Fid

The Fall of Malinor and the Rise of the Conclave, making sure to include the Carrions and the other major/minor players in the conflict.

(I expect myself, Kalameet, and a few others to be held on call for this one if you do choose to do it, so as to accurately represent the occurences.)

"By the power vested in me by the Sohaer as Okarir'mali, I deem Vallei'sul Div'vallum pure in the eyes of the citizenry. May she forever hold our ethos in her heart."

The Okarir'mali of the High Elven Citadel smiles. "Should be a worthwhile waste of time.... perhaps I shall ask Yavara to come!"

"Wonderful. My name will finally be cleared, and I can continue my work un-impaired." Durion grumbles, flexing his recently broken hand.

Application

MC Name: GreatSmirnovius

Skype Name: Y'all know it.

Latz a Gobo?: Nub. (Mi kidding, uv corz.)

Wud' be Latz nayme? Anatz'Magra

Ju' willin' ta' dye latz skyn, yub?: Yub

Ju' nub a shorteh Gobo, yub?: Nub. Ur... yub, mi am nurmal gobo.

Upon hearing the good news, the Okarir'mali folds his hands and smiles.

"And so, Haelun'or's greatest ally is reborn, to re-commence their work against our common enemies. Perhaps we may discover that we can work together in this, to destroy these upstart Impure and Wood Elven towns of Talonni and Norithel."

three brothers and sisters 

((*four.))

Katari hears word of these posters and shakes his head, heading over to scribble a reply at one of them. "There were no rebel elves present. Merely people that wished to defend the Druid who you held at knife point during your 'peaceful investigation'. You wish to pin the blame on rebels? So be it, but those 'three enemies' that lay dead, were two innocent Druids, one a woman and the other a small goblin. The third was a halfling. I /applaud/ you on your actions, so mighty and bold to have slain the meek and weak. I do thank you for listing the names of these offenders though, I suggest you watch your back." The note is left unsigned.

"More threats! I am beginning to very seriously doubt their commitment to peace." he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I wish you the best of luck, anonymous ill-wisher."

http://www.lordofthecraft.net/topic/113622-first-blood/

"Lovely weather we're having, isn't it?" Durion mutters to Camernor as they lean upon the railing of the Citadel wall, enjoying the fresh air of spring. 

 

I promise I'm not a Communist.

Several  posters are put up, in Haelun’or and along the main roads of Thales. They read as follows, in bold lettering:

The Traitors Strike!

=+=+=+=+=+=

Today, the first blood was drawn in the  struggle against the seditious Council of Splinters. Today, following a cowardly attack by the Malinorean  scum upon those of Silver, the Mali’aheral have once again displayed that they will not yield in the face of chaotic adversity, but instead stand strong against those who would see our people suffer.

A small group of the Blessed Race (consisting of Durion Uradir, Yulnii Elibar’acal, Ceriren Elibar’acal, and the twins Zaniil and Safrill Tinuvriel,)  arrived at the Druidic sanctuary to investigate the death of Popo Sandybanks. To their intense surprise and consternation, they were accosted by a large amount of rebels, who had evidently been hiding in the bushes surrounding the Grove. Drawing swords, the horde charged the Aheral, ambushing them as the latter attempted to discover the truth in the name of the Sohaer. With cries of “Ay’Sohaer!” and “Haelun’or!!”, the brave servants of justice fought back; shoulder to shoulder and surrounded by the barbarians of Norithel, Osage, and Talonni.

Hugely outnumbered but still fighting valiantly, elmali’aheral were forced to retreat, beating back the magic and swords of the Rebel Council with resolute strength. It seemed almost as though they had lost the skirmish… but, as silence fell upon the Grove at long last, three of their enemies lay dead in the dirt, their lifeblood staining the loam a dark crimson. But a single drop of Aheral blood was spilled… that of Elokarir’mali, Durion Uradir, as he blocked an axe with his hand whilst protecting his kin.

Let this be a lesson to all dissenters, and all who hold treason in their hearts; he who raises a blade against Elmali’aheral will watch their compatriots fall. We did not come for your blood, but you forced it upon us.

Next time, there will be nowhere to run.

Eleron purses his lips, choosing to ignore that particular comment.

"I am at peace, Kristian Von Craw, with you and the rest of those who caused me so much pain and suffering. I did my utmost to keep Malinor strong, but my utmost was not enough. There are no hard feelings. Only a sense of a well deserved rest." 

He pauses, before giving his old friend a smile.

"I hope that you feel the same, llir."

"Not bad, actually..." the ghostly High Prince responds. "Well... apart from this," he gestures to his face, and then... everything else, "I am hale as ever. I got married, you know."

