Faelion Arather

A Long Dream In the dead of the night, a young-looking elf with tousled, dirty blonde hair toils tirelessly in the Workforce Building near his residence in the Cargonia District. His cerulean eyes, mirrors of the vast ocean, scrutinize each item he handles. Faelion steals a moment for respite. His arms extend above him gracefully, a hand caressing the fatigue from his other limb, accompanied be a refreshing "Eeeeaaagh... Aaaahhhh..." A melodious contentment echoes through the walls of the Workforce Building. Amidst the tranquility, memories of Lumia's wedding surge. A mixture of exhilaration at the use of fireball and a cloud of worry spawned by Scrisa's assault on the Golden Lubba's marriage. The thought of flinging fireballs makes his heart flutter. Fireballs, of all things. Faelion's shoulders sag, a heavy sigh escaping his lips, before he resumes his work. In the silent night, atop Lurin's Workforce Building, a bright, luminous light—brighter than the noonday sun—emanates from within, leaking through the windows. A voice can be heard, "Faelion... It's time for you to wake up..." =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! The jarring sound of an alarm clock shook the room in the early morning. "Hey! Go down and eat your breakfast, young man!" Aurelia, a woman in her late 20s who bore a striking resemblance to an older, gender-bent Faelion, stood over her slumbering younger brother. She tried to rouse him with a mix of authority and care. "5 minutes..." Faelion muttered in protest against his older sister. He grabbed a nearby pillow, covering his face, attempting to reclaim the remnants of sleep. "You'll be late for your first day of class," Aurelia reminded him, forcefully snatching the pillow Faelion had used to shield his face and giving him a gentle pinch to coax her little brother to get out of bed. "Alright, alright. Ow! Stop pinching me, Sis," Faelion groaned, trying to shake off his older sister, all while feigning resistance to convince her that he was already awake. Aurelia stood up from Faelion's bed and observed the young man, crossing her arms with her right foot tapping rhythmically on the wooden floor. "You'll go back to sleep once I go down on my own." "Fiiiine." Faelion reluctantly rose from bed, finally yielding to his older sister's persistence. As Faelion ambled through the city, making his way to school, he vividly reminisced about the dreams he had. His mind replayed scenes of proud warriors going to war, incredible wizards flinging powerful spells, vast lands and frozen wastelands, forests with towering trees, encounters with demons and dragons, and witnessing unspeakable horrors. Amid these dreamt landscapes, Faelion found kindness, and, more importantly, made friends along the way. It was indeed a long dream—one he wished had never ended. Waiting for the bus to school, Faelion glanced at his watch and realized he had ample time before its arrival. He opened his new college notebook, a fresh canvas for this chapter of his life, and grabbed a pen. In the notebook, he inscribed these words: "I dreamt for miles; now reality smiles. Grateful for the journey, it was a dream that turned. Thank you." "I dreamt for miles; now reality smiles. Grateful for the journey, it was a dream that turned. Thank you." ~ FIN ~

