Drusus

The wandering hedgeknight returned to her romote home to witness her frail father within the garden, she too had a letter grasped within her one remaining hand. The battered and slowly healing O'Rourke known as Azlyn had only just survived her encounter with darkspawn, meaning she was unable to lend her aid to her family during this dire need. With somber lumbering steps she made her way to her father, Lachlan, and led him to a more comfortable spot to sit and grieve the loss that they have found themselves facing. While she felt guilt for not being able to be there, she had hoped her grandparents were proud of her never the less. For doing what she left right in her own way, following the lessons and example both her grandmother and grandfather taught her. "Rest easy you two, Gods above know that you deserve a good and peaceful rest."

Deep within the Father's domain of the Eternal Forest an old soul stirs upon the arrival of a friend. The Lynx, without pause, searched for the fallen sister. Searched for her dear friend. Finally finding herself within the Nightfall of the Forest, the Lynx only had to search a little longer before finding her target. Her voice, gruff and gravely with an ever present growl echoes out from her form as she knelt down beside Nenar. "Your duty is done, solider. You can rest now." With those words spoken, she wraps her arms around the woman into a tight embrace. Welcoming the Wicker Druid home. A Mali'aheral closed her eyes as the the songs of woe washed over her, a feeling that she was all too familiar with. Yet it was only upon the news finally reaching her did the reality finally struck her. Nenar was slain. It was news which was bitter sweet and hit like a brick. She kept her usual calm expression until she was finally alone, only then did she allow tears to roll down her cheeks. "I wonder if you still believe, that no one will miss you.." The Volcano druid with her splintered mind found herself suddenly fall to her knees as the sorrow of nature echoed out and washed over her form. Deep down within her core. At a certain level she knew what had happened, she could now only hope that this wasn't the start of something bigger. The voices bickered and whispered though for now, she retreated further into the wilds to watch the possible chaos unfold as it was her nature to do so. A wandering hedgeknight, known also as the Duck Druid or even the Duck Knight to some found herself suddenly grasping at her chest with a sense of concern and sorrow. "Dammnit all, heart. Ya' better not be givin' on me this soon. Too young an' too much left t' do." The knight utters out, shaking her head a couple of times. It would be some time until she found out the truth of the matter. To the knight, death was an expected fate for all those who fought the dark forces. She would find herself within a quiet place with a rare ale in hand, wordlessly offering thanks to a good friend. The small form of a blindfolded youth would be seen wandering around Illivira alone. The news had reached her finally, her hands having a gentle grasp upon a flute given to her by her grandmother. She did not cry, death was natural and came for everyone. The youth finally found herself upon the main arm of Illivira, allowing the wind and rain hit her face, yet she did not cry. Only then did she allow herself to mourn in her own way. She raised the boneflute to her lips and played a song, dedicating one of her favourite tunes she learned to her grandmother. The rain rolled down her cheeks as she played, yet she did not cry. Upon finishing, her hand took hold of the hidden hagstone within the folds of her attire. "The unknown. Faunus' message of times to come. Times without you."

What is your favourite rp memory while on the server?

