The Media Wizard

Amaesil would stand in the upper tower of the citadel. Behind him rang bells in celebration of love and marriage. The smile and joy for his kin had faded upon hearing the declaration from far across the Summer Sea. He withdrew the Haelunorian spyglass that had been gifted to him by his mentor, Celiasil. He peered across the world.

“Shame.” It was the first word uttered by Amaesil as he came into the Silver City. His armor flashed in the winter sun and his breath formed a cloud beneath his lips. “Shame on the High Elves of Haelun’or for such barbarity. Shame!” The mali’thill looked bewildered. “They were ‘ata filth,” they said incredulously. Behind them another high elf was dragging the broken, burnt corpses. A long smear of ash trailed behind the cadavers of the two Elvenessi. A fury overcame Amaesil. “THEY WERE COUNCILLORS OF ELVENESSE!” he roared and stepped forward. The high elves were undaunted by the sudden aggression of the wood elven lord. They simply stood and sniggered at him. What did they have to fear? “... Councillors of Elvenesse.” The elflord’s voice was much quieter, but the rage had not subsided. He glared forward at the congregation of high elves before spitting at their feet. “You all disgust me. You are shadows of your former selves and violent beasts of the Abyss. Rot.” Accompanied by a host of laughs and taunts, the elflord sailed from Haelun’or. No rest was had in the Woodland Princedom that evening.

"I am sorry, Lemon! I will remember you we—" Pain. Unending, blissful pain. The elf known as Kina'ir crumpled to the rain-flooded gutter beside the main pathway; the front gates of the Silver City glistened behind him. His mind was a whirl of thoughts and feelings; however, it mostly felt cold. This was, frankly, due to half of his brain having erupted from his front visor when the bolt entered through the back of his helmet. No, No! He thought in his final moments. This is not how it ends! I finally found a way to kill without having to hang corpses up in that Elvenessi basement. The elf growled, but it was mostly involuntary from the blood and vomit rising up through his throat and spilling out in a thick puddle around his helmet. I was to be famous! FAMOUS! Yet he would not be. The bandit known as Lime left behind his brother-in-arms Lemon. Perhaps they would find one another in whatever hell the Rustlers belonged to. He hoped it would be warm, painful and full of the punishment he rightfully deserved. So many women had died by his hand and the Elvenessi had never caught him. The Haelun'orian cat-man had been his folly — good grief! With his last few moments of life, the one-day bandit faded away with a twisted grin on his face. A monster was taken out of this world and Ri'Haskir'Kul had done the realm a great service this day. Lime was dead.

The elflord stood atop his towering keep above the Hinterlands. The trees bristled and the sun shone brightly across the land. In the courtyard, Wardens trained and laughed in the autumn breeze. Wrapped in his robes and high above the great and loving nation he called his own... ... Amaesil wept.

The TWRP in the signature is what sold me. +1

AUDIOBOOKS Amaesil Vuln'miruel is a lord of the elves. He has embarked on a great journey into the unknown edges of the east... The ISLAND of FIRE SONG FOR a KING BEYOND SEAS and HEAVENS

The HIGH TALES of the FOXHOLE Documented by Terrance Handyfellow On the 12th of Malin’s Welcome, 33 SA, the crimson sails of the Foxhole were seen cresting the eastern horizon. The sun was sinking in the west and the sky burned. A crowd of elves gathered at the docks of Amathea to welcome home the elf who captained this vessel: Amaesil Vuln’miruel. The ship approached the seawall and docked. The elflord exited the vessel and embraced his kin. He spoke little. He was infatuated with what he had missed in his homeland during his journey; however, the elf was not the only one to depart the Foxhole. A cheery-looking halfling named Terrance Handyfellow disembarked with a lute in one hand and a notebook in the other. He and Amaesil shared quiet words with one another, a kiss to each other's forehead and a sorrowful farewell. It was not long before Terrance Handyfellow, a storyteller and bard-to-be, began speaking loud and long in the taverns of Almaris. His stories were of heroism, ingenuity and the strange world that lay just east of Almaris. They were the High Tales of the Foxhole… The ISLAND of FIRE SONG FOR the KING BEYOND SEAS and HEAVENS OOC

Amaesil looks out to the western forests from atop his keep. The sun would hang high in the sky and a breeze rakes through the treetops. It was unlikely, but the elf swore that the horizon was grim and hollow in appearance. He gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. "... So be it."

A new media team, you say?

