Fid

The Autumn Druid chuckles at Ouity's comment. "Hopefully it shan't be you who knocks me off my horse, Brother, because that would be disastrous."  

Turning to the rest of the assembled, he continues. "Brother Song was indeed my first choice. Older and wiser in the ways of the Order.... but perhaps that is not what the Druids need right now. Perhaps the Order needs a breath of new life, and Verden's added responsibility does just that. With the three Circles still going strong after almost a year, it seems we have done what the previous generations could not. We have divided the Order, and yet have not faltered in our purpose."

"Give yourselves a pat on the back, folks, we're making history." he smiles, sitting back comfortably.

Right. Dunno what this means, but if it helps, awesome.

"The Equinox Elders support Verden's bid." the Druid says quietly. "Our vote is unanimous, and since the Arches of this infernal Circle have agreed, let it be so." His eyes dart between each of the attending Druids, gliding over the non-members as if they were invisible. "The vote from the Third Circle appears to be missing... but since their defacto leader has approved Verden, there does not seem to be a problem."

Gavin strides in with a confident gait, crimson cloak billowing behind him as usual. Glancing around with an amused smile, he takes a seat beside Beth, muttering something to her quietly.

That's it, my new alt is a Ruskan.

Good guide, chap..

Though it pains me to let go of such a splendid Druid, I can only give my full support for this MA. Bird is one of the nicest, most responsible and overall best people I've met in my time here, and I sure believe that she can be an amazing Frost Witch.

Here's to the next great adventure. Good luck, Birdy.

+1

Unseen by Celthorn, bright green eyes mark his return. They glimmer faintly, showing from the shadow of a dark red hood. As the Druid enters the Grove, they disappear in a shudder of orange and yellow leaves.

With a light noise and a flourish of crimson robes, the Elder Druid of Autumn slips down the trunk of tree in which he was perched and alights upon the soft grass. His attire is changed drastically from his days as Arch Druid, and his face is guarded with a mask of bone and wood. Smiling quietly to himself behind it, he brushes off his hands and pauses.

"I truly wonder which he shall choose." comes his voice, familiar to all who knew Gavin Cervidus. "I knew him well once. Then again, I knew many. The Equinox will survive either way."

With that statement, the crimson-cloaked Druid starts off gracefully, leaving only the smell of thyme behind. 

Can I be the first to say I absolutly love this lore? I feel that it would slide into LOTC perfectly and provide fun rp for all. A big +1 from me.

 

The only thing I would change would be to have them look a little more unique but other than that I love it.

Thanks! The appearance is easily changeable, I certainly didn't elaborate on it as much as I should have.

-1 for copying Saviticus.

Subconsciously, perhaps. ^-^

Gavin gazes at the Statue of Malin for a long time, face devoid of expression. "It would seem that we are caught.... as they say in Oren, between a rock and a high place." he finally utters, before pivoting on his heel and walking away without a backward glance.

Enjoy some fife music while you're at it, folks~

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yN9zL3OoULA

The sound of fifes pervaded the night air, the drums thumpety-thumping in the dark forest. A mighty bonfire had been built that evening, for tonight the Adunians of this particular region were having their harvest celebration. Thanking their triumvirate of gods for the bountiful summer, they danced and sang and made merry... knowing that the harsh northern winter would soon be upon them. The fire blazed ravenously, casting the joyous Adunians and the trees all around in a bright orange light.

The major clans of the region were all in attendance. Campbell, Brae, Armas, and innumerable others, their tartans a rainbow of plaid pageantry. Tonight, however, was not a time for clans. Tonight was a night that all inter-clan rivalries were put on hold, and they were all simply one big, happy group.

Little did they know that there was something else watching that fire. Now and then a bright pair of shockingly green eyes gleamed from the leaves above, flashing slightly and then disappearing... only to appear again in another canopy. Mildly inebriated and focused on their drunken cavorting (as Adunians so often are), the feast-goers did not see them. Nor did they hear the quiet fluttering that accompanied each such transition.

All good things must come to an end (even Adunian parties, regrettably), and the romp ‘round the bonfire drew to an inevitable close. Here and there people settled down to sleep in the soft grass, sheltered by the wide interlacing canopies of the trees above. Many had come from far away, and none were in any condition to travel. Illuminated only by the half-light of the dying embers, the simple folk settled down (some even set up impromptu bedrolls, but most were too lazy). One by one, they drifted off to sleep, until the forest was silent but for the steady breathing of the resting masses.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie Dunharrow woke abruptly, feeling a muscley elbow jab him in the side. His bleary eyes opened with difficulty and came to rest on his little brother Mickey. Mickey was at least twice the size of his older brother, but age is age.

