Ferd0207

RUMINATIONS ON A MARBLE CORPSE ♫ ♩ ♬♩ ♫ └─────────────────┘ To forget my poor-born nation, father’s grave, and mother’s cry; those who steal by noble station from the crust that feeds the wry. Steals from the hungry peasant, base tradesman, low and sly; merchant, gold-thirsting, ever present, and noble with death's own liturgy! Rob him, rob him, senseless creatures! Rob him! Who will block your way? He will not rise soon, poor creature: We all sit with cups today! We shout - but once our heads grow clearer, we forget our words and vows, mute, we laugh and draw no nearer to the people’s holy shrouds! “To you, the rulers of Haelun’or, I say this. Your claims do not make you needed. To you, the people of Haelun’or, I say this. Do not listen to the tyrant who declares themselves your king, for bondage is your choice and our people ought never choose to be slaves. Love not the speaker, but what they teach to you. Love not the Sohaer, but what that Sohaer provides.” Othelu Orrar Haelun'or'leh Sohaer Penned and issued by the hand of Antelian Acaln’sae; The 6th of Malin’s Welcome, Year 288 of the Second Age To all Elves who carry yet the burden of inheritance, and to the Regime of the Silvered Cavern of Taliyu’lin: My beloved kin, A people is preserved not by survival alone. The beast survives by feeding on the cadavers of the dead, so as the humble farmer survives by raising his sustenance from the soil. The coward survives by fleeing his comrades and adversaries alike, and the tyrant survives by the silence of the people he governs. A people is preserved by virtue and refinement, by remembrance and continuity. Such was the charge of elHaelun’or. Haelun’or was not, and is not, merely a name, but a covenant spoken. The living testimony of Larihei, Our Torch in the Dark, who led our people out of the decadent, stagnant halls of Malinor and by whose inheritance the Mali’thill have lived for millennia. Haelun’or was a judgement spoken upon those who dwelled behind its marble walls, beneath the proud shadows of its spires which touched the sky. Haelun’or, my kin, was the expectation that the Mali’thill will forever seek advancement, health, greatness. ElMaehr’sae Hiylun’ehya. This was the soul of Haelun’or. Words not merely spoken, remembered and repeated until the mind was dull from their echo, but the very whetstone by which it is supposed to be sharpened. For how are we to secure progress without question, without debate ? In this essence, Scrutiny was the very essence of this which had for thousands of years elevated the Mali’aheral - for it was through Scrutiny that the very blessing of the Golden Pools had been bestowed upon our people in times most ancient. A nation has a body. Walls, halls, armies, government, laws, magistrates, citizens. It, too, has a soul. The soul of the State we call doctrine, tradition, philosophy, art, memory, civic virtue. Legitimacy. A state may yet lose its body - its walls can be torn, its halls torched, its armies destroyed, its citizens - butchered and its laws nullified, though it may survive if its soul thrives, if it's preserved by its people and its continuity - ensured. Likewise, beloved followers of Her Torch, a state will perish even when its banners flutter high and its armies stand strong, shall its soul decay and diminish. Our people have been massacred and driven out of their homes, forced to seek the embrace of caverns deep and unwelcoming, finding refuge where rats and beasts would be more welcome. Some would name this as the disease, yet I call it merely its ugly expression. The disease began when we abandoned this which made our Motherland ours, this, which tied it to the very essence of what it is to be Mali’thill. Once the Sohaer was elected, answerable ultimately to a people of sharp mind and sharper tongues still, and the Maheral was the highest steward of our culture, the living embodiment of Larihei’s Will, it was the Maheral which was tasked with keeping us on our path of disciplined progress. Yet now this which dons the mantle of the Silver State and wears its name as a cloak that shields it from all question is ruled by a leader unelected, an appointment made after another, called necessity and yet crystallized into habit. Unnamed and unspoken, as if the Blessed Elves are dull, blind and deaf. An insult unvoiced and a judgement afforded in the silence of the accused - the People. Fallen to the rot of complacency, the Mali’thill have forgotten what it is to question the powers that be. Forgotten the sacredness of debate and the righteousness of a harsh word spoken at the proper time. In such we have perverted our democracy, distorted our customs and ultimately given way for decay to set within our minds. From this followed the ancient strength of our people - curiosity, contest, public scrutiny. Debate. For elMaehr’sae Hiylun’ehya, for the very concept of Progress, requires refinement. Refinement of the mind, of the body, of the tongue. And refinement, beloved children of Larihei, demands challenge, scrutiny, and question. These were the very foundations of the Silver State, the cornerstones by which the Mali’thill have suffered and thrived both, and have gone from age unto age stronger than before. For they never feared to call into question the actions of their superiors, to ask by which merit decisions were taken and by what law was authority maintained. And there lay no treachery in such questions, for a state which cannot survive inquiry is merely a gilded tyranny. “It is thus that we must cultivate institutions that demand excellence as duty, and not merely celebrate the exception.” The Blessed Citizens were never meant to be muted ornaments in silver halls, made pure merely to bow more prettily or taught to read only to recite the words of Larihei with no thought. They were entrusted with reason and duty, made to be masters of their own fate. To obey without question is the habit of slaves, same as understanding without judgement is the habit of cowards. Yet to contend, to reason and to demand excellence in all things - this is the dignity of the Mali’aheral, for our kind was born of contention. Hitherto debate was no mere indulgence of the mind, but rather the whetstone of the nation, by which governments forged their policy and rulers - their authority. And herein we may begin to discern the sickness that at present ails our people. For we now receive question as insult and name dissent corruption. We correct the citizen’s love for the Motherland into safer language, and thus do not answer debate with argument, but dismiss it by fear. Mayhaps our people would have continued treading the path of false hopes, fear and cowardice masked as scholarly pacifism had it not been by the insult levied upon the name of the Motherland by the regime of Veralya Wynasul. For when a returning Blessed Citizen, found in joy for the prospect of the Silver State’s reclamation, put upon paper the Motherland’s blessed name, it was crossed out and edited. Moreover, Veralya Wynasul found herself, seemingly, possessed of authority enough to not merely to strike out this most blessed name and covenant, but to rebuke the one who wrote it by calling her “short in tail of years and in memory too brief”. Thus am I compelled to ask the false Sohaer plainly: does she know whom she so addressed ? Was she aware that the woman she so chastened as some sentimental child is a Malaurir, having lived past a hundred summers before Veralya Wynasul drew first breath under the Stars of Celia’nor ? Mayhaps the labour of amending memory itself has so taxed the false Sohaer’s mind that she has forgotten even the humble science of chronology ? Mayhaps time, too, needs editing. For many a year our people were paralyzed by fear not only of external enemies, but feared humiliation levied upon them by their own rulers - the raised brow of councilors, the cold displeasure of those donned in the mantle of high office, the ruin of reputation by gossip and lies. Thus did they learn to swallow judgement and thought long before it reached the tongue, and in foolish cowardice called such prudence. Yet finally one person who sat in comfortable high office finally spoke, because fear for the future of the Mali’thill preceded fear for one’s own name and skin. With her words the matter could