ChillDemonLad

Hey, dyslexic here. Genuinely cant read this post. Could you include a spoiler with like- the text without a font? Thanks! Edit : Got a copy of the text incase anyone else wants to read it. In the spoiler below.

+1

His hand shook. The twitching was not new, years it had been now. Years of shaking and convulsions that racked his form. How his body would crumple to the ground, head hitting the floorboards of the home that felt more akin to a prison most days. Ythur and Ekythkeezh did their best to help- of course they did, but neither knew what was going on with him. How could they? So he shook, and sobbed. ---------------- His hand shook. The missive in his grip had been read one too many times to count, eyes always landing on what Elijah had done to him. How that memory he was told was a simple mistake from the universe, one where alternatives became mixed, was not truthfully that. How the slap of the hand against his cheek had been real, how the porcelain mask had been shoved onto his face had been true. How close he had been to death as a child, it was all reality. He knew not how to cope with the history he now knew besides sobbing into the arms of Sisu. ---------------- His hand shook. The smell of death reeked. There was no calm, no peace in this wretched church. How the chorus of laughter echoed around him only furthered his fear. He heard the words through ears focused not on speeches but on tear drops. The sight of the world, dead and baren. The parchedness of his throat, the hunger in his stomach. It had all been too real, and he had tried his hardest to forget it all through the listening to something else. He had been hyper focusing upon the fall of tear drops from his eyes to the ground. Tiva heard it, though. "As for you. . . You fail to impress me. . ." He made up his mind then he would not beg. ---------------- His hand did not shake. They would find the corpse of a dark elf in the night, some distant travelers. His flesh and muscles ripped apart, gored, and flayed. Even his bones had been torn out from his body. Only identifiable by the glasses he wore, for everything else that made Tiva the man he was had been torn away. The empty skull sitting on top the pile looked almost mocking. Looted as it was, what little remained would be given to his parents. He at least had a cloth wrapped around him when handed off, so their final image of their son would not be one so profanely wrong.

A now adult Clement, though of course he goes by a different name, stared at the missive. Memories returned, though scattered and distorted. Memories of the mask, of the slap, of how close he was to death. What had been told to be a dream was now made true. He would sob that night with the realization it was all real. How cruel, that he learns his torture from a missive.

free shadowfigther97l

hell ya king will get you in contact with druids rn

Welcome! I wish you luck.

A 'ker excitedly moved to show such news to his parents, enthusiastic to reach out. Perhaps things would go well for him, but only time would tell. For now he simply celebrated the selection.

Two children have been found in Idunia. Their names Lyu and Everly, one is a 'ker and the other seems close to an 'ame respectively. Details on their remaining parent are requested. If you would know anything about them, please send a letter to Clement, Ekythkeezh, or Ythur. They are currently in Aelwen for safety.

A letter was sent back in response to the missive, two handwritings seen. One the simpler, messy handwriting of a child and another, looping in the extravagant cursive of one more used to the pen. Hello! I am Clément. I am eight years old, I am a Mali'ker, and I want to try and see if I can study under whoever is going to be the High Wizard of Idunia. Please send a letter to me or my marn, Ythur, about this. I am very quick to study and I really really like god (I want to be a monk if I don't get this!). Have a good day! I would like, first and foremost, to meet whomever is chosen for this position. I've no other comments to add, besides the simple fact that Clément is a very bright and energetic boy.

What it says on the tin. Would look at other stuff. Dm me on discord, ChillDemonLad12. I can make skins. CST timezone.

He was quiet as he sat in the field of flowers. Father Rossano had long since stopped mourning his own death. But, seeing his mentor once more, brought both joy and sadness to them. Joy to see him once more, and sadness he was taken so violently. They had so much to catch up on. ---- The ghost didn't understand. The one he needed to speak to was dead. How could this be? He had not spoken to him, so he could not be dead. That is what Azerdel had decided. He would wait for him to come out of hiding, and they would speak then. They had so much to discuss.

