Evanuri

sylveon is a fairy type. the image has it as ??? because it's from before the fairy type was revealed, as a teaser anyway espeon supremacy if u picked umbreon.. ur house is millenial gray

–════ 𓆩⟡𓆪 ════– Know that I understand my words here could be better reflected and approached personally. But I have never been known to, and have never wanted to, do better to those who would not do as much to me; So I will meet others where they are, without conversation, on a public forum. Balance is described as all things being in equilibrium and harmonic comportance. Balance thrives when give and take, light and darkness, life and death, are in equal measure. From Balance and dedicated to Balance, rises Order, found when all constituent parts of something are in complete agreement. Given that all Druids or Aspect-devout people know well the meaning of balance and order, I beg the reader to imagine my vivid surprise when I beheld a publication regarding the behavior of Creeds, and the new laws by which they mean to govern us, all without a word spoken to me, or several other Heralds who are newly beholden to these rules. Rules which I understand to have, by technicality, been erected by Prophets Awaiti and Valor in an era bygone, rules which have over time withered away and been replaced by new traditions, new ways. This lack of conversation I find to be startling, but above all, comical, given that the codified laws that they mean to instate are given the moniker of The Creed Pact. A resurrected concept of old which, by the time I write this, seems to have been decided on by only two. Certainly The Ichor Way, the most populous Creed, and one half of the originally made pact, ought to have been brought into the conversation, in addition to the Ways of The Sage, and the Sanguine Fire; The latter of which, I observe, to be second in terms of greatest following. Unfortunately, I am unsurprised. This is not the first time my sister in duty has overreached and attempted to implant her assumed authority over the order and those affiliated with our faith and goal. –════ 𓆩⟡𓆪 ════– To the rules and considerations themselves, My distaste primarily lies in the principle of the thing, rather than the specific laws you have written. Overall, I would be more amenable to these rules, if they were not re-imposed without conference. However, I do take umbrage with how you’ve represented my Creed, originally professed by the Prophet Valor Caerme’onn- that which I have written, re-written, taught, and spread farther and better than the hands who wrote the publication I am responding to. It shows how little attention you have paid to my work and my progress, and it is insulting. Granted, I suppose writing the Ichor Way as you did suits your sensibilities, and your desire for Creeds to be as dissimilar as possible. And I much doubt you’ve spoken to members of the Sanguine Fire, or the Sage way, in regards to the descriptions you wrote of them. I am sure Heralds would have been willing to contribute their own writing and descriptions to this project- or at least would have been willing to be consulted over the information you use to describe us. My final word on the matter is this, wayward Sisters, my advice; Stop reaching. Focus on something that matters. Your last three, greatest endeavors in the name of auld Mother and Father are summed up as this; Planting trees for mages, and two failed attempts at imposing your authority. Foster new growth. I am not the only one who has noticed and grown far-tired of your obsession over the late Oracle Awaiti Sirame, may she rest. You exult yourselves at every given opportunity, never failing to mention how you were her contemporaries. You are not the only one. The disregard you have for the present and future are appalling. I am regarded as one of the more stubborn, traditional men of our faith, and even I know this is a bridge too far. - THE BUZZARD.

CONTEMPLATIONS IN HOARFROST Anxious toes stood on the precipice of rimestruck lake, teetering on the edge of the waters. Already, an errant elf could feel the chilling burn on the soles of his feet. To the side his belongings were laid- a hat and a simple bag, his linen shirt folded neat and dry inside. With boots clipped under-arm, the errant man waded into the water with a hitched gasp as frost ran up his spine. The water welcomed the elf with all the grace of innumerable frozen pins boring into the bark of his bones, each stroke a step deeper into torture. The chill was a weight on his chest, chilling his lungs and stoppering his his ragged breath. His goal stood in the center of the frozen lake, a dry bar where he was to sit. After his labor through the bitter, biting water, panicked fingers grasped for frozen earth, clawing to remove himself from the agonizing drink. All the while, the question he was bade to consider rang in his mind. He was to wait to ruminate until he’d reached his perch at the water’s center, but the elf was taken by a wandering mind. He had given thought to the Um’ei his entire journey, during each stroke across the water. He had mulled over countless answers to the given question; By the teachings of Eresar, why are we? “To endure?” he thought, introspective of himself, huddled and freezing on an islet. But endurance is part of the journey; Asioth was a destination. The man knew one thing for certain; He knew nothing at all. Not what he was, not what he would become. Often, he saw himself as ‘journey’ incarnate, always moving but never coming to settle. The thought clawed at him nearly as much as the biting air at his wet skin. How terrible, it would be, if his tale ended here, if he could do no good by anyone, if he could not be the warrior-erudite he once envisioned himself as. ‘To suffer,’ murmured he, clutching his freezing and soaked form tightly. A bitter laugh fell from his lips as he attempted to make warmth of what breath remained in his lungs. But suffering didn’t feel like Asioth, or what he had read of it. If suffering was Asioth, he had attained it, as the tundric air made his eyelids hang low, each blink longer than the last. Barely could he bid flingers to flick, or arms to lift, only the energy to ponder remained in him. ‘My form will be rendered a block of ice, and I will shatter,’ he thought. The tundra would take him, and he would perish with no amount of pride in his accomplishments. Would he die a novice in all of his pursuits? Would he be broken, and never rebirthed? A chill ran through the elf. Not of ice, but knowledge. His jaw went shifted and went taut at the notion he remembered, glanced betwixt vellum pages; Strange liturgy that seemed to be an auld sage’s nonsensical ramblings. Their mere thought seemed enough to bid his extremities to move, and feet to support him as he stood. The elf leapt back into the murky water with abandon, a pair of boots left lingering on the floating islet, becoming a figment in the distance as his pain wracked body fjorded the water, and pulled itself agonizingly to the snowy shore. He began a limp across a frozen plain, headed towards sweltering stone. His answer would not be spoken to the air, unless first-heard by a waiting master.

