Fid

This was actually a delight to watch. Thank you, Media Team.

And for those with a healthy appreciation for the Village People:

The snows of winter had been lazily drifting down upon Haelun’or for hours, long enough to cover the roofs and paths of the Blessed Nation in a thick, fluffy blanket. The temperatures, which had been steadily sinking for weeks, were frigid… and the city had felt the grip of the wintry cold. Icicles were draped from nearly every roof, and every now and then the path was obscured by an updraft of powdery snow, blown in the wind like confetti at a festival.

None of this deterred the mounted Orrariran who galloped along the path, five of them astride dark horses, black as pitch. Each stared dead ahead despite the bumpy ride, wearing the instantly-recognisable armour of their order and a generous helping of snow upon each shoulder. The gates clattered skyward, breaking the thin layer of ice that had formed upon them with a thin crackling sound; the mounted soldiers passed beneath without a sound.

The leader dismounted with a single fluid motion, landing in the thick white blanket with a thump. Gesturing for one to take his horse, he turned to make his way towards the cell-block… and paused to remove his helmet, resting it on his hip. His cold green eyes rose to gaze uneasily at the falling snow, which issued down upon them all from the slate-grey clouds above.

The mind of the Okarir’tir had been uneasy of late. The raids of the infamous bandit Corbett Van Cleef, Della’s persistent kidnappings from the Dark Elven quarter, the precarious relations with Norithel; the issues swirled throughout the elf’s nimble mind like vultures, picking at his resolve and wearing away at his tolerance of idle speech… but above them all, like a monolith, stood the most pressing obstacle of all. Whispers from all sides were pressing upon him a growing tide of unknown proportions… a dream, a nightmare of relocation.

The loudest whisper, and the one which Durion’s mind sprang to most often, were the words of one of his own Orrariran, Avenel Synalli. They had spoken a fortnight past, but Synalli’s words rang like bells in his head even now… words that he dreaded to repeat lest they come true.

“Thales will soon meet its end,” his Orrarir had told him as they stood watching the thoroughfare, “The sun will wane as the clouds will grow, and the air will grow numb as the first flakes of snow touch the grass, and then...” There the other elf had paused, thoughtfully, before continuing, as if unsure how Elokarir’tir would receive his information. “The snow will fall in unprecedented amounts, bringing with it a hyperborean cold. The grounds will be encased in ice and snow, the freeze permeating deep into the very loam of Thales. Plants and live-stock shall wither and fade, leaving behind their slender and lifeless husks…”

And at last, the words that Durion repeated to himself every night before he slept, the ones he knew by heart.

“A false hope shall be given to the Aheral, and their fate shall be sealed but for one chance at redemption…. I saw ships, Okarir’tir. Great ships to carry us all across the sea, as was done by the elders in times long gone. That is the only way.”

Then Synalli had gone quiet, and the Okarir had thanked him for his words and sent him upon his way. At the time he had been dismissive; not caring, as always, for words of prophecy and foretold doom...

… but then, the snows came, like they had never come before. The livestock grew sick and thin in the cold, and the crops froze in the ground without bearing fruit. The thaw did come that year… but the summer was a short one, and when the winter came again it came with a vengeance of howling winds and frigid temperatures.

It was these snows that whirled around the Okarir as he stood alone in the cold stone courtyard of the Citadel, his silver helmet rested at his hip, and these thoughts that whirled within his mind. Heavy-hearted, he raised his face to the cold sky, a hand protracted to catch a single massive flake. If there was to be a winter without end, and if Thales was indeed to meet its fate in a frozen hellscape, then he would not allow elaheral’lye to meet their fate there as well. His thoughts turned to the lessers then… the populaces of Dark and Wood Elves which had bound themselves to Haelun’or through the Concordats. Did it stand to save them too?

His thoughts went to the principled fallacies of Elorna, the conditional loyalty of Dak’ir… and his mind was made up.

“Summon the Hunters to assemble before the gate!” he barked, gesturing to Vallei’sul as his brisk gait kicked up whorls of fluffy snow. “and order Des’Nox and his finest to fell the birch forest in the east, all of it if you must. Take my horse and go, Vallei.”

“Lyu’maehr!”

The exclamation caused the mouse-like Aheral to lift his head and peer at the Okarir’tir through his nose-bound spectacles. “... Yes?”

“Look through the files.” Durion called quickly. “See if Elaheral’lye have anyone with knowledge of shiplore… if not, seek within the lesser files. We must have a collection of ships large enough to hold the entirety of our race and theirs. Send our fastest hawk to Norithel with a message for Signus, I want him to start looking into a food-source that will not rot during a long journey.” The orders came as the Okarir’s mind leapt from thought to thought with urgent need. He passed the Orrarir without stopping to acknowledge the laconic reply, “Noted.”

His walk had taken him to the snowy garden overlooking the main city square. The flakes fell harder upon his cloaked shoulders as he replaced the iconic helmet of the Orrariran.

“Ay’Haelun’or.” he stated firmly, more to himself than to the attending, but his words were echoed nonetheless. "Ay'mali'lye."

((An OOC note: Tying up the ship construction in a neat little bow. Cheers, and I hope that you will all join me in enjoying our transition events to 4.0!))

"I have evaded their arrest for years and I will evade it for years to come."

