SilverTirith

This is an awful idea, plain and simple. I hope this amendment does not pass. Additionally, this is 100% an OOC ploy to try and gain control over the Naz community as a whole. This provides no reasonable or fun addition to the lore, and I firmly believe the 2 strike system should stay in place just like with every other perma magic.

NOOOO I FORGOT TO SCREENSHOT SOME OF MY ITEMS

Makes it feel more like the affliction it is and less like a "ope guess I'm a vampire now." +1

In the depths of Numenost's mainstreet, a new inn has opened up! The Sanctuary Inn welcomes all those who are able to enter the city, and will serve all unless told otherwise by the Radiant Guard or a similarly high-ranking force. We have drinks, food, trinkets, and rooms! You can also participate in card games and gambling within should you wish! The second floor room, Sanctuary Oem, is a simple but cozy room available for rent of 10 minae a week. If it is left unpaid for two weeks, residents will be evicted and the room offered back up for rent. The top floor room is a warm, excellent experience with a windowed view of both the street and the waters below Numenost! This mildly bigger, more luxurious room is available for rent of 15 minae a week. If it is left unpaid for two weeks, residents will be evicted and the room offered back up for rent. Come relax in the lobby, play card games, dance to music, and have a magnificent time at the Sanctuary Inn! [Located at the end of Numenost Main ST, inside Sadron 5]

The dryad looks over the missive with a slight hum, Catarina setting the missive aside "Ah. Good for her. Good for Haense, even."

Looking for a player for a Sorvian Newt! [Please don’t meta any of this information] Shortly my character will be creating a playable Sorvian Newt and I’m looking for a player for them! Primarily your purpose will be to be a friend to the character’s daughter, but you will be more than free to pursue other roleplay opportunities when @Smol is not playing the child! What I’d like to see in people wanting to play the Sorvian! - Someone dedicated and capable. This is not to say you have to be online 24/7, but please don’t abandon the poor bean! - While optional, it would probably be ideal for you to be in a European time zone, since that would work better with Smol’s own timeframes. - We would prefer them to be also well versed in combat rules as well as know how to do CRP as needed on a mechanical front not needed on a character front. - Someone willing to be sucked into some unexpected roleplay at times. - Someone willing to participate in heretical roleplay which is against canonist values. (Will explain in greater detail once you start playing them :D) If you’d like to play the Sorvian Newt, message me @evalte on discord! My forums profile is- well I mean you’re seeing this post, just click on me! The appearance of the Newt is 100% up to your discretion! (Within reason)

Reading a letter about the happenings, Penelope decides it would be a fun way to pass the time as well as assist some allies, grabbing her weaponry and departing towards the meeting point. IGN: PenelopeTheSiren Discord: evalte

Be free you glorious, glorious human being

Catarina Valkonen smiles at the missive, making a mental note to go visit after her daily training.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale silver glow over the winding forest path where Hyacinth Verònica Valkonen made her final stand. The soft rustle of the trees and the distant hooting of an owl were the only sounds that accompanied her — at least until the unmistakable clatter of hooves broke through the night. She had ventured out to the woodland outskirts alone, unaware that it would be her last journey. It started as a simple errand, but fate had other plans. As she neared the clearing where the road split, shadows moved in the distance. A group of bandits, their faces hidden beneath hoods and masks, emerged from the darkened brush with weapons drawn. There was no warning, no demands, just the raw hunger for violence in their eyes. Hyacinth’s heart raced, her breath quickening as realization dawned. This was no ordinary encounter. This was a fight for her life. Though she was no stranger to danger, Hyacinth knew she was outnumbered. Her hand instinctively went to her side, where her blade rested. She unsheathed it with a fluid grace, the cold steel glinting in the moonlight. Her posture was steady, but beneath the calm exterior, her mind raced through every lesson she’d ever learned, every battle she’d ever fought. But the bandits were relentless. They attacked with coordinated precision, forcing her back with every swing of her sword. Steel clashed and sparks flew as Hyacinth fought valiantly, her strength and skill keeping the attackers at bay. For a moment, it seemed she might hold them off. Then, a sharp pain tore through her side. She staggered, her vision blurring as the bandits seized the opportunity to overwhelm her. Blood trickled down her body, staining her clothes a deep crimson. Her grip on her weapon loosened, and with a final, desperate lunge, she struck down one of her assailants. But it was too late. The remaining bandits surrounded her, their shadows closing in like a cold embrace. With a ragged breath, Hyacinth collapsed to her knees, her body succumbing to the injuries that had ravaged her. As the darkness closed in, her thoughts drifted to those she would leave behind. Memories of her loved ones, her comrades, and the life she had fought so hard to protect. She had faced countless battles, but this was the one she could not win. And so, Hyacinth Verònica Valkonen met her end, not in glory, but in the quiet solitude of a forgotten forest, claimed by the hands of ruthless bandits. There would be no will. No last words to her family. Simply the icy voice of death. Her body would be left before the gates of New Valdev come morning, her corpse resting oddly respectfully on the cold stone.

A lone elf sitting on the edge of Numenost reads the missive, “Good lord… this war is getting big.” She murmurs before continuing her idle enjoyment of the view.

Ælefriede looked upon the missive with a disapproving stare. “Silly, this whole conflict is. But I suppose my sword shall remain with my friends… I hope casualties end up minimal…” And with that she lofted her greatsword up to get back into shape for war.

The twilight sky darkened above the forest as soft winds whispered through the leaves. Alone, in a clearing surrounded by towering ancient trees, the dryad stood before a towering bonfire. The flames crackled, their light dancing on her wooden skin, casting long shadows as if even nature herself mourned the moment to come. She looked to the fire with weary eyes, eyes that had seen countless seasons and once held the spark of life. Now, they reflected only the quiet acceptance of what was to come. She knelt by the pyre, her hands gently brushing the earth beneath her, trying to feel the songs of the world one last time. But it was as though it no longer called to her. Her connection to nature, to the very thing whose protection brought her purpose, had been severed. She had felt it slipping away, like the slow fade of a cherished song, leaving only silence in its wake. Once, the vibrant pulse of life and nature had filled her every breath. Now, there was only emptiness. Kneeling before the pyre, she whispered her farewells. She did not weep, for there were no tears left to shed. Condemned to die in isolation, her form bristles in pain. Deep, emotional pain. With a slow, deliberate movement, the dryad rose, stepping toward the flames. They crackled and hissed, welcoming her with their warmth. As the fire reached out to embrace her, she whispered a final prayer, not just to the Aspects, but to the other druids and nature itself—an apology for her failure. The fire consumed her swiftly, the dryad offering no resistance. Her form wreathed in flame, her wooden body cracked and splintered, becoming one with the blaze. Yet, in that final moment, she found peace. Her spirit, untethered from the earth, drifted away, carried on the winds like a final breath. Distant, under the depths of Nevaehlen, a lonesome fae plant withers away as well as Leur’igne Aurë'naerï’s soul faded to nothingness. A single blue leaf falls to the ground beside the burning bonfire, illuminated by the blazing inferno, before catching fire and suffering the same fate as the rest of the dryad’s existence. Emptiness. A loss at the hands of an incurable despair.

As Aoife reads the words in front of her, she silently wonders whether she’d have been able to help if she’d have been there.

A post is pinned to the poster, saying the auditions need to be delayed due to unforeseen circumstances.