no longer be dismissed as the bitterness of an exile, disgraced and banished. It could no longer be accused to simply be the mutterings of those who lived outside the renamed halls of the Silver Fantasy. Atlyn An’asul spoke from within the very confines of the order which now trembles at the very mention of its forefathers’ name. She held office within the very government she rebuked, having every excuse, as lesser souls reason, to remain silent and confine her thoughts. Yet she asked aloud what many buried within themselves: What is Taliyu’lin, if not Haelun’or ? This question is central, for the Tilruir posed not merely a problem of semantics, but of law and history. By which authority are the Mali’thill now governed ? By which authority is justice dispensed, and debate redacted ? By rite of what ancient custom of ours is election dismissed ? For is it not true that when our name is struck from the page, our Sohaerate passed on by appointment, our remembrance is redacted, censored and chastised, and our questions met with suspicion, every Mali’thill of reason must ask what remains beneath the silvered veil ? Let none insult the dignity of Atlyn An’asul by claiming her words were not penned under her own quill, that they were lent to her from another’s hand. Their truth, and their severity, were her own. Their consequences shall be hers to bear also, for the burden of truth must be carried by those courageous enough to speak it aloud. Yet they matter precisely because they were her own - and because an Elf who had rediscovered her spine now finds herself condemned by those who have none. Let none be mistaken that this is exactly what has since transpired. Instead of answering a civic query, even if sharply spoken, the regime has instead decided to strike down its own citizen, believing itself able to castrate others in the same crude manner it has mutilated itself. Instead of being answered with an argument, Atlyn An’asul’s question was met with condemnation, accusation, exile and disownment. Severance rather than debate is the new language spoken by the illegitimate government of the Silvered Cavern. Yet exile does not answer question, and disownment does not refute argument. Yet, a Sohaer may be accused of being illegitimate. They may be accused of an honest mistake in government, or of listening to crude advice. It is then the role of the Maheral, our highest cultural and spiritual steward, to correct and where needed - reprimand the Head of Government, even if such is illegitimate. However what is to be done when it is the Maheral which issues the amendment of memory ? How is the citizen to react when it is the Maheral who forbids the name of the Motherland from being spoken in the open ? The conclusion is clear to all - when the Sohaer errs, the Maheral is to issue correction. But when the Maheral claims error as his will, then the sickness has reached the very altar of Our Mother. The Maheral has answered question with accusation, and the old convenient shadow of my name. Let him do so. I am long accustomed to being made the cupboard into which frightened rulers place every loud noise they do not understand. Let every failure be given my face, let every courage be named the result of my corruption. Let them lay every tremor of their hollow halls at my feet. I begrudge them not their little comforts. Yet no slander spoken upon the names of those who question will elect Veralya Wynasul. No exiled dissident will afford the regime the legitimacy it so needs. No erased name will return our dead from the ground in which they lie, laid there by the folly of complacent fools. The Maheral has also deemed the Tilruir’s query worthy enough to call her to stand before the Silver Tribunal of elPariran’tir. How curious are the causes for which Arasdir Miravaris finds it proper to waste the solemn time of the Blessed Citizenry. When last Atlyn An’asul was dragged before hollow judgement, branded a traitor and forced to endure the shadow of execution upon her back, it was for the grave crime of refusing to shoot an arrow in my back. Now the Maheral, in his contempt for debate, seeks again to chain her before the Tribunal of his own illegitimate government, not for colluding with enemies, as has he by his own testimony before myself, but for asking aloud what every citizen of what now pretends to be the Silver State has already queried in private. Yet even here we are tasked to pretend at lawful solemnity. For if the Sohaer is unelected, then what assurance have the citizens that elPariran’tir will not be appointed and likewise carefully curated to suit the purposes of an illegitimate, dictatorial regime ? Further, even if election is held, what assurance have we that such will be nothing more than mere fraud ? Can an illegitimate government convene a legitimate tribunal ? How is the court of law to convene under the name of the very maheral that has already defiled said law, and openly admitted to doing so ? Thus do I counsel Atlyn An’asul plainly: she owes no allegiance to a false court and no performance to a circus pretending at judgement. Let the regime first prove its own standing before presuming on weighing hers. Let Veralya Wynasul show the authority and law by which she governs, let the Maheral answer the questions he has so eagerly and eloquently buried beneath accusations. Let elPariran’tir prove the law by which they presently govern to not be morally hollow. Until then any citizen will do well to not lend her dignity to a state and court whose first task is judging the very hands that assembled it. My kin, I feel I have afforded enough attention to what Atlyn An’asul’s crime is not. Yet it remains my duty to shed light upon where she truly has erred, upon the true reason she is a danger to the security of the Silvered Cavern. Her crime, Blessed Citizens, was not treachery, but sight. She beheld what many laboured not to see: that the Silver Massacre may have butchered out kin, it may have laid many an Elven child in graves too early, and it may have set our people awander. Then our weakness was shown. Yet in those halls the Valah blades did not slay Haelun’or. That was merely the wound that exposed blood still flowed beneath. The Motherland bled out after, not executed or butchered or hanged, but quietly assassinated in Larihei’s own Silver Halls, with quiet spoken word rather than a dagger and with the glistening fear in our kin’s eyes rather than a noose. Having thus weighed the loss of election, of debate, the correction of memory and the erasure of a name, I am compelled to thence state the bitter truth without delay or delight: Haelun’or has ceased to live as a state. Haelun’or is well and truly dead. Taliyu’lin’s Silvered Caves may yet endure. They may flourish, even. The Elves therein may cower for centuries under the shadow of Valah blades and they may dissolve their spines like sugar dissolves in water. It may trade and tax, its citizens can live and make merry in hollow festivals and idle games whilst their mothers lie beneath the earth, attended by worms more honest in their nature than the ones who pretend to rule in their name. Yet they shall not live in Haelun’or, and they shall not be Mali’thill. Not in any true sense of the word. For where Taliyu’lin is an administration most mundane, Haelun’or was a covenant most sacred, and its abandonment is an irredeemable, irreconcilable act from which none may return. However the death of Haelun’or does not abolish Larihei’s charge of excellence and refinement. Of elMaeh’rsae Hiylun’ehya. The failure of institutions and the flight of cowards does not erase the duties they were charged to embody. Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya now falls upon the hands of those strong enough to truthfully bear its meaning. And its meaning is clear, crystal to all those who have eyes to see and ears to hear - discipline over indulgence, memory over censorship, refinement through debate, and Elven survival through strength and unity. Let it be known that what the trembling hands of cowards and opportunists have dropped, shall soon be picked up by ones steady enough to carry it. Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya ilMaehr’sae Ilkun’ehya Antelian Acaln’sae elTalonnii Acaln’sae Laurir elIhnsilonniran Halerir’thilln