THE SEEKER’S QUERY An Errant, faith-seeking Elf walked up to a group of High Elves in the Principality of CELIA’NOR and asked, ‘OUGHT WE HATE THE SHADOW’ They ignored my query as they nailed an Ibleesian’s head to a spike. The elf traveled into the White City of NUMENOST, where he met the Adunian Queen and a Knight. He interrupted their conversation regarding the slaughter of demons, undead, and dragons to ask, ‘OUGHT WE HATE THE SHADOW?’ The Queen asked in turn, ‘Are you attempting to get me to draw my sword on you?’ in response to the question, while the Knight said ‘I do not hate the shadow itself, but the one who casts it.’ The Queen then said ‘Yes’. The faithseeker found himself between the coppershelled rises of URGUAN , where he saw a lone Dwarf hammering white-hot metal. To the stout one he asked, ‘OUGHT WE HATE THE SHADOW?’ The Dwarf responded, ‘Depends on the Shadow’, in his brogue. He became too uncomfortable to produce an answer to a question of Canonist faith. Then, he walked betwixt walls he ought not venture into; He found himself in the Wood Elven hold of NEVAEHLEN, where he encountered a Dedicant of the Druidic mission; A librarian, and former apprentice to an Ownyst Lectorate. He asked him, ‘OUGHT WE HATE THE SHADOW?’ The Dedicant responded, “Nay, we should pity it.” He continued, “We should slay The Shadow where it is found, but not hate it.” The elf took his query to REINMAR where he found a child, who insisted he ask her the question, ‘OUGHT WE HATE THE SHADOW?’ The little girl answered simply, “Yes we should - Because they are spawns of Iblees.” She thought he was Darkspawn for asking. Onto HOKHMAT he went, where he found a pair of voidal mages he had met several times before, along with a talking tome. He looked between the two familiar women as the academy beyond loomed over them and, gleefully, rendered the question unto them, ‘OUGHT WE HATE THE SHADOW?’ The first mage asked, ‘The Shadow of What?’ The second said ‘No. The Shadow is the unknown. We may hate what is within the Shadow, but not the Shadow itself.’ The speaking tome answered with confusion, ‘The world was dark, before it was light. There is no reason to hate the Shadow, for it came first.’ The first mage, upon hearing of the querying elf’s travels spurned the people of Reinmar, agreeing with the tome when it said their people ought to be anointed in Voidal Flame. Dwelling deep in the desert, after a sweltering journey, the elf found himself beyond sandy cliffs in the home of THE IRON HORDE, where he stood before a group of Orcs who looked upon the seeker strangely when he asked, ‘OUGHT WE HATE THE SHADOW?’ The leader of the group said, ‘If you refer to Darkspawn, then yes. Kill them all.’ The Orcs reported to the elf that all Canonists were to be killed by them. The seeker felt relieved to have been allowed to leave. After seven groups, and seven holds, the errant elf- exhausted- found himself back within the lands of HANSETI-RUSKA, where his journey began. He stared around himself, at a quiet city until the hoof-falls of an impending stampede beckoned his attention to the front gate. There came a glittering force of the faithful, the honored Patriarch among them. The errant elf thought to himself- he’d queried Aevos’ people, all but one. So he would ask, staring at his reflection in a puddle. ‘OUGHT WE HATE THE SHADOW?’

yes... finally.. backpacks that look like minecraft

+ 20 approve it NEOWWWW on a serious note this fills, however small it is, the niche i've been wanting in druidism with the meteorology spell alone. i've been waiting and wanting for the day that druidism isn't just plants and animals because the sphere of 'nature' encompasses so much more. i'm very excited to be a part of these if this gets passed

"I have grown more than ill of lucent justice. Those who stooped to help them have done all they can - But the blood of Paladins does not tip nature's scales." Spoke the Buzzard 'ere he returned to the crushing of pigments, with which he will ink-etch more parables. Perhaps the outcome of this would be another.

i've been waiting for this moment they're based on vibes / mandibuzz for his totem, 'the buzzard druid'

An errant elf, one of a humble and polite demeanor looks upon the missive, focusing his remaining eye on the words with some quiet difficult. The corners of his mouth twitch into something softer as he regards the words curiously. He hums his consideration, remembering his time in service, and the injuries he sustained which brought upon his wandering. He hopes that, with a new regime, come a place that people may prosper.

+1 give the people pretty fire

I think they all use AI :<