HazelWazel

A cruel joke. Elenora had just been held by her, listened to her play her lute before it all went dark. The death of her brothers and sisters. Her Father. Her closest ally. Death surrounded her. “I am cursed.” “̶̡̱͚͍̱͚͋I̸̥̤̩̲͙̾̎̐͗̌͘t̴̢̞̫̥̖̻̓̀͛͐͠͝ ̴̻̟͙̪̝̎̈͆͆̆̐͘͜c̸͙̳̞̗̊͒̐̊̊̂̈́̂o̸̢͎̱̯̘̠̥̫̎̓̌͛͒͐̐̾̚͠m̶̱͔̭̀̐̌́́̈͠ḙ̸͔́̈͐̕͠ś̷̻̙͓̙͇͖͔̃̀ͅ ̶̭͉̾̌̔͗̑͝f̶̢̔̓̅́̈̋̆o̴̭̪͖͊̀̉͐̂͝ŗ̶̼̭̪́͆́̒̍̂̌̂̈͘ ̴̜͉̬̪͚̤̘͑̿͆̂͂̐̾̇͜ú̴̟͖͓̣͎̣s̸̳̪̰̽͐̋̒̈́̏͑̎̚͠ ̴̡̘͕̫̬̌͌̓̔͑̊̃͋̓͝ạ̶̧̃͒́̆̍͋͘͝ļ̵̹̱̠͍̬̳̮̗̔̋̎̐̀͊̈̚͜l̸̮̭̱͔͍̥̹̞̓͂͋̈ ̵̢̢̠̣̘̽̿͑̈́̽͐͐̏͘è̷̪̹͔͔͉̣̮͙̇͌̅̈́̚̚͜͝v̶̢̧͖͚̺̻̼̗̦̓̾̍̈́͒̈́̈́͠e̴̬̩̫͛͛ṇ̵̛͐̂̃̍̃̂̀͐͝t̶̡̽́̉́̏̚͝u̴͔̟͙͛͋͌̃̂̄̋̌͛a̴͖̦͂̄̌̍̄̓͒͒̚ĺ̴̢̖̜̞͗̅̆͝l̵̬͖̼̞̰͖͓̽̀̉̌̉̚ỹ̵̬̓̍̀̏.̸̡̦͉̄”̸̧̞͇̞̤̈́̽͆́͌͋̂̑͑̀ “Why cant it be me?” ̵̧̡͈̞͉̣̯̅̌̿̀͛́̾͠͠“̶̪̖̬͓͈͓̎̀̓͛́̏̎͌̀̐T̷̡̞̤͔̻̞̺͕̞̻̾̏̌̕̚ḧ̵̖̗͇͇̪̯́́̕̚e̸̙̯̍̐̿̒͑̑̔̐͒͠ý̷̢̧͎̖̟̙̮͎͎̳̾͆̓̔̂́̈́̕’̶̛̜̣̯͚̳̮̳̔̍̕d̸̤̀̆̌̅ ̶̡̱̪͓̾̆͋ͅb̵̛̙̹͚́̑̈́͊̓͊̈e̴̡͚̪̮̳͇̤̠͇̰͂ ̶̼͕͕̺̯̱̙̘͇̀ş̷͎́͊̓̿̽ỏ̷̡͇̟̘̗͙̬̐̓̓͑́ ̶͇̪̬̳̆͋̕͠a̷̫̺̘͚͆͜n̷̦̻͗͌̂ġ̶͎͇͓̓̽̆͋͗͝ŗ̵̗̜͎̮͔̖̱͚̭͆̆ẙ̸̨͉͖̥̟̤̮̟ ̸̬̝͍̋̚͜͠͝w̶̛͚̦͚͎̝̹̼̗͆͐̉͠ͅi̷̮̰̣̜͈͕͙̜͆̅̆̿̍͗̕t̴̡͙͇͎͚̃̾̒̈̂̕̚̚͝h̶͍͉͈̺͔͖͗̐̊̊̿̌̚̚͝ ̷̛̪̈̊͌̇͐̓̓͛͠ỳ̶̞͍͉̭̓̊͒͋̐̾̔̚ơ̵̡̈̎̐́u̶̝͈̩͔̰̞̩̯͌̍͜͜ ̸̢͚͙͉͍̟͍͚͋͂̉̌̂͠ͅi̷̟͉̖̝̫͕̪͌͂̂̀̚̕͠f̴̜̞͒̃͂͘ ̴̱̝̪͑y̶̛͔̜̟͙͚̖̭͌̀͆̂̍̈̃͝ò̸̢̞̲͍̮̳̈̉̇̇̓́̍̌u̴̧̬̻͔̖̞̘͈͒́͌͘ͅ ̷̛̘̫̤͈̯͓͂̾̓͜͝g̸̗̟͈̦̺͙͗̈́͆̕a̷̛̰̦̭͚̝̗̬̎́̇̌̄͋̚͝v̸̧̛̰̭͚̝̠̘̥̊͌͑̉̽͂̄̾͝ě̶̠̫̺̻̦̠̰̣̲̓̎̈̂͜ ̶̧̛̮̣̲̥̒̃u̶̱̫͓̒͆̔̇͝p̴̞͖̩͙̞̱͚̈́̐̈̒̄̉̏̕ ̷͓̖̯̗̙̇̓̋͊̅̍̚͝ͅń̸̖̗͎͚͕̻̝̞̭ǫ̸̙͔̜̝̳̗̣̟̼͊̄w̶̞̓ͅ.