Wand

If I snort the once-dust will my pronouns be once-was

Time for the Klone Wars on May the Foutrh Be with You

I don't think we can be let down by an Admin who steps down.

My brother in Xan you posted this under the Livestream category

🕯

I do not loathe the pure beast

Let me get my glove rq to make sure @Honourary

@xMuted Hearing the news later, Feanor Sylvaeri does not seem surprised. "I mean, you did shoot the skull off that drake. Wise choice if true on her part."

A tired elf writes. Her arthritic hands curl and fold old paper. She finds time to write to an old friend. "Sometimes when the sun crests over a cold field and the grass dew is just too cold, I sit down and I think of all the things that could be, the things that never were, and never will be... but that's the trick of our long lives, isn't it? So when I look out in the morning, and I see the birds fetching worms from cold loose dirt, I think that the realm will be okay; not better, not worse, just okay. I think we will be too. -Eris"

The heaven-sent relic, The Long Arm, moments before obliterating the right claw of Cloudbreaker. Its bearer, having survived through the battle, heals and prepares for the true intended quarry of the relic... but that is a story for another time.

At least you didn't spend the money on Crate Keys :^)

@HonouraryFollowing recent events, an Elven Templar from Amaethea stops to ponder exactly what his former Oathblade said to cause an entire heel-point turn in foreign policy.

Wheresoever formidable shadows and fell-things crept and lingered, searing Light was sure to follow. Within the room which the Templar dwelt in, he would reminisce. Feanor would most distinctly recall the were-beasts which leapt with horrifying accuracy. Distantly he recalled the warnings of the Shadow Druid - and a word fell from his lips. "Palebeast." Of the other beings which they witnessed that day, he wondered distantly how many, in disguise or other forms, he had met before. Perhaps most of all what troubled the elf was not the ferocity of that which they faced, but the cyclical frequency of their actions. He looked upon the single glowing ring carved into his right palm, where that brilliant heaven-wrought hammer often rested. The scar still burned, even now.