Tea_Guzzler

“Man before Asioth and the fool will waste his life thinking he can decipher it, while the wise knows he will die having found no answer, but try nonetheless. A man is a journey.” - The An-Gho —————————— —————————— “Trees reach for the heavens; they seek without growing.” - Vessel of Eternity —————————— The Gift of Divine Privilege | The Golden Path of Seekers In this observation, I will use the statement that this is man's path sparingly. Even in the eternity of the ascended, they still seek the culmination of the golden gift. The Path is a long and winding road; one without a clear destination, it is in every step you take leading you on and on until the very end. In a morose sense; your destination is your demise and rebirth. Whether that is to be taken in the literal sense, or it is the idea that a rotting corpse provides fertilization for new life to grow. If you are to take examples from those about you on their path; the mali’thill of the motherland draws a path of eternity, maintaining ancient beliefs of purity. Some believe that to be truly pure, they must have the strength to control their emotions, to not deviate from the laws of the cihi’thilln. To bring on a new generation for their ideologies to be passed on to. And even then, those thoughts vary greatly. For those of the canonist church, to reach the heaven they speak of with such admiration, you must follow the scriptures. The first of the scrolls is that of Virtue. It details the seven commandments that all must follow. In all of these, there is an inherent similarity to the Golden Path; and that is the beauty of the struggle that all go through in their unending trek. This is a path unique to each who begins down the road. Some may think they are to follow the worn beat of others, and some may walk through the tall grass and etch their way anew. Those who aspire for strength and power; may feel that their path grows stagnant upon achieving their grand design. A King grows weary with the weight of his people upon his shoulders. A warlord who strives for conflict may grow bored when there is none to be had, from something to nothing once their path is lost. And thus are the branches of the tree, new ones are found when the width of the one they are on grows thin. The path is eternal and winding. When you feel that you’ve come to an impasse, you must only turn your head and take the first step in a new light. From student to teacher, teacher to student. Only with the light of divinity are we provided the sustenance for continuance. But the gift is not only the journey, it is the light along the way. In all things may we find this proverbial gold. From the rain that breaks a drought to the white flag in a hopeless war. It is the wind that lifts the sail in the middle of the sea. The kind words of a teacher tell the students that they have learned. Even without sight or sound, we may still wander forth by the will of the heavens. It is by the Gift of Divine Privilege that we are capable of these thoughts. And it is our deficiency that the threshold is not yet tangible. The Gift is an omnipotence indescribable by mundane words. And my words. . . an oversimplification of its glory for better understanding. —————————— All things ariseth from One by the will of One, and so all things cometh from this subtle process. - The Divine Gift —————————— Written by | Adyr the Golden Lamb |

Adelheide Wick’s tired gaze skimmed over the contents of the missive with a grimace. Pushing back her graying hair with a leather gloved hand she rose from her chair with a stagger. It seemed high-time to return home. “Mistruths from the mouths of mewling highborns, too much free time.”

The dead elf would mourn her loss of self from the afterlife.