̷̼̀ͅ”̷͉̙̱̼͗͂̃̕̚ “I wont even see them in my death.” ̷̢̛͖̰̱̋͗̑̌̃͆̊̐͝Ą̶̛̤͔̯͖͌̇͠l̷̛͚̰͐͌̾͋̒̌̕l̴̻̭͔͋̓̅̍͊͋̃̚ ̶̢̗̯͕͚̻̟̼̼͔́̽́͝ț̵̢͕̼̹̃̀̓̎̒͝h̵̢͓͖̟̝͚̭̥̥͔́͌͑͆̾e̸͎̟̘̖̍͗́́͛̓͂̕̚͝ ̸̘͙͉́̂͛͝m̸̛̭͔͖̻͇̞͈̝͔̍̾͒͂̿͗ǫ̶̖͈̟̅̏͌̈́̆͑́r̶̨̘̠̤̫̼̪͓͐̔ḕ̸͈̘̥̭̫̰̳͎͆͘͘͜͝͝͝ͅ ̷̢͓͈̠̮̮̥̏͐͘r̷̝̐͆͂̅̈́ę̷̡̖̥̜̥̺͚͇̘̋̄̆̽à̵͓͇̃̊͂̀̕͜͠ṣ̶̨̟̯̫̺̓̋̍̽̃͋̄̚̕̚o̸͓̦͖͈̼͊͆͌̾̋́̈́͐͌̎͜n̶̢̤̺̙̲̘͓͇͖̉̉͂͜ ̷̨̝͈̳̪͙̦̊̌͌͂͛̃̌̄͗̓t̷̨̙̠̞͇͚̟̗̞̆̽̀͛̃͒́́̾̕ǫ̷̫̻̯͇͚̠͑͠ ̸̫͋́̈́ļ̸͖̖̰̯̘̗͋̏͆̋͋̊̓͠͝ȋ̴̻̻̩̲̹͑͛̄̔̍̅̋̌̔v̴͔͉̣̫̙̻̳͎̞̎͌̑͐͆͑̓ȩ̴̜̪̰̜̞̃͗̐̒͊͘,̶́̊̐ͅ ̴̧̛̫͓̼͆̈́̐͛̂̐̿̚f̷͕͓̰̈́͌̓̀̽̽̚͜õ̴͍̝̝̤̝̭̝͋r̴̭͉̥̈͐̉̈͝ ̶̡̟͈͖͇͙̲̱̣̓̀̈́͑͛̔̓͛̎ͅṫ̶̡̪̻̘̹̘̻̻͉̓͆h̸̛͚̙͈̥͓̬͔̰͗̽̒͌̉ͅȩ̴̖͕̱͇̥͖͙̿̎̊̎̄͑̒̇m̶̨͕̳̲̖͔̹̰̌̓̽̃̒̀̚͝.̵̧̹̜̽͂̈́̈́̄͂́̅͆͘ ̵̧̘̬̙̩̋͌͜T̶̡͓̟̱̹̪̈́̒͑̿̓͊̈́͝h̸̥̖͇͎̹̗̼̪̽͑̌̆̀̀ͅḙ̴͈̗̪̫̟̆̍i̵͇̠͉͈̓̒r̷̛̭̃̿̋͜ ̸̡̛̭͍̲̘̇̈́̓͊̽̈́̂̄̍ḭ̶̺̱̫̳̘͓̬̻̈́͋̅͋̽̈̇̇͠n̶̢̛̯͍͕̰̹̰̖̤̩̋̔̏̉͒̈́͝͠f̸̛͎̙̟͇l̶͇̳͍̳̼̮͕̈̂͘ü̷̧̼̝̻̰̹͍̭̱̇̐͘̕͝͝ė̶̡̲̠͚̪̯̥̆̇̊ṋ̸͔̠̪̓̂̈̇̇͌̓͝c̸̢̭̬̙̬͇̺͋͑̃̄̌̚ë̷͉̝̯͕͔́̅̀͑̽͒̊̍͘̕ ̸̞̽̒̀͋͂ű̶̲̺̖̮̺̳͊p̸̥͖̲̭͎̖̲̘̰͒̾o̷͇͑̃̂̿̅̇̈̄̚̚͜͜n̴̢̻̹̞̫̭͌̈́̇̅̽͜͝ ̸̙̝̦̋̋̾̄͜ͅý̷̨̬̳̻̬̺̳̪̳̀ͅo̶͓̟̮̦̜͗u̷̮̙̹̽̈́͌̏̂͠ ̶̼̖͋w̷̬̥͖̗̮̲͆̏ỉ̵̧̛͔̦̙̣͙̼̙̱̲̈́̽l̵͓̮̟̀͗͗͆̌͘l̶̺̦̮̟͆̆ ̸̹̩̩̥͍̤̞̦̥͛̂͐̎͑̽́̚ṟ̵̈́̿̌͑́̈́ȇ̵̮͚̲͋̀m̸̛̹̟͕̟̯͙̀͊̈̆̎̇ạ̵̢͖͉̮̪̼͂̒̔́̇͗̎̍̄͘͜ï̷̧̛̖̙̦̝̀̅̊́͗͘ṇ̸̨̛̬͓͔͕́̍̔,̸̢͖̹̱̗̚ ̶̥͚͙̲̙͕̺̬͇̞̀̒̅̎͐̈́̚ă̴̦̳̓͊͊̈͝n̴͖͎̍̓̓̅̉̿̂̃̍̕ḑ̷͖̫̬̯̰̣̲̌̈̏̂́͐͌͘͝ ̵͍̻̘͐͜y̶̫̩̗̑̈́͋o̵̜͖͓̹͋͐̈́̋̐̀̒͘ͅǘ̴̡̻̦̠͓̲̮̀ͅ ̴̡̱̲̲̹͌͗w̶̗̬̮̪͈͙̯̓̆̉̿ǐ̷̦̖̒̚l̴̜̰̬̭̦͕͈̫̂̿͜͝l̴̗̈̓͗͋͝͠ ̶̧̜̝̠̩̝̮̤̪̂c̶͎̭̖̝̬͓̞̩͉̋͑̊̇́͌͛̈́͝ǎ̷̛̝̭̲̠̇̀͋͊̿̌͜͝r̴̥̎͐̿͗͐͋̅̕̕r̷̡̨̝̗̠͍͙̮̅̐̑͑y̴̧̺̣̰̘͆̉̓̿̿͑͛̚͝͝ ̴̗͇̆ã̵̛͚̀͑̍́̋̒͠͠ ̶̙̈́̑p̷̤̙̫̳̩̃̀̏̈́̓͘͝i̸̡͉̥̥̘̔̊̽͝͝͠ę̴̞̲͉̜̦͔̣̬͂̋̿ͅç̷̛͈͈͖͔̫͈͑ẻ̸̢͎̮̤͚̰̦̣ ̵̼̦͗͛͠o̵̡̬̫̯̹̳̮̻̫̯͒̈͠f̷̖̥̖̱̲͈̬̈́̅̓̒͝ͅ ̸̥̝̙̲̿̀͌̈́͝t̶̯̤̟͈̜̬͕̬̲̒̎̎̋͋̂́͝ͅh̵̭̟̜͉̦̣̉ȩ̶̟͚̼͉̹͔̬̜͆m̶͔͝͠ ̷̨͎̗͚̰̆̒̍̒͋̀̊̈́͒͠w̸̜͔͒͒̆̇̋̑͋̃̚̚i̸̹͚͍͉̫̣͗́̆̓̑ͅt̴̢̢̮͚̆̍̓̐́h̵̛̼̀͂̎̓͒ ̶͙̞͕̙͇͉̯͊̈̐͊̀̄̕͘͘͝ŷ̴̡̼̭́ơ̷̧̿̐̋͐̒̍̕̕͠u̶̡̫̱̐̃͠͝ ̵̞̻̬̦͚̻̜͎̰̫̏̿̆ȁ̶̧̙̤̪̂̌͗͊̃̔͜l̶͚̝̞̣̯͎̹̻̹̂w̶̼̮͉̣̪̞̲̍̚a̴̢̨̻͚̺̥̝̰̩͐̓́̋͑̂̒͂ÿ̸̛̦̮́̑̃̓̎̀s̸̢̫͙͋̆́̓̆͠͠.̸̢̨̨̲͉͍̠̰͝ͅ”̵͍̥͕̿̒̏́̒ "What.. do I do now?" ̴̧̛͚̪̬̲̻̂̈́͛̔"̵̣͇̮͚̣͙̺͊͋̿̍͐͌̌ͅI̵͕͍͕̫̙̮͈͉͒͊̋̿̈́͜ ̶̢̛̯͙͇̈͗̉̈p̷̖̯̹̫̰̅̒r̶̢̢͍̯̠͓̉̉̔̚o̷̝̍̏̿͌͛̽̓̃m̷̪̋̓̈́̄̎̍i̷̡̲̞͈͓̠͋͑̈́̈̽͑̎ş̸͙͇̣̣͇͔̜̄͐͂̍̿ͅé̵̡̙̼͉͐̒͑͒̽̌͆̚̕d̸̠̺̪͌ͅ ̵̼̱̲̱͔̬͙͑̽͗̐̏͝t̴̪̩̥͎̻͙̗͐͆̅̋͆͝ö̸̧̮̙̜̼̩̼̹̠̥́͒͑͌̎ ̵͓̲̤̙̼͕̱͚̌̔̈́̀̈́͐̓͠c̶̛͎͍͍̫̩̟͉͑̿̅̎̉̑̍̚͠a̷̟͙̟̋͜r̸̢̭͖͖̙̣͓͚̞̾̍͌̄͒̎͝͝e̸̡̨̧̻̣̯̘͓̽̆̈́͌̇́͌̚͠͠ͅ ̶̨̞̝̘͉͓̥͘f̶̧̛̛͚͇͇̻͉̤̺̬̆̆̒̋̀͘ö̴̺́̄͌̈́́r̶̘̓͑͌̽̈́ ̶̬̑y̵͈͊̿̉̃͋͒͝͝õ̴̰͙͠ù̷̪͋.̵̢̳̤̖̅̅ ̶͙̀́̓͆̈́̑́͝W̴̻̱̦̬̮̥̒ḛ̶͙͂͊̑̈́̇̈͠ ̶̨̤̬̗̞͓̜͎̈̌̅̄͗̿̑͌̐͠m̴̺͖͕̯̠͉͑̊̋͆͂̊̌̿͘ó̶̦̼̘̤̣̯̎́̂̾̓͋v̵̬͖̤̥̲͓̦͆̐̆͐̓́̂͠e̶̢̛̳̯̒̈̇́͆̊ ̵͔̥͔̭̩̟̲̲̋̈̂̋̕͘f̷̻̺̙̼̐̀̔̚̕͠ǫ̸̨̝̫̜͕̝̾͂͝ͅŕ̷̛̗̰̫̬̻̼́̐͐̊͒͛̾͝ŵ̴͔̉͑͌̚ã̵̛̞̠̘͈̪̅r̴̛͈̤͉͋͗̏͂͌̈͆̀͜͝ḑ̴̛̟̩͈̪̱͔͑̀͗̅̇̓͋.̷̛̗̦̟̀͐͊̚͝͝"̵̢̝͈̙̹̰͍̞̊̇͆̃̍̿

