TwilightWolf

Aerendyl smiles at the news of the proclamation from his kin in the Father Circle. It was the start of the Wild Hunts of Cernnunos, after all. "How entirely poetic." the elf-lord hums, covering his one eye with the white and silver mask of the nine-tailed fox faerie. Beneath it, he smiled at the clever games of reality. "Soiree time..." the druid lilts happily, folding into the guests at the Mother Circle.

In the story of Nailah, the fox faerie tale, it is told that the Vixen Trickster has lead victims astray, never to be seen again in the forest. Some claim that great discoveries of wealth are the meddling ways of this spirit of hunt and ambush, scorning their rivals for unimaginable luck. Perhaps a whimsical story about the realities of life, but a wholly merry gathering for the Mother Circle none the less. Crafting a mask in honor of the Mani or Fae, the druids gather beneath the glowing glade of the Moonlit Forest for an evening of riddles, games, and drinks. Dressed in white and fall colors, a grand masquerade is held beneath the full moon. For the final celebration of the Fox Moon, a circle of the masquerade goers partake in the Chimes prayer. In tales of Nailah and the will-o-the-wisp, the nine lights are said to tempt travelers off their path and into an unfortunate death with the distant chiming of bells. By celebrating games in her likeness and chiming the bells, the gathered might have sharpened their wits to keep them safe during the final days of the Fox Moon and the beginning of the hunts. [Saturday, 5pm EST at the Atoll Grove]

-CRASH- The vial fell onto the floor. The contents fell upon his tongue like acid rain. Burning... Sour, acidic sludge. The elven lord clawed at his neck in panic as the druidic concoction invaded his senses. The wave of primal, nauseating euphoria of the mind and body took over with frightening potency. "MOUNTAIN!", he managed to stammer out in a shout, a final defiant word before his mind clouded with strange visions. Trees... so many trees. Far away in woods he recognized, a place he had been before. Visions tormented his mind with the memories of another, doing things he could not remember doing. By now he had blown through the door to his bedchambers and into the kitchen. His tall frame assaulted the walls of his house with the grace of a meatball tossed by a toddler. A desperate, careening Aerendyl scrambles to the door with a speed he himself did not know he could possess. He had to find them, he thought, as more memories pierced his mind. There was something foreign and yet completely urgent that consumed his soul. The elf was unable to stay still. -BOOM!- The hinges of the cabin's front door fly out into the lagoon. The rug shifts and takes flight from beneath his scrambling feet, tumbling far down the balcony and splashing into the pool. He didn't even bother to put his boots on as he sprinted past the tavern, up the stairs, and out of the mouth of the grotto. Aerendyl gulped lungfuls of air as his eyes frantically scanned the beach for the road. His vision was blurry and unsteady, but his feet seemed certain of his path. They took flight down the road, and far away from his home... The leaves had turned to gold, now. The dark forests surrounding the Vale bloomed with fiery hues, air brisk with chillier misty mornings. His pace had slowed tremendously, having pushed himself to near exhaustion. Deeper into the woodland realm he ventured, past trees and rocks he'd seen a hundred times. Aerendyl pondered what his wife might have thought of him, bumbling through the woods like a wild man, aimless and confused. He thought of his mother, who he had planned to visit so soon after her last visit. And for his children, his heart was heavy. It was then he saw it, the source of his heart's yearning. He'd seen these creatures ridden by the forest guard, silent and practiced in their hunting parties. Three massive wolves dart through the trees and past the druid, unbothered by his presence. Slowing to a gentle lope, the last beast, with a mane of shadows and eyes like fire peer back towards Aerendyl. They were like his own, yellow and seasoned with the trials of life, he thought. They looked back at him not with need nor disdain, without love nor anger. They were simply there... present and keen. Months passed... Wherever Aerendyl went, the shadowy beast followed. No words, not even in song or poem left the archdruid's lips. He did not need them with this creature, who had come to understand him so well. They hunted as one, relying on each other to ambush deer. When one would drink, so too would the other. In the hour of sleep, the other would keep watch. Months and months keep going in peace until... He snapped. It wasn't exactly clear what angered the other, or who was to blame... it didn't matter. Teeth flashed and tempted to tear into flesh. Neither committed to the challenge yet, but the strain of their growing competition in being became palpable. Each decision between them became more difficult. Each day he prepared for the next disagreement... He knew one day, it'd be their last. Praying to the Pack Lord, Aerendyl waited...

"He is strength, will, and action given form His hooves swallow the earth Thorns and antlers crown his fierce eyes He flies without wings His eyes are as sharp as his star-tipped arrows He is Cernunnos - King of Centaurs" Mythology of the Mother Circle Long have druids known Cernunnos as the Horned Lord; Aspect of the hunt, hunger, and primal instincts. Sometimes he is associated with the gnawing grip of disease, the ferocity of the wildfire, and the tempest's roar. For the Mother Circle, the Legend of Cernunnos stories the Hunt Father as a massive beast-man, depicted as either half stag or horse with strong body, large forked antlers and a bow of legendary strength. His arrows pierce the soul, shattering the mortal coil that delays the rebirth of nature. He and his many sons and daughters travel freely from the Court of the Fae Queen to guide the natural flow of the balance, and during the season of autumn oft associated with the Centaur King, he will blow the Horn of the Wild Hunt, beginning the greatest season of change. The leaves will recoil and shrivel into dark, fiery colors, the prey will be driven from their burrows. Hunters and gatherers alike will rejoice in the fair weather in which they will toil for the spoils of autumn, feasting on the weak and plentiful before the cold inevitabilities of winter. The celebrations of Cernunnos traditionally begin during the Fox Moon, or final Phase of Life. To honor the Hunt Father, the Mother Circle will coordinate adventures into the surrounding realms of the Grove. Before every hunt, a communal prayer is held before the grove is departed. The Huntsman's Creed is recited, the bows and blades of the hunters are blessed, and the hunters are sent off while the hearths and feasting grounds are prepared. The Creed is storied to be the self-imposed rules of any honorable hunter worshipping Cernunnos, including the sparing of young and mothers, the focus upon hunting the elder animal, and respect of animal population in reverence to the balance. Needless slaughter is taboo, and is said to invite the attention of mischievous or malevolent fae. The Huntsman's Creed With blade and bow, O Father, may I remain humble in harvest Grant my feet and arrows swiftness, may my eyes and sword be sharp When the heart is pierced, the throat cut May your arrow loft this animal's spirit to the Forest In their rebirth, may I remember this hunt Keep me their memory, the animal honored And in your will may the Wild Hunt forever come Cernunnos and Astrology of the Mother Circle While a majority of the kills sustained during the months of the Wild Hunts, there is some game that is coveted by Cernunnos himself. For the Mother Circle, a druid has become a part of the natural cycle once they arise from the waters of attunement. Druid and Draoi alike will eventually meet their end at the hands of Cernunnos' bow. Fabled to be tipped with the stars themselves, Cernunnos is also the artist of the constellations in the night sky, for every great hunt must preserve a story to honor the fallen. It is said that when Druids finally enter the Eternal Forest for rest, or Draoi for eternal turmoil, the wake of Cernunnos' soul-reaping organizes the stars into a memorial. Rumored to be the arrows of Cernunnos' bow themselves, comets or falling stars are oft seen as an omen of change. The graves of the fallen are typically marked with the simple pattern of stars and connecting lines forming the druid's memorial constellation, which are best seen from the Mother Circle's observatory. There the living druids ponder wisdom left by the fallen, warnings of those who have failed the Aspects, and legends of the Order's history.