 

Mikael laughs heartily to his friends, holding a saber in his hand.

 

((Seriously though, it isn't funny. Add me back to the region, I didn't magically lose the ability to edit half of my house because I became wanted in Haelun'or or whatever.))

Having killed Mikael twice, the second time by crushing his skull, the Okarir'tir has simply ceased to care what the criminal says to his friends.  Did he ever?

((You lived in Haelun'or. You broke the law, so you are no longer welcome in Haelun'or.... and your perms were taken for that reason. The situation is not ideal, but you brought it upon yourself in-character and my past interactions with you have given me cause to with-hold my trust out-of-character. That is all.))

By order of Durion Uradir, Steward of Law, the following warrants have been issued, effective immediately;

 

 

 

Agaron

(Mali'ker, known resident of the Caves.)

 

For involvement in the purported terrorist organization known as “Valen Tal”, as disclosed by his currently incarcerated partner in crime.

 

 

 

Mikael

(Mali'ker, known resident of the Caves.)

 

For his incessant obstruction of the officers of the Silver Law in their rightful duty, as well as repeated assaults, both physical and verbal, on these officers.

 

These two mali are to be brought into custody by any means necessary, as they pose a threat to the tranquility of our Blessed Citadel.

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=

In addition, the Mali’aheral known as Imarssa Sillonaine shall be stripped of her titles due to allegations of treason against the lawful authority of the Blessed Nation. These restrictions will remain in place until she presents herself for evaluation to the Okarir’tir.

Kaean'leh hileia chul'okarae

Truth is, there was once a requirement to purchase homes within the city with money. They were quite expensive. Some Mali'aheral had to do what they could for the extra dosh. It was a hard time.

We all did what we had to do.

Durion gazes at the walls steadily, folding his arms.

"That will be for the Ame to decide. That city is full of ghosts; the Fenn had bad hearts, and there are some things that even the sun's sweet warmth cannot banish."

The Okarir'mali steeples his slender fingers when he hears the news, considering the housing situation.

"Mmh."

((Locate me IC and we'll see what we can do!))

"Oh. My. Larihei."

"Oren... is... our... friends." Ranley reads, raising an auburn brow. "I ain't a scholar, but tha' just don' seem righ'."

I cast my lot with Luke in this, but as it stands I think that the situation is quite clear. The GMs will figure this one out when it isn't 4 AM.

"The Sohaer has already ruled on this, drui. I have been keeping my elves away from the Grove, as per his instructions... Sinyail Maehr awaits trial... what else do you wish of us? My own concerns, speaking personally, have moved on to more pressing matters such as Talonnii, the final Splinter."

I hope I don't offend you by laughing at your post.

"Interesting."

Humility is a virtue.

Durion gives a very slight nod as he hears the news, having already passed the order along. The Maheral would be pleased.

 

-Note-

 

"Will sell formula to highest Bidder"

 

-Note-

"You shouldn't have signed it."

Upon hearing of the new Mali'aheral, the Okarir'mali raises a brow.

"Kornar... Aed-... Aedor? Hmph. Has anyone met this oem?"

Durion folds his hands, whispering something to Yavara with an amused smile. Glancing at Elorna, he nods.

"I did not see you there, drui, welcome back. I trust your cough has abated, more or less?"

False pleasantries aside, he waves his hand.

"Since the Druidic murders and the ensuing panic they have caused pertain to all of us, I would think you fully justified in addressing them here. That being said, I believe that the Sohaer has already made his ruling regarding this case, so your vendetta may be in vain."

"Vallei, you may use the wood in the communal chests. Now hush, lest you further provoke the Sohaer's ire."

Upon hearing of Artimec's words, he smirks again, turning to the Sohaer.

"It would appear that our Ame llir has seen fit to call your opinions regarding him... childish. A pity that he seems to have run off to play somewhere else, isn't it? Elsewise we may have taught him a short lesson in manners."

He raises a hand, nodding to Vallei.

"In addition, it seems that we require writing materials and wood for construction."

"Sulian. Armour and weaponry are essential, to current and future endeavors. As for the slime and akal... I believe I speak for the majority in elcihi when I say that we have no need of either. If I find any, I shall send it your way posthaste."

"Ahernan. Vallei'sul, please tell the individual at the gates that the Silver Council has indeed been deemed above his potential insight."

He gestures to the Orrarir, who marches off to deliver the bad news to Artimec.

"On behalf of the Okarir'tir and his Sillumiran, as well as the Orrariran, I would personally request the delivery of weapons and armour, primarily those of the iron variety. We have a shortage of refined leather within the Citadel, which hampers our ability to produce armour of ferrum."

He pauses, tapping his fingers on the wood of the meeting table.

"That is what we require of Norithel, in my eyes."

The young Okarir'mali sneers upon hearing Artimec's request, glancing at the Sohaer.

"Shall we hear this one's insight?"

The Okarir'mali folds his hands and waits by his seat in the Council meeting area, watching the attendees trickle in. At his left shoulder stands the silver-masked visage of an Orrarir'thillne, notably Vallei'sul by the lieutenant's armband upon her left arm. From time to time he notes something to her and is greeted with a quiet, unflinching response. 

"I am under the impression that we are about to find out, Mister Signus."