Perhaps if Velkyn's dear friend's achievement was known, a moment of peace would be had. A moment of pride and joy, a pinprick of celebratory light within the darkness of the pit she remains in. Alas, she remains unaware, unfound, hidden. Perhaps when sunlight graces her visage once more, they will celebrate with food and drink and conversation.

Stomach Book! They've written some really raw songs about being trans and such. A personal favorite is Casket Kids by them, and while it is dark, it just scratches that itch. It just screams everything that should be said sometimes. They made the song Fukona Girl (NOT THE GIFS) is you know that one, along with Animals.

Simple as it is. DM me. Might wanna play the child of a dark spawn more than anything else. Or kha cub. IDK. Just trying to find something to do to replace Azerdel atm, as Im going to shelve him. If i dont want to take you up on your offer, apologies. Im probably not going to be taking any noble offers. Sorry this was kind of rambling.

The Seeris family, a community of dark elves of Velulite descendancy. They are an impure breed of Velulite’s, denoted by their red pupils and white sclera. White hair sits upon their head, and blue skin rests on their body. They are known to be a highly religious sect of Velulites and one of many families. This document intends to be an outline of their habits, traditions, and all around a comprehensive guide to them. It may be expanded upon later in further posts. If you want to make a Seeris, please contact ChillDemonLad on discord! Feel free to use any of the traditions, though, for any dark elf family. Laenoa’ynx, Blessed Dance Probably the single thing that Seeris’ are known for would be their contribution to, and which Seeris’ would claim creation of, laenoa’ynx. Laenoa’ynxs are dances meant to teach the onlookers and praise the spirits. These dances, when participated in and not lead, are typically performed in garb referred to as keznaht-oulba. This most easily translates to open robe, though it is not robes as commonly thought of. The clothes are built to show off skin, or more specifically, the tattoos on said skin. Like all Velulites, tattoos are insanely important to the Seeris family, and will be expanded upon later in this document. It is not uncommon for tattoos to be earned during laenoa’ynxzh. These robes are made of two parts, the laesaetub and the ogaktub, and they are typically white or cream in color, with black fabric on the inside. Laesaetubzhs are single, long loops of cloth that are wrapped around the chest. Ogaktubs are pleated skirts. In Seeris culture, these are considered the bare minimum for either sex, and any less than a laesaetub or a ogaktub shorter than knee height would be considered indecent. It is common to wear silver jewelry with bells, known as navyettoule, around the ankles, neck, wrists, and ears. But, this is only the wear of the common folk, not those leading the ceremony. These ceremonies are usually led by 1 to 4 special roles, known as osyenzh-woadol, or Great Spirits. These osyenzh-woadol are known as lokaeyrel-velulaeya, the Moon Walker, lokaeyrel-a’kokur, the Dead Walker, lokaeyrel-a’lebat, the Changed Walker, and lokaeyrzhel, the Walkers. They each respectively represent Luara, Kor, Veluluai, and the Ancestors. Each of these osyenzh-woadol have a costume associated with them, much like how characters may have certain design elements through different iterations. To start, a black hood, known as a hessker, is draped over the face. Only on the lokaeyrel-velulaeya are there any ear holes, on the other three the ears are held next to the head so they don't show. Lokaeyrel-velulaeya is marked by a white wolf pelt draped over onto the head and back of the individual. The skull of the wolf has been reattached to the pelt, giving the face some structure when worn. White robes, actual robes not keznaht-oulba, and gloves are worn to cover all skin. For the lokaeyrel-a’kokur, the costume is a bit more defined. First, the skull of a gyr vulture must be worn over the hessker. Next, over top black robes and gloves, bones must be draped. This bone drape tends to rattle as the person moves, giving the lokaeyrel-a’kokur a distinct sound to it. Along with this, a