"The nights have come sooner, the winds are changing. The lanterns in our caravan seem to change every night... Didn't we only have fifty five before? My father went into the forest after the lights... He has yet to return." - Unknown account of a trader's mysterious encounter with the will-o'-the-wisps The Ocean Moon has faded. Blistering summer days and warm sun have begun to change, and in their wake the shadows of early autumn come. In folklore of the Mother Circle, the changes seen in the final Lunar Phase of Life is celebrated with the fabled faerie spirit of trickery, Nailah. As the ambusher soul of the Wild Hunt of Cernnunos, she is depicted as a cunning nine-tailed fox, one for each of her trickster children. The significance of Nailah's tails is that, in likeness to the number nine, she represents a cycle's completion, but not final ending. She is the moment that secures death or survival, the clock's tolling of new hour, bringer of foggy mornings for hunters to hide in, and the spirit of autumn that changes the leaves from green to gold. Occasionally, the trickster fox faerie has been rumored to prey on those souls that fall victim to curiosity a little too easily. Tales of strange lights in the forest, numbering nine, giving the illusion of nearby adventurers. Instead, they are lured away and are mysteriously mauled by a roaming predator, or happen upon a treasure of peculiar worth. The will-o'-the-wisps are rumored to be blue flames or lanterns carried by her nine mischievous kits, leading the unlucky into a twisting maze of wilderness to be devoured by predators and guiding some towards relics or natural secrets. For the Mother Circle, Nailah's faerie tale is celebrated primarily with a masquerade gathering in which games, hunting, and feasting occur. The first harvests of fall begin after, and artisanal goods are prepared for the coming feasts of fall and winter. Talismans, jewelry, and riddles are often exchanged as a way to celebrate the entire lunar month. The final Moon of Life has made its pass, and preparations are made for the coming, harsh Moons of Decay.

_________________________________________ _________________________________________ A painting of the sunken city of merfolk faeries " It is a realm not quite near, and not quite so far... In those sunken, forgotten halls The Ocean's daughter mourns evermore. " Excerpt from the Faerie Legend of the Sea Maiden During the third and final full moon of the summer months, the Mother Circle reflects upon the legend of the Sea Maiden, a mermaid queen fabled to be the source of all ocean treasures. There, deep in the cerulean city of the ocean's splendor, she guards and keeps the tides, waiting for a day that shall never come. When the the world was young, and the seas without graveyards, a Son of Malin ventured into the surf with silver sails to glide over the water's surface as a shooting star in the night sky would. His hair was as pearly as the sea-foam upon the shore, and his eyes glimmered with the wondrous blue of the deep ocean. From her young throne, the Sea Maiden, Queen of Sirens and Mermaid Fae gazed up from her throne and knew that no pearl, no shell nor jewel was fairer than he. Yet, when the Sea Maiden erupted from the surface to meet her beloved... He denied her. For the elf with a mane of stars and eyes of tempest sought not love nor beauty... He sought glory that she could not give. Then, the world experienced the first cataclysm of the sea's legendary rage. As the sailor departed, the white hull of his vessel trailed a terrible, sorrowful storm. The tides swelled as the Ocean's daughter wept day and night. Even the land trembled beneath the black clouds; wailing, tumultuous pain of love that will never be. The typhoon raged across the land and deposited all of the riches of the ocean onto white shores. Pearl, fossils, coral, and shells and jewels like a kaleidoscope of treasure showered the shores of Kings and peasants alike. The Sea Maiden had rejected all of the Ocean's wealth that day. Her heart longed not for the shimmering coat of pearls and gems, but for the diamond-hair of her sailor. Still, she sings a mourning song in the depths of the sea, hoping that one day her sailor might return and join her atop the Cerulean Throne. It is rumored that sirens and mermaids are drawn to sailors, so that they might lure them into the abyss to bring the Sea Maiden her true love in which she searches for even still today. An artists' depiction of the Mermaid Queen To celebrate the fable of the Sea Maiden, the Mother Circle holds a great Ocean Ball at the end of the summer cycle. Donning sea-side treasures such as pearl, abalone, and coral are seen as a gesture of good fortune, as the Sea Maiden supposedly sends trinkets into the surf to those that reject fame and glory for the quieter fates of life.

The Archdruid was exhausted. For many nights he toiled, uprooting and destroying shrines to the flesh-eater deep in Acre territory. His hands were raw with splinter and chafe, yet still he made his way back to that cursed ridgeline. Looking back, he took in the last look of civilization he'd see for some time; the rolling golden fields of man's wheat empire, the splendor of the Baron's castle. His heart betrayed him for a moment, his worldly desires yearning for him to remain in comfort and company. He turned back to the forest and reconsidered. The thought of how awful it must have been to see through the eyes of the child that mistakenly chose to wander too deep into those verdant shadows. The Archdruid shook his head at the thought of such depravity that led to the youth's death and cannibalism. The decision for his head was clear, but it was no easy barter with his heart. The TimberWolf druid finally lifts his feet and disappears into the forest. Day and night, the druid would stalk, hunting for the monster capable of killing both person and the life of the land so effectively. Here, the druid would remain silent among the trees and shadows, learning every secret and quirk of this particular forest. If the wandered Hungered Spirit was still here, he was determined to find it and hunt it. He pondered the last words he shared with his wife, his mother, and his students. He wondered and worried for a moment as he thought about how they might worry for his absence... As his golden eyes scanned the forest from his space among the underbrush, he gave it another thought. The Archdruid smiled, and remained quiet. In his heart, he knew that their faith was with him. And then, he went hunting.