Alone Amidst the Icy Peaks: A Lone Journey into the Northern Wilderness - An Odyssey to the North by Faelion Arather -= Introduction =- The snow-capped peaks of the northern mountains have always held a strange allure for me. Over the years, I've embarked on several short expeditions into their icy embrace, each time feeling the thrill of the unknown tugging at my heartstrings. One of these journeys, undertaken in the esteemed company of the valiant Sir Onon, still lingers vividly in my memory. However, the story I'm about to share is not about those fleeting escapades in the northern wilderness. No, this tale belongs solely to my most recent and the most protracted expedition into that glacial expanse. As I sit down with quill in hand to chronicle this adventure, I find myself ensconced in my humble abode within the beautiful city of Lurin. Outside, a gentle breeze rustles the curtains by my windowsill, carrying whispers of distant lands. Yet, beyond these city walls, an unforgiving world of ice and snow awaits my return. For this journey, I am alone, armed only with my wits and instincts. The companionship of Sir Onon, his wisdom, and his steady hand are absent on this journey. It is my hope that this record will serve as a testament to a descendant's unyielding determination in the face of nature's harshest trials. Within these pages, you will not encounter recollections of past expeditions or traces of shared adventures with companions. Instead, I shall detail the ordeals and triumphs of this solitary voyage, where Faelion, yours truly, confronts the unknown with nothing but unwavering courage and a resolute determination, amidst the gentle winds of Lurin. -= Chapter 1 =- The first day of my journey to the north was marked by a series of peculiar encounters. While I ventured deeper into the grassy landscape, my heart raced with dread upon witnessing a grim spectacle that sent shivers downs my spine—an eerie, grotesque, lifeless tree stood sentinel in a vast grassland, adorned with the macabre remains of countless souls. In that chilling moment, my heart pounded with a mixture of fear and urgency, compelling me to mutter a silent plea to myself to leave the place with haste. With great caution, I pressed forward, putting as much distance as I could between myself and that unnerving sight. After several hours of traveling, I arrived in an area of rolling hills, where the landscape stretched out like an ancient tapestry. In the distance, I spotted a distant hamlet, its simple and rudimentary walls hinting at an insular community likely wary of outsiders. Following my instincts, I chose to avoid any possible conflicts and proceeded with my journey. Continuing my journey, I drew near to a relatively lofty mountain range, which naturally demarcated the southern rolling hills from the northern expanse. The peaks of these mountains were concealed beneath a dense shroud of clouds, creating an almost surreal atmosphere. The biting cold permeated my bones, an unrelenting reminder of the north's harsh and unforgiving nature. Desiring relief from the bone-chilling cold, I sought sanctuary within a grove of trees that offered a welcome shelter. Here, nestled among these gnarled branches, I felt I had at last arrived at the northern frontier. With a weary sigh, I readied myself by donning my winter gear, bracing for the unrelenting cold that lay in wait in the northern territories. -= Chapter 2 =- On the second day of my journey into the cold and unforgiving northern realm, I pressed onward, determined despite the relentless cold that seemed intent on testing my resolve. As I forged ahead, a surprising and intriguing sight suddenly unfolded before me—a gleaming golden cross, marking my entrance into this enigmatic northern territory. My curiosity was immediately aroused, and I couldn't resist examining the unusual etching on the cross-a delicate flower in full bloom, its petals intricately etched and elegantly shaded in various shades of gray. This vivid contrast against the bleak surroundings left me both perplexed and captivated. It stood out as an unexpected symbol of beauty. After hours of relentless trekking through the snow-clad northern wilderness, I reached the recognizable boundaries of The Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska. It had been a considerable period since I had last stepped foot in Haense. Once again, I ventured into the kingdom, where the biting cold was both relentless and unforgiving. The harsh climate made visibility difficult, and the sharp winds constantly forced me to adjust my course. Notably, the capital city lay shrouded in spikes of ice and snow, with massive boulders hewn from the same frosty substance. These boulders, hollowed to create passages, obstructed the bridge leading to the city. The streets of Haense, once familiar to me, appeared dramatically transformed, almost unrecognizable. The capital of the Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska had shifted from a muddy and dusty landscape into a land shrouded in ice. Furthermore, the streets were eerily deserted during the night, casting a chilling and unsettling ambiance over the city. It was a stark departure from my previous memories of the place, leaving me to ponder the mysterious transformation that had taken place. Venturing beyond the capital, during the same night, I drew near to the towering walls of a formidable fortress. The biting northern wind gnawed at my skin, and my eyes began to feel parched. With each step, it grew increasingly difficult to breath in the dimming light of the waning day. With each deliberate step, the snow yielded beneath my feet, emitting a satisfying crunch. The wintry breeze from Snow Lake caressed my skin, causing my breath to materialize in the chilly air. Just outside the open castle gates, a hospitable sign extended a greeting, displaying the name "Isaakev." Upon my entrance into the castle, a warning sign cautioned me about the long, winding stairs that lay ahead. Ascending these stairs, I arrived at the castle's courtyard, perched high atop the castle, and I began to explore the expansive, empty grounds. As I approached what appeared to be the castle's keep, my attention was drawn to a statue dedicated to an individual named Alex. The inscription at the base of the statue read: "Alex 19⬜⬜[... THE FOURTH WALL IS SHAKING...]⬜⬜⬜2 Gone, But Never Forgotten." Within the castle's keep, I came across a room that seemed to serve as a small throne room. At the entrance to the throne room, two statues stood tall. The lapidary of one statue read: "Stephen I, or Stefan (Naumarian: Stefan Karl), became Haense's King in 1610 after his election in the National Duma at the age of fourteen, following the Greyspine Rebellion and the Second Battle of the Rothswood. As the lone surviving son of King Marius from the House of Barbanov, he transformed Haense into a potent Empire vassal through strategic alliances, despite his controversial Imperial involvement. His legacy mingles progressive Haeseni reforms with his intricate role in Imperial dynamics." The lapidary of the other statue bore the words: "James II, or Jakob (Naumarian: Jakob Marius), is the most infamous of the Ludovar patriarchs, most notable for his work in the Brotherhood of Saint Karl and the Ludovar Trial. The trial meant the end for the Principality, and Jakob was soon castrated on false charges. Later, the verdict was overturned with new testimony coming available. He was returned his knighthood, and the remains were returned to the House, but the House of Barbanov-Ludovar has never quite recovered." Following my exploration of the history-rich castle grounds and absorbing the stories engraved in stone, I chose to find solace within the silent halls of Isaakev. There, within the imposing fortress's calm and seclusion, I rested, rekindling my strength and determination for the demanding journey into the harsh and relentless Northern territory. -= Chapter 3 =- On the third day of my journey through the snow-covered expanse, my travels brought me to what appeared to be a hunting cabin nestled in the wilderness, a humble and inviting structure standing alone in the vast, white landscape. Intrigued by the cabin's rustic charm, I couldn't resist the urge to pay it a visit, even though it appeared unoccupied. As I explored the cabin's immediate surroundings, I couldn't help but appreciate the cozy and inviting atmosphere it exuded. After a brief exploration, I carried on, eager to venture deeper into the frost-covered realm. Not far from the hunting cabin, I chanced upon a town situated in the heart of Snow Lake that was in the midst of construction. Curiously, there seemed to be no apparent access to the town, and apart from the ongoing building efforts, there was little else to hold my interest. I moved on, continuing my journey through the cold and desolate wilderness. Time swiftly slipped away, and after numerous hours traversing the unforgiving white expanse of the north, I came upon peculiar structures that starkly contrasted with the snowy plateau. Upon closer examination, I was met with a haunting scene—frozen blood, scattered bones, and a grim tableau of the aftermath of an unknown ritual. It was evident that this place had served as a site of sacrifice. An unsettling chill crept down my spine as I indulged my curiosity with a thorough inspection. Quickly, I departed from this disquieting place, eager to avoid becoming entangled in any potential ritualistic activities. As the third day neared its end, I arrived at a solitary walled fortress perched high on a snow-covered mountain deep within the icy realm. As I approached the fortress's gate, I couldn't help but notice that it was firmly sealed, and a sign indicated that pilgrims were required to don a veil for entry. I surveyed my surroundings, but there was no sign of any life, and I strained my ears to detect even the faintest sounds in the prevailing stillness. Employing a spyglass, I scrutinized the walled fortress, and it became evident that it had been deserted, reduced to a mere shell of its former self. As the day reached its conclusion, I opted to explore the vicinity of the isolated fortress, and there, I found a poster advertising a hunting cabin named "The Honing Doe Lodge and Retreat." It was at that moment I realized that this was indeed the very hunting cabin I had encountered earlier in the day. As night descended, I took refuge in a modest shack on the fortress grounds, preparing to pass the night, pondering the concealed mysteries within this northern land. -= Chapter 4 =- At the crack of dawn, on the fourth day of my journey, I arose, brimming with enthusiasm to resume my exploration of the northern wilderness. Equipped with my trusty spyglass, I scanned the terrain extending farther to the north. It seemed evident that I was drawing near to the recognizable mountain ranges denoting the northern border. Deciding to alter my course, I redirected my gaze toward the west, recalling that past these peaks lay the northern sea and an uncharted island I had yet to explore. Venturing westward across the frozen wasteland, I made the deliberate choice to veer off the beaten track, opting for an off-road route instead of following the existing road. I hoped to come across interesting sites and discoveries off the well-trodden path. During my expedition, I encountered an armor stand standing alone in the midst of nowhere, a patch of frostvine clinging to some intriguing ruins, and dense copses of trees. Soon, I reached the boundary between the snowy plains and an area rife with volcanic activity. I turned to the east, intent on further exploring this vast expanse. Nonetheless, my heart's yearning led me to explore the northernmost island. I ascended the rugged mountain ranges and descended to the opposite side, making my way to the spot where the two lands were closest. Utilizing my reliable 'portable' boat, I traversed the sea to reach the island's shores. As I gazed through my spyglass, my initial impression was that the island appeared uninhabited. However, upon further inspection, I soon discovered signs of habitation on the other side. Driven by curiosity, I made my way to the village I had spied from a distance. As I approached, I couldn't overlook the imposing, thick, black walls encircling the village, which left me pondering their intended function—likely constructed to conserve warmth in the unforgiving northern climate. My attention was also drawn to some peculiar red shrubs emitting steam from what appeared to be berries. This unfamiliar sight made me exercise caution, leading me to keep my distance from them. Upon my arrival in the village, I was greeted by one of its residents who kindly offered assistance. I gratefully declined and explained that I was but a simple explorer, traversing the northern reaches of Aevos. In return, I asked about the name of the village and discovered that it was known as Aeltarys. Extending my appreciation, I readied myself to proceed with my exploration, informing the resident of my intentions to explore the rest of the expanse. As I prepared to take my leave, the resident of Aeltarys offered a word of caution, advising me to be vigilant in the wilderness due to the presence of perilous creatures on the island. I expressed my gratitude for the warning and bid the resident a sincere farewell. "May the radiant flames in your heart guide you along your path," I said before departing the village, extending my best wishes as I embarked once more into the snowy expanse. -= Chapter 5 =- On the fifth day of my journey, I found myself in a place that held a painful memory from a past expedition—a treacherous high-peaked mountain, perpetually shrouded in thick clouds and surrounded by large, jagged ice shards. As I ascended, the unrelenting polar storm of The Mountain seeped through my being, chilling me to the core, and my blood seemed to freeze within my veins. Then, a mysterious and supernatural disembodied voice resounded, commanding me to go away. Feeling the imminent danger to my life and heeding the commanding voice, I decided it was no longer worth the risk to scale this treacherous mountain. While descending from The Mountain, I observed a sequence of black banners that appeared to delineate a path along this side of the ridge, implying the existence of a trail. Intrigued, I decided to follow the trail marked by these banners and eventually arrived at a bridge leading to the opposite side of the ridge. Regrettably, the bridge had collapsed, forcing me to opt for the longer route in order to reach the other side. Upon reaching the other side of the ridge after the bridge's collapse, I was confronted with a staggering and disheartening sight. A once-vast settlement now lay in ruins, its structures fallen into the frozen wasteland. The overwhelming sensation of being watched gnawed at me, and I felt a mysterious pull emanating from The Mountain. The relentless snows and the unrelenting winter storm of the north continued unabated, pelting the land with hail and snow. Campfires mysteriously extinguished under seemingly ideal conditions, and the wooden fortress of the town had been reduced to rubble. The entire place exuded an eerie aura of surveillance by an unseen presence lurking in the snowdrifts, scrutinizing every step I took. As the howling winds cried out like distant banshees, cold breaths seemed to graze my neck within the midst of the blizzard. I stood on a trail that led to the bridge which had collapsed, marking the ascent toward The Mountain. The battered banner of The White Mountain obscuring a red sun, seemingly frozen in both time and space. The remnants of tools, clothing, and signs of a once-thriving civilization were strewn haphazardly throughout the forsaken settlement. As I surveyed the remnants of what had once been a formidable fortress, I couldn't rid myself of the uncanny sensation of being under scrutiny. In subdued whispers, I extended my heartfelt condolences to the souls who had perished in this tragic place. Pushing eastward, into the unexplored territories, I came across an intriguing sight: a set of golden gates perched atop a mountain, seemingly placed in the midst of nowhere. As I drew nearer to the gates, a [REDACTED] stared at me, its wings gracefully flapping. It radiated an enigmatic and contradictory aura, one that appeared to simultaneously mock and convey a sense of sorrow above the grand entrance. Opting to evade any potential confrontation, I paid my respects to the perplexing scene before me and pressed on with my expedition. Gradually descending from the snowy mountains, I eventually came upon a settlement unmistakably in the process of construction. The materials used for the construction seemed foreign to the surrounding expanse, potentially imported from afar. A thorough examination of the architecture indicated that it was the work of Dwarves. Even though there were no workers present during my passing, I silently wished them success in their ongoing construction endeavors. Descending further from the snowy mountains, I ultimately reached the snow-covered plains, marking the point of transition between the snowy desert and the taiga region. Having thoroughly explored and mapped the entire northern territory, a sense of accomplishment washed over me. I decided to bring my expedition in the north to a close, deeming it a successful and comprehensive endeavor. -= Afterword =- From the earliest days of my youth, I was captivated by the countless tales of adventure and exploration that filled the pages of books. As time passed, my curiosity continued to drive me, kindling dreams of venturing into the mysterious unknown. The decision to pen this book was born from the sincere hope that its readers, whether young or old, adventurers or explorers in their own right, would glean valuable insights from my personal experiences recounted within these pages. My journey across the Northern expanse, with its challenges and triumphs, transcends age, gender, and race. It serves as a testament to the power of curiosity, reminding us all, regardless of our background, to remain curious and embrace the boundless opportunities for discovery that life has to offer.