“Geh, gerrofme... yer such a feckin’-” he mumbled sleepily, expecting some sort of prank. He prepared his lungs for a yell, only to trail off once he saw his brother’s expression, which happened to be one of utter bewilderment. “Oi there, Mick, what’s goin’ on?” he muttered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Quiet, Ed.” the younger Dunharrow growled deeply, staring at a spot by Eddie’s feet. “We’ve got company.”

It was then that the first Adunian noticed a diminutive figure standing a few feet away from his boots. Gazing back at him with brightly glowing eyes was a being unlike any he had ever seen. Too short and well-proportioned to be a Dwarf, a bit too tall to be a Halfling… and those ears… they were unlike any attributed to mortal races. They stuck out like branches on a tree, at least a foot and a half long.

“Awake, I see!” the little man chuckled merrily, hands on hips. His voice was oddly soothing, and vaguely similar to tinkling bells, “Took you long enough!”

Eddie and Mickey simply stared. Unfazed, the creature continued to smile wolfishly for a moment.

“This your hat, lad?” came a question, accompanied by a poke at Eddie’s cap. “Not much one for caps myself. I’ve got my ears to consider, dreadful long things.”

“Hat...” Eddie said, feeling stupider by the minute. The creature again appeared unfazed by this, however, smiling and hopping around as before. It’s ears really were rather long, thought Eddie, and the creature seemed to have a pretty high level of control over them.

“D’you like my hat, fellers?” the little being asked, and suddenly there was one on its head (though when interviewed the brothers couldn’t rightly say where it had come from.) “I’m mighty partial to a bit o’ green on my person, you see, and the hat’s the thing.” And green it was: a tall, slightly misshapen stovepipe that clashed horribly with his fiery auburn hair and caused his ears to stick out almost horizontally.

“W-What are yeh?” Eddie asked, still propped up on his elbows and debating whether or not this was a dream. His hung over mind was only just beginning to function, you see… though not quite fast enough to keep up with the energetic creature.

“Who, me?” came the response. The green-hatted fellow gave another short, tinkly laugh and did a cartwheel, hands barely touching the ground. His movements seemed… too graceful, somehow, as if he wasn’t quite real. Every hop and skip seemed to take him higher than humanly (halflingly?) possible, and he always landed without a sound. Now and again he would click the heels of his shiny  buckled shoes and somersault.

“Depends who’s asking.” he continued, “To the orcs I am ‘lil’ twiggeh’... such odd folk. They always want to eat me, for some reason. To the Adunians, though…” here he paused, eyes twinkling, “I’m one of the Draiochta, the faerie-folk. A leprechaun, if you will.”

What happened next requires some explanation.

To any person not acquainted with the customs and traditions of Adunia, the word ‘draiochta’ has little to no meaning. Indeed, even the word leprechaun is rarely used, for most of Anthos has no experience with these creatures. Therefore if you will bear with me, dear reader, we shall take a step back from the experiences of the Dunharrow brothers that night. Let us delve into history for a brief moment.

For many many years, the Adunian peoples of a certain area have been telling tales of a group of small creatures (of changing names, sizes, and appearances) known for obnoxious trickery and an inhuman deftness of mind. In most of these stories, the draiochta (the ancient word for such beings) outwitted the dull, helped the worthy, and tricked the wicked… all fairly innocuous pursuits. In some, however, a wicked faerie would steal infants from the cradle by night, grease the stairs of old folks’ homes, and commit other acts of a reprehensible nature. Draiochta, the old and wise taught, were unpredictable. Mickey and Eddie did not have an infant or cradle, but they were rather dull, and mildly wicked too. In addition, they were hugely superstitious.

What occurred during the aftermath of the Equinox celebration that year was shrouded in mystery, and known in full only to three people. Two were still rather drunk, as you might imagine, and one is a magical being not well suited to taking interviews. The simple truth of it was, Eddie and Mickey screamed like little girls and ran. Tripping over each other in their haste to escape, the two brothers tumbled through the dark forest without a backwards glance. As they feverishly tried to escape, they began to realize that the place they had woken up in was not, in fact, Adunia. The trees were too tall... the pine needles underfoot were foreign. Somehow, they had traveled hundreds of miles without knowing it!

Back in their waking-spot, the draiochta was doubled over, laughing. It had been many years, you see, since he had had so much fun with mortals. He wasn’t a bad little chap, really… just a little tricksy, and very bored. As you can imagine, there is only so much an unchanging, immortal faerie can do with their time, and it was rare these days not to be shot at or ‘collected’ by seekers of magic. These lads seemed more frightened than violent, so with a snap of his little fingers the faerie dispersed in a cloud of golden-yellow butterflies and followed.