"How delicate our Age has become." Spoke Antelian Acaln'sae as he read the missive, delivered to him by some unnamed footman. "Once Haelun'or prided itself on correcting impurity. Now Taliyu'lin corrects Haelun'or." He turned then to the window of his abode, speaking to himself as he gazed towards the sprawling city he now inhabited. "Let letters be edited and scholars be chastened. Let every hall be renamed so that the stones no longer remember the masons that raised them. Still, the dead remember - they remember who killed them, and who was ultimately responsible for it."

Deep within some unknown cavern which was possibly the third safehouse the Sanguine-haired Mali had visited today, Antelian Acaln'sae read the missive. As he did so, a faint smile of displeasure crossed his lips as he handed the parchment to his cousin, Arkaniel. "Yet again..." Began the young Elf. "The Mali'thill prove themselves gentle to their enemies and merciless to their kin. Toothless before the wolf and fanged before the lamb." @Gvozdenko

The young Laurir stood seated in his study as he read over the missive, silence coagulating around him as his amber eyes scanned the text, jumping from sentence to sentence. "The Valah find themselves filling the traitor's shoes." Uttered Antelian Acaln'sae in brief comment, speaking to himself. "Who would've thought ?"

Answer is simple: Don't force players to RP a certain way, however when interacting with world leaders, encourage them to RP a certain way. This includes what the Empire does to its vassals or the races that live within its borders - genocide, prejudice, discrimination, and all-around injustice are normal facts of both life and History itself. It is my opinion that by sanitizing RP environment to avoid such events only makes the RP more stale, boring and predictive. And I say this as a Haelun'or Elf player who opposes the Empire, and has actively done so in the past as well. It is not as if those rules make it impossible to RP characters of those races - for those races to truly go "extinct" it'd need to be admin-enforced, as anyone can make a Dwarf, Elf, Kha or whatever character. MAs also wouldn't disappear as staff still has the ability to hand them out when certain MAs are close to extinction. IMHO active oppression of those peoples is not only normal, it will exacerbate the crises caused by the Empire that are, if we follow the logical route of events, bound to inadvertently backlash against the state and ultimately cause its downfall. The offering of CAs and shit is a very good idea imho, and I think it would be a bit of a 'natural path' for the Empire to take to both facilitate an early-map crisis and to give Werewolf's character a good closure to his madness. I would also like to see what would happen were there to be an all-encompassing, terrifyingly powerful, objectively evil superstate, as is the plot of the not-so obscure video game Tyranny (whoever hasn't played it - go play it). I believe it would provide good RP opportunities for all of us, as characters try to cope with the new "realities on the field", be it from a political or personal point of view. You'd have characters shielding "enemies of the State/Emperor" as they outwardly try to keep a low profile, partisan warfare gangs who try to somehow raise in defiance of this entity, or otherwise opportunists who would revel in the fact that now their evilry is entirely permitted by the all-powerful state headed by a [INSERT EVIL CA] Emperor. Until it ultimately collapses several years later, just to create a resounding political, societal and personal trauma of the societies that ultimately survived it, reshaping the IRP culture of the Continent. Obviously, this sounds rather optimistic, but I believe it is a cool concept to play around and is the most natural course of events after a conceivable world-conquest of the Empire. Though I must note that Werewolf, or any others involved in turning their characters outwardly evil (to the point where they get CAs/MAs, or stop hiding them IRPly) must agree to do it, and not be forced by staff to do it. Cheers, also upvote so i can repfarm. And join Haelun'or. We're goated.