A 'Treat' in the Void Endlessly, you traversed the unfathomable depths of the stygian abyss, Amidst the eldritch horde, each preying mercilessly upon the feeble among your kind. Moments of respite were rare in this desolate realm, but at times, a 'treat' would plunge into the yawning void, And your unceasing odyssey would briefly halt. Through eons untold, your path unfurled, Feeding upon the vulnerable, consuming the weaker, Eternally eluding the ancient predators concealed in shadows, A relentless cycle of survival and predation, the abyss's decree. Then, as if orchestrated by some cosmic scheme, 'it' descended into the abyss, A disturbance akin to a single raindrop breaking the placid surface of a forlorn lake, A morsel, a 'treat' that sent ripples of anticipation through your kind's collective consciousness. With insatiable hunger, your kind surged toward the coveted prize, A frenzy of tentacles, jaws, and grotesque forms, all vying for a taste. And 'it,' the unsuspecting tidbit, quivered in response to this voracious onslaught, Yet, amid the chaotic tumult, 'it' found an abrupt, eerie tranquility. In your mind's eye, a vision began to unfold, An image of 'it,' the 'treat,' bearing a countenance defying reason. A soft, subtle smile adorned 'its' visage, Radiating from the abyss's very heart, And it was directed at you, and only you. In that moment, as you gazed into the abyss, the abyss gazed back, Transcending the limits of your eldritch existence, A connection forged through the consumption of 'it,' A communion of otherworldly minds in eternal darkness. The enigmatic smile endured, a paradox of comfort and malevolence, And as you drifted away from the 'treat,' consumed anew by the abyss, You carried the disquieting knowledge that 'it' had left an indelible mark, A cryptic guidepost on your voyage through the cosmic void, A signpost pointing toward inscrutable depths of understanding yet concealed. Within the abyss's inky folds, where nameless horrors reigned, a murmur of unfathomable revelation had brushed against your consciousness—an enigma woven into the void's very fabric. "May the radiant flames in your heart guide you along your path."

