Sentlit

((IGN: Sentlit)) Full name: Cyrus Taeleh'aeth Race: High Elf Practised branches of the Arcane: Illusion Place of residence: Haelun'or Closest relative: None [x ] I agree to persecution upon a violation of the Magic License Clause, within and without Orenian territory. Signed: ~Cyrus

Cyrus leans over to Almecki and mumbles into his ear, "Without qualified opposition, are we expected to appoint nobody?"

"I pray you not disregard the just and the good for the actions of the wicked few." Cyrus says with his hands folded behind his back. "This is assuming, of course, that 'the wicked' person's actions are unjustified."

((OOC username: Sentlit)) Name: Cyrus Age: ~350 Research archtype: Psychology, Sociology, and Mortal Consciousness. Studies of the mind. Research details: I shall be collecting works on the minds of mortal beings and synthesizing them into a more organized form, polling denizens of Haelun'or to find out their unique ideals and beliefs, analyzing social constructs, meditating on the fabrics and workings of society, and whatever else may relate. Potential danger (0-5): 0, I foresee no danger in this. Space preferred: I would like someplace close to the main walkway in either section A or B for easier access for my interviewees and I as we walk back and forth between labspace and the outside citadel area.

((OOC Username: Sentlit)) Name: Cyrus Taeleh'aeth Age: ~350 Known magic: Arcane Light Illusion Known magic for (time): An incredibly long time. Willing to teach (y/n): Yes, if a worthy student should require my instruction. ((I would need to make one of these new TA's should I be requested to teach))

"Bah- I hate the word tax. It's an ugly word. At least call it something softer, like a 'regular contribution' or 'obligatory tithe'. That would be much better, and would sound less like the vernacular of elvalah," Cyrus says rather loudly.

"Guillotines are far to messy of an execution device. Blood everywhere! And what if it stains our clothes and the floor? That is no good either." Cyrus adds.

"On a related note," Cyrus adds, "logging is another appreciated craft. I myself would appreciate aid collecting wood. If you so wish, there is a small logging camp on the beach that lay across the land bridge available for your use. It will provide a local area to store logs until brought into the central city for use. Be mindful that it is a satellite location, however, so remember to bring collected wood across the bridge again every once and awhile so it can be put to immediate use. Thank you."

I like it a lot. Good song.

OOC Minecraft Username: Sentlit Skype Username: sentlit IC Name: Cyrus Age: ~350 Gender: Male Race: High Elf Clarify on if you are currently skilled in the magical arts, or being taught by someone who is: I am currently skilled, taught by none other than the Mindlord Polgrath Klaren. I should hope to find other skilled mindmages in the conclave. What affinity of magic are you skilled in? I am extremely masterful in Sensory Illusion. I should hope an interview is soon in order, but I have patience. Do you agree to submit to Orenian Law? Of course.

Given Name: Cyrus Taeleh'aeth True Name (MC Name): Sentlit (Skype Name): sentlit Race? High Elf Doth ye aspire the path of The Knight, The Mechanist or The Magician? I aspire to join the ranks of the magicians, for I am well versed in my craft. I would not be opposed to an interview as to test my prowess. Doth ye solemnly swear to protect your Crimson Heart brethren? Of course.

"I find myself liking the name Laureh'sul," Cyrus says. "It is simple to remember, beautiful to say, and the meaning of the name is appropriate. In the past we have been victims to complicated names that are hard to remember and plagued by the layman's unskilled tongue. We want our truly wretched enemies to cry out this name in terror accurately as they last sigh their mortal breaths, yes? Or perhaps they would say something akin to 'Damn elves' or other... All things said, my other points still stand."

Cyrus reads a copy of the letter to himself under the shade of a tree that hangs over the edge of the walls of Haelun'or. Sunlight filters through the leaves as they rustle gently in the breeze. "Mr Akkaris..." Cyrus mumbles to himself, "Mr Camoryn... I need to speak with him..." ((Great song choice. Brings me back.))

That sign was bothering me for awhile. Thank you for fixing it :P

Cyrus mumbles idly to himself "Curious. All they had to do was remove the execution of two people and relinquish control over the mali'ame state to reach terms of peace. I feel as if Haelun'or came out on top. I should wonder if Kalenz should let this peace last long, or perhaps his ambition burns like that of my old master..."

"This man must be mad. Completely bereft of his senses," Cyrus mumbles about halfway through reading the original letter on the noticeboard.

((Frittata is not a verb! ))

"Oh my" Cyrus says simply.

Cyrus mumbles to himself quietly "Oh my, what a large splinter this is. The other elves seem to remain rather stubbornly against Haelun'or. I should hate to see them fall behind us." He was in a rather stubborn mood himself.

An interesting thought. Poor mice. I have faith in humanity enough to not degenerate as the mice in this experiment have.

Cyrus stands idly as the head of Phaedrus is carried by down the proud streets of Haelun'or. His eyebrows furrow with complex emotion, and yet he does not mumble to himself but remains absolutely silent and still. The air too seems suspended in time as the tortured visage is slowly paraded about. His hands shake at his side and a chill overcomes him. His face pales at the irony, hypocrisy even, of his esteemed race dressed in pure white but celebrating execution. Were not the weeping blades to weep at the loss of Elven life? A tall figure slides up next to him. "Llir, you appear sick. Worry not, for today a degenerate has perished and no longer corrupts the minds of his kin!" Cyrus nods weakly, holding his stomach. He croaks out "Yeah..." The high elf places a single hand on Cyrus' shoulder "Let us celebrate then, yea?" Cyrus opens his mouth to speak, but feels a wave of sickness upon him. He hunches over and vomits on the ground.

"It seems that Mr Camoryn would be the new naysayer! A negative one he is, to say the least." Cyrus says, almost chuckling.