It is often said that a child will take after their parents. Their mannerism, their looks, their skills. The apple never falls far from the tree after all. Elenora Divadri was unique in that only her looks matched her fathers, but even that was cultivated, created and crafted for Sarrion and forced into his life. Elenora became all that he was not out of spite of his disinterest. Sarrion was charismatic and civil, while she turned to wrath and bluntness. A powerful voidal mage, a founder of practices beyond comprehension? She became a druid who found her footing within the wilds. Yet the further her path strayed from his, the closer they got. A bond of genuine care formed. She soon loved her father, to the point where when it was demanded by her fellow druids to kill him, she denied it without hesitation. He gave her advice, sat with her when she needed it the most, and loved all of her, even when she did not. He was a constant. Even when he left, she knew he would come back. He promised he would not truly go without saying goodbye. -=- The Scorpion Druid sat within her fathers room, filled with books and notes which were already beginning to gather dust. Within her automation hand her father himself had crafted, the foreign letter and faded grimoire held weakly. Her head slowly thudded against the bed frame, sleep unable to find her as her mind raced with emotions of anger, grief, and the pain of the unknown. The Silence was deafening, yet in the back of her sleep deprived mind it came as clear as day. His quiet voice during her most restless of nights filled with terrors; “Get some sleep. Dad will keep you safe while you do.” A small choked laugh left her lips at the memory, her eyes finally closing as she pulled her fathers things closer to herself. “P-Please.. A tiny.. Voidal mage is going to protect me?” ”. . . I miss you.”

