Orphvius

Always wanted to join a proper coven of witches..

An elven witch cradled herself beneath her small bed. Her hands darted to the glass beads that lay safely tucked away in the folds of her slate gray night shift. She twisted them feverishly up and down the thin chain link, the familiar solid pressure of them against her flesh failing to calm her mind. She could still hear the heavy wet thunk of the arrow volley meeting its mark beneath the ribs of her and her ‘comrades’ chests. “Breathe” she shook her head ”Only a passing shadow..” the mother reassured the rats beneath the floorboards..

Alejandro’s new stepson sat in his small bedroom, a filter of dreary grey sunlight beamed through the curtains; catching the dust motes that gossiped and whispered incoherently in the stale air. The child was so preoccupied replacing his gloomy old crow poppet’s button eye he hard a hard time focusing on his book of Elvish which he may need if he were indeed to be sent away for schooling..

Edlynne Mara Amador’s favorite poem was the one with the drunk man and the dead pig. The lass could appreciate the old and near forgotten taste of bacon rinds simmering on her tastebuds as the ‘morrow’s light crested the treetops. Now, she reckoned, the only taste she could clearly remember would be that of copper; as though she had been sucking on a coin when she had passed away..

A silver scalped Ranaleth clicked her long, and well maintained black talons against the cover of her treated leather bound Grimoire. She traced her finger tips around the geometrical eye sigils inlaid in the faded material, the edges worn from habit. Plucking at her eyebrows anxiously she murmured, with tight lips, “Wynasul, Wynasul, Wynasul..” .\|/.

A young Poltergeist morns the loss of her Shepard..

In her filthy attic shared with her best friends made of fabric and grain Edlynne Mara Amador slits open the lips of a poppet, removing the old stuffing and unzipping its joints in order to replace it with fresh bright blue string. Finding some old rotten hay lying upon the floorboards she began to loop it through the doll’s bald scalp; mimicking the flaxen hair of the Carolus. Finally, the child chose a lovely pair of black buttons for the eyes, stitching them in with a little boop on the doll’s nose for a final touch!

Grayson Adiler wondered if it was truly spelled Adler or Adiler and if he was still allowed to care about someone dead and disowned.. His father had some explaining to do, that was indeed certain; and not just about the alphabet which he clearly had lied about..

Funnily enough, Grayson Adiler had just confessed his annoyance at the lack of Oem'ii within Celia'nor naught but a month ago; sorely disapointed in the lack of others their age to interact with. Gray absolutely plan on attending! .\|/.

Grayson Adiler had mixed feelings of his new father being a tree.. 'Oh well, as long as maln is happy' The lad murmured, perhaps preparing some kind of gift for the pair .\|/.

Grayson Adiler, after struggling for some time trying to read the words upon the missive, would let out an angry snarl. Tearing up the parchment he let out a disaproving "hrmph.." How dare they threaten kin! .\|/.

The young ‘aheral child overheard his uncle’s loud chattering within Helious. ‘About prime time he met Uncle Reetus’s best friend..’ They thought, scheming away..

◇─◇──◇─◇◇─◇──◇─◇◇─◇──◇─◇ ◇─◇──◇─◇◇─◇──◇─◇◇─◇──◇─◇ Within the womb of the sky lies Celia’nor, born from the works of Ivarielle and heralded by the Silver City of Hae’lunor’s lack of progression. Celia’nor is in and of itself evolution of the Mali’aherlas; evolution through passing shadow and into high beauty. Its citizens know what it is to fall to one's knees as supplicants to corrupt customs and outdated rules, knowing though with this that they will never again be led by oppression means or fall upon deaf ears. Whilst visiting for the first time I have heard the whispers that lie beyond the gates and in return I have heard the faithful citizens of Fi'andria roar with honor, the right of the arcane lies deep within this people's veins enabling them to enact incredible feats of artifacy, rituals, and enchantments and even allowing them to quicken mundane tasks such as housekeeping. .⚶. Although successful they may be, they have not yet fallen to the grip of laziness and instead entertain a wide array of hobbies such as the arts of choreography, crafting, and music. During my brief time here in Celia’nor I have been welcomed with kindness and open arms, so too are activities encouraging comradery readily available in the forms of cunning and wit rather than the simple logic of steel and blade. Other social events include balls and festivals. I was lucky enough to attend a fair showcasing various enchanted items and artifacts along with a tavern night in which many participated in games of trivia on magical knowledge. My time here in Fi’andria has been well spent and it has opened my eyes to the influence of a higher people and the potential future for the ‘aheral kind. signed, Sevathun Ranaleth .\|/.

Edlynne Mara Amador would frown upon the missive Very displeased at this Greg fellow marrying her mother dearest.. With a sigh she'd go back to floating in her room, death could be so dreary.. .\|/.

Edlynne Mara Amador Made a delicious meal.. .\|/.