My character is Amaesil Vuln’miruel, a wood elf that has spent most of his life in Elvenesse. I have been playing him for about 30 weeks or so. He began as a very respectful, young elf. Over time he has become more Arthurian and courageous as an elf warrior. To see his transformation is amazing to me as a storyteller. I am very proud of the near-paragon of justice that he has become through playtime. My favorite aspect of roleplay is not the visible product. Amaesil is very much his own character in my eyes and I enjoy having to get into his headspace to deduce what exactly he will or will not do. For example, a subtle detail that many people miss is that Amaesil is very chaotic. As an authority of law within Elvenesse, you would expect him to rule lawfully; however, he often errs on the side of morality. He seeks to always be Just, but not always fair. I enjoy that the most about him. Amaesil’s relationships with others are very extreme. To some, he is a greedy elf who wants power and is incredibly violent; to others, he is a patriarch and an authority of good within the culture. It is difficult to mend these two perceptions together, but I believe that this dichotomy is fundamental to being a mover and leader within any community. The most badass thing Amaesil has done? Sheesh… this elf genuinely has a death wish. I would say the most badass thing that he has done thus far is fight the Loyal Hound in single combat. I genuinely assumed that I was going to lose outright and part ways with the character, but the fight was engaging and incredibly exciting! He still lost, of course, but it was a testament to the values of the character and the natural conclusion for how he interacts with the world. He is an elf of duty, justice and honor — shying away from the challenge was never an option. Character art? Don’t mind if I do… That is about it for me. I hope you enjoy my little dive into my character!

“She is more beautiful than my imagination allowed me to perceive. Thank you, valah.” The Haenseman smiled wide at the compliment from the elf-lord. With coin in-hand, the human shipbuilder skirted around the outer hull of the glistening sailboat he had brought to the woodland dockyard. The sun had begun to illuminate the horizon with deep shades of orange when the ship arrived to Amathea. It was nearly noon, now. Amaesil stood at the edge of the dock and stared at the impressive creation. The vessel had direct inspiration from the usual fleet of Elvensse, but the figurehead was that of an antlered fox wearing a crown of twigs and berries. The human outdid himself, Amaesil thought. It was a time of relative peace in the woodlands. The elf-lord had spent much of his life within the confines of the city and Almaris itself. It was only now that he could fathom the possibility of retreating to the far reaches of the world and exploring that which his older kin were familiar with. It was Amaesil’s turn to explore the unknown; it called to him. “She is all loaded and set,” the Haenseman said as he approached once more. “You’ve sailed before, aye?” Amaesil offered the human a soft smile. “No.” A few hours later, the denizens of Amathea could see the billowing, red sails of the Foxhole fading away into the eastern horizon of the Summer Sea. Its destination was unknown and its captain entirely inexperienced. What awaited this elf in the far, far reaches of the world…?

I joined the Lord of the Craft back when I was in middle school. I am no finishing my final year in university. This server was originally a place for me to express my imagination and to live out fantasies. I was very creative as a child and I loved to pursue mediums that could let me indulge in escapism. I was an avid reader, theatre kid and writer. I wrote silly stories about ducks and "eraser men." Once I joined the server, I finally had an outlet for those ideas. What does the Lord of the Craft mean to me? It means expression and productivity.

The moon hung in the sky like a saucer thrown in slow motion. Rays of pure white wrapped the woodlands in starlight and the coolness of mid-winter. Snow was not common in the south, but the wind bit at the tanned skin of Amaesil Vuln’miruel like that of the Rimeveld. The young elf stood silently on the balcony of the Warden Keep. His right knee had healed faster than was expected and the black marks around his throat from his former foe were starting to turn a less abrasive onyx — a sign of healing. His left ear remained clipped. His eyes looked skyward toward the slow-moving lunar body as it danced across the endless abyss of starlight and stygian. So much had occurred in Amaesil Vuln’miruel’s first fifty years of life. He had trained alongside Celiasil of the Silver City, become an Oathblade, found true love, begun the Wardens, ran for High Prince and served as Lord Commander for the nation that had given him every advantage and opportunity to make the best of himself. Tonight, though, was the night that would bookend these accomplishments. The moon was set to reach the peak of the winter sky. After that, Amaesil would be an adult. An adult, he thought silently to himself. To think that I was seen as a child through all of this. A foolish child, welp! The Voice burned in the back of the young elf’s head. It was shrill, feminine and omnipresent. The druids were correct. You nearly got us both killed and now you’re a failure! The Hound howls forevermore. You ought to just give up and move on. An amused chuckle would escape the elf as the moon suddenly struck the climax of the sky like a clocktower striking midnight. No bells rang, but the heartbeat that pumped in Amaesil’s ears was enough. You spend so much time punishing me, Voice. I am glad you are here. You’ve made my will stronger through your insults alone. A shrill laugh would sound, but the Voice would give no rebuttal. Two moths danced around the elf’s head as he continued to stare up toward the moon as it crossed downward now across the night sky. Amaesil Vuln’miruel had come of age. He was 50-years-old and had finally reached the true beginning of an elf’s life. The Young Fox had outlived his epithet. Whatever came next was a mystery.