Into the Depths of Beleth: The Lost Temple of Teo'Camaxli - An Adventure Log by Faelion Arather Entry 1: The moment I beheld the Temple of Teo'Camaxli for the first time, a profound sense of awe overcame me. It loomed majestically above the cascading waters of The Jungles of Beleth, a sentinel guarding ancient enigmas, its towering silhouette visible from vast distances. Nature had recaptured much of its structure, yet the temple's enduring presence remained undeniable. It exuded an energy that elevated my very spirit, infusing me with boundless wonder and an insatiable curiosity. Approaching closer, I could discern a mysterious aura in the air, a resonance of some bygone magical force. The temple's decayed wooden palisades and serpentine walkways, testament to time's inexorable march and the relentless jungle, intertwined haphazardly across its façade. The true moment of wonder arrived at dawn. The temple's zenith served as a focal point for the sun's initial rays, casting a brilliant illumination upon the plateau, akin to a celestial lighthouse. For those fleeting minutes, it seemed as though the heavens themselves bestowed their radiant blessing upon this ancient sanctum, revealing its concealed secrets. Entry 2: Today, I ventured deeper into the outer precincts of the Temple of Teo'Camaxli. Although I found no apparent ingress to the inner sanctum, my resolve to explore every facet of its exterior remained unwavering. The intricately chiseled stone motifs held a mystique that captivated me, and an unshakable conviction whispered that this place held profound significance. As my exploration persisted, I couldn't escape the intrigue of the Alchemical Signs of Aether, Air, Water, and Fire adorning the corners of the highest level. They concealed an enigma, I was certain of it, waiting patiently to be unraveled. Entry 3: The further I delved into the temple's exterior, the more profoundly I sensed its mystic embrace. With each stride, the atmosphere grew heavier, and the echoes of those who had tread this path before me reverberated in my senses. The very stones seemed to preserve memories of a bygone era, and I stood as an intruder within their sacred domain. Before me stood an imposing stone portal, bedecked with intricate carvings and adorned with glistening gemstones. It was apparent that this door represented the temple's core, yet it remained impenetrable. My fingers traced the cryptic symbols etched into its surface, but their intent eluded me. Entry 4: Today, I persisted in my exploration of the Temple of Teo'Camaxli's exterior. While the passage within eluded me, an unshakable conviction told me that there was more to this place than met the eye. The stone carvings and enigmatic symbols held a significance that eluded my grasp. Standing once again before the sealed stone portal, reverence washed over me. It was as if this door safeguarded the temple's most profound secrets, and my determination to unearth them remained resolute. With a deep breath, I pressed my hand against the chilled stone and silently prayed that one day, the concealed mysteries would yield to my unwavering pursuit.