The breeze was warm, the sky as clear as crystal while the druids steadily weaved through the crags and cliffs of the Atoll. Gulls cried above their heads in delight, curiously flocking overhead once the druids had found their destination; a shallow bay with hundreds of shades of coral. The water was clear, calm and inviting, hinting at pleasant hours of scavenging for simple shells, pearls, and sea stones. However, something was amiss... The song of the sea faltered in the perception of the druids. Somewhere, the gentle hum of the tropical coast weakened and whimpered near-silently. Sinking waist-deep into the water, they hone their senses to the center of the bay. Whatever was disrupting the gentle, flowing song of the sea was somewhere out of reach. The five adventurers push boats into the gentle surf, gliding across the still water with ease. Further and further they slowly paddled, the song of nature quieting until nothing but the wind billowed past their ears. Where there was crystal blue water all around them, this portion of the bay was stained with a strange purple hue. The most curious took a small drink from the ocean to find it soured; astringent and nauseatingly salty. The brave dove down, determined to find the source of the somber song... The rigging of the simple brigandine rose like dark spires from the shallow sea floor. It's grave was the corpse of a ruined reef, suffering and dying under the weight of the broken timber and lost cargo. Deeper, and deeper did the druids brave the depths, until the cause of the rampant decay was obvious. The ship once carried fine wine, crates and barrels of luxurious drink from around the world. The broken bottles slowly leaked into the bay, tainting and discoloring the calm water. Fish dared not risk their health, swimming circles curiously around the blight of their once thriving home. For the druids, the time to act was clear to them; today was not a day of leisure and chatter, but of action. Slowly, the adventurers retrieve the broken boxes and bottles. Sweat, toil, rope-burnt palms and heads light from diving, the wine spill is slowly cleared. Raising their staffs together, summoning the cleansing grace of the Aspect's gifts, the water takes on a bright, bioluminescent glow as the druids purge taint from the water. The arduous task of purging the reef completed, the druids clamber back into the boats to make their trek home. Then, a bottle thumps against the boats. Within, a simple scroll reads: "The six mermaid stones rest on Sharktooth Isle." The route to the island wasn't long. Voyage completed within an hour, the druids set foot upon Sharktooth Isle. Indeed, the great whites circled the island hungrily, watching for any fool that might think themselves mightier than the beasts of the sea. On shore, the sailors took respite under a lone tree's shade. "I found a cave!" A druid shouts. Just as quickly as they sought a moment to breathe, the adventures scrambled to their feet, delving into the leaky cave below. At the bottom of the damp stone bowels of the island laid the final resting place of a bearded sailor. He was a dwarf, his beard still glittering with braid-beads and gold of his former splendor. There he slumbers eternally, clutching a key to his chest. The sharp eyes of the druids discern the key's intended purpose. A simple false wall of stone, concealing a dwarven sailor's treasure hoard. With the simple wall opening, before the druids appeared a treasure hoard of six stones. Three of pure, massive opalite, the light of a tropical ocean dawn sealed within the luxurious stones, and three of peacock green alexandrite that shifted to a royal hummingbird purple in the torchlight. The dead captain's note guarded the hoard, old and worn. His final wishes still legible, the druid reads aloud... "Here lays my heart, six in pieces. One for each daughter I should have loved, before the sea stole my heart. Take care of them, for I could not."

"Deep in that realm, the Prince does slumber With royal mane of leaf and umber. When the days turn long, the sun's veil of fire awakens summertime from the Lion's choir." Excerpt from the Faerie Tale of Majira, the Midsummer Prince _______________________________________ ________________________ The Sixth Moon of the Lunar Calendar of Faeries is known as the Lion Moon, named for the likeness of the druidic fable of Majira, a great lion thought to guard the Court of the Fae Queen. Majira slumbers most of the year at the entrance to the Verdant Glade, where he rests after his yearly roar that brings the crescendo of summer to the realm. He is thought to be the father of the PrideMother fae spirits, roaming hunters of mischievous faeries and trespassing spirits of draoi, and a patron of wild and domesticated feline companions to descendants alike. With Majira's watchful eyes holding the light of dusk and dawn, it is storied that witnessing reflective eyes of cats big and small is a sure sign that there are foul magics or dark spirits afoot. When the Stormtreader stags cascade their cacophony of thunder and rain during the Fifth moon of the calendar, Majira will awaken and loft his head high. His roar shakes the realms of the Forest and Descendants, rich ribbons of summertime season weaving nature's crescendo into the land and sky. Exhausted, the Great Lion shakes his mane, billowing sweltering breeze to shoo away summer storms that have overstayed their welcome. The oceans begin to stir with life, and the world bears summer fruit of sweet nourishment. Then, the Midsummer Prince returns to rest, so that he might regain his spirit to bring the next year's summer. The Pridemother's Chant, Song of the Midsummer Dance Lye orrarae, Maln! (We hunt, Father!) Lye orrarae karinte, Maln! (We are going hunting, Father!) Il'Kaean narnae, larionn'an, lye orrarae karinte! (Come with us, sisters, we are going hunting!) Lye! Uhierae, ehierae! Lye! Uhierae, ehierae! (The people!) (We seek, we find!) Maruriar, Maln! (Roar, Father!) Lye! Haelun, kaean annil! Lye! Haelun, myumier ito! (The people!) (Mother, guide us! Mother, carry us (to it)!) Ito orrarae! (Here, we hunt!) Oh, draoi uhierae! (Oh, we hunt evil!) A painting of Mother Circle druids partaking in the Midsummer Dance In the Mother Circle, a great celebration is held in honor of this story during the phases of the Lion Moon. Known as the Midsummer Dance, performers travel dressed as Majira and his pride of daughters to spread the joys and beliefs of summertime according to druidic values. The chiefest display involves firedancing, a great demonstration of the story of Majira in the form of a traveling performance and feast. Adorned in bright summer colors and masks of the Midsummer Prince and his hunting pride of daughters, the druids of the circle travel the world to instill strength and faith into those that aim to preserve nature. Summer fruits and laurels are few of many gifts brought to a communal feast, while stories of great accomplishments for the preservation of the balance are shared. While Summer is indeed a season of vitality and strength, it is also a season where the weak perish. When the Mother Circle celebrates the Midsummer Dance, they are praying for the wisdom and strength of the hardy spirits of summer. Wise druids know that no season truly holds an era of quiet when it comes to the protection of the balance, and the summer heat often proves harshest to many. Celebrating the Midsummer Dance and feast forges bonds that many wish to maintain in solidarity of the hard work yet to come.

