The Media Wizard

Amaesil smiles wide at the letter. "My little fox becomes little no longer."

As the Sohaer sent forth the birds with the missives from the top of the citadel, Amaesil looked across to Aerendyl for a moment. "Let us pray this brings about a conclusion."

Amaesil takes up the latest draft from the desk and reads it through. Wandering the halls of the Ebonwood home, a smile forms on his lips. He looks out toward the northern hills. "A new dawn for the mali'aheral. Let us pray that this one is given the chance to rise.

Amaesil frowns as he reads the missive. "To save one's child is always the best decision. I pray Elysium sees this."

Amaesil stares at his reflection for a moment after the Adjudicator fades away; he was smiling. "So it begins anew. Let my kin ride to whatever end we are called for."

Amaesil nods. "A good step."

Amaesil reads the missive. "Huh. Neat!"

"From Syllana?" Amaesil asked with a raised brow. The courier set the bound letter in the elven prince's hand and sauntered off into the inner portion of Ilandria. Amaesil looked down at the seal. It is her seal, he thought. A sense of dread overcame him, but he pushed it away. Surely this was a blessing — to hear from his sister after so many years. An invite to tea, surely, he thought as he climbed the stairs of the city with the parchment in hand. An update on Yulnayl's lessons in House Magery awaits me, no doubt. Then he read. The elf's lips tightened and tears welled in his eyes. He did not fight them; they flowed freely down his cheeks and dripped onto the red half-cloak he had worn for so many years. Days passed without a single sighting of the elven prince; weeks. A month passed by. One autumn morning, a flock of birds took flight from the Ebonwood and delivered the letters across Almaris. One letter, however, was left unsent. It read... Syllana. I do not know — nor will I ever — why you saw me in this way. You were my sister and I loved you, but the appreciation and care you express for me in these final moments makes me feel unworthy; undeserving. You speak about how I changed your life, but you neglect to mention the impact you had in mine: I had a sister, Yulnayl had an aunt, Elvenesse had a Lady Steward unmatched and Haelun'or lost one of its best. I do not know what led to your fall, but you will be honored forevermore as I breathe the woodland air. Whatever realm you now claim as your home will someday be filled with elves you recognize and elves you do not; however, all will come to honor you and the great deeds of service you conducted in this life. That is all I can offer you now that you have been rescued from these accursed lands of Descendants. I love you, Syllana. Rest now and forever. I will join you in time.

Amaesil exhales through his nose as he reads his name in the letter. "Of course."

Now this is based. This rewrite feels much more interesting than usual magics on the server. It has a very mechanical feel that reminds me of class abilities in Dungeons & Dragons. I pray this gets passed.

Amaesil raises a brow and looks toward the child. "Who are you talking to? Are you all right?" Amaesil then looks to his other side at the other elfess. "I-... huh? Where am I?"

"Ahernan," Amaesil says, accepting the parchment from one of his Templars. He reads it as construction continues behind him. A low chuckle escapes his lips at the conclusion of the missive. "Government-approved merchants," he snorts. "Such an overcomplex system for a useless sanction. I doubt they will be able to effectively implement it. No matter."

Amaesil blinks.

Good changes. I hope folks understand in time that these changes are important to protecting minors online and not giving sick f***s an avenue to get their jollies off with child characters. Good work, staff.

Amaesil stands atop the upper ridge of Karinah'siol. His left wrist rests on the end of his hilt and his eyes watch the column of smoke rise up from the city square. "Justice."

"True unity. The unity of purpose." Amaesil sets down the letter and continues to set stones at the river's bank.

“You are conflicted.” Amaesil stared at the cup of warm tea in his hands. Where am I? he thought as he looked around. He was sitting in a stone arbor overlooking a lush forest city. He was in a large, stone keep that had trees and bushes crawling up its mountainous exterior. In front of him was a table and cushioned seats; an elf wearing a crown of bark and berries stared back at him quizzically. “Is this real?” Amaesil asked. “Does it matter?” Amaesil found it difficult to respond. Does it matter? he thought. He felt at peace here, but it was certainly not home; not his home, at least. “You are conflicted,” the elf repeated. He took a sip of his tea. “Of course I am,” Amaesil responded. “She spoke true: what matters more than my family? My nation? Am I truly destined to relinquish these things for my own ambition?” “Your own?” “My own.” The elf chuckled. “I highly doubt that. The path you walk is similar to those before you: Avius, Awaiti and even myself. To lead and to foster a community does not always mean wearing a crown or finding happiness in family, oem’ii. It is not ambition that put you on this track; it is duty.” Amaesil frowned. He looked out across the city skyline. Small shapes moved through the streets and across bridges: elves. There were few of them. “Your halls are rather empty, laurir.” “I am told that yours are, too, these days.” Amaesil laughed at the sly remark. He returned his gaze to the curious elf. “What are the first steps, my King?” The pair spoke for hours. When Amaesil returned, he was surrounded by books and tomes of his own making. Was it real? he asked himself one last time. Does it matter?