Holding the notice with both hands, The Scorpion Druid gave a small grimace, using one of the spider legs upon her back to push her hair about to try and hide the glowing crystalline horns upon her head. "Hats are nice."

Deep within the Sunbreak keep, Delmira Sylvaeri, the wife of 'the Glovebearer' gets the mail, panning through the numerous missives for the both of them. In careful delegation she sorts them into his and hers piles. Of course, Forgetful as she is once her husband returned home she did not mention the missives needing his attention. After some time, the piles began to get covered in books, baking materials, and more, scattered about their shared home. Hopefully nothing too important was buried and lost.

Beneath the trees she rested, the sun just slightly breaking through the shade of the leaves. Despite the peace this place should have provided her, The Scorpion Druid, found no such thing. They had just spoken. She had just replaced his arm to his liking. He had just told her to stay alive. "What a fool.. Could he not take his own advice?" Despite her callous words, her teeth dug into her lips to hold back a sound of despair. A hand of wood lifted up to the sky shakily, the palm faced up to the sky. Here it remained for a few moments, before it curled into a fist and thusly dropped down. "Blessed be, Brother War. You may lay down those weapons you held within yourself now."

Within the depth of her home, a blind cleric sits quietly as she listens to a old friend read off the most recent missives. There was little reaction from the Mali'ame, all until a certain name caused her to startle. A gasp escaped her lips, causing her hand to move to her mouth. It had been so long since she had seen her. When was the last time she had even sent a letter to her or sought her out? Her thoughts disrupted by a clearing of the throat. "Is something wrong, Delmira?" "I fear I have failed someone without realizing. Even now, if I act.. I fear they are too far into the darkness to be found." "Will that stop you from trying?" "... Nein. All darkness must have a light somewhere."

It was only when they counted and named the dead that Delmria Sylvaeri learned the fate of the young Paladin. It caused her to take pause in organization of what little medicine she had left from the gruesome and bloody battle. It had only been a few hours ago that they stood within the once sacred halls of Tahariae's Temple, Elena asking her about what had occurred to her sight, and the cleric in turn offering the other some perhaps harsh advice on conversation. Regret. Frustration. Despair. There were so many other things they could have spoke about, so many far more kind things that she could have said. But there was no way to change the past now, nor was there a way to thank Elena for the kindness she had shown to her so many times before. The cleric bowed her head, ushering a soft prayer to the heavens: "Xan, she is within your halls now. She has done her duty and has entered your golden domain. Let her not worry for us here, for we will be fine." "Tahariae, my Silver Stag, grant her family peace and assure their souls safety and purity. Protect them in this time from the darkness that comes our way, for this is only the beginning of what is to come."

