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About Kalehart

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    The Green Dragon
  • Birthday 06/19/1997

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  • Character Name
    Celiasil, Quindrel, Dralguna

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  1. Kalehart


    The former Okarir'tir, and now former Lord Marshal, looks over the notice with curious eyes and a pensive hum. Upon spotting the Sohaer's invitation at the bottom, however, his expression swiftly sours, and the elf crumples the paper, and looks about his private office, now nearly empty, "Beginning his reign by breaking bread with the tarnished state, is he? An ill omen indeed."
  2. "Oh, come now," the Lord Marshal mutters as he looks over the paper, alone in his office with a grimace on his features, "we had no part in his death. Evar'tir wasn't even present for much of what this speaks of." Shuffling through the papers on his desk, a dejected sigh leaves the 'aheral as he rests forwards with his head in his hand, "And as I'd feared, not even a single new applicant. How can we rise above these cruel indignities, if our people won't lend us their blades?" "Without the strength to hold firm, we bend, or we break." OOC:
  3. The application is received and looked over as the Sanethir ashes his cigarette into a tray. Nodding, he sets it alongside the others.
  4. The application finds its way to the desk of the Sanethir, who looks it over with a curious perk of one brow. Nodding his head, he files it away and makes a note to contact the fellow soon.
  5. A brow rises at the name on the application the 'aheral slouching over it at his desk and squinting down at the text. With a slight shrug, he files it away with those that need to be contacted.
  6. "So, he actually did it... Didn't take him for the sort." The Sanethir mutters as he looks over the application and files it away, "Pleased to be mistaken, then."
  7. The message reaches the desk of the Sanethir, his eyes scanning over it momentarily before he lets out a grunt and files it away, noting the name for interview.
  8. Both applications find their way to Celiasil's desk, and are filed away with the names etched down to be sought out for interviews.
  9. Adorning a rare smile at the continued influx, the Sanethir files this application away with the others, making note to contact the Silma soon.
  10. The next application comes as no less of a surprise, the 'aheral looking it over and nodding his head as he files it with the last. This applicant, too, would soon be contacted.
  11. The Sanethir looks up in some surprise as an application arrives so soon, taking it and sitting back as he glances the form over. The applicant would soon be contacted!
  12. In honor of the late Awaiti Sirame, the Lord Marshal hereby establishes: Okartayneiran (Sigil by @JJosey) “Hileia’ehier.” (To find peace.) Index: I: Purpose & Oath I: I - Oath II: Code of Conduct III: Core Traditions III: I - The Bond of the Pack III: II - The Token of the Realm III: III - The Braids of Merit IV: Organization IV: I - Ranks IV: II - Auxiliary Units IV: III - Membership Requirements V: Application
  13. After taking some time to comfort his grieving counterpart, the ginger Marshal finds himself seated alone, his back to the chimney of their abode and his gaze resting upon the Father Tree. A cigarette hangs between his lips, deep puffs taken and released through his nose, while he reaches into the tin for another. "Your work will not be forgotten. We shall carry it forth." With the simple statement, the 'aheral strikes a match and sets light to the second cigarette, reaching out to prop it on a nearby stone. Watching the smoke waft upwards for a few moments, he then pro
  14. Tarnished Silver: A Lamentation Penned on the 10th of The First Seed, Year 14 of the Second Age. A personal statement from Celiasil, formerly Okarir’tir, and Uradir. To all it may concern, Decades ago, I came to Haelun’or; lost, bitter, cruel and nameless. Time saw me welcomed into a family I had never known, and lofted into a position grander than I ever might have imagined. From bard to Okarir, I was proud of what I had become; prouder still of what I had built, and those I had built it alongside. My kin, my people, and my soldiers, I thought
  15. "The disgrace continues." Celiasil mutters bitterly as he eyes the name at the bottom of the missive, head shaking slowly, "Silvyr, you dare tell me I remain Uradir, and then level this betrayal? Ne." He strikes a match and crumples the paper, placing the flame to it and watching as it starts to burn. "I should have let him perish in that mirror, we were meant to be naysayers- not liars and warmongers." He tosses the burning ball of paper into his fireplace, and spits on it thereafter, the moisture sizzling in the flames, "I'm shamed to have called either of them brother. Never aga
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