Wand

Somewhere did that Sea Prince ponder on his last meeting with the Titan. With hope, this second meeting will prove the last.

Prelude. [!] Far and across every realm - to all Descendant kind, the following message would be delivered. To some, it will be stamped with a self-devouring serpent. To others, a single, baleful eye wreathed with flame. To some still, an assembly of seven stars above an Elven crown. The meaning, regardless is the same. I have walked into the den of the Titan, expecting death, and instead am given this charge. This warning I extend to Almaris and all its peoples. “Mark this hour’s passing. Amathea’s doom is certain. I will come upon it as a great and terrible malice of the like that this world has only just forgotten. It will begin at the city’s heart, which will blacken and burn. A poison will flow through the woodland realm’s veins, and when it has been made grey, I will reap all that I have sown and feast upon its lifeforce. Black metal will fall from the sky and mar every monument to elvenkind, every altar to your gods, and every grove in which you celebrate life. I will do this without pause. And when I have finished my work I will look to the East.” For Azdromoth is his name Calamity, his domain Amaethea is next. @Bhased @Panashea @Iverach @_pr0fit @Xarkly @Terry @OhDeerLord@Lionbileti @BenevolentManacles @WestCarolina @Formenost @Malaise @Valannor @Abeam @Monkee@Bethinwonderland @Suicidium

[!] A simple letter would be delivered, within which was told a tale. "Malin dispersed from the sight of the Elves, one day, and so they deduced this: they shall divide themselves evenly, defined by their virtues they carried in their father’s age, and so all was well for ninety-nine years and another. A generation of Humans passed in this time; and the Elves were still young, and all was well. And then the second age of divisions came, and some Elves became dark like trees, and some were dark like darkness within caverns, and the last of them bright like sunshine. The three divisions lasted, but clans formed within each of them; and so when that era ended, the Elvenkind within these three clans felt discontent, and so they construed further divisions. This time, they named themselves ‘seeds’ and ‘families’, and sequestered themselves away in their own hovels; whether atop trees, or stone spires, or within the cavernous recesses. Ninety-nine years and another passed; another generation of Humans passed; and all was well again. Then an Elf came unto many fragments, devoid of the divisions marked upon his skin, and he said this: “Abandon yourselves of this folly that breaks our unison - the Humans die hastily, and their sons learned from their history, and shall come to know keenly of your conceit as they of theirs.” But the countless divisions ignored him, for they relished their individualism and honored Malin in their own ways. So the Undivided One who came, with blood of Sylvaen, was marked Outcast - and his whole line of Undivided, Outcasts. Ninety-nine years and another passed, and Humans perished from age again, and their sons became bitter and cold-hearted for they endured both time and war across three centuries where Elves spent their time debating their individuality. So the Humans took up the sword, and fell upon the Elves, and reminded them of the pain and suffering that their divisions afforded. They were all rounded up and put under the Human Empire that would fall in the next century; and then the Elves remembered the truth of the Sylvaen, whose blood was the blood of Malin. An age of subjugation fell upon them." Signed, Everflame

Once stood three friends in Varhelm, each of them royarchs in their time. Behold came an elf of sentiment, who blessed each with star-silvered rings in vow and memory. For one final time did Sea and Ice speak, and to that Son of Varhelm had he said... "May that road take you home." He could not have imagined how true his words would be.

The Seventh Assignment I. Malin's Welcome II. The First Seed III. The Grand Harvest IV. Sun's Smile

OOC: The following letter was delivered in private and is not considered public information. Its contents are recorded here for solidarity.@Malaise [!] Before an infernal altar was left a sealed scroll. If broken, the contents are as follows. To you, O’ ‘Tyrant’ - I ask but this: WHAT IS FIRE? From Man’s dubious origins, the soul of a man is but an ember from a flickering, great flame. The ancient years of his progenitors has become fable, and the meaning of Fire has been lost. Yet those who know and claim mastery of fire understand the implication of this statement: There is, with great light, deep shadows. The more ennobled that light, the longer the shade cast from it. It is for this reason your own children call you Tyrant, for they recognize that to live is to be of dual nature - to cast shadows. To be mortal is to be perpetually changing, and to be imperfect. Wheresoever men make idols of mortals, it is inevitable this imperfect nature comes to surface. It is for this reason they have been stricken with fear - for that which was born shall be one day condemned to die. They claw and bite at any perceived threat to the Father and their God, and in their blind scratching stoke the fires of their enemies. By mistaking myself with a Paladin, they have wrought but destruction upon themselves. Even now, they do not understand what I am. This privilege shall be given to you alone. I am Vaevictis, Woe of the Conquered. I am heir to Vorukhan-Ur. I am the Shurad, King of Men to those of Ur-Sum-Ut-Sur. And I bear the secret of the Sword. Return again to that Woodland Realm which I was architect of, and I shall show you the very same Sword as displayed by Vorukhan before all mortals. There will come a time later for wings and fire - and no immortal life should bother itself with a city which will not outlast the realm, or with hundreds whose lives are droplets compared to yours. For but a simple flight the Emerald One was nearly sundered. Shall you be met with this same fate, as the heavens of Eos part to reveal the Lord of Sunlight in all his temperament? I leave you with this to ponder: It was I who sent Vorukhan-Ur back to his shadows, and your children nearly brought me into your realm, thinking I had the ‘Lance’. Should they fail you again, must the Father be punished for the acts of his Errant Sons? The Wheel turns.