Coward. Spineless. The words never even reached the ears of the Archdruid. The Fallen Monarch Druid spat these insults to his beloved wife, instead of facing him. He thought, for a brief moment, that he might be right. Perhaps there was something in him that was afraid. Afraid to fail. Afraid to bring shame to the name of the Order. Then, as the news of terror and blight came upon the voice of the Epiphyte Waystalker, a primal, druidic rage sparked within the soul of the TimberWolf. How dare you? The Archdruid thought, as he saddles the shimmering flanks of his steed, glimmering like diamonds under the light of the moon. Long had the Mother Circle slumbered, fearful of others' thoughts on their methods of fulfilling the duties. As the five rode deep into Elysium territory, his apprehension melted. Fear held no grip on the TimerWolf's heart, but the talons of righteous fury carried his burning spirit to wild flight over the land. The gates were opened with welcome greetings to the druids. As they ascended to the heart of the city, the ugly truth sprawled before him. The glade in which aspiring youth placed hope into was rotten, leeched of life and hope, all because of the relentless games of a coward. But it wasn't the coward that was going to fix it. The Spirit of the Hinterland rose high into the thick smog of rot and wither, calling upon the dedication of the four druids. With it came a rain of cleansing fire on the heels of a ghostly howl; the moonsong of a wolven Luonto. Where there was blackened dirt, sapped of natural life, the rain came and poured a hailstorm of druidic fury, chasing the blight away like a thick black smoke on the wind. The firestorm left a thick fog of pure light over the glade, washing the earth of lingering impurities and banishing taint into harmless smoke that rose high into the sky and disappeared. With a final push from the four, the clouds of druidic energy, rich with life and righteous purpose, arise like a massive tidal wave to crash down the hill and lap calming waves at the feet of the druids. Exhausted, the Mother's Favored quietly departed... Upon the hill of the now cleansed glade rested a simple note. It bore no name nor signature. It simply read; "I am still watching."

The Archdruid reads a copy of The Almaris Times on his way towards the capital to assist his new friends with the completion of this grudge, for the Dragon had wrecked much havoc upon the balance of nature as well. A jaunty tune enters his mind as he arrives at the top of the mountain to look down towards the valley protecting the Dwarven Capital, and quietly begins crafting another bar song of this adventure.

"How dare you tolerate threats to nature." The words of his elder cut like a knife to his soul. He felt the pain of unattuning his student anew, the claws of the Bruin sinking into his misplaced hope that he once cherished. There was nothing he could say to mitigate the misunderstanding - that much was clear. If it had not been for the lingering pride that his mother had in his progress, he may have succumbed to a long spiritual sleep. He could not return to the Vale. There was nothing he could say, no... But there was certainly something the TimberWolf could do. The elfess that had grown his staff, answered his questions as a dedicant, and helped him disconnect a draoi... The next time he would meet her, he swore, he would be holding a piece of the Dragon that terrorized her home. He knew he had to prove himself, or die trying. That was the way of the Father's Balance. And so, the TimberWolf rambled. It was nothing unusual, for him. He was an elf of lamentations and joy, weaved carefully through the only method the unattuned might hear the wonderous song of nature - his music. He often wondered, when the wolves would howl their own song at night, if his totem was both a curse and a blessing, for the blues are sung by men of constant sorrow. Much to his surprise... The journey to the Mountain King's halls was one of rejoice and welcome. The Sons of Urguan delighted in the rich wealth of the druid's healing music, their highlands finding new blooms and rejuvenated vitality as the Archdruid worked night and day. Where the whale's carcass had soured the soil and rotted the flora, the song of the Archdruid was there to heal the land and the morale of the Legion. Then, he knew he had in ally in his impossible task. The Mountain understood well the personal task the Archdruid had shared with. And there, a grand plan between Druid and Dwarf King was forged; The reign of terror from the Dragon will come to an end by the Wrath of Cerridwen and the Fury of Yemekar. As the Archdruid retreats to the treeline to begin quiet and lengthy preparations, he thought of Liri, his Haelun... Wyn, his dear friend... and chiefest of all his wife. He vowed to bring them a story they could be proud of.

Somewhere in the Mother Circle, an archdruid recalls the grand adventures he had with the most unlikely of fast friends. A smile crosses his lips as he considers visiting again. "I shall bring them exotic liquor and merry music." he concludes

"The Stag is blessed with a crown of forked lightning. The Caribou's hooves roar over the land like thunder. The Elk's voice the screaming wind of the tempest. The Storm Moon has risen above murky summer skies!" Excerpt from the Legend of the StormTreader, Guardian of the Storm Moon __________________________________________ ________________________________________ A painting of the mythical StormTreader Faerie When the final lunar phase of the spring months has passed, the kin of the Mother Circle know that the harsher times of the lunar calendar is upon them. The clouds churn into great veils of shadow and storm, washing the land with a cleansing rain. When the sky illuminates with the crash of thunder, it is said that the mythical StormTreader stags are clashing their antlers together. Rain cascades over the earth like a tide to cleanse the remnants of the old and warn of the scorching summer months to come, and lightning strikes the land to smite wayward, trespassing spirits of draoi and evil spirits. To honor the story of this fable, the Mother Circle gathers for a grand hunt and the creation of the Lunar Year's Tempest Crown. The tradition begins with two hunting parties representing the Wind and Rain of a summer storm. Venturing into the wilds, the hunters harvest a deer, elk, or caribou to obtain the antlers required for the creation of the Tempest Crown. Then, a grand reenactment of the clashing of horns is held between two chosen warriors of each hunting party. Using only the horned helms they have created, they endure combat during the first summer storm until one of the crowns break. The remaining artifact is exalted as the year's Tempest Crown, a symbol of the Circle's resilience during real and spiritual storms. ___________________________________________ ___________________________________________ A sketch of a druid having won the Tempest Crown "When lightning strikes, kin beware; For the draoi and slothful druid Are one in the same in the eye of the storm." The faerie stags themselves are believed by the Mother Circle to be pure faerie spirits of justice, and enactors of Cerunnos' will. While not associated with the Pantheon of the Wild Hunt, they are considered stalwart protectors of the Court of the Fae Queen and help ensure that malevolent faeries that cross into the mortal realm are kept in line, never overindulging in their unknowable mischief and tricks on descendants. To witness the passing of a white stag is to see a StormTreader in the flesh, an incredibly rare sight and an omen of nearby danger. The Mother Circle considers these faeries to be the first children of Ameathon, and will often keep antlers from hunts and present them to the most honorable and tested warriors of the Grove to symbolize their dedication to the glades of Cerridwen. ________________________________________ __________________________________________