"You had many faults, even in those days... but you were never a traitor. You mourned my passing not as an Aheral, but as a friend... and to me that is all that matters. Might is not Right, Ikur, but Right makes Might."

Eleron trails a hand down his ruined face, standing at Griffin's shoulder.

"Do what is right, though the world may perish."

Welcome back, and happy playing!

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In the peaceful Grove of the Druidic Order, a grisly scene meets the eye of any wanderer who has the misfortune to come across it. At the foot of the wooden likeness of Respiren Nox lies a halfling, sprawled cold and dead in the night. Some would recognize his tattered visage as belonging to Popo Sandybanks, a cheerful little Dedicant who frequented the Grove in his long and arduous journey to becoming a Druid. Fate, it seems, had different plans. Carved into his small chest (in careful, measured writing that must have taken many minutes to inscribe with a dagger) are the following words:

and, slightly beneath it,

Read by an individual with no knowledge of Elvish script, these words are meaningless… but to those who are versed in that most ancient of languages, this phrase strikes an ominous chord… a brutal reminder of a debt yet unpaid. It reads:

...and as the blood of the slaughtered halfling seeps into the soil at the feet of the Founder, these words ring more truly than ever before.

Clapping his hands together once, Durion rocks back and forth on his heels. "Well then. I suppose we shall get started, lliran."

Durion traces a finger along the gentle curve of his jaw, waiting patiently for Medi'liyur to make her appearance. 

Phanes Acius claps heartily, stalking off to find his wife, child, brother, and plethora of red-headed nieces and nephews in the busy settlement.

We've had our disagreements in the past, and we've even had some pretty nasty ragefests... so my only real advice to you is to take everything with a grain of salt, as I try to nowadays. That being said; I bear you no ill will, wish you the best in your endeavors, and hope that we come across one another sooner or later in RP!

Cheers,

-Tony

 

Laureh'thill waits eagerly.

 

((+1 for good Slavic music, Caelria. You sure know how to party.))

Stepping up to a high area of the compound with long strides, a slim elf of middling height clears his throat and utters the following, folding his arms behind his back in the classic Aheral fashion.

“Karin’ayla, aheral’lye. This oem comes before you today to announce his candidacy for the position of Okarir’mali, currently held by the obtuse and incapable individual going by the name ‘Medi’lyur’. I do not consider her mannerisms and conduct to be fitting of an Aheral, much less a representative of the Silver City of Tahn’siol. I was horrified to learn that she is the individual responsible for the acceptance and integration of new Aheral in our blessed community." The thin elf pauses here, giving a quiet, exasperated sigh. "After all, lliran... a woman who is barely capable of stringing sentences together should not be allowed to interact with our citizenry, much less accept or deny new applicants.”

“Therefore, as dictated by our hallowed tradition, I challenge this woman to a debate, to prove to the citizens of elcihi that she is not capable of serving the citizenry in the position which she currently inhabits. I mean to prove, furthermore, that I, Durion Uradir, am far better suited to the rigorous responsibilities demanded by the role of Okarir’mali. As a sign of utmost respect to the authority of the State, I am willing to allow the incumbent to begin by defending herself and her… ability to serve.”

“Finally, I ask that the Sohaer mediate the debate. If he is incapable or otherwise occupied, I humbly request that the respected Maheral, Lucion Sullas, mediate in his place, as there are none within elcihi who may deny their higher knowledge of the law and the orders of our blessed government. We await your leisure, Sohaer.”

With a gentle nod to those attending, Durion descends from the raised area to await Kalenz’s blessing of the matter.

Durion nods to himself, flips open a little black booklet, and makes a small check mark.

"Makes my job much, much easier."

"They will unite with the Blessed Nation, or they will be destroyed. There is no middle path." muses a young Aheral as he reads the poster. "There were days when the Elves pandered and grovelled to these 'Druids' and their disgusting friends... but that world is now gone, burned in the fires of war and betrayal. A new Elven Nation rises from the ashes... populous and powerful, possessed of an ironclad treaty with the honourable valah of Kaedrin. More importantly, even, than that... we have values. We have the Silver Laws."

He pauses, smoothing his robes as he glances at whichever Mali'Aheral might be nearby. "These 'Druids' are being offered a hand of friendship. They will take it, or they will burn. Maehr'sae hiylun'ehya."

Phanes Acius nods, crossing his arms. "Good riddance to bad rubbish."

"Aciuses..." he mutters, turning to whatever family members are within hearing distance. "If you see any elf conspiring with this... exiled one, report it and let us allow the Aheral to dispense with her."