While diligently organizing the Centurion's reports, your meticulous efforts come to a pause as you stumble upon a substantial document that immediately seizes your focus. Centurion: Faelion Arather Activity: Off-duty Encounter The encounter with [Redacted] unfolded as follows: The first time I met [Redacted], he spoke in cryptic phrases. He wore a perpetual grin and openly displayed his metallic claws. [Redacted] often spoke about death and a concept he called "greater death." He even urged me not to fear him, as he claimed not to embody the death he discussed. Cautiously, I observed [Redacted]'s countenance, which seemed to radiate with a golden glow as I instinctively stepped back. In response, [Redacted] attempted to draw nearer to me. As I maintained my distance, a sudden flash of pain struck me when [Redacted] projected a golden lance of light through my head. My vision was flooded with strange imagery: a vast darkness, a massive lizard, an abnormally large bat, and an indescribable squirming mass of flesh. I also heard voices, though their meaning eluded me. They uttered, "Near to us. Far from us." The images eventually collapsed, leaving me in a void of profound darkness and emptiness. The pain in my head gradually subsided. Gasping for breath, I found myself on all fours, retching, unsure if it was a vision or a complex illusion. As I slowly recovered, Tiwari approached me to inquire about the situation. Weakly, I recounted my experience to Tiwari, who subsequently confronted [Redacted]. I remained too overwhelmed to recollect the specifics of their exchange. While regaining my composure, I noticed [Redacted] brandishing a pure-white, opaque blade, its edge pointed at Tiwari. As [Redacted] advanced toward Tiwari, I swiftly raised my shield to block his path. Positioning myself between [Redacted] and Tiwari, I lost sight of Tiwari's actions behind me. I distinctly remember Tiwari cautioning [Redacted] against any rash moves. [Redacted] stepped back but began to emit an intense radiance, with flames swirling around his form and coalescing near the tip of his blade. In my peripheral vision, I observed that our confrontation had drawn a growing crowd of onlookers. Tiwari scolded [Redacted] for challenging a Centurion Officer and expressed disbelief at his actions. Another voice from behind me ordered [Redacted] to back off. Fearing further escalation, I firmly grasped my lance with my free hand and warned [Redacted] that his actions could lead to a criminal charge. [Redacted] complied but redirected his magical energy towards the direction of a retreating spectator. A towering column of flames soared harmlessly over a spectator's head, dissipating approximately 10 meters away into thin air. With continued efforts to de-escalate the situation, the incident concluded without further trouble.

