Treshure

@Mumkey @Hedonism -- Peace reigned. Thexan Ithelanen’s eyes surveyed the scape of forest and brush, rolling over cobbled cliffs and spilling aneath the hills below. Songbirds dallied in the branch and air, blissfully unaware of this capsule of nature. Nigh a century prior, his own forests were filled with woe; a nascent Bronze Rebellion rose in defiance and power. A burgeoning Dominion wrestled for control on the world stage. And in the dying throes of this Princedom, Thexan unearthed and risen a relic of his own people: The Kingdom of Gladewynn. As the forest withers and regrows, so did the governments and traditions of his own kind. For the blood and toil he spilt for Elvenkind, all moves on. And now, peace reigns. He gave a last longing glance to the solemn glades. Thexan turned and entered a cave of undergrowth, finding himself deep within this natural world. He never returned. “But I am not a Man, and this land is not for me. There waits a mountaintop: cold and frigid. A forest, vicious and deep. And in these lands forgotten, aye, a home for me.”

The dead beneath Old Gladewynn sing hymns of approval.

I love how this guy is barely scraping together getting the server in a functional state and you clowns are sweating over your exact desires for nexus code it yourself if you think that **** is remotely easy

@Ankan --- A letter is published to Haelun’or. ON TIDES OF TITANS, Sohaer Dimaethor, You may recall me in earlier days. Years ago I was a hawk on your perch, preaching the unity Elvenesse required. In my words, it was in the form of Empire. Earlier yet, I served as a statesman of the Dominion and later a scholar of Gladewynn. I have dealt with the many international affairs you fraternize with. I believe we also share a common dream, that which extends past the barriers of different blood - the independence of Elvenkind. My authority and influence has expired. No ears lend themselves to my whispering words any longer. But perhaps I can share with you my perspective. The vast majority of my kin have departed these lands, but I see shameful to let the wealth of their knowledge leave as well. We have fought the same Imperial foe as you. We have also broken bread with them. Let me lend to you their nature. We were recovering from rebellion when the Empire of Man had risen from the ash. The Empire before had, like all others, withered to bits. Be it stagnation or the coalitions gathered to dismantle the great title of Empire, all renditions of Empire die. That fact is as immutable as time. However, it is equally true that it will form again. Like the waxing and waning of the moon, the Titan reclaims Her titles century by century. It is why we regarded the Imperial body with such caution. It is why, against the interests of our officers, we treated rather than fought. We collaborated with Imperial warbands despite their veiled contempt for our kind. When we were later aggressed upon in the days of the Elven Union, we dared not extend a sword beyond the reach of our forests. We may have been called cowardly for avoiding the field. In the eyes of our elders, it was survival. You now find yourselves in the midst of a global coalition. I do not blame you. The atrocities levied against our kind have been enormous - the hate of my heart would jump too with the ambition to dismantle the Empire. Yet the current state worries me. Coalitions are a passionate love: burning with rage and dying as quickly as they had arisen. Time passes, and yet the Empire remains - licking its wounds and facilitating a cohesion the alliance cannot replicate. I worry again in the quality of your allies. Brigands who murder children bear the same moniker as you, ‘AIS’. As I am sure justice shall be met, the conditions that produced these ruffians remain. The Duke Godric may be just, but his minions lack the noble stock. The Imperial body will be quick to announce this fact. Sooner than later, the Elven name will be mixed with outlaws and rebellion of the lowest quality. Worse yet is that the Empire will remember. If the AIS were to mount the walls of Helena and tear it asunder, which may very well happen, they shall still remember. When the nascent Empire wakes again, it will carry with it the terrible memories of who had undone it before. And hell will quake with the rage it brings. These are trying times for you, for Haelun’or, and for Elvenkind. My words no longer carry any power, so treat this as advice from an old friend: exercise caution. When you drew your swords for the alliance, you entered the dance of death. Emerge alive. Thexan Ithelanen

Before the Fringe era, it’d be rare to find a GM online even with 150+ players online. They were nowhere to be seen, but the server wasn’t falling apart back then. People have sucked on the GM milk bottle for years to where they don’t know how to play without it. I think this can pan out favorably. That being said, I don’t approve of GM responsibilities getting progressively neutered down the line.