“Bah, Ed, we’re lost.” Mickey groaned, breathing hard. They had just traversed what felt like miles of pine forest, and the night showed no sign of abetting. The younger (albeit larger) brother had not wanted to speak first, but he was getting tired of their crazed flight.

“We’re fine.” the second grumbled, joining him on the ridge. “He lost us, I think.”

As if on cue, there was a sound akin to a snap of fingers from above. A glance confirmed it: the draiochta was now sitting on one of the lower branches of the tree, regarding his nails. “Lovely night, innit boys?”

This time, the leprechaun did not follow the brothers as they ran off, for even a faerie knows where to draw the line.

Even so, when the Dunharrows arrived at the gates of Abresi (for that is where the trickster had put them) they were met with laughter. Considering their disheveled, frantic appearance, I don’t think we can blame the gateguard. Naturally their stories went unheeded as well... After all, what sane person would believe in a leprechaun? Eddie and Mickey were adamant at first, but even they had to admit that it was an outlandish story. In time, the Dunharrow brothers stopped telling their tale.

One day Eddie turned on his bar-stool and muttered, “T’was a bad dream, nothin’ more, Mick.” and the latter nodded and quaffed his ale. A dream is all it could have been. A very realistic, odd, and detailed dream that they had both shared on the same exact night.

The Draiochta

Small, human-shaped faeries who spread merriment and joy with (usually) harmless magical pranks.

Appearance:

Though not very different from halflings at first glance, their massive pointy ears set them apart. They often dress in shades of green, and almost always have fiery auburn hair (though flaxen-haired draiochta have been recorded.) Light skin and melodic voices.

Abilities:

To a casual observer, the draiochta seem like all-powerful beings, able to create miracles with a snap of their fingers. While seemingly true, this type of faerie has a set of limitations.

• They can disperse into a cloud of golden butterflies and reform at will in another place. This is not teleportation, the collective flock of butterflies must travel the entire distance.

• They can cause small bits of mischief to happen at will, usually accompanied by a snap of fingers or a click of heels. This is not a miraculous power, in fact, it barely out-does the Domestic Magic we have today. Things outlined in the above story (pulling a hat out of thin air, tying and untying shoelaces, temporarily modifying appearances) are a fairly decent guideline.

• They can NOT use these abilities in a fight. It is unknown if this is an ancient rule or a simple dislike for combat in general, but draiochta will go out of their way to avoid fighting. They will use their magic to escape attack, but cannot and will not use it to harm people directly.

But why, Great? Why bring these into Anthos?

Simple. We’re so centered on combat and wars and political intrigue that we’ve lost sight of our true goal in LoTC. (For those who’ve forgotten, that’s: “have fun”) The Halflings have the right of it, I think…. so:

I’ve put a pair of large ears on a halfling, given it tricksy magic, and tacked on an Adunian undertone. Voila, you have a leprechaun, and a lovely new Event Team creature to boot.

Is this a new race?

No, no, no. Good heavens, no. As a matter of fact, I had no concrete plans for this creature… It could possibly end up similar to the Frost Witches or the Dread Knights (if a bit friendlier), but it can also just be a fun little ET perk. To be honest, I don’t mind it either way… the latter would probably be less of a hassle.

The name sounds Gaelic…

That’s because it is! The word ‘Draiocht’ can basically mean ‘related to magic’, so upon finishing the lore I thought it was fitting. It’s always up for changing, I do love suggestions.

Why did you write a story? That’s not the usual style for lore!

Tish, tosh, and piddle. It felt right.

That being said... I hope you enjoyed the read! Give feedback, tell me what you think! As I said above, I do love suggestions.

The Arch Druid Gavin Cervidus inclines his head calmly when he spies the notice.

"The Druiian shall be in attendance. This meeting has been a long time coming... I should like to see what the inside of those silver walls look like."

((How about next weekend, folks?))

~Mood Music~

 

 

The Warden was against the central pillar of the wooden watchtower, waiting out his mundane and uneventful shift. He hated it, the watching and waiting... such a boring and pointless job. There is no heroism in being a guard.... After all, what is a soldier without a war? As he grumbled these thoughts to himself for the eightieth time that day, his dark green eyes glanced at the great column of cloud fixed over the ocean. The storm in the western sea had been raging for days, a single solid roiling storm cloud, sending down torrents of rain. The fishing boats had all pulled in a few days back, deeming the waters too dangerous.