staff with a lantern is held by the person. Lokaeyrel-a’lebat actually has two separate masks, with keznaht-oulba worn as well. In one mask, dove wings used to cover the face. In the other, raven wings are in the same pose while draped in gemstones. Finally, for lokaeyrzhel, they have a far less defined costume but one of the most complicated ones. They tend to be a black and white pelt, with skulls attached from a multitude of different animals to cover the head and hands. Jaws are usually attached to the skulls, and can either be moved by the person opening their actual jaw or squeezing their hand into a fist. Throughout the laenoa’ynx, it is common for wine to be drunk, songs to be sung, and dances to be had. While they have similar purposes to that of canonist mass, they have an entirely different atmosphere. They are meant to be inviting, celebratory events that anyone can join in on and have a fun time. During these ceremonies, it is most common for stories to be recounted. The most famous, of course, being the story of Kor, Luara, and Veluluai. This is actually where the two masks for the lokaeyrel-a’lebat come into play, as at the end of the story, the dove mask will be switched to the raven mask, symbolizing Luara and her follower’s transformation into maehr, or dark elves. Yet these are not the only stories that are told. Lyomzh’ynx, Blessed Stories Sorrzhel Written by an Unknown Seeris Lye ulyth yento lyomel aeth We all know the story of uhv’lye yetamy-relgoreth, our lunacy (yetamy-relor translates to lunatic or crazy person) aeth Veluluai’uhn vaexule, of Veluluai’s renewing uhv’lye osyenzh uhn yovule. our spirits new undeath. Aza nyrk laht a’roual der But have you heard yet aeth sorrzhel’uhn ashyer? of the ravens’ harp? sha aehg elhyael-lyeola, They make the gem song Syex rentu vullao-yla Not for a fair women Aza rentu uhv’lye xutha but for our lady myrz lye a’tom velul ytha. who we are her servant. Luara-a’ynx a’zuly Blessed Luara looked bo sorrzhel lu uhv’lye maly. at the ravens with our elf. Lu uhv’sha xornzh-labek-volul with their pretty white feathers, Vel a’ynx ulyth lu aeylul she blessed all with knowledge Zy a’gleour uhv’sha xornzh ker and painted their feathers black Dunr sha zob tom hru malyker. So they may be like dark elves. One of if not the oldest in the Seeris family. The story of sorrzhel, or in common terms, the story of the ravens. It is said that, when Veluluai was first blessed, she was not blessed alone. It was said that the original ravens, also known as the doves, were given an option. To either accept the blessing from Luara and gain the grace, and horror, of intelligence, or be doomed to be simple creatures. Some, not all, choose to accept the blessing that Luara gave Veluluai. Their skin was painted black as night sky so that they may better blend in, but this was not given alone. Just like how Velulites were blessed with gem-like eyes, so too were the ravens blessed with gem-like feathers. This story has actually sparked a bit of conflict occasionally, though. This is due to the fact doves are seen as impure by those of Seeris descent, due to them descending from the birds who choose to reject Luara’s blessing. It isn’t uncommon for them to be seen as bad luck, and some of the Seeris family might even purposefully target doves to be killed and burned out of pure superstition. Adding onto the story of the ravens, there is the story of the gyr vultures, or otelyr-a’kokuryr. It is important to note that it is otelyr-a’kokuryr for gyr vultures, as otelyr-ko are considered vultures as a whole. It is said that gyr vultures saw the blessing of the ravens, and grew jealous. So, to spare them the pain of being forgotten by the spirits, Kor decided to give the gyr vultures a job. They would be the guides for the dead, leading them to Kor’s hold. Not to steal away Luara’s job, but instead to ease the burden. They were brought to the deserts, given that as their domain. Kor had done this so that Luara would not need to dirty her feet with sand and burn her back with sun, the gyr vultures would take that duty for her. Another quite common story is that of maluanyzh-a’ynx-velulaeya, or moon blessed animals. It is said that Luara is a watchful spirit, one that