The Way of Whispers -credit: Adam Wesierski Within a darkened corner of a grove, a masked and robed priestess trails her scarred fingers over the dark leather cover of a tome recently finished, one decorated with the bones of small beasts of the wilds interwoven with small roots. Life and death working together to keep the tome together. The masked priestess gently rests the book upon its shrine, offering a small and silent bow of the head before she takes her leave. “Death is simply part of the cycle, one that many shy away from…but not us. With death, life shall be born anew from the ashes and thus the cycle continues.” The Way of Whispers is a creed of the Wild Faith. One whose formation wasn’t forged by great adventure or the desire to find inner balance. Instead it is one that came to be with the understanding and acceptance of death and the ever turning of the wheel which is the cycle. We whispered few who walk this path, seek not great glory through epic battle nor do we try to become well known speakers of wisdom. Instead we work towards the goals of the more silent side of the cycle, one of death and the nursing of new life from those ashes. Though this isn’t to say that we seek to slay those before us to enact such a goal but nor does it mean we will quietly sit and wait. The writer of this Way, the Volcano Druid Igne’ihnsil, had for a long time found herself at odds with the other Creeds and Ways that the Oracles before her penned. She could understand and accept each of them, seeing why someone would choose to walk those paths. Yet. They were not for her. Each she had found all were missing something.Though she sought out those who walked their own paths and spoke with them, each time she felt as if some of her questions were unanswered. Thus she retreated to the places she found comfort and found herself meditating upon those questions she often had. The ideals and beliefs that she had. After some time of quiet contemplation an idea started to flourish, then soon enough, ink met paper and at anypoint that the Volcano had, she would be nestled within a dark corner. Writing. Core Values “The death of the lamb, allows the wolf to feed. The death of the wolf feeds the grass and in turn the lamb. Thus the cycle continues.” -=Remembering the dead=- Be they druid or anyone else who worked to protect the balance, remember them. Their story, their accomplishments and how they met their end. -=Be the hand of death when needed=- Starting a forest fire when needed, or granting a swift and merciful end to one suffering. Do what is needed for the greater good of the balance and not for personal gain or satisfaction. -=Be the shepherd of new life=- Ensure life is ready to be born anew once death has come and aid those in mourning With our aid, life can rise up from the ashes of death and can be allowed to flourish so that the cycle may continue. -=Be a Keeper of Secrets=- There are some who do not wish to be remembered and others who might not truly understand the bitter truths of the world. Keep these secrets close to yourself and share only with those trusted. -=Enjoy the quiet moments=- Even the most mighty beast of the wilds requires time to recuperate and we are no different. Our path is grim and macabre, it is wise to take time to remember why we chose it and why it is important. Traditions -credit: Diana Novich -=Masks=- The use of masks play a major role within the Way of Whispers. They are used by the oathed members of the Creed themselves but are also used as part of their memorial rites for the dead. The masks that are used by the members of the oathed members of the Creed are crafted by that person themselves, they are encouraged to make it a personal item. It can reflect who they are when it comes to their duties or it can be something else. The use of masks is done in this manner as there is no true traditional ilmyumier for the Creed to show their membership but also it allows the oathed member to enact their duties with a certain level of anonymity. Materials are fully open when it comes to the personal masks though it is more common for them to be natural things such as wood or bone while decorated with other things such as feathers. The other use of masks is for the memorial rites for the dead. With these masks they are made to fully reflect certain aspects of the fallen person, perhaps in the image of an animal they felt a kinship with. For example a fallen priest of Amaethon would have a mask made in the image of a stag while also having other traits for the deceased. These masks, unlike the ones for oathed members, are all made from wood. This is to allow them to rot away at their resting place to signify the soul’s journey to the afterlife. -=Book of the Dead=- Another item which is made and held by members of the Creed is a book of the dead. This book acts as a way to help remember the fallen and it is expected that each member of the creed looks after and keeps their own tome updated whenever possible. Each passage of the book will have the name of the person, the date of death, how they died and any notable deeds that they had achieved in life. The appearance and materials that the book is made from is fully up to its keeper for as long as it serves its purpose it truly doesn’t matter. -=Singing Trees=- Akin to the book of the dead. The use of singing trees within the Creed serve a similar purpose of allowing a druidic member to add memories to the tree in order to ensure that their fallen comrades are not forgotten. Each memory stored within the tree being one of a fallen ally, to ensure that they are not forgotten.