For as long as the Circle has been able to cast eyes of wonder up to the moon, stories and myths have been sung and written by the Mother Circle. Cautionary tales, omens of fortune and legends of rare creatures are celebrated during the Mother’s Cycle, or the Lunar Calendar. Typically there are twelve moons of the year with a rare thirteenth moon, all with specific festivals, traditions, rites and patron mythical creatures. The twelve are divided into three lunar seasons in honor of the Mother’s Cycle of Birth, Life, and Decay. In addition, there exist fables of strange creatures that the Druids revere. The Moons of Birth The Moons of Birth represent nature’s revitalization from the changes of autumn and winter. The blessings of new blooming flowers and mild weather are celebrated, with the largest celebration being held during the Flower Moon. It is said that the vibrant energy of the NightFall domain pours in from the fae rings towards the end of winter and offers the eternal colors of spring and rebirth to the world. The Crystal Moon The First Moon of Birth is still cold and symbolizes the challenges of birth. When the last of the ice crystals cling to the realm, the tale of the Fae Hare’s emergence is celebrated for the month. It describes a pure white, horned snow hare that emerges to carve away the last biting cold of winter and spread the seeds for the coming Spring. The Painted Moon Once Winter is but a memory, the realm is painted with the colors of spring. Dread erupts into joy as life surges in a green crescendo of new growth and the sky burns bright with spring’s radiance. The Circle celebrates the beginning of Spring by decorating the Grove with bright colors of druidic creation. It is believed that the Painted Moon offers passage to the Color Flight of Cerridwen, an innumerable flock of Hummingbird Fairies that represent every color imaginable and bring their rainbows to the world with new vibrancy. The Flower Moon The Flower Moon is one of the largest celebrations of the Mother Circle. A great forager’s feast is held of berries, sweet honey and artisanal fruits. With the great crescendo of flowers and nourishment from the land, brewmasters are summoned throughout the realm to display their mastery of nature’s elixirs and liquors. Flower dances and gifts of new clothing are cherished among the Circle. The Cloud Moon When the radiance of Spring begins to come to a close, Cerridwen’s Breath blows in great winds that summon warmer weather and billows fertility over the land. The flowers close up and begin their journey to fruition, or take flight in the wind to plant the seeds of future life. It is believed that this Moon brings a more mischievous Fae passage into the world; butterfly pixies as small as bees that enact the Mother’s promise of Life. It is said that if one were to be foolish enough to harm such a creature, they would be doomed to experience extreme misfortune for their savage disrespect to the Spring Sprite. The Moons of Life The Moons of Life are believed to be the most powerful and strong Moons of the Mother’s Cycle. The Dayward Lands influence the four lunar cycles with energy from the eternally sunny realm and breathe vitality into all living beings. The Storm Moon Eventually, the breath of Spring turns into a great windy storm seen during the Storm Moon. When the weather suddenly shifts from balmy to the intense heat of the coming summer, Cerridwen’s Stormtreaders emerge as heralds of rain and thunder. Cleansing the land and nourishing the realm, Stags of mist and tempest bring thunder with their stomping hooves and cracks of lightning through the clash of antlers. In some tales, it is said that when lightning strikes the land, a Stormtreader has reprimanded a dangerous trespassing fae or draoi and returned it to the Fae Realm. The Lion Moon After the rains of summer have quenched the thirst of the land, the heat of summer is ushered in by the Midsummer Prince. He is a storied lion guardian of Cerridwen’s Glade within the Fae Realm, and will roar a wave of primal vibrancy from the Fae Realm. The sun will blaze bright and the days will become long and difficult. During this great offering of sunlight, however, the Midsummer Prince gifts the coming autumn bounty with Cerridwen’s Blessing of Life, so that there may be a grand harvest to nurture the world towards the end of the year. The Ocean Moon When the Roar of Summer begins to warm the oceans, the Festival of the Sea Maiden is held upon the beaches and shores of the Mother Grove. The Sea Maiden is the fabled mother of summer sea creatures, often depicted with the scales of a rainbow trout, luminescent tails of the jellyfish, or long hair of lakebed greens. She can leap from any body of water to another and morph her body to suit any climate. During the Festival of the Sea Maiden, the bounty of the Ocean is celebrated through great works of art in sand, coral, and sea stone. During this Moon, it is said that the Children of the Sea Maiden, Mermen and Sirens, will guard the tide and rivers against greedy travelers. Doom is said to follow those who are unable to resist the mischievous games of the Fae, while those who respect the waters of the world might stumble upon a small token of wealth from the sea in the form of rare pearls and sea-stones. Many of these riches are gifted to loved ones, guides, or to the Mother herself to ensure more good fortune will follow. The Fox Moon To celebrate the first changes of Autumn, the Rite of the Vixen is held once the toiling of summer has concluded. During this celebration, a masquerade is held in honor of the nine-tailed Fae spirit that symbolizes riddles, change, and clever wisdom. It is told that by hiding one’s face behind a Fae that they attain the most wisdom from during the rite, the mischievous sons of the White Vixen will not age the festival participants unkindly. Instead, her young pups will cloak the realm in shades of autumn and chase the prey animals of the world into the season of the Wild Hunt. The Moons of Decay When the Mother’s Cycle reaches the time of decay, the days become shorter and the radiance of summer turns quiet. With each dusk and dawn, the realm of the Twilight Bound hushes the roar of summer into a somber lullaby. Darker nights and trickster creatures of the fae rule the final phase of the cycle. The Crimson Moon The Rise of the Crimson Moon signals the beginning of the Wild Hunt. The Circle will form parties of mighty hunters to follow the guidance of the Fae Vixen’s children to their prey. Wreaths of autumn leaves and berries are adorned as crowns onto successful Hunt Masters, denoting status as a harvest provider within the Circle. During this moon, the Windrunners have been rumored to briefly present themselves before particularly skilled hunters. Very little is known of the purpose of the Windrunner’s visit, but it is associated with the spirit of fairness and clean kills. Should a hunter not properly use their kill or leave excessive waste, the Windrunner may secretly stalk them and sabotage their days until the imbalance has been corrected. The Pumpkin Moon The Pumpkin Moon is perhaps the largest event held within the Mother Circle. The harvest’s yield comes to a close, and the Ritual of the NightWing is performed during the full moon of the month. The NightWing is depicted as a great bat that visits the young of the realm and gifts them with sweets and toys stolen from naughty children and bullies. He will appear as kind and happy to those that have respected the Hunt, while playing games of mischief and terror upon those who have wasted the season. With a promise to share their gifts with their mother and father, the children and their families of the Grove will carve lighted pumpkin and gourds in honor of NightWing to ward off the dangerous fae spirits that may enter the realm during winter months. The Night Moon The Night Moon is the start of the coldest time of year. Frost sweeps over the land silently in the night, thought to be ushered in by a flock of moonlit moths that flutter from the silver rays of the silvery winter moon. The MoonMoths are silent and never intentionally interact with descendants in legend and are considered a dangerous Fae. Those unlucky to find themselves alone and lost in the wilds during the winter months may find themselves frozen to death, rumored to be the work of the moth spirits themselves who have been found by a doomed wanderer. The final days of the Night Moon are marked by the resilience of the evergreen trees, the largest of which is grown by the Druids in reverance of the Mother’s Promise of Rebirth. Traditionally gifts were exchanged to ensure the Circle’s prosperity during the colder months, but tokens of appreciation are also popular in the form of new clothing, toys, and sweets. The Wolf Moon Marking the End of the Cycle, the last and coldest moon of the year is marked with the trials of survival. The Mother’s children, if they are to navigate the obstacles of deep winter, must show resilience and faith in Cerridwen. In the wilds during particularly cold nights, the Spirits of Hunger stalk the realm. Also known as Icefangs, these fae monsters hunt the weak and the dying so that their life might be recycled in the coming spring. Howling cacophony of hungry wolves might just be the rallying cry of a pack of Icefangs bringing a kind end to suffering, and hunt both descendants and evil fae spirits. The greatest trophy of a pack of Icefangs is the soul of a draoi, who they hunt tirelessly during the Wolf Moon. A talisman of an IceFang is said to bring their protective nature to the aid of innocent newborns and children, whom the IceFangs shall never harm as decreed by Cerridwen. On the last day of the year before the Moons of Birth, an offering of old items, food, or clothing is set before an altar to Cerridwen in hopes that by discarding what is not needed and offering it to another, the Icefangs may overlook their homes and glades and continue their hunt for more appropriate trophies. The Fae Queen’s Moon Occasionally, a thirteenth moon will arise during the year. Such a rare and sacred event to the Mother Circle has been celebrated at the season of Cerridwen herself, the Fae Queen. In stories, the light of the Fae Queen’s moon calls all of the Fae back to the Realm in summons to a great court of nature and seasons. The souls of druids past convene with Cerridwen and the Fae to discuss matters of the Balance and the three realms of the Fae. An unusually bright full moon illuminates the night sky, with the Mother Circle holding the greatest rite of all, the Gathering of Lights. The gathering involves the creation of glowing lanterns that are sent into the heavens, holding prayers and wishes that the Circle hopes that the Mother’s court may hear. Notable Legends of the Mother Grove While not necessarily associated with any season, the following mythical fae creatures carry important teachings to the Druids of the Mother Grove. Whether they actually exist or not is certainly debated among the realm, but their stories are very real and sacred to Druids. The Wanderer The Wanderer is the most elusive fae storied within the library of the Mother Circle, but beloved by believers. It is a tall, olog-sized fae ape that strides around the outskirts of fae rings to ensure that no fae of ill-intent comes to harm Druids by trespassing into the world. Many druids believe that The Wanderer is a sole member of a once plentiful sect of the Mother’s Guardians, and has been gifted with the ability to phase in and out of the fae realm without the need of a direct gateway. This makes the Wanderer a creature of legendary elusivity and the ultimate ambusher. In some texts, the Wanderer is locked in an endless hunt for the Hungered, fae that embody the starving winter months and harbor a deep hate for druids and descendants. The Hungered The Hungered is by far the most sinister of cautionary tales of the Mother Circle. When the Moons of Decay come, there are some spirits and souls that wish to cheat death by resorting to the most heinous and evil of hunts; the murder and feasting of their own kin. The Hungered are invisible sprites that will infect the forms of starving, desperate druids and animals that have killed or eaten their family. When the sprite has possessed the body, it will mutate into a hideous creature of winter with skin like permafrost and teeth of needles and icicles. Plagued by a never satiated, primal hunger, they wander in and out of the fae realm on cold nights and consume the flesh of the weak while they are still alive. According to legend, the first Hungered was the warped soul of a draoi that has since harbored a hate for the Aspects. Forced to forever seek contentment, the draoi spirit searches the world for weak druids to tempt and possess in a method of continued revolt against the Balance. The Glimmerhorn Collectively known as unicorns, the Glimmerhorn fae are the Mother’s beauty incarnate. Incredibly rare and thought to bring fertility and wealth, they travel the world in solitude bringing the light of the Fae Realm by their shimmering hooves and long horns. Residing within all three portions of the Fae Realm, they can come in nearly any array of colors and glow. The Glimerhorn is the patron fae of warriors who enact the Mother’s Wrath against mages, dragonkin, and evil spirits. These unicorns are extremely territorial and will guard their glades valiantly. The longer the gleaming horn upon a unicorn, the more imbalance it has vanquished in its life. The PrideMother Feline creatures are immensely important myths and real companions of the Mother Circle. Some druids claim that the cats of the world, big and small are descendant from the PrideMothers themselves, great saber-toothed cats that hunt and track draoi and more dangerous fae. They may resemble a ghostly specter or a whimsical recreation of their natural descendants. The reflective eyes of the cats that remain with us in this realm are remnants of the PrideMother’s ability to see even invisible fae or demons, and the light caught within their gaze is used to locate their prey with pinpoint accuracy. To witness the shine of a cat’s eyes as a descendant or druid is a certain sign that foul magics are afoot. The Talisman of the PrideMother is a common gift given to new mothers so that they may be blessed with the gift of Cerridwen’s discernment to protect her young. The Glade Serpent Historically, Taynei the Great Green Dragon has offered the druids trials, wisdom, and strife. Lesser dragons called Glade Serpents inhabit all reaches of the forest but bear very little of Taynei’s intelligence and ability to speak. To the Mother Circle Druids, the Glade Serpents are the symbols of joy and prosperity, as they are thought to be the faithful companions of smaller fae that reside in the Fae Realm. They are typically depicted as a whimsical mount for fabled sprites, aiding their daily tasks within the Fae Realm.

