craneia

Faith, keep it around you now. The saddened lilt of the song around her was heard, first. Then, came the letter from the Chieftain of the Caerme’onn. Another one of her people, gone. Pain felt for her little brother, and for her nieces. Her letter finds her in a quiet moment, one of very few these days. A sad smile takes to her scarred face as she reads the words, muttering a farewell with; “Someday, suika.”

From safe outside of Ildon’s walls, one lost petal wept into the moss beneath her - pieces of armor spread around her frail body as her legs buckled beneath the weight of what her eyes beheld. Eyes that were undeniably the melding, the proof of love between those two twined - the two she now watched leave this realm in tandem. Too soon. They cannot be gone. There was so much more she was supposed to teach me. Thought the child within the grown O’Rourke - the child before the sickness, before the time away. She had only just returned… and to have her Matriarch pried from her grasp - the only thing she’d ever held so tightly to - felt impossible to let go of. The last words spoken to her by the Admiral rung true in her mind. Her own last words to her now departed grandmother circled her half-hearing, silver-haired head. A promise, and one that she would surely cling to fervently. Until the sun rose, the woman sat watching the horizon. As it reached into the sky overhead, a new day dawning - she returned to her home, however ruined it was. Far too long had she been away from her family, her people. Saorlaith O’Rourke stood proud, even as tears slid down her cheeks. Proud to have known such a powerful duo - and even more full of pride that it was their blood thrumming through her veins. ‘I will not let the sun set on House O’Rourke.’ On a boat, somewhere, did pale eyes scan the news of the O'Rourke's death. The Vasoyev - aged in spirit, but still youthful on the outside - did spare a frown for the fabulous harpist she knew in her youth. A shame, she thought. That such talent is now gone from this wretched realm. A marvelous duet, they once shared. The notes fade into obscurity - the memory lost in the archives of the woman's muddled mind soon after.

can this be us spoopt yudk.

An emerald gaze scans the missive, calico brows raised as the last signature is read. With a shake of her head, a murmuring; "Faux, surely. Nalinor's handwriting is much worse than that."

Celebrating life anew - The Spring Festival The Springmother’s Greeting. Cc: Nicole Piper on Pinterest. Spring time is one of great hope for all - as our Springmother breathes warmed breath into our mornings, we are all made anew. And as the Vibrant Hummingbird graces these lands once more, the world is set abloom. Despite any and all of the world's trials, tribulations, or the hatred sown between - all mali’ame, kin and comrades, are invited to set aside their grudges and celebrate the rebirth of our world together. Spring has come. And she will be met with our cheers of joy and the merriment that will follow. Kholibrii’s Arrival Cc: Декупажница on Pinterest. Prayer to Kholibrii, the Vibrant - Join the mali’ame people in a prayer to the Mani Princess of Hummingbirds, Kholibrii. Her return brings hope to the mali’ame people, and we honor her by offering colorful offerings and reciting of the prayer. Common, acceptable offerings; painted eggs, feathers, sugar, honey, art, gerbera, hibiscus, bird of paradise, and sunflower. Tiva Weaving - Join the mali’ame people in one of our ancient practices - the weaving of floral wreaths. Learn what each bloom means to us, and how to create meaningful gifts or accessories to represent yourself with using our flower language! Hedge Maze Challenge - As spring arrives, many animals return to our woodlands with renewed energy. Blindfolded, you are led to the heart of the maze. Don one of our many hibernator’s masks and find your way out of your winter slumber to join the chorus of nature once more. Be the first to greet spring! Pollinator Race - Spring would not be possible without our pollinators - those who spread seeds and oversee the blooming of new life. Don a pollinator mask and collect all five floral tokens hidden in the forest! The Rite of New Beginning - To conclude the occasion, join our Green High Priestess in the rite of new beginning, involving the sacrifice of a braid of one’s hair, ushering in a new era of their life. Wood, tools, paints and dyes will all be available throughout the day for all of your crafting endeavors! All are encouraged to dress in the bright colors of spring - the best dressed may even win themself a prize! Abundant cactus green, drinks, food, and music are provided - and are welcome to be brought, too by guests! Contact Arle Sirame-Vulnrith (mc ign: craneia) for inquiries or offerings for sustenance/entertainment. OOC:

