SquakHawk

even in the lore submission we were given we just said change the name simple as

*slaps belleh

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This Lore has been accepted. Moved to Implemented Lore, it will be sorted to it's appropriate category soon. Please note that if this is playable lore, such as a magic or CA, you will need to write a guide for this piece. You will be contacted regarding the guide (or implementation if it isn’t needed) shortly.

The Ballot (( MC name: )) Name: Vote for Okarir’maehr: (XX) Silvos Sythaerin ( ) Elahern Aeth'sulier ( ) Olrin Maehr'tehral Vote for Okarir’nor: (X) Elathion Dagre'sae (X) Aiera Sullas

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Anethra considered the Aldin’s words, then considering Nelgauth and his speech some. ”Ti, while I believe the fear is unwarranted, I will not make fuss over anxieties on one’s mind- if anything, I thank you for such. I had not thought people thought of me in such a time. Regardless-“ She paused, continuing forward. ”As Sohaer, I would focus on unity and rebuilding- bringing a council which works together cohesively and executively in timely fashion, working alongside their Tilruir to bring forth a plan, a vision, of a greater future we build together. I have experience of how previous council was run and put together, and I had long been a champion of bringing in the ideas and quarrels of the populace to the table, as we are enlisted to service our people, and our state. Answering query and taking idea, real issues brought to us answered thoroughly and with proper action will lead to a good relationship between council, as not mali to Okarir, but mali to mali. Unified in our people, intelligent in our actions. With my experience as ‘tayna I more than have listened to the greivances of ‘thill, previous council or not, and tackled the issues with careful thought and plan. Such is the issue going forth- bring together a council unafraid of the people ‘nor their decisions, but one confident in their advisory, the vision they push forth, and a forum in which we can talk as ‘thill to ‘thill alongside public counsel- proposing change effectively to elMaheral, should there be need. She continued, her hands brought before her belly as she lowered her chin as she spoke to meet at eye level- stepping down from the dais to be on the same level as The Aldin. ”I plan to rebuild our lost relations, alongside a council revive a stagnant economy- a stagnant military, and struggling activity to make Haelun’or and Mali’thill a careful eye upon the stage of Arcas, watching the world carefully as our city-on-a-hill thrives and succeeds. A city of desire, joy, purity, and peace- though not merely flaunting such. Military might to back our words, wealth within our trade and city, and denizens happy, plenty, and pure to fill our Silver Bastion’s walls. As Sohaer, Uradir, and ‘thill, I would see us brought nowhere else but a golden age of Haelun’or with a reinvigorated republic and people. Unified, strong, and wise.” She finished, then dipping her head respectfully as Mali to Mali with Kaelan.

Anethra Uradir (squakhawk) Vote for Okarir’tir: (X) Kaelan Aldin ( ) Elrion Visaj (X) Alluin Miravaris Vote for Okarir’hiylun: (X) Silvyr Uradir (X) Dele Seregon ( ) Farandil Aldin

”Lliran” Anethra began, speaking lowly, as confidence picked up. “We know times have been turbulent, and many things broken- friendships, property, and certainty going forward- lost, after the night Malaurir Azorella had been ripped from us. As we know- strength, is always in unity. And unity, is progress. Throughout my tenture as ‘tayna, and brief venture unto ‘nor, I learned much as a councillor, as a citizen, and as a ‘thill- despite my lifespan to count beforehand. I learned how to create an efficient work, how to create friendships and production to be had. I have much experience, in my time within those roles- much experience, in my time as a member of the council regardless of such. As elSohaer, I would seek to get our feet properly onto the ground, with a first council appointed and successful to moving forward and repairing what was broken, and replacing what was lost- not to neglect, but to remember and progress. As is the way of our people, the maehr’sae hiylun’ehya of the council is just as important as is the people- and the people, have volunteered for such an undertaking. I would press forward, move unto times in which we can revel in a joyous and intelligent populace, a mighty military, and a busy people procuring and trading wealth. We have such potential, and through strong leadership, such can occur- under Sullas, under his council, and hopefully- under I.” She finished, giving a respectful bow to the populace gathered. ”I understand the apprehension, should I be looked at as a relic of the old council. And I understand such- however, many a conversation between a then loyalist and I, yielded much awakened thought. Progress in the state, progress in it’s people- ne a side to pick, ne a icon to follow. Our only icon remains Larihei and her teachings, aswell as the malauriran which grant much wisdom- and confidently, will guide us forth unto an age of maehr’sae hiylun’ehya” The Uradir completed rather sincerely upon the end, giving a glance to Ikur Sullas. “I look forward, to if I get the opportunity, serve my people for another term. Ahernan, lliran. May the most qualified succeed in their election.” Anethra ended, giving another respectful bow to the populace in which she had hoped to service.