"She is the breath of life in our lungs, the rain that both mourns the fallen and nourishes the living. She is the kaleidoscope of colors in spring, the heartbeat of the world. Her name is Cerridwen, Queen of the Fae." [Link] -From the writings of Aerendyl, Archdruid of Song __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Revived from an age of dormancy, the eldest circle is comprised of druids from many paths and creeds united in devotion to the preservation of the Balance. Believing that all life is merely borrowed from the Faerie Queen, these faithful druids commit their living years to the preservation of the Balance, stewardship of the wilds, and the proliferation of a culture of reverent storytelling until the Great Mother calls them to give back that life afforded to them and take rest within the boughs of her enchanted court deep in the Eternal Forest. __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ From merciful healers to inviolable guardians, the Mother Circle druids serve nature in lockstep with the dual ordinance of the King and Queen in the woods, Cernunnos and Cerridwen. Believing that the will of the Aspects can be discerned by the natural phenomena of the lunar cycle, astral events, and seasonal change, the circle observes the progression of the Lunar Calendar; a timetable of twelve moons and occasionally a rare thirteenth moon that is divided into three seasons that reflect the promises of the Great Mother: Birth, Life, and Decay. The Phases of Birth The Phases of Life The Phases of Decay The beginning of the The middle of the The end of the Calendar, calendar, the emergence Calendar, the arrival Summer’s degradation into Of Spring from Winter of Summer from Spring Autumn and Winter _______________________ _______________________ ________________________ The Crystal Moon The Storm Moon The Crimson Moon The Painted Moon The Lion Moon The Pumpkin Moon The Flower Moon The Ocean Moon The Night Moon The Cloud Moon The Fox Moon The Wolf Moon The Fae Queen’s Moon _______________________________ A rare thirteenth moon that sometimes arises during the lunar calendar, and is considered most sacred of the thirteen. During its arrival, it is believed that the souls of departed druids and wandering faeries are summoned to Cerridwen’s Court deep in the Eternal Forest, guided by the light of the full moon. On the night of its arrival, the druids celebrate the Gathering of the Lights, a ritual that involves the interpretation of constellations and the ascension of faerie fire lanterns carrying prayers to the Aspects into the night sky. "With blade and bow, O Father, may I remain humble in harvest Grant my feet and arrows swiftness, may my eyes and sword be sharp When the heart is pierced, the throat cut May your arrow loft this animal's spirit to the Forest In their rebirth, may I remember this hunt Keep me their memory, the animal honored And in your will may the Wild Hunt forever come” [Link] The Huntman’s Creed Honored equally, Cernunnos is worshiped as the Protector of the Fae Queen’s Court and Master of the Wild Hunt; a recurring age of great autumnal change, harvest, predatory drive and perseverance. The beginning is marked by the arrival of the Fox Moon and ends at the final waning crescent of the Wolf Moon, during which time the circle honors the arrival of the Centaur King’s chiefest huntsman including both Mani and faeries alike. Thought to bear star-tipped arrows that shatter the mortal coil and reap souls to return to the ever-cycling flow of life, the Mother Circle recognizes Cerunnunos as the artist of constellations and chronicles the celestial signs diligently. The Astral Observatory doubles as a graveyard for departed druids of the Order, where their specific constellations can be viewed in the reflected firmament upon the mirror sheen of the observatory’s viewing pool. Druids seeking spiritual purpose from the Huntsmaster himself may dedicate themselves to further service through induction into the Wildwood Rangers, a loose fellowship of druids whose duties are to roam the realm, seek out threats to the Balance before catastrophe strikes and fiercely protect any who dare threaten the glades of Cerridwen’s Devoted. The Rangers are encouraged to remain active in exploration and stewardship, scorning slothfulness and exclusivity. Requiring only to follow the ethics of Cernunnos’ Huntsmen and memorization of the Creed, the duties of the Ranger remain a popular purpose for Mother Circle druids to pursue. _________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Druids of the Mother Circle, collectively known as Cerridwen’s Devoted, are considered equal among their peers. Nominated by existing archdruids or the whole circle in absence of leadership, the Circle is organized by three roles of oversight. The number three is thought to be sacred among Cerridwen’s Devoted, harkening to the lunar cycle and the three promises of the Great Mother. The Mother’s Song Aerendyl Hawksong Responsible for cultural worship, inspiration and guidance of the Circle’s learning Druids, and outreach to nations and realms The Mother's Mercy The Mother's Wrath Suika Lorenthus Vanari Amethyst Vanari Responsible for the advisement of Responsible for the detection the focus in the Circle's efforts of threats to the Circle to preserve the Balance and preservation of unity The Mother Circle Druid Inaugurated either by attunement through the Rite of Rebirth or through three basic trials, these druids actively participate in the Circle’s core duties and assigned missions. Foreign druids may choose to complete the following tasks to attain recognition as a part of Cerridwen’s Devoted: the performance of the Rite of Rebirth, the leading of a hunt with the recital of the Huntsman’s Creed, and a held sermon on the lunar calendar, fae, mani or Aspects. Some may choose to take the Ilmyumier markings of the Circle, which depicts three blue faerie roses woven together in any place of choosing. The Dedicant Those prospects who have pledged to follow the path of druidism are known as dedicants. Through years of diligence in studies and tasks, the dedicant is prepared by their guide and mentors within the circle to be presented to the Aspects through the Rite of Rebirth, in which the King and Queen in the woods will pass their final judgment. The Sylvan Warden -Vacant- To manage and coordinate the Wildwood Rangers, a symbolic figurehead is chosen to organize outings and communicate with the three Archdruids. Keeping the tasks and missions of the Rangers enigmatic to outsiders, the Warden’s primary role is to keep the Rangers engaged. _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Rite of Rebirth [Link] When a dedicant has fulfilled the requirements of dedicancy, the circle gathers in the Mother’s Sorrow to immerse the druid in the living waters of the grove. Believing that Cerridwen herself labors to offer descendants a renewal of life through attunement and the gifts, the Lyric of Rebirth is sung in prayer as the dedicant is presented to the Aspects for judgment. This rite is also performed to usher the souls of departed druids to the Eternal Forest. Sounding of the Horn [Link] To herald the season of the Wild Hunt, the massive horn of the Circle is blown at the height of noon on the first day of the Fox Moon. The druids have infused the horn with potent gifts, so much so that nature itself quakes in fervor at the call of the Centaur King’s Huntsmen. While primarily used for ceremonial purposes, the horn will sound when the grove is threatened to instill druidic energy in the environment and prepare the glades for battle.