Aiyeis Acal’Turrii The End A woman would lay in bed, her chest sank and rose in slow, deliberate motions. Hand gripping at her bed sheets. The blurred vision that always accompanied her fading, fraying. Consciousness fading. The candlelight beside her bed illuminates her pallid face, sweat dripping down. Feverish. . . . Gasping, the mali’aheral would wake, coughing, sputtering. Lurching upwards she’d gag, stomach twisting painfully the elf could do nothing but lay back down and bury her face in the pillow. It was silent for now, excluding the crackling of a fire and the distant clamor of the busy city district. The candle at her bed stand was barely alight, the wick burnt down to a black nub. The smell of lavender that had permeated while it burnt–fading. . . . A cool feeling would pass over her, goosebumps rising as whispers would begin to echo. A maddened delusion she would hope, though she would not pay the presence heed, curling inwards, her hand pulling the thick blanket over her head. Even with that, she could hear the whispers begin. Taunting. “You’ve finally reached the end of your rope, wretch.” Her consciousness would fade, though she would not wake from the inky darkness this time. . . . The woman was on the ground, mud under her knees. Her sight was returned, she sat in a field the grass so tall it surpassed her shoulders. Silently, she’d turn her head about, a blink. Over the grass stood a woman, hair so red they resembled flames. They’d turn. Lurid eyes would stare back, meeting the ‘aheral. . . . “Meredith.” The woman would murmur, shocked. Slipping in the mud beneath as she scrambled to stand. Though the figure would not stand still, it began to run off into the distance. Locks of red disappearing in the tall grass. The magi would begin to run, slow at first as though unpracticed before she burst into a sprint. Bare feet sinking into the earth, hands batting at the grass to clear her path. She’d reach a precipice, having caught up to the ginger, who stood at the edge, back facing her before it would move to turn. Gaunt features aging, hair turning gray before the ‘aherals eyes. A lurid smile formed across their features. “Join me, sister.” It would fall back, arms spread wide, disappearing over the edge as the woman ran forth practically flinging herself in. The woman was gone. A hand would wrap about her shoulder, the glint of white in the corner of her eye. She’d turn, face lifting to meet the new figure. It stood, bones stark and white, glinting in the light of the moon that stood overhead. The creature looked on for a few seconds before suddenly the arm that held her still would push. She would fall back, a futile attempt being made to grasp at the robes the skeleton wore. But it would help her little as she fell, screaming into the abyss. She would continue falling, screaming until her voice ran raw and then finally, she’d hit the water. A splash sounding almost in tandem with the sound of her bones breaking from contact with the sloshing waves. Though the pain would begin to fade as she sank, hitting the bottom eventually. Her eyes shutting as the light of the moon grew dim beneath the ripples. Her resolution fading. The woman would not stir from the dream. Though the effects of the fever and the constant tossing and turning would cause swept to drip down her face. The flames in the fireplace dancing. Occasionally the sound of crackling was accompanied by her pained whimpering. A devoted spawn takes the time to carefully move a damp cold rag upon the fevered brow of the sickly elf before them. Soft hushes of breath escape past the lips of the spawn, despite her own brow becoming furrowed in silent anguish and concern. “Shhhh, Haelun… you’re okay… you’re safe…” Ac’Sullii would softly speak, her voice hushed and quiet as there was an attempt to soothe and to aid the woman before her. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but feel the lump in her throat begin to rise, feel how even her own body betrayed her feelings of the situation. The day she was warned, was told what was to come to pass, she dared not believe it. Perhaps a part of herself begged that it was all a bad dream- but this dream was all too real, and it was everything of the nightmare she feared. Taking a deep inhale, Ac’Sullii would just move her head down to kiss upon her aunt’s…. Her mother’s brow- just as Aiyeis had done to her so many times before. “I love you… haelun, never forget that…” There was more she wanted to say, and yet, nothing could come out. What should a child say to their parent as they lay sickly before them in a comatose state? Her hands begin to shake, and tears start to rim her deformed eyes, nearly spilling past gray lashes- yet she inhaled deeper and would quell her tears back, continuing to carefully dote on her mother no matter what. A part of her wished to be selfish, to beg and plead to anyone who would listen for her mother to remain with her- or perhaps to plead with her mother to keep on fighting. In her mind she screamed the words, ‘Please- don’t go, not yet! I need you here with me-!’ and yet they remained only in her mind. She knew her mother’s story, perhaps only parts of it- but she knew enough. Knew how hard Aiyeis had already fought, and to ask for more? Ac’Sullii could never do so. A selfless child, and yet in that moment- she never wanted to be more selfish- if just to have a little more time with her Haelun. At the same time that Ac’Sullii rushed to Ayeis’ side as did Luthia after yet another feverish dream, she'd rub her back, offering soothing platitudes, "Shhh, Shhh" she'd look to her sister with widened unmoving eyes, lined with fear. The uncertainty surrounding the certainty of Aiyeis' worsening condition had brought the proud elfess low. Luthia rested her head in her mother's lap, she'd clasp her hand, crying softly. As the end neared, Luthia sat up and peered into her mother's blinded eyes in an attempt to be strong, "I won't let you down Haelun. Your work won't be in vain. I love you" In the end, it was just the two sisters together, asleep by their mothers bedside. It would not take long for the mali’aheral to succumb to fever and plague. Her body grew weaker by the day as her delusions were emboldened to rise. Till finally, in madness did she stir, staggering through the manor to her daughters room. Collapsing on their bed as she waited for the return of Ac’Sullii to her abode. The fever fading as the cold set in. Drawn into an eternal slumber was she.

Adelheide Wick would hold the carrier rat with care, patting its head as she read through the missive. A holler of praise escaped the youth, proud of her cousin's achievements, it seemed. A letter would be sent in return shortly.