prefers to keep tabs on her followers and the world at large. So, she blessed some animals to be her eyes. These animals are pure white in color when they would usually be darker, such as deer or, most blessed, wolves. These animals are to be left alone, to be allowed to be watchers of all. To hunt these animals is to commit a grave ‘sin’, even if the Seeris heritage does not have any clear lists of sins. The only acceptable time to use a pelt from a maluany-a’ynx-velulaeya is when the animal is found dead from natural causes. These pelts are incredibly sacred if collected, and are nearly always turned into a osyenzh-woadol costume. On the topic of osyenzh-woadol costumes, it's actually not uncommon for pelts to be dyed to white or black to properly fit the role they need to fill. This is especially important for the lokaeyrzhel and lokaeyrel-velulaeya, due to the aforementioned sacredness of white animals. Finally, there is the story mukagemokozhel, or in common, the bones or the rhythm bones. Not to be confused with gemokozh, bones as a whole, mukagemokozh are bones made into instruments. Most commonly the rib bones are used, and they are semi flattened to where there is only a slight curve, and cut down to be able to properly fit into hands. They are held between the fingers, curved side facing each other. One is held loose while the other is secure, and through moving the wrist, the loose mukagemoko will click against the still one. It was said that Luara herself taught the dark elves how to turn ribs into instruments. So, when they went to the Groth’Stroh, the elves there would be able to use the materials of the dead to play for Kor. Another gift between two lovers, with dark elves being the vessel to share it. Those of Seeris descent take this duty with pride, with most, if not all, learning to play mukagemokozhel. Okynkzh, Tattoos As previously mentioned, tattoos are of utmost importance to the Seeris family. They are markers of grand events, stories that must not be forgotten. There is an idea in the Seeris family, the idea of ghetverb, or skin history in common tongue. It is the idea that the skin is sacred, as it was blessed by Luara, and so, by writing important events into it, they are blessing those events. Much like how a man might be made into a saint after their death, stories may become blessed after they have concluded. These blessed stories, or lyoma’ynx are usually happy stories that deserve celebration, though there is also the variation of lyoma’yluunx, or blessed stories of woe. Either one marks important events that the person who is being tattooed that they want to remember. Lyoma’ynx are blessed for obvious reasons. The basic idea is that, through writing it into one’s skin, Luara can read it and see that the story that finished was greatly enjoyed, so that she may know to repeat it. Lyoma’yluunx, on the other hand, are written for the opposite reason. It is marked with a special symbol, an aretuko, an o with an x through it, to denote this as a sad story. It is said that when Luara sees aretuko symbols, she knows the story has concluded, and that good fortune should follow it. White ink is most commonly used for these tattoos. Dark elven skin seems to be very well suited to white ink, surprisingly enough. The specific tattoo style is different for each artist, though it tends to be flowing in shape. For incredibly skilled tattoo artists, there is actually a way to write Vel’luah in the design, with a whole other writing system developed for the art form. This tends to only be known by older Seeris family members. The sentences written in these tattoos tend to be short and few in number, focusing more on overall flow than the words. It’s considered bad faith to write tattoos onto skin wishing for something to come true, as it’s seen as demanding a spirit to do what you want. To clean the skin to prepare for the tattoo, obval-velulaeya, or moon water, is used. Obval-velulaeya is made by leaving water out on a full moon, usually in a jar. It is used to cleanse many objects, and so, is used to cleanse the skin before it is pierced. It is considered incredibly important to cleanse the skin beforehand, less one invites evil in through the wounds left on the flesh.