A PROCLAMATION TO THE ELVES OF THE CONTINENT Penned and Issued Under the hand of Antelian Acaln’sae Patriarch of elTalonnii Acaln’sae Fifth of the Grand Harvest, Year 265 of the Second Age This proclamation is issued openly, without secrecy or ulterior motive. LET IT BE KNOWN: The age of intermediaries has ended. The age of excuses has ended with it. The Empire has chosen war as the final instrument of order. Its so-called allies have accepted survival through obedience. Its puppets have mistaken submission for peace. Whatever illusions once remained have now been burned away by mobilization, requisition, and blood. There is no longer a path that preserves dignity through silence. ElIhnsilonniran - the Spear-born - therefore open their ranks. Formed initially as the Houseguard of the Acaln’sae Talonnii in Haelun’or, elIhnsilonniran now fight in the name of the survival of all Elvendom after Imperial and Idunian troops saw fit to murder men, women and children in the halls of Alduun. We reject the false Princedom of Aelan-Haelun’or and brand the collaborators who enforce the rule of The Tyrant as irredeemable traitors to Elvenkind itself, who must, without mercy, be removed from the body of Elvendom without exception. We reject, likewise, the complacency which Elven elites have in recent decades shown, preferring to turn a blind eye to the internal rot that Mali society suffered in both Celia’nor and Haelun’or. And which ultimately led to the massacre and genocide of the Blessed Citizens of the Silver State. We do not rise in defense of a state, nor in service to a flag already hollowed by compromise. Our fight is a fight for all Elvendom, for all Mali that live under the tyranny of elValah. We fight so that Elvendom shall no more be administered and spoken for by foreign powers. We fight to make rule itself impossible where consent has been replaced by fear. We do not promise liberation as a gift, nor victory as a certainty. We promise only the freedom of one’s conscience and the destruction of the Rot of Complacency within those who join our rank in an Irreconcilable War against the Tyrant. This call is extended to those Elves who understand that reform has failed, that petitions, negotiations and resolutions of the majority have been exhausted, and that survival purchased through obedience ends only in erasure. Those who once believed resistance to be reckless may yet answer, but they must do so without pretense. This call is not extended to those who enforced Imperial rule, who informed, who commanded in the name of the occupier, or who now seek absolution through desperation. The war does not erase memory, but sharpens it instead. ElIhnsilonniran do not offer laundering, forgiveness, or shared guilt. We know your names. Those who enter our ranks will submit to discipline without sentiment and loyalty without illusion. You will not be celebrated. On the contrary - you will be rejected, denied by your own just as we have, for the majority still prefer to cower in fear to the Eternal Enemy, rather than fight for their own freedom and liberty. In return, we offer purpose stripped of false hope. We offer a place among those who chose resistance not when it was popular, but when it was isolating and unforgivable. We offer the dignity that so many have surrendered to complacency and fear. What we offer is a grasp on one’s fate itself. Do not answer this call if you seek reassurance, unity for its own sake, or a future guaranteed by others. Answer only if you accept that The Empire will not fall because it is defeated in battle, but because it is rendered ungovernable by those it can no longer intimidate. Maehr’sae Hiylun’eyha Signed, Patriarch of elTalonnii Acaln’sae ON THE STRUCTURE OF ELIHNSILONNIRAN The Spear-Born are not a ragtag band of irregulars, but instead, since their inception, have been formed as a body of soldiery, armed and armoured at the expenses of the Acaln’sae Talonnii’s own coffers. As such, each member of this unit is afforded armour, sword, shield and halberd upon the swearing of their loyalty to the cause of Elvendom’s Liberty. As such, they are enrolled into the following rank structure: ElHalerir’thilln - First in Command of elIhnsilonniran, charged with the preservation of doctrine, the coordination of all operations, and the final authority in matters of life and death; ElHalerir’ihnsil - Second in Command of elIhnsilonniran, entrusted with execution, discipline, and the maintenance of cohesion when command is contested, disrupted, or severed; Annil’dagreiran - The Officer Corps of elIhnsilonniran, elAnnil’dagreiran are responsible for the planning, instruction and conduct of engagements. Evariran - The core unit of the Spear-Born, elEvariran are the Spellblade Sentinels who hold ground, guard routes, enforce security, and ensure that what is taken by blood is not lost to complacency; Uhieriran - The Seekers, elUhieriran are those yet untested within the ranks of elIhnsilonniran, those few who have just recently given their oath of loyalty. In their service, they not only train in the art of the Blade, but also master the Arcane Arts in their preparation for the mantle of the Spellblade. In their service, each Uhierir is broken, shattered, thence reconstructed and molded in the image of the perfect warrior that shall forevermore guard Elvenkind itself.

"So even the brave Northmen have succumbed to Imperial enthrallment." A peculiar elf said as he read the missive in his home. "Your ancestors are rolling in their graves."

The gaunt Elf had received the missive some hours ago by a loyal messenger. He had not yet bothered to read it, for he was on the run, and yet finally did he open it, blood-stained fingers dirtying the small pamphlet. He opened it, golden eyes scanning the contents hidden therein. His lips extended, briefly, into a bare ghost of a smile. Without a word, the letter was then folded, stashed into a pocket in his coat. Then did he return to the head that he was carrying with himself, bloodied still from the brutal decapitation that had taken place. "I wonder, Valah, will they recognize your body once they find it ?" Spoke he before kicking the thing in the grass, carrying on his tread across the forest.

"They still believe Man can be reasoned with." The sanguine-haired Mali warrior said as he threw the missive in the mud. "Fools. The lot of them." - "Next they will denounce Larihei herself."