Grief struck the frail Uradir, as memories of past began to stage their haunting play of agony upon the helpless blonde. Awaking from a short and dreamless sleep filled with colour and light, she looked up toward the marbled prison she built for herself. Watching closely the ebb of emotions that washed over her, lapping at her worn and clouded mind, she watched the height of the room with dim yellow eyes glazed over with little left behind them. The feeling was not unfamiliar, and the resident resistance fortifying the last shreds of what was left of the Uradir did not feel anger, did not feel vengeful of how poorly things had gotten. Futile, was the mind, and futile was the effort in resisting it. Like a weed the stalks of venomous flora planted by the foreign visitors to her conscious grew around what was last of her, taking place. She rose, pallid skin with tinges of what was once care for such, frail form, frilled hair, and bags under eyes which reflected little. She stepped not far throughout her manor, finding the baths; shutting the door as the sun began to crest over the hill. She stepped within the warm spring, seeming to enjoy the company of aqua. Within the water, all she felt was warm- with no pain, coldness, or the brush of clothes against her. Upward through the skylight she was the sky turn from it’s once unwelcoming shadow to a pale orange, and with it’s welcome the mali’thill left such a spring. She stopped by the mirror which preceded the door, drying her face thoroughly. While awake, there was little excitement, little enthusiasm blatantly shown behind orbs of gold. Her guise began it’s craft with foundation. Built upon sorrow, grief, and lies, the basis of her mask began to take shape. The ‘thill had what little blemishing her face begin to blend with the mask which blend rather well with her skin tone. She continued thoroughly to apply such as the foundation of the mask coated the Uradir from hairline to jaw, dry lips of a pale-peach maw the only resemblance of below. She began the next step, to conceal her sorrow, grief, lies- taking such and beginning to dust her face in the make of others, as the bags beneath her eyes slowly disappeared- her face glowed, with dull lips to accompany. She finished her guise with a coat of lightly-yellow wax, rubbing such around her maw- sweet, as if she was tasting the fruits of her own fields. Her guise complete- a glowing face of beauty and perfection, the mask imperfect as the yellowed eyes behind it held little. She continued to dry her hair fervently, granted flame, granted towel- careful to not disturb her carefully made mask. It took time, but such was not an issue for the ‘thill. She followed with brushing of her frilled and wiry hair, reminiscent of how once she sought to grow it. She paused on the thought, considering someone in passing, as if watching them across her visionfield – left, to right, and passed. Unacknowledged, unacknowledging. Ominously the waivering ‘thill arrived to the hall, where she sat affront the flame. A silly thought in passing, of how such was to make her intimidating. She watched the tableclock, as time ticked along. Persistent, and unwaivering, it continued forward- but no sound was throughout the manor. Not a word spoken, not a word heard. She stepped to the next room, putting over the flame a kettle. Service, was always what she was purposed for. She awaited, mind drifting lazily until the kettle whistled loudly- preparing a tray of assorted teas, honey, milk, and sugar- the kettle and six cups upon such, she approached the hall oncemore. Empty. She continued forward, as she heard the whistle of another kettle- though she did not put one upon. She awaited at the table, as the sound of music- an orchestra, slowly encroached upon her mind. She tapped the table, watching the clock tick and tick- the tea piping, as the orchestra continued. It continued along quietly, as the kettle eventually steamed no more, the water settled and becoming cold as the clock continued to persevere it’s task. The Uradir continued to hear the kettle within the room next, as the symphony picked up in the height of it’s sound, though audibly it picked up tone, she seemed not alarmed. She looked throughout the chairs as the orchestra continued to gain in volume, left, to right, panning across the room as the sounds began to become insufferable. The kettle in the next room whistling deafeningly as it begged to be freed from it’s flame, the elf continuing to merely watch the clock and await. The broken clock lay disassembled and dismembered upon the table, as silence oncemore became the main resident of The Uradir Manor.

Anethra watched onward, distant as she gazed over the balcony of her tavern. Watching the loved, respected, and intelligent masses depart in droves, as the flocks of the populace departed Elcihi’thilln- for the time, or for good. She looked downward to her hands, black gloves cast aside quietly- she looked to her pallid and frail, bony hands which twitched lightly, normally, as they held themselves in the air. She looked to the pale whites, the peachy undertone and the ichor which coursed beneath the skin slowly. The untouched and blemishless skin reflected back little, as Anethra kept watching such- a growing terror ebbing over her, washing through as she began to be bothered by their cleanliness. She stepped back, and over to behind the counter- the door locked, keys switched during chaos. She alternated and entered her passage, crawling upon her belly through darkness until her destination met- she seemed more desperate as time passed, minutes ticked and her heart began to steadily pace. She moved further and forward unto darkness, unto light, into the kitchen of the tavern- started to thrash her hands into the basin. She tried as anxiety had fully washed over her, no matter how much she tried her hands remained dry- and clean. She stepped back and took glass- filling it from the barrels which still were familiar to her presence. She poured the glass upon her hands, where the red of the wine washed off, her hands remaining perfect and untouched. She turned the spigot, the cask pouring wildly it’s purple-red contents of expensive wine upon her hands to no avail, unmistakably perfect. She screamed and screeched, going to grab another delicate glass, crushing it between her grip- causing a yelp in pain and suffering. She gazed upon her hand as shards of glass ripped into her delicate skin, red and voluptuous ichor spewed and streaked from her hand- coating it in a deep maroon. She seemed relieved through heavy breaths, her mind empty and devoid of thought as instict played in full. She looked back to her hand which shook violently in andrenaline and pain, wrackingly shocking her arm- glancing leftward toward the open maw of the tavern. An empty square, for an empty city. She slid over the counter trailing blood all the while, stepping into that abandoned place of what once was purity. Behind her a shadow, cast eight times her size in the sunset. She continued through the square, past the fountain, the steps, the citadel- all the while seeing none, hearing none. She walked through as normal but, as time progressed, they edged at her mind- her ears, her heart. They continued to wear at her, wear her down and her through. They continued to disturb her so as what once was uneasy comfort and home, felt now alien and unfamiliar. They undermined her, her thought, what she once saw as a bastion of purity and sanity- now it’s only resident, a bleeding blonde. She hummed uncomfortably, as she continued, the walls broken down and worn- the heart of the bastion within, beating weakly and faintly. She arrived unto her home, by the end in the tears of her own, blood of her own, in the home of her own. The walk to the manor was longer than usual. Quieter, with their whispers at the edge of her mind. She tapped the bloodied, glassed hand along the walls of her fortress, giving a single low hum to herself.