A young dark elf, just wanting a community, was quick to sign the paper when presented with it. It was a messy signature, but was at least readable. Velkyn Seeris.

The church would be furious with him. His father would be furious with him. He wasn’t even able to take the two under his name. Yet, the two mali’ker had been left with him. Rilrae and Nalros Argith, that is what they were called. He had been trusted with their lives, or perhaps blessed by Godan with the chance to raise a family. Maybe it was selfish of him to look upon the two elves in his hold and see them as a gift. Still, as he held the two, he could not find himself to think of that. Felice had been at his side for as long as he could remember. An inseparable duo, a family not by blood but by choice. He still remembered dancing with her, winning the competition, even as his body showed the first signs of failure. He had always looked up to her, even as she acted quite unrefined. Even if she fell under the title of a bad influence, he loved her as a sister anyways. Malna had been family out of necessity. Even as she snapped and bickered with Carden, even as she had trouble with his health, he really did look up to her. An elf, so much older, so much wiser, who only wanted what was best for him. He was sure Malna loved him as much as he did her, even if he was never able to finish her gift. He could pray that she found a way to learn braille without him. Rossano did not notice how the lady’s hand twitched for her weapon when he said he would be raising them as canonist. He was barely aware enough to notice how her voice shook, but he did try to understand. He would feel the same if a human child was being raised by elves, no? So he tried to dissuade their fears, promising he would raise the two twins as kind people first and foremost. Perhaps if the jester didn’t have his mask, Rossano would have been able to see the fear. He would be a fool to say his papej cared for Cardinal Alaric, but he did. He looked up to the man like a second father. He was the first man he went to when he felt the pull of masculinity, the first one who heard his plea for death, the first one to hear his choice to join the fold, the first one to hear his prophecy. He heard how Rossano had been told to give up all desires, how he could not, and how Godan had punished him with wretched illness. Yet even with all of Rossano’s faults, Cardinal Alaric still took him under his wing. He taught him how to be a proper priest, how to be loving and kind. Even as illness of body and mind ravaged Rossano, he still saw him as someone able to do good. Perhaps they would both meet again in the skies. Nadya, Dima, Ipera, and Acelia, all friends he had seen grow. He still remembered how Nadya once looked up to him, how the other wanted to be a warrior like he was at the time. Neither knew they would never reach such a goal, dragged to different fates. He remembered when Dima became a Dame, when she was given the role he had wanted since he was a child. The sadness of never being able to fight next to her was drowned out by the joy at her accomplishment. He was even able to watch Ipera grow into a lady, growing from the shy girl he had known to someone who could hold their own. And Acelia, someone he had always watched from a distance. To watch her find love, to find family, made him happier than he thought he could feel. The mali’ker reached his hand out to run his hand through Nalros’s hair, and Rossano felt fear he did not know how to process. Someone he did not know, who he couldn’t trust, was trying to get too close to the child he held to his chest. So, he stepped back, even as a more logical part of his brain argued that the two were kin. He watched Owyn step between the two and heard the request for a private conversation. He wanted to show his desire to do this right, and so, he followed behind. Juniper and Nemea, two elves who had cared for him. Juniper, the one who had made his cane and his eyes. She had helped him for no fee, simply for the fact she wanted to do good. Even healed, he looked up to her. Yet Nemea? The one who had cursed him with wretched druid healing? He could not bring himself to hate her, for she was merely trying to help as well. Perhaps they could have grown closer if they had more time to make up for the mistake. The Aengul who had blessed him with health. The way he had been ordered to stand, for servants did not kneel to other servants. He still remembered how it had felt, to feel the fresh eyes push out the fake ones, how it felt to stand for the first time without shaking in years. His faith was unwavering after that, for who else could give such a gift besides an agent of Godan? He watched them take them away, voice cracking as a hand reached out for his wards. They were his responsibility, his gift. To see them stolen away from him, his body still reeling from the effects of the hits, was a terrible thing. He could taste the blood in his mouth as he heard the simple order to do as they pleased with him. Yet they had offered him the chance to find the children, for they knew where they would be. Rossano took the offer without a moment of hesitation. His own words echoed in his ears. “Do as you wish, but ea will either leave here with them or ea will leave here in a casket.” Yvaine, his mamej. What was there to say? She had run off, they had had a funeral for her. Yet still he mourned her, for he could do nothing but love her. Rossano had always wanted to be like her, be a fighter to protect the innocent from harm. To serve the kingdom in the best way possible. He still remembered her sharp tongue when she told him he could not be a knight. A child who could barely walk, who seized, whose eyes were starting to fail, could not be a squire. Yet still Rossano had loved her, even at her harsh words. Even as he felt like a disappointment in her eyes, he could not help but try to make her proud. That is why he had become a priest, to try and do good, yes, but also to show he was still capable of being someone she could love without feeling ashamed. Did she truly mean it when she said she was proud of him in her final letter to him? Or was it a lie to make him comfortable? He prayed it was the former, he would die a fool if it was the latter. The bone dagger that slipped between his ribs was a killing blow; all three of them knew it. Yet it was not immediate, the man falling off the horse with a thud as felt tears well up in his eyes. He desperately raised his hand to fend off the weapon coming to his throat, but he had long ago lost the skills he had learned as a squire. He didn’t even think to raise his mace against them as they slit his throat, the priest choaking on his own blood as it slipped down his form and stained his body. This didn’t count as suicide, right? It was martyrdom, it was an attempt to do good and dying for it. He would go to the skies, right? Right? Carden, oh Carden. How could it all be put into words? His papej, the one who had raised him. The one who had made him into the man that he was today. They had fought so many times, made up few, but they loved each other. Even as Carden stared at the two dark elves in Rossano’s hold and demanded their return, Rossano knew it came from a place of reason. An orphan whose own children had grown up with a silver spoon, Rossano could not bring himself to feel anger at his father. Like so many times before, they had made up. Not with apologies, but a silent understanding that things would be okay between them. An uneasy alliance made of love. Did Carden know how much Rossano loved him? He prayed, he prayed, he did. Someday, they would be reunited, and someday, everything would be okay. Who knows what happened to his soul as the body burned. Perhaps he rose into the skies, perhaps he fell into the void. But Rossano had been loved in life. That is all one could wish for.