It was therefore a shock to the Warden when his sharp eyes caught sight of a single white sail, making its way towards land over the rolling sea. Throwing himself forward, the uniformed elf stared, eyes bugged out. "What the... what..." With a trembling hand, he reached for his alarm horn and blew three loud blasts, echoing over the vast forests below. Dropping the horn, he gripped the railing so hard his knuckles turned white. "Aeriel protect them..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Onward, mali, for a homecoming such as this one must be grand.” the dark-haired elf shouts over the gale, raising his arm to point towards the landmass, where the grand trees of Malinor stand. “We’ll run her aground!”

“The boat, Eleron! She’ll break on the rocks!” a second elf protests, long silvery hair whipping around in the rising wind, “We should find a safe harbour!” His voice carries a touch of hysteria, his eyes rimmed-red from the frantic storm-driven activity of the last few days.

The first elf smiles grimly, turning to him, “It’s a small price to pay.” With this laconic statement, he vaults up to the swan figurehead, facing the beach as the ship speeds towards the mainland. .

There is a massive, splintering thud as the speedy elvish boat crashes into the sandy beach, the birch hull splintering from the impact. With an elegant, acrobatic leap that is so smooth it almost seems practiced, the elf disembarks his ruined vessel.

There is a quiet hiss as his grey tooled-leather boots hit the ground, one following the other. Without breaking pace, the tall elf ambles forth, taking long strides across the wet sand. Behind him, the rising wind of the storm front worries the sails of the ‘Southwynd’, outlining the several elven figures who vault out of the grounded ship.

With a spray of sand, the elven captain comes to a halt, his dark grey-blue eyes scanning the assembling crowd of Malinorean citizens. Even as he watches, a figure detaches from treeline and joins the growing mob. Silently, the elf raises his arms out as if in prayer, not saying a word. His mouth is grim, his eyes burning with a fiery intensity. Finally, the arms come down, and the elf speaks.

“Go find Lafthi” he barks, rain running in rivulets down his angular and aquiline face. “Tell him that Eleron Silvari has returned.” Not bothering to wait for a response, the grim elf squares his shoulders and starts off towards Luminaire, brushing through the onlookers with terse grace. His crew follow, passing between the onlookers like sand through a sieve.

OOC Bit:

MC Name:

GreatSmirnovius

RP Name:

Eleron Sylvari

Relation:

Cousin to Lafthi, Son of one of Aenor's (preferably elder) brothers.

This is a little ridiculous, to be honest. Instead of actually working to solve the 'roleplay problems', the Admins appear to have thrown up their hands and said: "Alright, we done fucked, let's start over."

Wouldn't it be better to... I don't know, actually try to solve the problems? This is a cop out, and to be honest the difficulties that LoTC is currently having run deeper than a map. 

I don't want to start a flame war, I just want this to be on people's minds.

"Psh... mages." the Arch Druid chuckles. "So mainstream."

Gavin rubs his chin thoughtfully, almost as if regarding a tea-party rather than a gruesome scene. With a gentle sigh, he adjusts his sleeves and starts the long walk back to the High Council chambers. 

"Ignored... ha, if only."

Gavin taps his lip thoughtfully as he reads the notice, but does not exclaim his attendance status into thin air. Instead, he heads home to have a word with his significant other.

Charming.

Contact us Druids! We love this kind of stuff!

The Arch Druid regards the scene for a few minutes, rubbing his chin. Finally, he mutters to himself:

"He must be promoting some sort of... circus? Aye, it's probably a circus. Surely such antics are meant to be... comedic in nature."

Mhm~

We Druids have a lovely new giant turtle, which will look simply lovely, methinks.

This guy already does great events on a daily basis... don't really have to say much else.

+1 for a beautiful mind.

Free MA? What the nepotistic **** is this, Art?

Arch Druid Gavin stands, tall and proud, gazing at the destroyed and immolated Druidic Grove. His expression is inscrutable, though his fists are clenched in what can only be identified as fury. Around him are some of the scattered remnants of his brethren, the Druids. With an audible snarl, he turns, raising his arms.

"Pick up your heads, Brothers and Sisters, and hold them high! Our Order is not bound to a tree in a vast forest, no more than it is bound to a rock or a shrub. Our Order, my brethren, lives on in the heart of each of us who survived this day... and above all our Order lives on in the Aspects. We are not beaten, and we are not gone from the face of Anthos."

He turns back towards the ruins of the tree, allowing his arms to return to his sides. 

"...and though the world is undoubtedly a poorer place... this is not over."