Bircalin

The Ranger lounges sleepily within the gardens of Avalon, messily sewing together the worn holes in his spare coat. He mumbles to himself absent-mindedly. "Perhaps now I can offer the Uruk kin to join our ventures, Aeriel knows we'll need one another..."

I can dig.

The thread has been killed

The thread has been killed

Bwahaha, Burkester, I wasn't in teamspeak but that was hilarious holding off that door together. I had loads of fun in that battle to be honest, even if the spells were pretty strong.

Hey, Wardog. GMT Police over here. Before I say anything, forgive me if I appear clueless to the topic at-hand, I felt it was more important to get a message out before more responses come in after reading 5 pages. Personally, so long as someone does not make it blindingly clear that they are without reason as some have been recently, I know that I will sit down and try to level with players about topics. Personally, I don't agree with how things were handled regarding your situation. Given, I was asleep throughout the debacle, I still feel at the time that had there been discussion in the FM chat about it (which there was not, to my knowledge) then this would not have started. As I can promise you if there are any, it is a small few that would remove that original status. There is little I can whittle the subject down to other than a mistake on whomever's part that removed it. Unfortunately the whole result is something I think will take me all of this morning to research and sift through so I can't quite comment on that as of now. If your original status got you a warning point and that alone, then I'll be happy to remove that. If not - dandy. Hopefully this was of some insight to you, if not, feel free to send myself or another FM a PM and there's nothing stopping us talking about it more (not to say I'm not happy to talk about it here)

Bircalin has a beard, because of you.

I'll miss our cam sessions bae

first

twelfth.

One and Two shall return. Their hunger for chicken is never sated.

Lifting his worn, dusty fingertips to his fringe, Bircalin threads his fingers through his thick hair with a weary sigh, crouching to sit at his heels before the tombstone with his arms splayed out at each corner tiredly. He reaches a hand inside with the behaviour akin to a man facing his hanging, wanting the ordeal to end swiftly. Rising with the crown in-hand, he brushes it off uselessly, the habitual gesture lending only more space for new dust to settle. He sets the crown into his satchel securely, returning his gear to his person, donning his form as the Ranger once more, taking his leave with the relic of far olden times.

Furrowing his brow, the Ranger sets his mask aside, placing the torch onto an empty hook upon the dark room's wall. He watches the tomb with a ragged sigh, peeling the gloves from his hands and dropping them into the dust and cobwebs about his feet, setting both hands upon the tomb. He looks to the stone as if peering to Khel on the other side, pausing to murmur to him. "You always were vague in your words..." With that, he shifts his stance, grunting as he edges the lid of the tomb aside, great clouds of dust pluming from within to reveal whatever may be within. The Ranger steps away to allow the dust to settle, finally casting his gaze inside.

The Ranger sets foot upon the overgrown mess, oddly at home with his surroundings. He peers about curiously, the Elk of which he had been tracking apparently having lost him through the mass foliage of gnarled bark and twisted vines. He sets his gloved palm onto the stone entrance, excess of moss finding itself almost glued in an olive dust upon his fingertips. He mutters to himself as he glances about the wilderness before entering, pausing as though his words were bouncing back upon him in response. His masked gaze flicks back to the dark recesses, stringing the bow in his free hand back over his shoulders and across his back, venturing inside. Warily, with the flickering torch in-hand, he comes before the tombstone, his mind already having dwelled upon the markings and insignia behind him. The amber glow of the embers casts a light upon the inscription, allowing the Ranger to read and thusly reach up to his chest, freeing his thick hunting knife from the leather strap across him, setting it down in the bowl lazily. He rises, digging his gloved fingertips beneath his hood to unclasp the mask from its binds, freeing his face from concealment to murmur. "Khel Oussanna, Patron of the Mali'ker and the settlement of Darkhaven." He pauses, habitually adjusting the bow strung across his chest, lifting his thick-bearded face to cast his cold white eyes upon the tombstone before whispering to himself. "So this is where you've been..."

"Elves of 'old'..." The Ranger scoffs to himself cynically, shaking his head somewhat. "The boy was likely no more than a far distant thought during the time of the Elves of old." He adds, returning to stalk the woods absent-mindedly.

I can dig it. Thanks, for those who voted for me. Death to the opposition.