The rambling Archdruid of the Mother Circle smiles wide at the proclamation from the Silver City. Many days had he spent among their silver towers and flowered fields purging blight and dragon shrines, and with this news he poured himself a drink. "The Silver Isle is free from the snare of unbalance, finally. I should return and see for myself how their shoreline is continuing to regrow." he notes to himself, kicking back a healthy drink in celebration.

Writing for the cowboy elf just became so, so much more fantastic. Thank you

An amendment has been made to the flier!

"...where all the druid kin go to boot, scoot, and boogie!" Now serving for our soft opening! Welcome to the Bayou Beer Garden of the Atoll Grove, home of feel-good music, soul food, and good company featuring the ONLY living theatre in Almaris! Come enjoy a pint of our infamous SWAMP FOX SOUR, an unusual green beer under the canopy of our garden's Dogwood Tree, or chow down on our tongue-torching GATOR BAIT: a secret recipe fried chicken that is a challenge for any spice lover. Our Mascot Alligator has a comfy home in the waters of our music stage, which is set atop a giant live lily pad. Our Star Lady loves visitors! [not liable for loss of appendages] BLUES NIGHT! Our resident bard has a passion for storytelling and blues! As you settle on in with us, you'll find that nature will join in with our musical shenanigans. Even our weeping willows cry for joy on Blues Night! Hosted weekly, you may hear a tune or two inspired by world events. Rambling bards welcome! We are hiring! IMPORTS AND EXPORTS We have begun to expand our inventory to favored taverns around Almaris. Currently, we are featuring Nevaehlen's Sweetbrier Barleywine, crafted by the BrewMistress of the Iron Antler. Want your favorite drink on the menu? We'll gladly purchase and/or trade goods with fellow taverns! Currently, we offer two staple drinks for bulk purchase: The Bayou's Infamous Swamp Fox Sour and Legendary Fae Moonshine Swamp Fog Smoking Den and Lounge For downtime, we feature a natural cave with sauna and lounge. Among mushrooms and a natural spring-fed spa, there's plenty of ways to kick back. House blends of Green coming soon!