Seas of Time and Valleys of Memory By: Faelion Arather In the realm where statues cast their silent tales, Two sentinels, ancient rivals, unveil, Their stories etched in stone, a timeless duel, As the sun and sea their witness, ever cruel. Statue of Zha'Ero, weathered and worn, Stands tall against the sea, where waves are born, A single eye, jet black, with secrets untold, In grime and rust, its history unfolds. A mighty spear, once forged from iron's might, Now rusted and broken, in eternal fight, Against the ocean's relentless, ceaseless sway, Zha'Ero's guardian, undefeated, holds its sway. Across the expanse, The Last Defender's grace, In silent valley, where memories embrace, A serpentine guardian, in silver cast, Defying time's passage, its legacy vast. A trident raised high, in defiant stand, Tarnished by years, yet it guards the land, In echoes of ancient memories, it is draped, A sentinel unwavering, in defiance shaped. Miles apart, their rivalry unfolds, Legends in stone, as the story of old, Zha'Ero and The Last Defender, side by side, In poetic defiance, their destinies tied. Two statues, timeless in their silent stare, In a world of tales, they both declare, The enduring spirit of guardians of yore, Their rivalry's beauty, forever they'll explore.

Faelion perused the missive handed to him, a bright smile gracing his lips as he absorbed its contents. "This is indeed welcome news," he remarked. "At long last, a respite from the disturbance," he sighed.