In the great wildlands, an elf sits beside a creek. He wipes fresh blood from the edges of his lunarite longsword; the weapon sparkles in the sunlight. A massive stag stands guard nearby. As a cloud passes overhead, the elf's ear twitches. A sound, he thinks to himself. No, this is more: this is news. If the winds have carried the sounds of war this far, then a great calamity is about to take place; a time of strife is returning. Amaesil raises tall and affixes the antlered circlet to his head and takes up his spear. Finally.

I am stepping away from LOTC. I do not know how long this will last. It could be a week, a month or even a year; however, I know I will return someday. I feel obligated to write this post for the people that look up to me and who have followed me on the server for the past few months; the people who inspired me to log on, run events and organize our little corner of elven society. I am leaving for many reasons, but the main cause is that I am no longer enjoying my time on the server. Everything feels like a task; a job. I am taking 18 credit hours, working a part-time job and running D&D for my close friends at my university. I can no longer dedicate 40+ hours of my free time to maintaining activity checks. I love this community, but I am exhausted. All I can hope for is that my legacy (and my character’s legacy) persist; that I am remembered fondly for the work I put in to make your experiences on this game memorable and fun. I am proud of what we accomplished as a community, and my time in Elvendom has been incredible with @TwilightWolf, @Bhased, @RainbowRoad1234, @CorweenieTheJedi, @VoidandNull, @TotallyTayto, @briarthorn, @Mewliet and all of you others that I cannot find the forum names of. Thank you so much. When I return, I will do so in a more casual fashion. I may still organize groups and run events, but when I want to do so; not when I have to. Until then, be safe and make sure you're having fun above all else here. Zilldude

Yes, he did.

In the infinite nothingness, Elmer Puddlefoot drifts alone. At least, though, he would never have to see what darkness had followed after his death. He would have never wanted this! ... but he would never know.

I... I don't feel too good. Elmer Puddlefoot, the kind and gentle frogman, paddled out to sea as fast as he could. Tears drifted away in the salty brine as he swims further and further from the pursuers. Father Circle boats, led by Talim, skimmed the waters of the south sea with spears in-hand. After being insulted and assaulted in the Vale, the kind-hearted wonk was rescued by his valiant guardian: the Battle Chef. Once swords were drawn, the crying frogman was dragged from Mavis Vuln'miruel's arms and beset on by Miven Caerme'onn's people. He was stabbed and soon fell into the river, swimming away as best he could. He would never see his friends again. Mavis... friends! It was all the kindly wonk could think of in this moment. During his escape, he swam to the Mother Circle and attempted to flee to his pond in their lands. Soon after his arrival, Talim arrived and added another stab into the slippery gut of the wonk. With a pained scream, he continued to flee as best he could. Swim, Elmer... swim... It was not all bad. He would soon see the nice, young lady who had given him his famous sun hat! Maybe even other friends. Philip, his husband, would have to come later. So would all of his children; Elmer was a father of many. "Frog legs!" the druids and white-elf lady had shouted. Elmer was enraged by their claims to eat him, and he made his anger known. It was then that they attacked. Battle Chef came to his aid, but that was what led to his impending doom. Elmer's paddling begins to slow. A lot of blood was trailing behind the wonk, and he could not bring himself to anoth- SHLINK. Talim's spear pierced the frogman one final time. He gasped... and began sinking. The wonk's eyes go wide as he sinks low... low... into the depths of the sea. "... Mavis?" Then, the wonk was no more. The Death of Elmer Puddlefoot

The elven prince sat in a small meadow west of the former battleground. His armor was filthy with human blood and dirt. As he cleaned his gleaming, lunarite weapon, he watched the flames die out around Southbridge. "I pray this has brought about a formal conclusion. I do not wish to spill more blood; not for this war."

The prince grimaces as he reads the missive. Then, a laugh erupts from his gullet. "Never did I believe I would wish for the return of the strong 'aheral state. Braxus and his kin are disappointing and sub-elven slavers. Let us pray that they meet their rightful end soon."