The Letter from Alduun The upper floor of the Acaln’sae Manor was quiet, blanketed in the soft stillness of a city that was struggling to remember how to breathe. The Okarir’sil sat alone in his office, a single oil lamp casting a faint glow across the wooden, carpeted floor. Shelves of old tomes and neatly written reports lined the desk, piled in columns on chairs and couches, stood in neat stacks across the floor and overflowed from shelves, their order a reflection of the man who maintained them. He was bent over his desk, quill in hand, reviewing an unfinished collection of documentation- observations on patrol readiness, drafts of civic memoranda, reflections on the state he believed he still served. Even now, long after the Motherland had begun to fracture, much akin to the Starland he used to call home, he kept his discipline alive through sheer force of habit. His script was elegant, mercilessly precise, and the silence that surrounded it seemed carved into the room. A knock sounded - soft and hesitant. It broke the air like a thin crack through glass, and made a meek attempt at summoning the Elven warrior’s attention. Antelian did not lift his gaze. “Enter.” Was the only laconic command he issued to his intruder. The door creaked open. The ‘thill used to lock it when he worked late in the night, but the barbarous raid the Imperials conducted over his abode had broken the lock. Hesitant footsteps approached with the kind of careful cadence that betrayed the messenger’s dread. A folded letter was extended toward him, held by a single, trembling hand. Its broken seal caught the light - a clean fracture across the wax which featured the Antler Crest of Haelun’or. Someone, perhaps many someones, had already acquainted themselves with the contents of what it contained before daring to bring it here. He took the letter without any word or comment. The paper was worn where others had touched it, creased faintly at the edges, the marks of hurried fingers. Antelian unfolded it with the same measured composure he gave to everything, though a faint tension tightened beneath his stillness. He read. And the world inside the room shifted. The words described the scene in Alduun in cold, factual strokes: the delegation, officials and civilians alike, ushered into the grand hall under the pretense of trial, the doors barred and guarded, the sudden ring of steel as Idunian and Imperial soldiers alike drew their blades. The execution had been public, merciless, audacious - an orchestrated spectacle, a planned massacre carried out before a roaring, cheering, bloodthirsty human crowd. No mercy was extended. No exception granted. Every Mali who had attended the trial, which never in fact took place, had been put to death as the audience cheered their barbarous troops on. The Sohaer was dead. The Silver Council was dead. Haelun’or, in the laws of men, was dead. Antelian stared at the page long after finishing it. The room was so silent that the flame of the oil lamp seemed unnaturally loud as it flickered. His expression remained composed - no break, no gasp, no outward sign of the cold blow that had struck him. But behind that still mask, something tight coiled inward, constricting beneath his ribs until breath itself felt like an intrusion. He placed the letter down with little care, as if it was just another patrol report. Then he leaned back slightly in his chair, not from weakness but from the weight of thought descending upon him. His gaze wandered to the window. In the dark reflection of the glass, he saw his own figure drawn in the faint lamplight - tall, rigid, a poised silhouette stretched thin over something hollow. His amber eyes met themselves, contrasted greatly so by his flowing maroon hair. Images rose unbidden, hurried on by his imagination. Acalmaehr Calith standing with calm dignity to the last. Councilors he had advised, corrected, argued with - cut down one by one. The banners of the Silver State torn from their posts, trampled under human boots. The crowd’s laughter ringing out over elven blood spilling across polished stone. Those he hated, those he despised. Those he loved, and those he protected. None among the Mali’thill were people to which the Patriarch of the Acaln’sae Talonnii was indifferent, for even whilst he did not show it, he was a deeply emotional creature. All of them were now dead. Worse - they were humiliated, they were made an example. That no Mali may rise above the human, that when the Mali outdo the Valah, the barbarians shall strike, and mercilessly they shall murder. Animals. Creatures of low cunning and ill-conceit. He was right to hate them. Right from the start. Then came the questions. The man began to interrogate himself in the silence that surrounded his environment. What happened to Aurelith ? That woman he despised, for she was too merciful for her own good. And Hymnal, the drunkard who had begun to glimpse the right ways just before the slaughter ? What had become of Adorellan, that maddeningly cheerful creature ? Of Evelyn, the child that had drawn blade against his cousin ? Of Soris, that quiet statue of a woman who had served the Motherland for centuries ? Were they too strung by their guts, their corpses desecrated and laughed at by those despicable demons that dared call themselves holy ? Those were all people he had sworn to protect. The footman had already left. A tide of emotion rolled through him - grief first, sharp and strangling, for despite all his coldness, these had been his colleagues. His rivals. His responsibilities. His people. He allowed the grief to move through him, disciplined even in mourning, letting it settle without consuming him. It was not loud. It did not overwhelm. It crystallized. And in that crystallization, another realization followed, as inevitable as dawn: The Silver State had been dissolved de jure. But only de jure. Haelun’or’s Charter could be burned. Its Council could be butchered. Its government could be struck down in a spectacle meant to humiliate, to demonstrate superiority, to terrify an entire people into submission. But Haelun’or itself - the true Haelun’or - was not parchment. It was the people. It was the language. It was the tradition. No. It is the people. It is the language. It is the tradition. Millions of small, indestructible things: the cadence of ancient speech, the quiet pride in the curve of an elven brow, the elegant script etched in classrooms, the memory carried in every elder’s gaze. These could not be executed in Alduun’s hall. As he stood slowly from his chair, Antelian felt the truth settle deep in his bones: the humans had killed a government, not a nation. The soul of Haelun’or still lived, smothered but intact. And perhaps - perhaps this was the only thing that could finally awaken it. The massacre was not merely a tragedy. It was a revelation. The Rot of Complacency had led them here - the belief that procedure would protect them, that diplomacy could appease men, that humility could purchase safety. Complacency had killed the Silver Council, massacred Mali children, gutted the Sillumir long before the humans sought fit to draw their blades. Now the Mali’thill would see it. Now they could not ignore it. Now they would understand what softness had cost them. In that, Antelian felt the first true certainty he had known since the fall of the Star Land: Haelun’or would rise again. Not in the shape it had been - not as the gentle council Calith had shepherded - but as something sharper, purer, freed of illusion. The people would demand it. They would mend their mistakes. They would rebuild not out of hope, but out of necessity. He stood before the window, the dark city reflecting faintly in the glass. “They killed our state,” he thought. “But they have not killed us.” The idea warmed in him with a slow, terrible clarity. In the silence of his dim office, Antelian Acaln’sae felt something shift - a line crossed, a future forming. Haelun’or was not dead. It was waking. And he would be there when it rose. And thence came the second emotion. Sharp, cutting like steel through flesh. Searing like fire. Anger. Vengeance. Revanche. The Imperials, and their Idunian lapdogs, would pay. And so Antelian returned to his desk, produced fresh parchment and dipped his quill. For before he drew his blade, he would mark his thoughts in the only way he knew since childhood. Poetry. Maehr’sae Hiylun’eyha