Descria Faelion Arather 82921

Of Goblins and Dwarves: Beneath the Forge of Fate By: Faelion Arather Within the realm of Eldoria, a land steeped in the ancient enmity between goblins and dwarfs, lived two individuals who defied the long-held animosity. Dorian, a stout and masterful dwarf known for his impeccable craftsmanship, and Greta, a quick-witted and cunning goblin with a penchant for mischief, inhabited separate worlds on either side of the imposing Great Chasm—a deep gorge that symbolized the seemingly insurmountable rift between their races. Dorian's sanctuary was his forge, where flames danced obediently at his command, and the resounding clang of hammer striking metal echoed throughout the mountain air. One fateful day, as he meticulously fashioned a delicate trinket, a shadow fell over his anvil. "Wha' in the depths do ye want, goblin?" he barked, his hammer poised for defense. Greta smirked, crossing her arms defiantly. "Jus' admirin' yer feeble attempt at craftsmanship, if ye can even call it tha'." "Git lost, afore I toss ye into the molten metal," Dorian growled, his eyes narrowing. However, the goblin was not one to be easily deterred. "Ye dwarfs an' yer fiery tempers. No wonder ye've got no friends." With a sly wink, she vanished back into the shadows from whence she came. As days flowed into weeks, their interactions grew more frequent, evolving into an intricate dance of witty exchanges and clever barbs that strangely drew them closer despite the cultural divide. One evening, as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, Dorian found himself seated at the edge of the Great Chasm, his gaze fixed across at the goblin's side. "Why do we hate each other so, I wonder?" he mused aloud. Greta's voice drifted back, startlingly soft. "Because our ancestors did. Because tradition tells us we must, me wee ones." Dorian sighed, resting his chin on his hand. "But is tha' reason enough?" Under the moon's ascent, the two adversaries continued their conversation, delving into their dreams, yearnings, and shared frustrations with their unbending societies. Amid laughter and discoveries of mutual accord, they found themselves unlocking unexpected connections. As weeks transformed into months, their enmity softened, replaced by an authentic bond. One night, as they stood on the precipice of the chasm, Greta whispered, "Ye know, for a dwarf, you're not entirely insufferable." Dorian chuckled. "An' for a goblin, you're near tolerable." Their laughter carried through the night, and in that very moment, something shifted between them. The walls built by generations of enmity began to crumble, replaced by a tender affection that sprouted amidst the remnants of prejudice. Yet, fate rarely adheres to wishes, and the drumbeats of war grew louder across the land. Tensions between the dwarfs and goblins escalated, spiraling into an inevitable and devastating conflict that neither side could escape. Dorian and Greta found themselves on opposing sides of the battle, torn between allegiance to their people and the love that had blossomed unforeseen. On the battlefield, amidst the chaos of war, their eyes locked across the melee. "I love ye!" Dorian shouted, his voice rising above the clash of swords. Greta's words trembled in the air, carrying over the cacophony. "An' I you!" In the midst of the turmoil, their forces collided, and in a tragic twist of fate, Dorian and Greta were torn asunder. The war waged on relentlessly, rending families apart and scarring the land. Generations later, the legend of Dorian the dwarf and Greta the goblin endured as whispered tales. A memorial stood in a wildflower glen, where people gathered to pay homage to their ill-fated love story. Some dismissed it as mere fable, while others clung to the belief in the enduring enduring power of love that transcended animosity. And as the wildflowers thrived each year, they stood as a poignant reminder that even in a world fractured by hatred, the story of Dorian and Greta remained a testament to love's capacity to flourish in the most unexpected and poignant of places. "In this glen, where wildflowers bloom in defiance of division, we remember Dorian, steadfast and unwavering, and Greta, spirited and daring. Their love challenged tradition, a beacon of hope in war's darkness. May their story inspire us to find love's beauty where we least expect it."

Chronicles of the Silver Flower: The Ballad of Morgana Anarion By: Faelion Arather In the realm of Lurin, where legends take flight, A tale of valor, in shadows and light, Morgana Anarion's saga we share, A High-Elf's heart, beyond compare. With moonlight's grace, a silver stream, She led her people, a luminous dream, Brave, kind, and a vision to behold, A beacon of hope, forever untold. In Lurin's expanse, where perils entwine, Morgana's helm adorned, a symbol divine, Captain of the Silver Centurion's might, A guardian staunch, in day and night. She stood once unarmored, axe gleaming bright, Against the tempest's relentless might, A valiant soul amid the storm's dance, A testament to her warrior's stance. Her leadership, a radiant guide, Through night's abyss and daylight's tide, Roles myriad, like a tapestry spun, Duties woven together, never undone. Yet more than a captain, her tale takes flight, A mage of prowess, mastering the night, From fire's fury to water's embrace, Morgana's magic, a soothing grace. With whispered incantations, low and near, She wielded arcane forces, devoid of fear, Binding realms, weaving destiny's thread, A sorceress wise, as sunsets bled. Amid gardens where silver petals bloom, Darkness fled, replaced by hope's perfume, A leader whose heart beats true and strong, In her, Lurin found courage to belong. So let the bards, in verses spun, Tell of Morgana, beneath the sun, High-Elf of courage, beauty's embrace, Her legacy, an everlasting grace. The Silver Flower, a name rightfully earned, Through challenges met, and lessons learned, Morgana Anarion, in memory's store, In Lurin's heart, an eternal lore.