As news makes its way outwards among foreign courtiers, there was an elf who heard the news from those Halls himself. The elf scribes a letter to his longtime friend. "-As relinquishing the keys to manor which can no longer be maintained, I choose to accept a simpler life for what it is. Lived in love and ended in its time."

A regal Mali' scribes beneath an Elder Tree. The name Alicjo provokes a memory of Attenlund: a coterie of Xan-sworn taking up armaments against infernal Nachezer. The elven lord takes up his favored relic, the Arm of Aeriel. Remembering one fateful night in the Silver woodland, he marches on. "So turns the Wheel."

The last remnant signatory of the Elven Union - and its spirited flame, the Sylvaeri recalls those founding years. He was young then, and bold, dreaming only to in unity defend for the sake of Elvendom. He recalls vividly the night of his near death to the Renatians' Dragon-Knights, and holds in his heart with sorrow the vigil of the Vira'ker Prince, Avurak. Two letters are scribed, the first a passage, addressed to Aldred. Interestingly, it would be reminiscent of the Compact of Lethadlen. "OF THE DIVIDED- Malin dispersed from the sight of the Elves, one day, and so they deduced this: they shall divide themselves evenly, defined by their virtues they carried in their father’s age, and so all was well for ninety-nine years and another. A generation of Humans passed in this time; and the Elves were still young, and all was well. And then the second age of divisions came, and some Elves became dark like trees, and some were dark like darkness within caverns, and the last of them bright like sunshine. The three divisions lasted, but clans formed within each of them; and so when that era ended, the Elvenkind within these three clans felt discontent, and so they construed further divisions. This time, they named themselves ‘seeds’ and ‘families’, and sequestered themselves away in their own hovels; whether atop trees, or stone spires, or within the cavernous recesses. Ninety-nine years and another passed; another generation of Humans passed; and all was well again. Then an Elf came unto many fragments, devoid of the divisions marked upon his skin, and he said this: “Abandon yourselves of this folly that breaks our unison - the Humans die hastily, and their sons learned from their history, and shall come to know keenly of your conceit as they of theirs.” But the countless divisions ignored him, for they relished their individualism and honored Malin in their own ways. So the Undivided One who came, with blood of Sylvan, was marked Outcast - and his whole line of Undivided, Outcasts. Ninety-nine years and another passed, and Humans perished from age again, and their sons became bitter and cold-hearted for they endured both time and war across three centuries where Elves spent their time debating their individuality. So the Humans took up the sword, and fell upon the Elves, and reminded them of the pain and suffering that their divisions afforded. They were all rounded up and put under the Human Empire that would fall in the next century; and then the Elves remembered the truth of the Sylvan, whose blood was the blood of Malin. An age of subjugation fell upon them." Until we find the strength to remain where we settle, our kind will be cast to the wind, and enslaved to a prophecy that denies us a place to call home. This was the fire behind that Union. May it burn in the hearts of Elves. -F.S. The second letter is cast to the flames, and the ashes cast to sea. It had read as follows.

A regal Mali' shudders with mem'ry of being hounded for The Lance of Order by the Nephilim. However, his boon was not of Order. Instead, he found wisdom and comfort in the roots of the world - despite the deceptive appearance his ivory and steel painted him in. This son of two forgotten holy magi lumbers on, pondering when and where prologue would end and the true fight begin. "Once its name was Thule, where the Four gathered in unison. What bleak reminder, that shadow that is Aegis - a haunting memory that must ne'er be put from the mind. For with failure and refusal to protect the lands we occupy, we usher forth generations of kin who not what it means to belong anywhere." Such words fell to the ears of masked neophytes. In another tongue, Redshrouds by design. Their naivete was almost coveted, for they knew not what it would mean to lose many realms before now. It would be a wretched thing to experience, when the time would surely come again.