"The title is Sohaer." Was the only laconic response afforded by the Okarir'sil as he read the missive in the quiet of his home.

The Acaln'sae Manor was erratic, ecstatic, exigent. Armour and swords rattled as the troops of the Ihnsilonniran, the Elven Talonnii's privately embodied houseguard, marched to-and-fro, delivering this missive and that letter, carrying orders and relaying information. The house servants too hurried - some to leave the Okarir'sil's manor, others to hide deep within its bowels, third - eager to carry out the man's imperious commands, spoken with eerie calm. Controlled chaos. This is what best described the sight one would see within the sprawling Elven mansion with its windows shattered and its doors broken out of their hinges as it had previously been searched by a troop of the impudent outsiders. Within, locked away within his chambers on the last floor, stood he - Antelian Acaln'sae, Okarir'sil of Haelun'or and Patriarch of elTalonnii Acaln'sae. A liveried footman, resplendent in the argent panoply of the Spear-Born, assaulted the office's door, carrying with himself a folded missive. The scene reminded the sanguine-haired Mali of another news delivery, one that too closely foreshadowed what was to later come. "What do the Valah seek of me ?" Queried Antelian, his amber gaze shifting from the journal in front of him and towards the soldier that had assailed his calm. It was then that, wordlessly, the warrior approached, leaving the folded letter upon the desk of the Patriarch. Skimming over the words, the corner of Antelian's nose twitched briefly. "They seek to make of us slaves." He spoke, more to himself than to anybody else. "They seek to rule us through terror."

Proclamation of the formation of elIhnsilonniran Penned and Issued Under the hand of Antelian Acaln’sae 4th of the Deep Cold, Year 257 of the Second Age “Blessed Citizens of the Silver State, Pure Descendants of Larihei, We are all blessed to live and toil within elCihi’Thilln, to dwell within elHaelun’or - the eternal beacon of our kind, whose excellence has endured every trial and treachery for millennia. In such, we are protected by the peerless guardianship of elSillumiran, whose unyielding service and ultimate sacrifice is both terror to our foes and comfort to our people. To them belongs the eternal duty of arms, and likewise to them belongs our reverence. And yet, as the Silver State commands the Weeping Blades, so too must each Talonnii bear the responsibility of furthering the interests of The Motherland, and maintaining the integrity of its blessed citizenry. As we preserve our lore, scholarship, arts and blood, so too must we preserve the discipline of body and spirit that makes us first among the Mali. For Purity is ne merely a doctrine of the mind, but of the whole being. It is in this spirit that I, as Patriarch of elTalonni Acaln’sae, do formally declare the formation of the Talonni Houseguard - elIhnsilonniran. A household fellowship, maintained and paid for by the coffers of elTalonnii, dedicated ne to conquest, but to discipline, guardianship and service. Theirs is a duty threefold: Firstly - To safeguard the holds and the blood of the Acaln’saean, so that our bloodline may forever stand as one of the many pillars of order and serenity within elHaelun’or; Secondly - To cultivate physical and mental discipline within the residents, citizens and blessed citizens of elHaelun’or, reflecting in a much smaller mirror the virtues of elSillumiran; Thirdly - To maintain readiness, so that we are ever vigilant and ever ready to answer the call of The Motherland or her guardians, shall they ever require our aid. Let none mistake their purpose - elIhnsilonniran are ne a body of soldiery designed to oppose, but one borne out of the eternal devotion our bloodline feels towards the furthering and safeguarding of elMaehr’sae Hiylun’ehya. The spear is chosen as our symbol, for it is the most ancient of our arms - simple, unwavering, resolute is it in declaring the final verdict of any foe that would seek to challenge the tranquility which our Blessed Kin enjoy within the walls of elHaelun’or. As the quill refines the mind, so does the spear refine the hand, so as to allow both, in harmony, to fulfil our ancient credo - elMaehr’sae Hiylun’ehya. It is in discipline and service that our people shall endure forevermore. Maehr’sae Hiylun’eyha Signed, Patriarch of elTalonnii Acaln’sae OOC: Recruitment for the Ihnsilonniran is open to anyone with an Elf character, regardless of subrace, who isn't already apart of another military group. Upon entering, each member is supplied with a figura containing armor, helmet, longsword, shield and halberd. Please send a letter to Antelian (Ferd0207) or Arkaniel (Gvozdenko) irp if you wish to join.