Deep within the Eternal Forest, the old Lynx Druid exits the court of the Stag Prince as she felt a familiar song enter the realm. After some searching she finally found Brother War. She offered a grin and stretched out her arms. "Hah...welcome, friend. It is time for your old bones to finally rest. Come! I think it's high time we share drinks and war stories, don't you think?" She asks as she sat herself down and offered over a bottle of booze made from a certain Mountain Druid. Valmir hung her head as she looked towards the roaring flames, toying with an offering. She tossed it into the flames and quickly pulled on the helmet for her Sanguine Fire creed armour. Her hand balled up into a fist as she rested it over her heart before speaking. “Narnsae ito iyl, mal’onn. May you rest easy now.” With that she took her leave from the fire to work upon a new project, one to aid in the remembering of her fallen friends. The young Volcano Druid, held a damp cloth to her bruises. When she closed her eyes she could still see her brother’s final moments. Was she right to encourage him to keep on fighting? The wound was a death sentence anyway. The one thing that she could not shake was a feeling of guilt. Guilt that she wasn’t able to save him, though it wouldn’t take long at all for that guilt to turn into fury for she was truly her Grandmother’s blood. “They shall remember you, mal’onn. Mark my words. I will make sure they never forget.” She uttered that promise to the dark and empty room, her golden gaze coming to a close as she winced - applying a fresh cloth to those wounds.

MC Name: DrususTheDumb RP Name: Igne'ihnsil Maya'asul Persona ID: 70895

Within the paladin corner within Savoy, a scarred mali'aheral sat upon the roof. A solem smile being worn on her lips. She had time to wipe away her tears from the sudden shock of the news but now was in a state of quiet acceptance. "Blessed be, Sister Snow. Thank you for all the lessons you gave me." She'd utter out quietly as her eyes glanced over the camp. Elsewhere deep inside a dead forest, shrouded by the eternal darkness from the Mori. A howl of sorrow and anguish echoes out through the dead and dying trees. The lithe form of an 'ame was knelt in the mud, rot and decay as tears streamed down from her eyes. The everwatchful spiders who had claimed their home observed with caution as this blackrobed and masked figure made so much noise, yet they dared not to approach the bringer of fire - the Blackthorn Hag being left alone in her grief. "Marhaelun...I knew the sands of time for you were falling from between your fingers. I knew. I could see and the voices of the Wild Gods told me. I thought I was ready but with you gone it is like a knife in the heart." Her masked head rests down on the foul earth, her tears slowly coming to a halt. "But I remember your words. Marhaelun. I know you will guide me." Her fingers curled into fists as she slowly moved onto her knees, head her soon rising as her golden gaze narrowed. "Nature will have it's wrath, it's ally within the darkness. A simple whisper of revenge and winter shall be my guide. This I promise."

It was a peaceful awakening that Tailesin, The Lynx Druid, had from her mindscape. Although the endless night had its grasp upon the skies the elder druid still smiled, glancing down at her partner for a few moments before rising to standing. She took the time to wander her home one last time. Her tired gaze glanced around, many personal items having been packed up just in case the Vale had to move but she enjoyed the happy memories nevertheless. She couldn’t help herself but wonder how her family would be once she faded fully but deep down, she knew that they would be strong. The Lynx had done her part. Fought countless battles and against all odds, was able to rest finally in peace. A surprise for the warrior but a welcome one. The Lynx spoke with many people that day. Some new and some older faces also appeared, all to say goodbye. Word apparently spread quickly. While it was a curious situation for the woman she welcomed it with her usual socially awkward manner. Family soon enough appeared as well and with them she shared the heartfelt moments with joy and some tears - even if the old Lynx would deny the crying part. Though soon enough the time for her came. She gathered up with her family, friends and allies that she had made along the way - while it wasn’t everyone she knew it was enough. The Stag Prince called out to her, to the place of a previous sacrifice of a druid by the name of Tanilia. Tearful farewells were given, begging escaped the lips of some while others kept quiet, though finally the two elder druids clasped hands before walking forwards and towards the fae ring - upon doing so they vanished from sight. And then…darkness. For the first time in a countless amount of years true peace filled the form of the elder druid, the rage that she held onto for so long had melted away. The call for rest was finally achieved. Her eyes flutter open granting her the sight of the canopy of leaves above her, pushing herself to a seated position, she took a moment to take in her surroundings. The realization of where exactly she was quickly set in. The Eternal forest. She had been in this realm twice before. Once with the gifts to say goodbye to a dear friend and then physically to awaken Taynei’hiylu from her slumber so that she might aid the Druii during the inferi invasion of Arcas. The sound of snapping branches caught her attention. She looked to her right and saw the silhouetted forms of two halflings and one of a kharajyr, one of the halflings is accompanied by a large brown boar while the other held a shepherd's crook. The Lynx Druid’s lips tugged into a genuine warm and happy smile before an overjoyed laugh escaped from her, looking over to Liri who had joined her through it all. In sickness, health and now a peaceful end. The Lynx had achieved the very thing she sought out. Finally, she was home. Sometime after her passing, letters were sent out to certain people, some with items being sent with them. [OOC] Well there we have it. The end of my very first actual character on this server, from starting her at 10 up until 378. It’s been a good long run. Thank you to everyone who made her story as interesting as it has been. Time for a new adventure!