A forgotten adunian, bereft of flesh and path, would read such words if the sinews that frayed and hung from her skull; the creature would smile. The Thuri-Elendil's people were not gone and consumed by the White Spires of Numendil. Though stuck in place, she was, her bones had long since calcified. Fed only by the small creatures foolish enough to near her snapping jaws. There was still some hope left in the beast's maddened mind that her traditions would continue.

omg omg omg wick lore

A particular silver-haired seamstress would hold the missive close to her face as she skimmed the contents. Her nose wrinkling briefly as she moved to unlock her door. Gliding within, she'd throw the letter in a trash bin, seeming content with sipping tea as Celia'nor readied to hunt dark spawn within their walls.

Aiyeis would visit their grave as she had once done for their sister, Meredith. A bundle of lavender bound by loose lace in hand. For some time, she would stand there, listless. She had known that one day this day would come to pass but she did not think it so soon. Crouching, she would place the bundle atop the burial. "You will be missed, Basha Horisp." And with that, she'd shift her grip upon the dragon head of her cane, using it to steady herself as she stood, some pain flickering across her sullen features. Brushing briefly at her dress, the mali'thill would move to mount her yisar that meandered nearby. A final look was given to the area before she rode off. The old woman, once a girl, was now just a distant memory.

Laurih’Valmiran Heial (Noble/Chosen Artisans) ilMaehr’sae Ilkun’ehya With Knowledge and Steel Table of Contents Purpose Leadership Branches Purpose The Artisan’s Guild was established, its primary purpose is to aid in the growth of the nation, but equal to that purpose - its desire to assist Artisans with permission from the resigning royarch, Illthrak Ibarellan. As such its primary purpose is to aid in the growth of the nation, but equal to that purpose - is its desire to assist Artisans and Magi who serve the guild are there for not only themselves but the community for any sale made under the guild - its people. Artisan’s and Magi who serve the guild are there for not only themselves but the community, for any sale made under the guild - it must be reported to Aiyeis Acal’Turrii so that she can record such for future rewards. Leadership Head of Guild Aiyeis Acal’Turrii Regent Head in case of Absence Midas Von Acal’Turrii, Ac’Sullii Acal’Turrii Current Heir Ac’Sullii Acal’Turrii Head of Magi Lawrintithius, Aiyeis Acal’Turrii, Midas Von Acal’Turrii Head of Coin Siobhan Branches Those who wish to sell their craft through the guild should be aware of the various roles they take and may apprentice for. From Artisans to Magi, the guild is home to all crafts. Artisans A broad term to cover all bases - the guild’s main purpose is to aid all who sell the fruit of their labor. Whether that be a writer's poetry, a musician's melody, an artisan's canvas, or an architect's structure, all may come for a chance of respite with the guild. Each member - depending upon their craft(s); will be gifted a pin to wear at events to show their crafts and whether they seem apprentices. Magi As the Magi aided in the guild's formation, The 'aheral Aiyeis Acal'Turrii formed a sub-division led by Lawrintithius. Joining the Guild If any prospective artisan is seeking to join the guild, they may send word to Aiyeis Acal’Turrii by bird, or by visiting the guild hall in Celia’nor. It will be by the apple orchards.

The amount of times I've been sent to god because of those pesky bushes.

“Alberic is…nie no longer with us. Szam.” As the words sounded, Marceline would hear only ringing, the smile set upon her features twitching, a lump welling in her throat. It took all she had to control her expression, “That is not a very nice joke,” The woman would laugh, a pitiful laugh that would only further her spiral. “That is not something ea would joke about.” Those were the final words before she’d break, her smile falling; attempts at regaining her composure would be futile as the first sob escaped. Barely able to stand, Marceline would try to seat herself, wiping furiously at her eyes as her body shook. Her thoughts a whirlwind - all she understood at that time was that her father was gone. Memories of him, good and bad, all swirled about in her mind; no longer would she be called marshmallow. No longer did she have a shoulder she could rest her head atop. He would be missed.

Aiyeis would peer at the missive in confusion, wondering how the beheaded man was sending them out before returning to the artwork she made of his demise. Foot tapping idly upon the floor as her charcoal sketched out the decapitation of Braxus Ni'Leya.

"I am always on top," Muttered the cripple as she discreetly began her journey of sneaking missives in every Aevos mailbox.