Hobnailed boots hammered upon the white pavement of the Silver City as the pair meandered about. Antelian did not, at first, afford a reply to his predecessor in the office of elOkarir'sil, instead contemplating for a second or two. "It is for such that we consider them Mali'ata, llir." The Elf spoke in his characteristic monotony. "They are nothing but slaves to their Valah masters, and to their own animalistic vices. Doomed to history's obscurity." A beat as once more the Elf's boot slammed into the ground below. "I pity them."

elSilan’Tir - The Law of the Blades Issued by the hand of elOkarir’sil, Antelian Acaln’sae 5th of Amber Cold, year 257 of the Second Age “Larihei, behold my pain, and weep for me…” “Blessed citizens of the Motherland, As was previously announced upon my assumption of the title of elOkarir’sil, elSillumiran shall undergo drastic change in order to be brought to conformity with the new standards of the age, and to be able to carry upon their shoulders the protection of our swelling populace, the defense of our sacred halls and marble walls. Therefore, it is after consulting elSohaer and elHeial’Thilln, that I announce the following be enacted into law, effective immediately.” I. ON CONSCRIPTION Henceforth, all Citizens and Blessed Citizens of the Motherland are lawfully required to take up arms in its defense - to learn the way of the blade of elSillumiran, and to go through the hardships of active military service. Therefore, from this point onwards, all Citizens and Blessed Citizens are to report to The Bastille to be supplied with arms and armour, to be tutored in decorum, martial skills and knowledge of the Silver Law. Service within elSillumiran is mandatory for all Citizens and Blessed Citizens for a period of four consecutive years. Upon entering conscripted service, all Citizens and Blessed Citizens acquire the rank of elSilthulir, and join the Silthuliran Corps. Shall a Blessed Citizen decide to continue their service within elSillumiran past their mandatory service period, they acquire the rank of Fi’Diraar. Lauriran, Malauriran, Tilruiran and Okariran are exempt from such service. ElOkarir’sil may exempt Citizens and Blessed Citizens from mandatory service at their own discretion. Citizens and Blessed Citizens who have completed their mandatory military service are liable to be mobilized in times of extraordinary need, at the discretion of elOkarir’sil. II. ON THE FORMATION OF ELSILTHULIRAN Henceforth, the rank of “Auxiliary” is null and void. Any and all who hold this rank now acquire the rank of Silthulir. The rank of Silthulir is the highest attainable for Citizens. All conscripted Citizens and Blessed Citizens acquire this rank, and Blessed Citizens may advance past it should they desire to continue their service. ElSilthuliran shall be formed in their own distinct corps, serving to aid the main body of soldiery within elSillumiran as auxiliary units. The ElSilthuliran Corps shall be commanded by a Div’Kinael, aided by a Tahorran, both appointed at the discretion of elOkarir’sil. III. ON THE DISSOLUTION OF ELEVARIRAN’THILLN Henceforth, the private guard of elMaheral, known until now as elEvariran’Thilln, is to be dissolved. All Sillumiran who serve actively within elEvariran’Thilln are to be transferred to the main body of Sillumir soldiery. IV. ON THE OFFICER CORPS The officer corps of elSillumiran is to be formed by junior officers - elTahorranii - and senior officers - elDiv’Kinaelan. ElDiv’Kinaelan and elTahorranii are appointed at the discretion of elOkarir’sil. ElDiv’Kinaelan are tasked with the leading of corps-sized units, the oversight of daily activities of elSillumiran, the conduction of oath ceremonies, the leading of soldiery into battle, and with any other tasks and responsibilities that may be entrusted upon them by elOkarir’sil or elTilruir’sil. Each Div’Kinael is assigned a second in command - elTahorran. As such, elDiv’Kinael may appoint a Tahorran after gaining permission to do such by either elOkarir’sil or elTilruir’sil. ElTahorranii are tasked with aiding elDiv’Kinaelan with the daily operations of the unit entrusted upon them. V. ON RITES OF INITIATION Henceforth, elSillumiran shall know the following rites of initiation: The Oath Each newly recruited Sillumir or Silthulir are to profess the oath of loyalty which has stood unchanged for millennia. Larihei, kae'len cruan sulier, ay'kae vallumer'ehya Larihei, Behold my pain, and weep for me Elihnsil, Elberr, kina'ehya, The Spear, The Bow, and death, laean kae wynne myumiereyae. these bring me no joy. ay'nae'leh sirame k' taliiyhe, ay'elcihil k' cruare for your honor I bleed, for the city I suffer il'iylkarim, mirueln thill'ehya ito kae'leh With this day, I am of silver and red. The Vile Hunt - elAel’orran Upon ascending the rank of Halerir, the Fi’Diraar is required, under the guide of a Tahorran or an above-ranking officer, they are to hunt down and kill a dangerous wild beast. Upon the completion of the task, they are to take a trophy which shall be reforged into an accoutrement to further their service within elSillumiran, and presented thence to the officer commanding, wherein they are officially promoted to the rank of Halerir. The Silver Ball - elAnnyerin’thilln Upon the ascension of any officer rank, the person thence promoted is afforded a ball, to be paid for by the coffers of elSillumiran, wherein their ascension to this most sacred duty is to be celebrated by both the residents and the citizenry of elCihi’Thilln. ElAnnyerin’thilln is to be organized by a Tahorran or above-ranking, appointed for such at the discretion of elOkarir’sil or elTilruir’sil. Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya Signed, Okarir’sil, Patriarch of elTalonnii Acaln’sae