The woodland around the Vale seemed so much more alive since the Spring Equinox. Birds danced and fluttered along the winding, gentle breeze of the season, and so did the cowboy's golden song upon that same breeze. The flowers along the Archdruid's path back home bloomed with vibrancy, a reflection of a recurring theme in his mind: Hope. His strides were easy and unbridled by the weight of his worldly conundrums. He had found the right path to take in his life, and sung easily of melancholic delight. Where the fork in the road seemed uncertain, he found that the wisdom of the people who loved him so truly and honestly made the flowers bloom like a blanket of white snow upon this path he had chosen. It was no coincidence, he thought, as he recited a poem of his druidic path in his mind. From a Hound shall arise a Timber Wolf from Orison, a solemn prayer WolfsBane will temper the Wolf's anguish And his howl will confide to the Snow his deepest wish When he finally arrived at the foot of his beloved Dogwood tree, Lady Snow, she was in full bloom. The elf-lord's eyes looked up in wonder at the ever-entrancing beauty of the world he suffered willingly for, and smiled. It did not have to be so, for those he was unable to understand before have graced him with a font of wisdom thought to be unreachable, he thought. He saw the way that Liri looked towards him that evening with another great sense of Hope, the very same he has seen in Awaiti, in Emilei, in Nenar, and most of all - his dear wife. "I've gone an expended myself a little too fervently again, my dear Snow." the druid greets his tree with this admission. The elf had seated himself so that his back leant against the trunk of the tree. With his energy still sapped from his first attempt at infusion, he relishes in the quiet, faint communion of his companion tree even if he could not truly communicate in his usual way. Yet, that was alright, in his mind. He places a tome of the Way of the Sage next to him as he rested against the tree, as if Lady Snow would even understand this. He knew it was impossible, but took solace in her gentle silence regardless. She was a good friend to have. "I saw you in this book, today." he elaborates to nobody but the nature around him. Opening the tome, he thumbs to a page that details the Ilmyumier of the Sage Way, the tattoo of white woodland flowers upon a twisting branch. It was not of Dogwood, but the similarity was striking. "You have a sister, too." he continues. "There is a druid that bears your name as her totem, my dear Lady... She says that the Aspects have guided me onto this path; to understanding and acceptance." Of course, there was no answer. Yet, the golden-headed elf smiles still and welcomes the empty response of the spring breeze upon his skin. "When I return, I will make the same promise to you as I did Sister Snow. To revere the Beauty of Life, to Accept the Reality of Death, to maintain the Flow of Balance, to Guide my Passion into Fury, and to embody the Soothing of Harmony." he recites carefully, the information still fresh on his mind. "I think I'm already pretty good at the last one." the musician jests, remaining at the comforting side of his tree and picking away at his banjo for the remainder of the day.

I'll bet Zilldude a free copy of Warhammer 3 that this gets taken down

The duty of the Druid is to protect, to heal, to preserve, and to serve the Balance. The Balance is simultaneously mighty in its enormity of influence and fragile enough to require the aid of Druids. From ensuring that descendants do not leech nutrients from the earth from over farming to snuffing out vile sorcerers, the duties of the Druidic Order are varied. They can be quiet, challenging, lethal or anything in between. For the development of Druids both early and late in their journey, it is important to collaborate with our kin. The Mother Circle has seen value in delegating tasks to any willing party of druids for the continued benefit of the Balance. Here you will find adventures to embark on with your kin, with potential reward for all involved, be them attuned or unattuned. Seek purpose here when your duties become light. ____________________________________________________________________________ Current Expeditions of the Mother Circle Riverside Rumble The Rivers beside the Atoll grove have had their natural flow altered by some means, affecting everything downstream. The lack of water has caused great thirst to the land and animal population, and the chance of wildfire by negligence has become dangerously high. Seek out the affected portion of the river using the provided rafts, find out what has caused their disruption along the natural flow and rectify it. Suggested party: 2-3 Suggested party composition: Dedicant, Young Druid Combat: Unlikely Hazards: Whitewater rafting, unstable wilderness, probable wild animal encounters ((Repeatable?: No)) Seashore Shenanigans While the world’s political state has become uncertain with the Orenian and Dwarven war heating up, we’ve seen an increase of military cargo, trading ships, and pirates passing by our portion of the oceans. Some of these ships have sailed dangerously close to known coral reefs, and I am entrusting you and your kin to ensure that these fragile ecosystems are not disturbed by the passing of these vessels. Suggested party: 3-4 Suggested party composition: Dedicant, Druid, Blight Healer Combat: Possible Hazards: Underwater exploration, coral reefs, sailors ((Repeatable?: Yes)) The Laughing God ((Part 1)) Some travelers have been sending the Archdruids letters of warning for travelers traveling from the desert. According to them, there are ‘protectors of nature’ unknown to us that are robbing, stealing, and harming anyone who expresses a wish to travel to the Atoll Grove. One traveler has requested an escort party to help guide their pilgrimage to the Grove. Stay on your toes, team, we don’t have any other insight to the situation. Suggested party: 3-4 Suggested party composition: Any Combat: Expected Hazards: Harsh climate, potential bandits, lengthy travel ((Repeatable?: Yes)) Updated 12th of The Amber Cold ((4/4/22)) ((OOC))

"Many have spoken pretty words in the Vale." Nenar spoke. The Raithean's voice was somber and unyielding, but was not unkind. "I understand." The Archdruid responds. He was tired, his body only just revitalizing from pushing it to the breaking point. Sweat still stained his brow, and his eyes were gaunt with weariness. "Many have approached the Circle with promises that fell through. The Father is action, will, and strength." Nenar continued with an even, guiding tone. Her words dug deep, even if that which she was describing may have had nothing to do with him. He felt a deep, biting sense of accountability, and in his mind it didn't matter whether or not he was involved or not. People had entrusted him with their faith and he felt their eyes and ears upon all that he did even from afar. The yoke indeed was heavy, yet he placed the weight of it upon his soul regardless. 'To suffer willingly is to love most purely', he thought to himself. There was much depending on his success here: the respect of his peers, the hope of his teachers, the confident smile from his wife, his best friend's camaraderie, his students, and the aspiring gaze of his children. He did indeed love each one of them, and the thought of disappointment swallowed the fear of his pride's demise. Now was the time to act. "I will keep Awaiti's expections of me... Always." Aerendyl responds, a prayer to himself as much as a response. Now, there was Nenar to watch him keep to his word. His belly burned with the same, nauseating flame of determination as he felt with Dedicancy. With Nenar's acceptance of his goals, he bowed his head. It was time to do it all again. "Know that any betrayal will be the only betrayal." Nenar added. It was time to act.