Within the paladin keep a scarred 'aheral sat as she watched the sun set, tears rolling down her cheeks. The physical pain of her lingering injuries were nothing compared to the wound caused by losing her brother. "Elias...I'm so sorry I wasn't there to protect you." Valmir took a moment to try and wipe away her tears though it proved to be a wasted effort. "I miss you already."

Artist: https://www.deviantart.com/crocorax The cold bite of winter air rolls through the elven year, marking the end of a larger cycle. Though with the death of plantlife and the long slumber of many animals being simply an aspect of life before things flourish once more. Frost and snow shall curl their frigid grasp upon the forests, glades and groves forcing our kin to rely on each other more for our survival much like wolves needing the pack more than ever during the harsher months. First Week of Winter Once the flames from The Autumn Equinox have been doused by the black waters of the Father Tree, the winter Ráithean shall lead a sacrifice to the Aspects and Mani for their blessing of the coming warmer months, once the sacrifice is made shall mark the start The Rite of Yule, otherwise known as Winter Solstice. Second Week of Winter The first true event is a spar, the fighters will have their faces painted with the red markings of the Father before starting their spar. The winner at the end of it all shall be named the champion of Yule and gifted a crown of antlers that they are to wear during the Winter Solstice all in honor of the Father of the Hunt himself. Third Week of Winter After the spar, once the bruises have healed, a grand feast shall be held. All of Nevaehlen and the Father Circle are welcomed to cook and bring their own food, for while the cold winter has it’s icy grip upon the lands it is wise to look to each other for comfort. Talking, cheer and song will be encouraged for the warmth of a joyful soul can help warm even the coldest of winters. Fifth Week of Winter Finally a time of gift giving shall come about. Family, friends and kin all sharing small trinkets from the heart to mighty works of art being gifted to each other for much like the feast it is always wise to remember that a pack of wolves is far stronger than a lone wolf. Once the gift giving has come to an end, those in attendance will write something that they wish to let go or be rid of from their lives the paper that it is written on will then be burned, symbolizing that woe being burned away from their life - marking the beginning of the end for the Winter Solstice.

What is your favourite color? What the heck is oatmeal? What is your favourite flower? You like jazz?

Skin: 3 Bid: 700 Discord: Princess_Drusus#9009 IGN: DrususTheDumb

Skin: 3 Bid: 500 Discord: Princess_Drusus#9009 IGN: DrususTheDumb

Username: DrususTheDumb The Jar you want: Big jug Character's Name: Valmir Char's Race: High elf Front & Back images of the skin:

Hey that was my druid! That whole thing was a scouting mission in which we found out we couldn't do anything to heal it and that any druid who went in had a bad time. All in all, funtimes. However what Deer is refering to was before the city fell I believe, now that we're not being halted and are able to interact with things we are :)