Beautiful Lurin By: Faelion Arather In Lurin's peaceful harbor bay, Where gentle waves in calmness play, A city of beauty, oh so grand, With flowers blooming, hand in hand. Surrounded by a tranquil sea, Where seagulls dance and spirits free, Lurin stands with open arms, Welcoming all with its gentle charms. Within the heart of Lurin's embrace, A city square of tranquil grace, An iconic tree, tall and wise, Reflecting in a pond's clear skies. Its branches spread in graceful bow, A haven for birds to sing and show, A symbol of strength and unity, In Lurin's peaceful, joyful community. Around the square, flowers bloom, In vibrant colors, they chase away gloom, Roses, daisies, and tulips fair, A fragrant garden beyond compare. Each petal whispers a tale untold, Of love and dreams, in stories bold, The beauty of Lurin's garden so sweet, Where hearts find solace, love's heartbeat. So come, dear children, gather near, In Lurin's haven, have no fear, A city of peace, where dreams take flight, A haven of love, in day and night.

Faelion's eyelids drooped in a deliberate, unhurried motion, embracing a moment of respite as his form settled into the embrace of his well-worn wooden chair. "In the midst of our tranquil existence," he reflected in a voice as gentle as a breeze's caress, "converge various factions, each harboring an unsettling desire to disturb the peace we hold dear." The notion hung in the air, a delicate wisplet of contemplation. Perchance, he pondered, the juncture had materialized for the once-drawn boundaries to be reevaluated—an admission of vulnerability met with a hint of reluctant acceptance. A faint exhalation brushed past his lips, accompanied by the rhythmic dance of his fingertips, coaxing the burgeoning ache at his temples. An unspoken accord between mind and matter, demanding a moment's solace amidst the encroaching clamor. "Perhaps the time has come to consider lowering the gates."

Faelion stood in front of the poster, his eyes fixed on the bold letters announcing Lurin's Recruitment Drive. The adventure and new opportunities filled his mind with curiosity. He hesitated for a moment, then chuckled to himself and muttered, "Oh sure. How bad can this possibly be?" With a grin on his face and a mix of excitement and uncertainty in his heart, he took a deep breath and began walking towards the registration desk. The path ahead was uncertain, but the thrill of the unknown beckoned him forward. MC Name: Descria RP Name: Faelion Arather Timezone: UTC+4 Discord: Descria

As Faelion finished reading the missive, he delicately stashed it away in a hidden drawer, his brows furrowing with concern. With a heavy sigh, he sank into his well-worn chair, his mind immersed in deep thought, and whispered to himself, "May Lurin be ever serene amidst these troubling times." Just then, a gentle breeze rustled the parchments on the desk, as if nature itself was echoing Faelion's wish for tranquility. Feeling restless, Faelion wandered to the window and gazed at the sky, where the sunset painted the horizon with hues of gold and pink. The sight was breathtaking, serving as a poignant reminder that beauty and serenity still existed in the world despite the chaos that enveloped it.

The Flowers of Lurin By: Faelion Arather In Lurin's realm, where blossoms bloom, Their secrets whispered, hope consumes, A world adorned in vibrant hue, A tapestry of dreams anew. But lurking shadows play their part, To tear the dreams and souls apart, Their wicked hands, they steal with glee, From beauty born of majesty. Yet, 'midst the darkness, courage gleams, A spark of strength, like moonlit beams, In trembling fear, hope's nearly dead, But whispers rise and dreams are fed. Each bloom, defying fate's cruel hand, An act of courage, bold and grand, With every petal, dreams arise, Their battle cry amidst the lies. Though shadows dance and fear's embrace, In Lurin's soil, dreams find their space, For like a phoenix from the pyre, In fiery trials, dreams inspire. So let us sing of Lurin's grace, The flowers' fight, a fierce embrace, In every petal, valor gleams, Their beauty braves the darkest schemes. And when the shadows dare return, To quench the dreams, to watch them burn, The flowers of Lurin shall stand tall, In their defiance, they enthrall. For in their blooms, a tale unfolds, Of hope rekindled, strong and bold, And as they rise from depths of woe, Lurin's dreams will forever grow. With every bloom, a promise made, To rise above the darkest shade, Through pain and sorrow, they endure, In Lurin's realm, dreams are secure. So cherish every flower's might, Their radiant hues, a stunning sight, For in their dance, we learn to cope, And find in dreams, the greatest hope.