__Hergh

The aformentioned mother would wail. The loss of her daughter a final nail to the tomb that would be her own mind. Clutching the corpse with one hand as her knees sought the ground. Sobs wracking that weakened form of hers. "Oh sweet child," She'd choke, words barely escaping as more than a croak. The drake that had once coiled about her shoulders, now seeking to rest atop the charred carcass. Only hours before had she said words to the youth, such falling upon deaf ears. No longer a mother was she, now that her final child had fallen. A horrid fate to live past ones own lineage. A child found, not made.

As she read over the missive - Aiyeis would let a smile cross her pallid features. "Ay'Celia'nor," She'd murmur, placing the paper atop her wooden desk as she moved to stand. Grasping at a cane, the 'thill would make to depart her abode.

A particular mali’thill would set herself upon making a wide brimmed hat for visiting purposes.

The silver haired recluse would shift beneath her quilt, reading over the pamphlet once more before discarding it in a basket to her left atop the many others. Her hand now freed to grasp the neck of a wine glass. Bringing it to her mouth as her attention fixed upon the crackling of a fire, her chair rocking idly.

Oh my god? Truly? If only I weren't broke.

IGN: Garlic_Muncher RP Name: Yvaine Ranaleth Persona number: #75606

An uncivilized elf of the great Haelun’or would prepare a bunker to hide from the crusade.

Morrigan Arthalion withholds a prideful grin at even the mention of her sisters ascension to the throne.

Morrigan Arthalion did not personally know the wife of Jan Ivanovich, but she'd be sure to express her well wishes in letter form to the old friend.

Late response because my attention span is short - Woot amazing post! Can't find the dang fancy gif

A thud, the sound of mud squelching beneath her knees upon her descent - breath tearing at her lungs. The thill’s gaze lifted upwards towards the canopy of tree, towards the figure. A terror instilled within her then, fabric scraping against stone as she stumbled back. A dreadful form craned above her, red locks like smoldering embers draping about its shoulders. Little else could be seen of who stood there. Watching, a raspy voice would escape this creature, the barest of whispers, yet audible over the storm. “Do you remember me, mali?” It questions, a sickening hateful tone to that voice, form lurching forward as lightning struck nearby, and in that split second, their figure, once obscured, was revealed, as a rotting - putrid frail beast. Hollow crevices in place of eyes not even the cartilage remained of the woman’s nose. Bony digits reached forth, wrapping about her chin and digging into the flesh of her cheeks, perhaps to assure that her gaze would not drift. “Look upon me, Aiyeis; tell me who I am.” Spoke that creature in its vile tone. Breath so foul that the ‘thill could taste it on her tongue, mouth watering as bile rose, but through the tears and disgust she croaked, “Meredith, my sister,” And only moments after her chin was released. That hunched body of the once lively woman straightened. A smirk spread across the remnants of their decaying face, as though content on the anguish caused. Insects scuttling free of her mouth as her dry and cracking lips parted, at first only her yellowed teeth would be revealed – as her wretched voice spilled forth, “You are nothing, a thief who survived in place of her lliran,” And with that, the ‘thill sat up. The sound of rain was absent, it had only been a dream. Her back slick with sweat, short breaths leaving her in quick pants. All was quiet for that brief moment after she had awoken, then the ghastly whispers flooded in. Filling her ears with unintelligible noises. And alone she would be, if not for the figure that sat at the foot of her bed. A void in place of its face. Stringy crimson hair draped down its head. A discomforting sight to be sure. Reminding her of the voice that haunted her nights, that twisted her waking day, a hollow forsaken tone all that remained of the lari’onn she knew.

Though she knew little of the fate of the aformentioned Balian Prince, a certain princess in the Barrowlands would be pleased by this missive.