Perhaps he could take some time for himself, Father Rossano thought. A dance would do him some good. It would take his mind off the work, that was for sure. Besides, a masquare by ran by his papej would be much more enjoyable than the deplorable masquare of sin and virtues that was sure to cause a storm. He set about trying to find cloth and feathers to begin the construction of a new outfit. Besides, he needed to work on his sewing skills anyways.

It wasn’t supposed to end this way. He was supposed to get power, he was supposed to be able to fight for himself. Yet here he was, calling to Hetsu like a child. His voice had long since gone horse, the pain of his shoulder and side overwhelming him. He could feel the blade as it went square through his foot, the magical steel cursing him. Each breath panicked and ragged as he stared up at the woman, kicking the blade to the side. A punch to the head. He could feel his nose break under the weight. Another. He thought back to when he met Anne. The two of them, so young, so innocent. Playing together in Ravenmire, the hatred of her father an unknown fact to the boy. He still carries the bird she gave him, Azerdel and Coi holding it tight to his body even as She reprimands them for being so careless to form connections. Another. He thought back to his cursing, a time where his mind once again split. He could feel it, the wretched being born from the split, trying to crawl its way to the surface. Yet still Coi forced himself to be the front, for he was the one who was designed to suffer, not it. Never it, for it was a being. A creature of instincts, hardly able to be called human. Azerdel was asleep, with Her watching over him. Both Her and Coi knew where this was going to lead, and so, she comforted the small child in his sleep. Weeping as she did so. Another. He thought back to the first time he had met Tsuru. His body, so small, so malnourished. Staring up at the woman as if she was a god. Perhaps, if he had met someone different, his life would have been better. He would be an elf, a canonist, a good person. Yet here he was, in a coven of wickedness with horns and a tail. Coi couldn’t bring himself to regret meeting her. Another. His arms dropped to his side. Another. Each breath was harder than the last. Another. He couldn’t think any more. And then, the assault stopped. Only for a moment, a hand going to his halo, holy horns to drag him to the front of his own home. He saw the glint of the dagger, he knew what was coming. Even as he watched it enter his stomach over and over again, entrails pouring out, he could not feel it. Perhaps, if he knew the fate of blessed children, he would have fought harder. A quiet breath, too silent for the attacker to hear. A desperate plea for his mother. And then, all of them were gone. Their entrails splayed on the home of their doorstep. What a pitiful and meaningless life.

A singular priest wept, for he knew what he had missed in favor of visiting his papej's event. He was a fool to try and do something for fun, something that was not immediately holy.