Edict of Bloodline Organization With the departure of the former House Lord and a new generation of Elves, by decree of the Sea Prince, House Patriarch of the Sylvaeri and Her Ladyship, House Matron of the Sylvaeri, the following laws shall take effect for the Sylvaeri. Currently, the House Lord and Patriarch is Fëanor Sylvaeri. The current House Lady and Matron is Idril Sylvaeri. The following shall take effect upon the bloodline: - I. The ‘reset point’ of the bloodline is Eleron Sylvaeri, High Prince of Malinor. For a claim to be legitimized, it must take place after this point, as earlier claims cannot be reasonably proved for legitimacy. II. Adoptions carry neither the name nor bloodline. As such, no adopted child may claim to be a legitimate Sylvaeri. III. Bastards are illegitimate and carry neither the name nor bloodline, unless granted legitimacy by their father and the House Patriarch and Matron. Legitimization grants the name, but not the bloodline. IV. The Sylvaeri name operates on patrilineality. Thus, the name of the Sylvaeri bloodline is passed down only by males of the family. Females do not pass the name to their children. A child may petition both the House Patriarch and Matron to carry the name. V. Spouses may not carry the name Sylvaeri nor do they carry the bloodline of the family. Spouses may petition the House Patriarch and Matron through their partner. However, a spouse which marries the Sylvaeri and later remarries will not transfer the name nor bloodline to their children. Upon separation from the family through divorce, the spouse may not keep the Sylvaeri name, unless otherwise permitted by the House Patriarch and Matron. VI. The following living bloodline Sylvaeri are as follows: Feanor Sylvaeri, Idril Sylvaeri, Cyndaer Sylvaeri, Maerwen Sylvaeri, Edrahil Sylvaeri, Cullas Sylvaeri, Laeren Sylvaeri, Finwe Sylvaeri, Vallei’sae Sylvaeri, Visenya Sylvaeri, Annatar Sylvaeri, Illynora Sylvaeri, Iorhael Sylvaeri, Istimar Sylvaeri, Isilme Sylvaeri -

Man.

Far away, a retired but notable Mali' catches wind of the declaration from Urguan's Sons. He scribes a letter then to his fast, stout friend Levian'Tol. @Willstertheking2 "Levian, my dear friend. It is a fine sight to see the progressive acts against slavers in all their forms - be they men or orc. I shall not bid your steel swings true, for none can truly match the might of Dwarven Steel, granted by the Forge Father and Yemeker himself. However, I shall offer you a warning from wisdom. Try to boomsteel proof your courts against the cowards." Narvak oz URGUAN, In Kindness, Feanor Sylvaeri

“Black skies, sunless cold teeming Heatless, without flame, southern shadows seeking Unbroken, undead, spectral fingers reaching Long Darkness unbound, forgotten lessons teaching.” -The Wheel-Turner 10th of The Grand Harvest, 33 S.A. Somewhere in the Southern Woodlands of Almaris Dreadful gloom had fallen upon the Elvenessi peninsula, tenebrous mists obscuring sight. The moon above hangs low and pale, its visage coin-round and silvered. Fleeting moonlight shimmered sparsely across the glade clearing. Emerging through the forest’s treeline, the spear-wielding hunting party of Nevaehlen encroached upon blighted, silent lands. Nature's song had been muted here -- prelude to what would befall an otherwise unremarkable hunt. The hunters' quarry: a corrupted Fae, whose ravenous hunger expanded across the southern woodlands of Almaris. Such a prized creature would be the culmination of Laedrad’s Grand Task - and a worthy opponent, at that. It was too rare a sight to pass up, for it was not often a Fae emerged from its other-land: the Fae Realm. Fewer still were those one could name who personally dealt a Fae a killing blow. A dozen strode into the clearing fair, and met the scent of death. The rolling mists billowed across the corpses of the woodland dwellers: deer, boar, and all things native; their corpses were sunk to the earth, mangled bodies and viscera staining the earth of the ground - rotting the forest floor with decay. What was not fresh-bled was blanketed with the evening mist. Altogether, hundreds of bodies laid here, a seedbed for blight. From the corner of the clearing, movement. A goat’s haunch and cloven foot curled and rose. With it stood the beast of horrors, its face a lion’s, its body an amalgamation between goat and lion. Once it had been a noble, frightful creature of the Fae - but through unknown means had been corrupted. To the hunters of the Vale, it mattered not at the moment, and there would be no time for any druid to commune. It struck forth. Its body bore three sets of legs, each powerful and thick like tree trunks. Its gored, mangled figure wheeled across, and the afflicted woodlands bore witness to its gruesome growth. Its blackened ichor ruptured from each wound the hunters dealt, as the beast stretched its body high - as if reaching for the moon above. Then, wicked hands and feet beset the unlucky victim, seeking to pull Tanila Aureon into its maw. She, the partner of Laedrad, may have been spared her fate if only she had not come to hunt - for what happened next would damn her, and damn her sister, Nenar Terin. Once, a hundred years and fifty prior, if not more, a pallid malady had stricken the servants and allies of the Aspects. This Palebeast sickness grew and festered, taking root in the hearts of some. The perpetrator, this violator of nature’s Balance was hunted forevermore. He would perish and be forgotten, but his teachings lived on. Now, the Wheel had come full circle to this moment. An instrument of the Old fed upon the Fae's blood - and the beast's shape became twisted. It became wrong, like water which ripples inwards, or a shadow facing the sun. Its shape was broken and grown anew, forging a Palebeast from the burning ichor. And as the instrument of Strife bled the Fae, it too drank of the death below. It was a sight none of the hunters could have prepared for. Tanila was consumed, and from the Palebeast sprouted a Pale Tree - its wood fading to the color of bone. The woman too became pale, her eyes red. The Pale Tree broke her form, twisted her to spear through Nenar Terin, joining them together in an unsightly, sisterly embrace. The treeline broke - the viscera, bone, and blight obscured beneath the shadow of what the Pale Tree had become. Its barren canopy blanketed the clearing, such that even the native redwood seemed frail in comparison as it reached towards the moon above. A dozen strode into the clearing there - but two would not come home. - OOC: Event hosted by @Keefy

