Monkee

By way of a raven's dark wings, word is sent to each of the respondents; dropped from its talons, a simple parchment. "Meet me in-person, by the square or tavern of Ikur'fiyem, and we shall discuss your enlistment. I await you there." -Signed, Vytrek Tundrak

By way of a raven's dark wings, word is sent to each of the respondents; dropped from its talons, a simple parchment. "Meet me in-person, by the square or tavern of Ikur'fiyem, and we shall discuss your enlistment. I await you there." -Signed, Vytrek Tundrak

what did he mean by this

Having already spoken, this enlistment is accepted and filed away.

From the northern reaches of Almaris is spread a fresh, brief missive, which finds itself directed towards Malin's realms. It bears the mark of the Fennic Remnants. Since the very genesis of the Mali'fenn, we have found ourselves more often at odds with Malin's realms than in league with them. Through the ages, we have cast off our conflicts with the Mali'ker and Mali'ame, and established fruitful relations as sons and daughters of Malin. Yet, one rivalry - ancient and hostile - has proven difficult to bury. Even as links with the Mali'ker and Mali'ame have warmed, ties between Mali'fenn and Mali'aheral remain frigid. Yet, amidst this darkness, we have seen light. Spurred by the burgeoning friendship between our peoples - one forged in fire and blood amidst mutual battle against the northern apparition, and the footsoldiers of darkness that spawned it - the Fennic Remnants recognizes the claim of Ivarielle I to the Aheralic throne. Whereas past attempts to bridge the hostility between the Mali'fenn and Mali'aheral have proven insincere and insufficient, we hold hope in our newfound friends and their ability to forge an Aheralic dynasty that works towards the benefit of Elvenkind. Signed, Vytrek Tundrak, Prince of the Fennic Remnants, Prince of the Snow Elves

A Snow Elf reads over his newfound friend's missive, smiling thereafter.

Vytrek scans over the notice, offering a nod of approval. "The future of Elvenkind is bright; our children already learn that words, without steel, are worthless."

The Vigilant of Hope, freed from his bonds, passes beneath gates of twisted steel. Eyes wide with paranoia, his silvery gaze trails from specter to specter upon the thrice-bloodied battlefield. Here, a Svarling - there, a dark servant of Xion - beyond, a 'fenn. For the first time in years, that unholy fog does not cloud his vision, for the Mystics had granted him a new affliction. In a stupor, he stumbles towards the keep.

Thorrak "Mongke" Ireheart collects the four wigs he had earned. He ties them to his beard, which flows lusciously to the ground.

Arsenios beams with pride upon his nephew's ascendance, bittersweet though it may be.

Arsenios laments the death of his elder brother. Clasping his palms together, he gazes out over the azure waves, deep in thought.

That 'fenn scoffs in response. "A sheep beholden to wolves would have the rest of the flock join him."

That 'fenn nods in agreement, before returning to his preparations.

By way of a raven's dark wings, word is sent to each of the respondents; dropped from its talons, a simple parchment. "Meet me in-person, by the square or tavern of Ikur'fiyem, and we shall discuss your enlistment. I await you there." -Signed, Vytrek Tundrak

"Timely," utters the Vigilant of Hope, gazing skywards to an endless, churning see of black and grey.

A certain Snow Elf spies the missive, patrolling through his blizzard-stricken settlement. In passing, he utters, "Until rightful desire for strength can supersede pride, there will be no unity. Most elven princes have yet to face the hard truths that confront them."

Having already spoken, this enlistment is accepted and filed away.

The Vigilant of Hope's silvery gaze is drawn skywards at the flash of light. Tightly does he grip his spear as grey clouds churn overhead, blotting out what few rays of sunlight bathed the land. Thus arrived that inevitable conflict between the faithful of Wyrvun and spawn of Skjoldier. As the Vigilants fended off attack after attack from the Xionist Mystics, it could not have come at a worse time.

Vytrek recalls the warning he had levied against a Mystic scout just the day before: that Fenn would be their tomb. Gazing out over the collapsed square, his lips thin; that prophecy had come true. The Mystics were buried. But, for how long? And, as what cost?

Tournament Sign-up (Tourney on 21/11/2021. 11/21/2021 for you Muricans) Please respond to this thread with the following information MC Username: MmmMonkee RP Name: Vytrek Tundrak Tournament (Can sign up for all): Ranged, Joust, Melee

Having already spoken, this enlistment is accepted and filed away.

If you're interested in a change of scenery, hmu! I've got an elven place with a lot going on, so it's a pretty good starting point for getting back into rp

♩♩♩ The Vigilant of Hope stands before the flaming keep, steel-clad digits secured around the wooden shaft of his spear. In the fire's light, it shimmers a thanhic blue. "They have made their pyre," he utters. "With Wyrvun as our witness, we shall soon lay them to rest upon it."

By way of a raven's dark wings, word is sent to each of the respondents; dropped from its talons, a simple parchment. "Meet me in-person, by the square or tavern of Ikur'fiyem, and we shall discuss your enlistment. I await you there." -Signed, Vytrek Tundrak