He opened himself up, his words carefully chosen as he tried to lay bare the sorrows that had been tearing at him from within. Yet, despite Valaendir’s efforts to reach out, it seemed that help had come too late. The cracks in his heart had already deepened beyond repair, and the darkness that clung to him refused to loosen its grip. Though his friend listened and tried to offer comfort, the chasm within Valaendir felt insurmountable, leaving him stranded in his own despair. In the end, the high elf succumbed to his grief. The weight of Maiya’s absence, the guilt of his perceived failures, and the unrelenting ache in his heart became too much to bear. Step by step, Valaendir fell deeper and deeper into the abyss of his own making, the light that once defined him flickering until it was snuffed out entirely. He plummeted, unable to find his footing, unable to fight against the tide of despair that had consumed him. And when he fell, he fell alone. A set of personal letters were sent to the following people. Maiya Elgras Soltée Odysseus Lyriel Ithradryl Akal'Tir Tahorran OOC:

Now within the safety of his own home Valaendir Ciradyl read the missive made. He frowned seeing Maiya too was one of the injured. "If I even come across that sad excuse of a man again..." He muttered, putting his anger aside for now. Having decided to check on Maiya first.

Within the city of Haense, a certain spectre searched for a friend. Having heard the news, the ghost knew seeking would be pointless in the end. Wich left the phantom upset as they attempted to process the newly learned information.

A broken mess of an elf who is very giving, and wants to make everyone happy. And is slowly healing, yet still learning dark arts. Avery Elvenguard