"Nay worry - in truth? The ring was a fraud, just a replica in mem'ry. Helm too." the Sylvaeri offers Evar'tir a nod in passing.

I will make you suffer through my puns in RP and OOC.

A retired prince and former Praetor-Annilir by chance hears mention of the title Praetor and is sent briefly into a tirade about Caras Eldar. However, realizing the document referred not to a former Elvish state, the elf lord scribes a copy to leave on Evar'tir's desk - along with other tabloids of the day. @Bhased

A certain retired prince takes refuge under a mangrove tree's roots. Having recently survived an encounter with servants of the Titan and all manner of unholy or unnatural things, the irony of his retirement being more eventful than the homeland front was lost on him.

Magandang umaga, kamusta? Have a drawing of a little elemental lad

hm, yes, spicy letters, good

A peculiar attachment would be listed, done at the hands of two small masked creatures. Name: Vaevictis Age: 198 Past Accomplishments: Bore witness to a Burning Tree in its root form and know the shape of its brother; braved the fires of Moz Strimoza; followed a path of Shadow and Firekeeping. ⚔

Somewhere, an elven smith considers the gift-cloak that the Musin had woven for him. He wonders if trading weapons to them might have been a mistake.

Within the gloom of Attenlund, an Elvish lord of flame and sea puts pen to paper, writing a series of letters. Addressed to Caer'miven, @WestCarolina I hope by my nickname, this letter shall find you. I wish my journal was as full a young noble girl's diary, for there is much of the land to learn in the Attenlund. I think of the words of Sister Hurricane as I knew her, often, and I think of all I have yet to learn. I have learned of something dire which requires the attention of any Archdruids of respective Circles. Upon my return to Descendant lands, I would request an audience with them. Yours Faithfully, Sylvaenor Addressed to Aesilnoth Tundrak, @ABruhMoment My brother-in-law. Upon return to the mainland, I would like to request an escort to the lands which your kin seek to call home. That which I have guarded now soon for nearly an Elvish Year must be delivered into safe hands. If there is no safe place yet to secure it, request the construction of a vault. You may expect me in as early as Three Elvish Days. Yours In Time, Fëanor Sylvaeri To My Young Fawn, @Junoix My daughter. Know that though I am far from you, my heart is yours at every hour. I am deeply proud of how tall and strong you have grown. Though I feared for you at every hour in your infancy, every Mali' must come into their own. Upon my return home, Vallei'sae, I would like us to speak - and find your brother. With luck, perhaps we can also meet with the Dwyn I have always mentioned in passing. Stars Guide, Your Father, Fëanor Sylvaeri To My Son, @DixieDemolisher My son - long has it been since our meeting. I hope this letter finds you well and not estranged. At the moment, I am on campaign against wicked forces. I would bid you join me, to see what training you have found for yourself, but developments have been dire. such that even I have been bled. Much has happened that we need speak of. I pray no words left unspoken. Fear Not The Flame, Your Father, Fëanor Sylvaeri

The recently retired Elf in question receives word of the grudge shortly after making his rounds to return keys to Evar'tir - barely thirty Elven minutes after resignation, he receives the notice. The Sylvaeri fondly recalls the Three Months War of Arcas and nods, briefly hit with nostalgia. "Ah, I recall the last time humanity settled on the Dwarven mountains. This does not bode well for Man."