The day had begun with black clouds in the sky. They did not disperse. Deep in the woodlands of the southwest, rain poured down and washed away the underbrush. The elves of the realm hid in their homes as the crack of thunder was heard. Boom. The sound echoed and repeated throughout the woodlands. Boom. Boom. This was not thunder. A mace forged in fury was responsible for this sound as it collided and split apart sections of black armor atop the mountains of the Hinterlands. The elf-lord fought his foe atop the peak as great craters opened and the earth split. The Loyal Hound growled and howled as the sounds of flesh being ripped apart like wet paper stuck in the minds of all elves who could hear it. Flashes of starlight and green reflected off of the low-hanging clouds of ash that dumped rainwater down into the forest. Then, silence. The silence hung over the woodlands for some time. The rain subsided and elves stuck their heads out of their windows and archways to listen and watch. A congregation of dark figures wreathed in shadow descended from the mountain. One of these spectral creatures clad in broken, black armor walked with a heavy limp; however, it had a new trophy around its neck — an elf ear. Shortly after, three druids were seen carrying the broken and limp form of the elf-lord. He was coated in thick blankets of crimson. No words were spoken as the body was taken down the mountain and onto the ferry bound for the Mother Grove. The elf-lord had lost. However, he survived.

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Amaesil Vuln'miruel would smile contently. He had shown mercy to the bandit leader the elven day before and it had paid off seemingly. The Rustlers had not come to raid the fair city the next day. Perhaps the peace was permanent? Who was to say?

A simple response would reach the Hound. "So be it."

The Lord Commander reads the missive from his High Prince and smiles. He folds the paper in half and sets it onto the railing of his keep. The sun hangs high in the sky and the plumes of smoke can be seen on the horizon from the warnation. If something was stirring, it was nothing the young elf had not seen before. "As I come of age. How fitting."

The Azdrazi are much more than dragon people; however, they are dragon people. I agree with all that you said past that. I am fine with multiple dragon factions. I just want to make sure that they are written cooperatively and are careful not to exclude or disregard the work of other dragon lorewriters.

I think there is a big difference there. A new magic that can affect another group is different to making a similar-looking and acting race to one that is already exists. If someone wanted to make a new race of catfolk, they should speak with the Kha lorekeepers. I do not think that is a lot to ask or expect.

If the intent of this lore is to generate long-lasting roleplay with the Azdrazi, then they should have been consulted throughout the entire process rather than trying to force the groups into conflict naturally after the fact. This was submitted to the forum rather than the roleplay group that would be most affected by this lore's implementation. Leaving the Azdrazi in the dark on this was not a good idea. As for "giving this a chance," I think most people — including myself — have said that the lore looks great. The only concern that I have seen raised is about its proximity to the Azdrazi due to being a contested dragonrace. This has been the main point of critique and we have suggested changing the dragon aspects to a more fae-based creature. It is a drastic change, but it is the main change the opposition seems to be suggesting. I believe that the lore writers should take one of the following avenues: 1. The race is changed from dragonfolk to something else entirely. The "meat" of the piece can stay relatively the same, but making it something unique to the server and other factions would leave a better taste in my mouth. 2. The lore is touched up with direct cooperation from the Azdrazi if the intent is truly to work with them like the Ascended and Undead of Aegis did. I cannot wait to see how this lore evolves going forward.

I am sorry to hear that, Kneeil. I hope they remedy this.

As I said before, it absolutely makes sense. Reason and logic both point to the course that was taken. I also know, though, that some people are seeing this as an attempt to subvert or oppose an already established community. If a new subrace of creatures that could Wild Shape into animals appeared it would raise some eyebrows. The best of reasons does not negate the overall issue of doubling similar roleplay. I am uncertain if this was written in cooperation with the Azdrazi lorekeepers, but I think it would be a huge benefit for this to be a cooperative piece if the intent was truly to create engaging roleplay between the two factions.

I am not saying that there is not a reasonable amount of precedent for it. It does make sense and I can absolutely see why the route of dragonfolk was taken; however, I think the perception is as important as the meat of the concept. Why make more dragons when any other direction could be taken? From the mouth of Michael Che: "I know you're not supposed to judge a book by its cover, but that never made sense to me because that's why they put covers on books in the first place."