The Elf stood alone behind the desk of his dimly-lit office, in the dark of night, mulling over this letter and the other, over documents and books as had become his routine this past year. Time seemed to slow with the dullness of his work, for he never imagined that the rank he was filling would be so aggravating and unsatisfactory to hold. And yet, he could not give himself over to the rot that complacency was. The rot that had almost destroyed his family and that had threatened to annihilate everything the man stood for. "Sohaer"; "Okarir"; "Tilruir"; "Signed..."; "Stop"; "Continue"; "Find"; "Confidential"; "Address"; "By the hand of..."; "ElTalonnii" The words flickered before his gaze, the repetition of each was killing him. The action of writing of action that was in actuality none other than inaction was driving him mad. Standing still, reading and writing and reading again, was exhausting the man. And yet, he persevered on and on through the dark of night. Until the rattling of armour and the incessant hammering of hobnailed boots upon the lacquered flooring under the stampede of a confident march took the man's attention away from yet another letter about a late weapons' shipment. The Elf's amber gaze stood focused upon the door many minutes before it finally swung open, the light from the foyer within rushing into the office to reveal the finer details of his pallid skin, so greatly contrasted by a flowing sanguine-coloured hair. "Okarir'sil!" The Ihnsilonnir soldier greeted, slamming his boot into the ground before marching with a heavy step into the premises of the office, laying a sealed letter upon the desk. "Kae have been instructed to deliver this post-haste." And so the man took the letter, breaking the seal and unfolding it, glancing quickly over the contents with all the interest that a child might hold in advanced mathematics. And yet, his gaze held, suddenly focusing more. "So Elves seek the permission of Valah to call themselves masters of their own land ?" The query flew, given life through the commander's voice, and yet aimed at nobody in particular. Certainly not at the poor sod who'd disturbed his master. "And elValah seem to be arrogant enough to deem themselves worthy of granting anyone permission of anything ?" Continued he. "Slaves worshipping slaves, seeking permission from slaves to be slaves to slaves, and yet enslave others." Silence filled the air for but a few seconds that felt like minutes, thence was the letter folded neatly and stashed into some cabinet below the desk, seemingly at random. "Such are the ways of Mali'ata, forever bound to crash themselves into oblivion, obscurity and servitude to their lessers." Finally finished Antelian Acaln'sae.

Proclamation of the Return of the Acaln’sae Talonnii Penned and Issued Under the hand of Antelian Acaln’sae Year 247 of the Second Age Pure sons and daughters of Larihei, With solemnity and steadfast resolve, I, Antelian Acaln’sae, Blessed Citizen of the Silver State, member of the Weeping Blades, proclaim the return of the Acaln’sae Talonnii to our rightful home, to the roots of our ancestry, to Haelun’or. Scattered by misfortune and diminished by errant paths, elTalonnii stood on the brink of dissolution. Yet through discipline, determination, and fidelity to our heritage, we now gather anew beneath the Silver Bough, restored in name and purpose. For Thirteen Years we toiled under the Path of Purity, for Thirteen Years did we seek to cast away the mantle of the Mali’ata, for Thirteen Years did we seek to rectify the great mistakes of our ancestors in abandoning the sacred path of Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya. It is in those Thirteen Years that our Talonnii has gathered and, under my direction, worked for the advancement of the Silver State, the preservation of its culture, language and the furthering of its interests. We renounce the errors of fruitless ventures, of the cursed path that Celia’nor used to tread, and affirm with clarity that the hearth of Purity is here, within our Sacred Motherland. To dwell in Haelun’or is to dwell at the heart of Mali’aheral excellence, where intellect, grace, and unity endure unbroken. It is here, and here alone, that a Talonnii may flourish in harmony with the Mother’s teachings and contribute to the eternal refinement of our people. As Patriarch, I bind my kin to the tenets of Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya, and to the wisdom of Larihei, whose gift to us was not only knowledge, but the command to elevate ourselves beyond mediocrity. The Acaln’sae return not as relics of a broken past, but as a renewed pillar of the Silver State, and may they be so for eternity, until the End of Times. Our Talonnii shall strive for excellence in thought, deed, and service, so that the name “Acaln’sae” may finally take its rightful place as a beacon of refinement, loyalty and discipline among the Mali’thill. Thus do I, Antelian Acaln’sae, declare before all: our wandering is ended, as is our place restored and our purpose - renewed. May the Acaln’sae ever walk in Purity, in service to the Silver State, and beneath the guiding light of Larihei. Maehr’sae Hiylun’eyha Signed, Patriarch of elTalonnii Acaln’sae

Larihei save us all

Somewhere deep into the bowels of the Silver City, a pallid 'thill read the missive brought to him by a concerned servant. "Savages, the lot of them." He spoke in monotony as gauntleted fingers moved to crush the paper clutched between them. "Soon those rabid Valah dogs will set their eyes on elCihi too." He muttered to himself as he rose up, ready to go about his day.

7600

A MISSIVE WAS NAILED ACROSS TAVERNS, FORUMS AND SQUARES ACROSS AEVOS! We are delighted to announce that we once again have, in our ownership, a fine ingot of Azhl. Azhl is no ordinary metal; it is a blighted marvel, celebrated for its unparalleled fusion of durability and tactical lethality. Comparable in strength to Ferrum, its true power lies in the unique malady it bestows upon its victims. When struck by Azhl weaponry, foes falter under the creeping weight of Azhl Anemia, their reflexes dulled, their movements slowed—each step a struggle, each retreat a dream fading into despair. Whether you hunt the swift or defend against the relentless, Azhl turns the tides of battle to your favor. Such a prize will not linger long. Place your bid within the next three Elven days by letter or visit me personally in Haelun'or. Watch as the competition for this artifact unfolds, for I shall announce each new bid to ensure fairness in this noble pursuit. Take heed, seekers of glory: Azhl is a treasure for those with the wisdom to wield it and the ambition to claim it. Bidding for this fine piece of metal starts at a mere 900 minae and shall end in three Elven days [OOC: 7 PM EST on Sunday!]. To participate in this auction, one needs to place a bid of no less than 100 minae more than the one previous to it. The auction may end prematurely shall the buyout price of 3,000 minae be reached.

AN ADDENDUM WAS POSTED Bids have reached a thousand nine hundred and eighty-one minae! Due to the expiration of the auction's extended final date and hour, we thus declare the fine ingot of Azhl to be SOLD!

AN ADDENDUM WAS POSTED Bids have reached a thousand eight hundred and twenty-one minae! Due to the ever-increasing popularity of this auction, we inform our clients of the fact that bidding is to be extended until the end of this Elven Day (OOC: 7 PM EST!)

AN ADDENDUM WAS POSTED Bids have reached a thousand four hundred and thirty minae! In accordance with client advice, we have decided to set minimal bid increases at a hundred minae.