The Media Wizard

Lord Commander Amaesil Vuln'miruel stood alone in the empty streets of the Sutican capital. He watched the combined forces of Silver and Bronze march through the streets in their attempt to find someone — anyone. The Lord Commander was relieved, in truth. He strolled through the vacant streets with a hand rested on the pommel of his elven longsword. Every so often he would catch a glimpse of terrified eyes looking out from behind curtains in the locked and boarded homes. He had no interest in harming the innocent; none in the ranks of the United Elven Army did.

A smaller note would be added to the statement. It would be stamped with the sigil of a fox bearing stag antlers: the sign of the Lord Commander Amaesil Vuln’miruel. The note would read: To all. It brings us elves no joy or satisfaction in provoking this conflict. In fact, the inciting incident that occurred was heinous by all accounts and we intended to aid the Federation of Sutica in dispensing proper justice to those involved; however, the false threats of war on behalf of the Silver State of Haelun’or by the elf known as Markir were an abysmal display of foreign di

Amaesil Vuln'miruel regards the note from atop the Keep of the Order. Coming to the end of the missive, he would neatly fold the parchment and tuck it into his red robe that draped across his half-plate armor. Raising the odd device Celiasil had gifted him long ago, he would peer half a world away and spot the black billows of smoke that constantly spewed from the Warnation to the north. He lowers the telescope and sets it against the old, stone railing. Gripping the rock, he'd exhale and his breath would catch in the frigid morning air. He was hardly battle-tested and was now flun

MUSIC The sun began to rise over the woodlands. Warm rays of golden light slipped through the thick canopy and ignited the underbrush in an almost ethereal manner. No rain clouds lingered in the skies on this day — only blue skies. The Emerald Guard — warriors and guardsmen of Elvenesse — awoke from their homes and donned their steel armor. They marched out into the morning air as their steel-toed boots kicked up puddles of dew in the grass as they walked. Eventually, the guardsmen exited the inner gate of the city and made their way up the nearby mountain

THE LAMENT OF BROTHER OAK The gates were open. Amaesil Vuln’miruel, High Warden and the Oak Druid, rode past the towering archway of the woodland city entrance. He rode atop his druidic companion — Estelavern the Elk — and looked around the city proper. The entrance was silent; not even birds were chirping. A frown crossed his face. His eyes flicked up toward the barracks above. He had hoped to hear the clashing of ferrum on hay, but there was nothing. Complete, utter silence. Amaesil slid off of the elk’s back and ran a gloved hand across the be

Amaesil Vuln'miruel reads the notice with a light smile. The elf exhales slowly upon completing his read. A relieved expression overtakes his face for a few moments before he turns his eyes toward the setting sun.

What compels us to seek out power? For many, it is a desire to have purpose; for others, it is born from a place of necessity. We all have our distinct reasons for pursuing power. Sometimes, even, we lie and say that we do not want it. It is just that, though — a lie. It makes us seem humble and non-threatening to some. For myself, it was a lie I have come to accept as a falsehood. I want power. I want the position of High Prince. To many in our lands, this admission of desire is seen as ravenous and sinful; however, the manner in which that power is attained is often forgotten. So

Amaesil Vuln'miruel reads the missive all the way through before a slow exhale escapes his nose. The young elf folds the paper at the crease and places it smoothly into his maroon robes. Looking out across the woodland city at dusk had become a pastime of his in the last few years. Times of struggle and hardship compelled him up the steep cliff face above the inner gate to see the best views. The hound that lived atop that mountain — who Amaesil had named 'Mountain Dog' — had fallen asleep nearby as the sun began to dip below the horizon. The city was bathed in warm, golden light.

A public letter is displayed throughout the entirety of Elvenesse. The unmistakable seal of the Young Fox, Amaesil Vuln'miruel, is placed directly upon the parchment. Furthermore, individual copies are sent to each member of the Council of Elvenesse and other friends. The letter reads as follows. To my kin— I have decided to put my name forward for the position of High Prince with the nomination provided by Celiasil, the Lord Marshall of Elvenesse. In the past three elven days, I have been approached multiple times about undertaking this challen

Amaesil Vuln'miruel leans against the trunk of the tree with his legs dangling over the edge. One hundred feet below, the clatter of a wagon down the old forest road echoes throughout the branches. A slow exhale escapes the wood elf as he reads over the damp missive — the rain clouds departing the woodlands for now. Amaesil folds the parchment over one time and rests it inside a nearby nook in the bark. He slides his right knee up to his chest and turns his brown eyes west to the setting sun. The fading rays of light warm his cheeks and forehead as he thinks in silence. The sweet s

IGN: Zilldude Character name: Amaesil Vuln'miruel Which game(s) are you signing up for: The Challenge of Agility and the Challenge of Strength.