.-=~1.2.3~=-. . Edlynne Mara Amador exited the cart, her black heeled boots clicked and clacked on the rough cobble below. Her mind hummed softly as she made her way down the narrow road, scratchy weeds licking her legs as she trotted along before coming to a sudden pause. Before her stood a masked humanoid of average build and height; they stretched out a limb to offer the child a delicious cookie. The man led her down the path, past the sea and into the dense woods surrounding Adria until they reached a lovely tree buzzing with bees and flowing with sticky honey. The man suddenly grabbed the child's long ivory hair and threw her against the tree where a fowl rot began to manifest.. The girl clawed and scratched at the creature, her screams silent like a sigh in the wind as the black tendrils cocooned her. The girl's body became weaker and weaker as her life force was drained until she was not but a husk.. Her body fell with a dull thump at the gates of Haense, the pale cadaver folded in on itself at painful angles like a broken doll. Her large pale eyes still parted as if she was naught but feigning a crooked sleep. .-=-. Only a ragged and threadbare crow doll was left behind on the stone steps as Edlynne's corpse was gently carried away, later to be placed on the dinning room table to be feasted upon. Naught was left of the dear child but doll bones and dust.. .\|/.

Edlynne Mara Amador chews on the torn up flesh of her porcelain cheek, a habit when making a decision.. Indecisive as ever she decided that her dear cousin, Nataliya Amador, would certainly have an opinion of her own on the schism at play.. .\|/.

Edlynne Mara Amador reads over the script in the wee hours of the night, sleep came difficult for the darling child after seeing the face of a shadow like many of the other children that attended the sleepover hosted not long ago at the keep. Dancing, twisting ankles, and drawing could only provide so much entertainment after all. What she really needed was a good read! Though she must wonder if Ser Tristan was based off of her own cousins likeliness and if he really did conform to the dogma of the church the way the faithful protagonist did so vigilantly.. .\|/.

A rather childish Mali child hears tell of the new orphanage opening, her would be mother’s new orphanage in fact. Too bad she’s already been adopted by three other people.. Ir Anukis S’indri would absolutely have to visit her brand new family as soon as possible Soon hopefully, maybe ~•\|/•~

The young 'aheral checked her mail, a single letter lay in her grip "I'm sorry Apollyon, I've failed.. Orion & Ruthen have been slain" Apollyon could do nothing but laugh in that moment. An ugly cackle mixed with chokes and sobs. MINITZ They have been slain by the treachery of Minitz Apollyon raked her bloodshot eyes closed, tracing her tears with blood Apollyon Adiler's mana burned red with hate as she fantasized burning her home down and slaughtering her father's killers like pigs ○▲○

[The young Mali'aheral took up her quill, dipping it in the dark ink of her well, and watching it blossom onto the white parchment] ↓ Raziel Amethil, This is rare, and everyone intends to win so I will too. I grew up most of my life in Celia'nor where the skies were deep and the streets cleaner than they should be, I was told from others that Celia'nor was rotten from the core, that we took in those who would darken our doorsteps with gore and the sounds of shattering bone. "Power is will, wrong is debatable, right even more so" I enjoyed the library there over all other interactions. The feeling of chrysalism when it rained, when you had every excuse to stay inside and the smell of petrichor wafting through the windows during late Sun's Smile. I learned about medicine and other cultures, above all the arcane interested me most. "Power is will" and the void was a manifestation of our concentration, it was high beauty, it was right there along with the word impossible. I'm hoping that these hidden truths in Celia'nor are only a fleeting shadow, if not then I'd like to help using the arcane. Illusions can be used as medicine for those of us with broken minds, to help them remember where they were and hypnotize and coax those with wrong intentions. Voidal arts can be used alongside science to help further enhance our society and safeguard the city. Those who believe that the void brings corruption have sight but lack ambition. Those who want it need sight, honor, truth, and will. They must not break. I promise I will not break ○▲○ Fair winds, Apollyon Adiler

A young elfess knocks a goose feather arrow onto a cherry-colored recurve bow, aiming down the grey shaft and to the missive nailed to the gnarled knot of a tree. The lass pulls the weight of the cord, drawing it the full length back all the way to her cheek. A deep breath, halfway on the exhale she releases the tension. Slinging the bow over her shoulder and brushing a loose strand of dark hair out of her face she makes her way over to the target, pulling the arrows from the base she successfully tears the parchment into shreds, littering the forest floor. Reaching into her pocket she uncrumples the creases in another paper. Knock.. Draw.. Breath.. Hate.. Focus.. Release.. The arrow soars over the thick grass and plants itself between the eyes of a crude drawing of Teft Barclay Apollyon Adiler spits onto the ground "Bastard.." ○▲○

After reading the promising proposal the young servant retreated to their small living quarters, laying down onto the threadbare sheets of their mattress. Their worn leather riding boots still equipped. After fidgeting a moment with their ear piercing they reviewed the scribbly parchment for the fourth time that evening. Over and over they read the phrase "If you are a parent wishing to send your child.." Reading this made them feel sick with guilt. They often thought of the pain behind their ribs as a puzzle, a material shape.. like if they twisted it enough it could be solved. Although they hadn't learned to solve it yet the sorrow was mostly just a dull ache, only palpable during important ultimatums or when viewing something deceased. Placing the parchment to their side the young servant lifted their pointer finger to the ray of moonlight seeping through the thatched roof. The beam catch the cheap steel of his ring, the light dancing in their eyes like tiny fae creatures. Making their decision they traced the curve of the bones on their face. "If it was the will of The Allshadow then I might stand a chance.." Felwinter Cala'cast promised before drifting off to a more whimsical reality ○▲○