Maliewyn'divu

Maliewyn'divu sits at the fountain in a small square far from his home, watching the beings around him scurry from place to place as he looks at his hands, their long white fingers pressed together. When would he be able to return home?

Maliewyn'divu mocks the silly orc language. ((I'm fairly sure that most anything tells us if you have big things in your mouth you don't speak right...))

Maliewyn'divu sees the young one's drawing and smirks slightly. He finds it quite an accurate portrayal.

"What about my nert?"

Maliewyn'divu studies the note and sends back his reply, "I will gather those I can to seek out our new cihi. May silver shine bright no matter the circumstances. lye perith kathiran."

*a notice is posted outside the Silver City, in the Cloud Temple, and in many other locations.* "The recent situation in the city of Elves has caused me much pain. I myself have been ridiculed buy these people for some time, these High Elves who hold so dearly to their purity, and have scorned me for my forced impurity. Rightly so, for my appearance is not pure, and should I have been in their situation I would have done the same. However, impure as I am, I cannot watch this genocide with a clear heart. "Phaedrus, this stain of the mali'ame, claims to be doing good by naming himself the new leader of the elves. Yet was it not he who was denied the position of Sohaer? Does it not seem so convenient for him? He merely /found/ the rightly elected Sohaer trapped in this crystalline substance? He /surely/ made /all/ attempts to free elSohaer. But, alas, he was /forced/ to declare /martial law/? Who granted him that power? He claims that all who may run for Sohaer will be carefully studied to make sure they are good, yet has he been through the same scrutinous study? He claims to be only temporary, and to wait for another election, but he has not called for one. He only cares for a name for this 'New Malinor'. "Do as you wish, my fellow mali. But even as he accepts those like myself to return, I will not return for I do not trust him. Who is to say that something will not happen to the next Sohaer? Or the next? Until all who would challenge him have fallen and he /regretfully/ takes position as elMaruthir? No, I do not trust him, and I do not trust this warrior to lead the mali to peace. I would rather live persecuted, as an outcast, holding to the best standard of purity I am able, rather than join him."

-snip-

One would also note that, unless some magical change has recently occured, mature elves are over fifty.

A note is pinned under the other. "All hail elMaruthir."

-snip-

Taliyu sighs, studying the posting. He says nothing, just looking around Vanderfell and then back at the notice. He shifts the bag on his lap and then wheels away, terrified of what might come for him, but knowing he cannot stay.

Taliyu grits his teeth, reading the parchment in front of him with disgust. Ideals that he had been raised on, thoughts that he himself had thought on, discussed, understood. Here they were shown as criminal, irrational, and worthy of death. Not just death, of genocide! Who was this beast, who ridiculed the preservation of a race: of cultures and ideals that had been held for so long. To preserve that the races should not intermingle, to prevent the spreading of the curses and to preserve the elvish bloodlines. Kalenz was better, far better than this beast. Taliyu cursed, throwing the parchment to the floor and beginning the search for Kalenz Uradir.

I'm far too excited for this. Please don't dissappoint. I will try very hard to lessen my excitement and standards, because I want this to be fantastic!

Taliyu'thilln sits in the square at Aesterwald, where he has remained for the past months, immobile. Some time has passed since the voice spoke, but still he remains still, one hand clutching the arm of the bench and he breathes slowly. In... out... Sweat slips down the side of his cheek and under his hood his face is pale, paler than usually, paler than natural. Even the eye nearly closed by his scar is wide. His heart races. In... out... His mind is no longer in the little human city, but instead in a city of elvish origin, Laurelin, and it is not Taliyu'thilln who speaks, but a young lost elf, still in his human years that whispers his fear and pain. "No... no... Please by all the Aenguls, by the Daemons and Ascended... by everything... Please don't let him come back... Creator... don't let him be back..." In... out... in... out... In... Out... In... Out... ((My only request for the staff is this: win. God's sakes win. Win and win and destroy and terrify people. I want to have the times we won be minimal and the times you win be maximum. Please. I want to be terrified.))

And I don't think I had honestly heard anyone say "God" before then. It was just "The Creator". Little difference, yes, but it made it just that much more unique.