this is not a pk post pls There was no telling of night or day within the depths of Sunbreak, only a guess based on the comings and goings of the Paladins. Even this schedule became irregular as more conflicts arose, and duty called. For a moment though, silence took its hold upon the gilded halls as those who lived within were preoccupied with outside matters or finally finding rest. Only one seemingly remained awake, a Mali’ame adorned in unstained white who sat upon the highest balcony to overlook this silence, an ancient book upon her lap, water logged and well read with a faded Cleric emblem almost lost to time. What normally was a view of grandeur and shine was nothing but blurry shapes and faded lights and colors. It had been long since she had considered herself of much use to any cause or event within the Order she was tied so closely to. She was no fighter, a pacifist by nature of her weak and ailed body. Her talents of healing were well wasted within a keep of miracles and deific gifts that could do what she did and more. Despite this, she had never stalled. She always offered companionship, an ear, her comparatively mundane talents of healing, or merely treats after a long endless day. To her, this helplessness she felt was not forever, but a mere waiting game. Her praise and prayer never stalled, knowing one day Tahariae would call her once more; it was nerve a matter of if but when to the devout Mali’ame. As long as she had this faith, to her that would be enough. That was until her vision began to fade. It came out of nowhere, her gaze straining to view notices and people at a distance. Soon the mild hindrance became a true problem as she began to run into objects and people. Within only months the sweet smell of baked goods had faded as cooking and baking had become too dangerous. Books within the woman’s home started to gather dust, unable to make out the words upon the parchment even with the aid of glasses. Even in all of this, her prayers and praises never ceased. To the Mali’ame this would pass as all of her ailments did. Every sickness and hardship felt light upon her shoulders as long as she had her faith. Torture, kidnapping, seizures, near death attacks- she had lived through it all by the will of Tahariae. In each step in her life, even long after he recalled his light from his followers, she remained on his path; upon his will. Until she was told this blur would soon take full hold, and drive her blind. There was much for the cleric to reflect upon, she had done so much. Lady Treasurer of Santegia, Cleric and Priestess of Tahariae, High Princess of Aegrothond later named Elvenesse. A mother. A wife. A loyal friend and ally. What use would she be now without her sight? How could she begin to be of any help to those she loved when she already lacked? Those thoughts, that dread began to consume her as darkness began to flood the corners of her eyes. “Mira? Starlight, what are you doing up here?” Her thoughts of trepidation were interrupted by a familiar sound of heavy armoured steps behind her, though the feeling of overwhelming deific energy was even more recognizable. “Mein Liebster-” No other words were needed as she outstretched a hand into the dimming light which was closing into abyssal darkness. There stood no pause from her husband for within moments she felt his gauntleted hand within hers. Upon this cool metal touch, familiar waves of warmth filled her senses as once more Tahariae’s light was present to her. The thud of armour echoed as the Templar came to a knee, his head brought forward against his partners. It was only then her eyesight came into focus, granting her the view of familiar glowing silver. “Have I mentioned recently that your eyes are as if looking into the depths of the seas, to which I find myself always lost within? Perhaps not even that, as all other blues pale in comparison to yours. Those hues could never hold the soul and breadth of your love within their shades.” “You may have mentioned a time or two, but say it again so I may not forget.” A small laugh left her, before she fell to silence once more. She dared not blink, not wanting to miss a second of her most favorite sight within the realm. With her head against Feanor’s, and Tahariae’s light flooding her senses.. the darkness upon her peripheral began to close in. “. . . . I love you, Feanor.” “And I you, Delmira.” With these words, Delmira Sylvaeri’s sight ended, and though darkness was all she saw.. Light consumed her.

Who are you?

Stood within Celia'nor, the Scorpion Druid taps her metal fingers lightly onto her hip, her wooden fingers clutching a ancient compass. With a small flick of her wrist the object was rendered open, the needle rapidly spinning with no direction to gather. Elenora sighed gently as she closed it once more, shoving it into her pocket. "Vile."

Pieces of thick recycled parchment seem to be found at random within the wilds, deep within forests, and caves. Where one would wander, one may just happen to stumble upon the odd carefully written letter. It is in the nature of a druid to wander, for if they lose themselves within the wilds and amongst the voices, are they truly lost? For as long as I have been a druid it has not been odd for one day a brother or sister to just disappear without a single utterance or warning. We all know when the wilds whisper, we heed and answer their call without hesitation. It is not something we can fight, not that we could try to. I myself have seen it occur hundreds of times over, even experiencing the call for myself. It has been long since I have returned, but something had still remained unsettled within me, nagging at my very core. I had assumed, nay I had hoped, that those I were in the midst of guiding and teaching would be looked after and cared for. I fear I was wrong to hope such. I know we try our best to assure our brothers and sisters reach their fullest potential, but there are some I know who are out there that have slipped between our fingers. Forgotten druid who perhaps have given up and believe they have passed the time where they can learn. This, I promise you, is not true. I reach out to you now, to offer you a path to your fullest potential. You need not be ashamed, for I too was once lost. Please seek me or send a letter, for the only way to begin is by beginning. Moon Pillar of the Asul’Fiyem - Scorpion Druid, Elenora Divadri

Delmira Sylvaeri receives her daughters invitation, the woman's lips twisting into a vibrant smile as the date was finally set for when her youngest would wed. "Mein liebe- we've much to do- do you think there is enough people to move the bell?!"