Endgames are a fundamentally flawed idea, the preexistence of any current ones should not justify the creation of new endgame magic. You cite why endgames aren’t vital in the first paragraph, and that’s where it frankly should have ended. Magic, like all other devices of RP, are a means to an end to the character’s journey. Full stop. Making magic itself some endgame tiered Mario Kart race bullshit is the brainchild of bored teenagers who want to flex over other magic RPers in their echo chamber. It won’t benefit anyone and it never has. Let it die.

Balthazar slams his fist on a tavern table within Helena, having spoken to the Princess and her mother not two Saint’s days ago. “These savages stole her with impunity, and now hold her for the accounts of marriage! They will die for this!”

– Your carriage has veered the beaten path of this world’s routes. You have gone through old, ancient, and then forgotten places. A traveler, a merchant, a statesman? Your role does not matter. All of such embark on their own journey of meaning. The beaten and haggard faces of your wagon’s companions stare back at you. You begin to wonder if they bear the same yearning of purpose as you do. Perhaps they are simply lost. Aren’t you? You have arrived. A derelict and trodden wasteland lies before you. The sun scorches it in the day and freezes its windswept planes by night. The ephemeral powers of Man are nowhere to be seen, for there is little to yield of this place than dust and bones. Have great Empires ruled this desert? Was its dried husk a bountiful strait millenia ago? There is little evidence of such. The winds grow by the hour and force you to a cavernous shelter; a massive storm brews on the horizon. The cave is deep and unending, filled with a dim red light that hangs on its walls. A soft howl fills the air. Is it the storm above, or something below? The cave slopes downwards, with jumping shadows now pitching across the cavernous ceilings. At its deepest ends lies a brazier alive with fire. The ruby tone seen before has grown to a sickly crimson ichor, smeared in thick fashion across the walls around you. Etchings ornate these colors; that of orcs, angels, demons, and curses. Burnt and blackened bodies lay before the brazier. Above it are etched three ivory sentences; the letters are jagged, cruel, and without remorse. - BLOOD IS WATER - - ORDER IS DEATH - - WAR IS PEACE - Something is coming for you. ((Clan post coming soon.))

– A waning sun sighed over Ves. Beams of light scattered through wooden beams and stone arches, washed over windswept waters, and draped across the faces of Kaedrin that walked the streets of that early eve. There amongst them sat one sable cloaked wanderer. An ashen hood fell hung over his hunched head, pulled toward the papyrus scroll beneath him. With every multitude of ink strokes, he cast wary eyes to the townsfolk. He was not of their kind, and he felt that fact thick in the air. Slowly, notices would be found across taverns - from Kaedrin, Helena, and then all provinces beneath the umbra of Empire. “To those of the Rhenyari - that of the Magian Mountains, of South Rhenyar, one who sings praise of Mitras and follows Kitran by starry night - I call you! I have spent my life lost and cast away. I have travelled vast sands and arid mountaintops, hoping to see my people in more than thin passings. I know that we were more than bands of roving magi. I have heard whispers – of mystic revelations, and lands filled with wayward sons as I. Come, ye of Rhen! Meet me in Ves, so that we may be bring together which was lost at long last. Adio, Balthazar”

Thexan sees that Fenn is predominantly fair skinned and white of hair! He rushes off to bleach his skin. It's what a true wood elf would do.

A letter is penned in response. “Brother, I must admit that I had not been aware Gladewynn had been dissolved prior, lest I would have erred the task entirely. The missive in and of itself spoke to a higher degree of the work that must further be done. Where-oft our fabled blood roams, bounty follows. I do not doubt the earth gives way to our feet; in quiet times, we drink rich on the natural beauties this land provides us. The Blood of Alder lives on, and will enjoy this quality for time immemorial. In this sense, we are not sleeping. We are eternally lucid and entwined with the woods around us: watching, waiting, and living. Yet it was not what I referred to in my letter. When we had first emerged in the Dominion’s early days, the realm itself twisted to our ambition. There is a nascent power that sleeps. It is time for an awakening. When we meet, I will tell you of what is to come. I will never forget the song of our people, And in that strange light, a lost people found unto themselves. No gates or walls marred our land - only the trees, and silent eyes within. But there is yet more.” Thexan Ithelanen

Done and done, let it rest.