The weight was not felt as the words of Last Rite left her lips. Nor as she watched the Elder tree take her mother, reclaim her. Nothing was felt, the numbness having taken root, a firm and unyielding grasp on her very soul, the minute the monkey spirit had returned Sonna’s battered body. How could she? How could she let herself fall apart, when someone sturdy and steady was needed, now, for her beloved foxes. No, her own pain could wait. She would not break before them. Among them, it was only her, who was Emerald, after all. Endure. ‘Well done, my flower.’ Spoke the elder druid, always tender with her children, as a nervous young ‘ame concluded the story of her grand task - nearly a century gone. She expected for her guide to be furious with her, to refuse her. But Sonna only welcomed her back with safe, open arms, claiming her as one of her own. ‘My flower.’ Her’s. Her flower. She was had, held, cherished. None of Sonna’s lovers were ever taken by that young Sirame, as a father figure. One was never needed - for the love of her mother… her haelun. was all she needed. For the Fox’s blood did not course through her veins, but her spirit was intertwined with her own. There was never a doubt that her mother loved her, even if it was not blood that bound them. For love like that transcended flesh, bone, blood. When it came time for her own little fox to enter this world, she was given the name that the Vulnrith Matriarch had not been known by for some time; Mavis. Not born as a scorned red bastard, but as a beloved girl just as deserving of love as her namesake. But she had failed her little fox, as she now has failed as a daughter, a sister, a druid. She felt the arms once wrapped around her, strong, steady, and sure… now only phantasmal. Slipping from this realm... Endure. Sulcelia, Laurie, Vayan- her little brother and sisters. Their grief matched hers, yes. But there was a slight variation buried deep within her own. They had Aurelion, their father, but not hers. Endure. She told herself, again… The realization - and the utterly heart wrenching realization that she was alone, now. She was Sonna’s. And with the Fox gone… she is no one’s. Endure. And again. Daughter of Sonna, daughter of the fox, daughter of the departed, the dead. Had only, now, by ghosts. endure… But this loss was not one she could endure. Only the redwoods would know how the eldest living daughter of the Matriarch wept - in the heart of the forest, in the dead of night. Where only dappled moonlight could find her - where her grief was her own, not to be heard or shared. She wept for a loss greater than she ever thought possible to feel, to bear. The shattered pieces of heart and soul wrenched by her own hand as she wailed would lay there forever - for she knew what was lost, was lost. Dawn would not reach her before that vulpine creature did. It was not Endure, as she told herself, that roused her from the mossy floor beneath her. Only the gentle, loving voice and ghostly hand felt brushing her cheek - belonging to her beloved Matriarch - would possess the ability to bring her back to herself on this eve. Keep going. And so she would.

Sat within a fae ring - seeking to restore her depleted energies, one elder druid held that notice within her weakened grasp. Fiery eyes scan the missive lazily, too tired to speak her disapproval to anyone around. One such as her would not so soon forget nature’s pleading, it’s pain, and the horror that still lurks. For this was surely only the beginning of the battle that the druii and the people of Idunia would have to face, united. She, too, waited for the tolling of bells.

A comment from that Kortrevich girl as she peeked over the Archduchess’ shoulder at the missive; “That was never the plot of any romance novel I have ever read.”

+1 pls staff let us have more funky fae spells! and thank you mars and crew for expanding on this! i really like it

Somewhere stood that scorned sister of Wicker... her retreat from such a battle to nurse old wounds leaving her hungry. The waves came and went. The silence ensued, and fire burned. It was not enough. The news of their success, of the rescue, did little to sate what sought such destruction in her. It was not enough. It would never be enough.

An ‘ame wraps her arms around herself - the tears sliding down her face holding a multitude of emotions. Overwhelming was this devastation, a white scar marring her neck now - a reminder of her failure, on this day, and the loss of someone so dear. Her hands grasp the staff tightly - murmuring a prayer under her breath, whispered words broken as they leave her trembling mouth. She lowers herself to the ground… staying there for a long while. Watching the sun set… kaleidoscopic eyes scanning the horizon as it rises, the tides rolling in - nipping at her feet, and back out. A horribly selfish part of her wishes it would take her with it. There was very little left of who she was before as sand shifted around her… numb for a moment as she pushed herself into a standing position - her body healthy here, in this limbo... this dream state. Something never before seen from the gentle, the healing, the soothing soul within her. A rage that writhed, a wrath that, above all else - was starving. And as her eyes opened, within that clinic - staring up at ceiling... at the blood around her, then to those who stayed with her through the night. There were still things to fight for, still people to fight for. "All wounds heal eventually." The slumbering elf, now laid beside her on the clinic cot - her son, her sister's son - had said. And while she could not believe it to be true... the wounds, for now, are cauterized as the kaleidoscope shifts. Blues, greens, and lilacs give way to the burning reds, oranges, and golds of bonfire. Something had broken within the ever-faithful, something had begun to burn.

-1 why no war

I love these posts! It has been so awesome oocly getting a glimpse into his inner monologue & thoughts. Also awesome irply to have a character that appreciates and explores other cultures. Has been lovely to see you & Dorin around Iryalen :)

Kaleidoscopic eyes scan the words - not entirely surprised, and having felt this coming... but still, multicolored brows furrow. The future of her people, now uncertain, in times like these - thoughts of war and massacre plague her head. She shakes the thoughts from it as she goes about her duties, but cannot shake the pit that has now formed in her stomach.

[!] Bound to trees and posts across all of Azuras, a missive addressed to all druids is presented; THE GRAND MOOT The Druidic Order A summons to druidkind. Those of you still present, in whispering range of any of our kin know why we call for you. We have many things to discuss. We must convene to once more take a close look at our tenets, the oaths we swear to one another - the things that bind us, and the things that are currently breaking us. Sister Fawn has offered the place she tends as somewhere for us to once more find common ground with one another. A resting place for our collective fallen, where the memories of those who came before hang in the air. May they remind us what we have fought for, what we continue to fight - and how we will move forwards, together. The circled and circless, any creed, anywhere - come. Brothers, sisters, siblings, servants of the Aspects. Magnolia. Fox. Wicker. Riptide.