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About Mewliet

  • Birthday 05/14/1995

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  • Character Name
    Eretria Arvellon, Maerayla, Nalaya, Valerica Tathvir, Visenya Sylvaeri
  • Character Race
    Wood Elf, Wood Elf, High Elf, Snow Elf, Sea Elf

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  1. [Art by Kim Youngju] Change. This is something she thought she’d be used to by now. With being an elf, and with being the Raithean of Autumn, change was quite frequent for her. She always taught that change was inevitable yet it was an important part of the cycle. So why was she having such a difficult time with it this time? “The older I get, the longer I live… the more I realize that life is ne always rainbows and sunshine. I s’pose I always knew that, but it’s getting harder to look past all the bad things.” Such a small person held such strong emotions, and she was never one to hide them. It was always important to allow yourself to feel, and to process, and so she did. No matter how grim they felt. “Everything has been so whirlwindy and chaotic lately. So much death and loss as of late. It almost makes me feel…hollow. I used to be so full of joy.” The Autumnal elf was frantic and full of emotions that were boiling over, yet she somehow still felt empty. Like something was missing and she didn’t know how to fix it. She confided in her father. “‘Es dat wot yeh are ‘earin’ now? Da’ silence of ‘et all? Da’ empty feelin’ wantin’ somethin’ ta say or do somethin’.” The Arvellon offered a silent and sorrowful nod to her father as a response. Such elicited a noise from him, and he’d reach a calloused hand out to place atop her own, successfully enveloping it to offer some comfort to his distressed child. “Dey always say ‘et willnae’ get betteh. Dat da’ emptiness remains.” He told her and she frowned at first, not realizing there was more to come from the wisened dwed. “Dis’ ‘es onleh partleh true. Wot was cannae’ come back, as ‘es da’ way of thin’s. Da’ natural cycle, even ‘en our ‘earts.” Vosirk was not her biological father yet blood was not what determined who was and was not family to her. The dwarven man took her in as a young ‘ame and taught her everything she needed to know to not only become a great drui, but a great person too. He called her his prodigy and she looked up to him, sometimes quite literally. Throughout their lessons, an unbreakable bond was developed. From him radiated the undying love any father would have for his child, and for her he desired nothing more than to protect her and watch her grow. He brought her up and for that, she was eternally grateful. “‘Oweveh… dat’ emptiness doesne’ ‘ave ta’ remain. ‘Et can be filled ‘gain by new thin’s. New passions, new loves, new desiores.” Their conversation went on for a while and Vosirk shared a story with her while she found solace within his embrace. She was used to change, but this was something different. She had endured something she was struggling to accept and she needed her father more than ever. Soon their heartfelt conversation would turn into another lesson. Even after centuries, he had more to teach her. “New liofe sprung from death, lass.” Such words from her father gave her a new perspective on such a dire situation and for that, she thanked him. The duo shared a warm embrace and she felt a little better about things. She could always count on the bearded dwed to know exactly what to say. “Alwehs, dwedki. Yeh’ are too bright of’ah light ta’ be suh’ down. Dunnae’ stay down.” Eretria promised she wouldn’t let her troubles keep her down, and that her light would be enough to light his fires from the mountaintops he resided in. “Ah’ll visit ‘gain soon ta’ see yeh’, wee Marten of da’ Wildliofe.” He’d promise his daughter with a wink and, with a slap across his rounded belly, he’d soon start making his way off. “Fock some shite up for meh, Eretria fockin’ Arvellon!” And that was what she intended to do. His words fueled her with such a determination that burned bright enough to light all of the fires within the village. She thought back on this moment with her father quite often, and in recent times she found herself needing his advice once more. Perhaps it was time to visit the mountains, she thought. And so, she packed a few things, said her farewells to her partner and her family, and she set off on an adventure. Time to track down a dwarf! How hard could it be?
  2. ─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─ ⤞The Arvellon Seed⤝ [Arvellon sigil drawn by ClassyNewt] ─━─━─━─━「₪」━─━─━─━─ “To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people simply exist, and that is all. Spread laughter and chaos wherever you go. Let no one ever come to you without leaving happier. Suddenly they will realize life wasn’t about surviving. It was about living.” -Carsul’il ─━─━─━─━「₪」━─━─━─━─ [The Firefly Grove by Mathias Zamęcki] ⤞The Autumnal Lore⤝ The Arvellon seed was one of the smaller and lesser-known tribes amongst the first migration of Mali’ame. While most adorned themselves in unique and colorful markings and apparel, the Autumnal watchers were identifiable by their shared physical traits and their name, yet even this left them confused with their seedless kin. For many centuries, they did not mind this and even enjoyed the ease in which they could meld within the rest of tribal society, watching and listening as the Wildcats of Felixii do. Little is known concerning their worship of the Wildcat Princess, as is most things with the feline Mani. Similarly shrouded is the seed’s adoption of worshiping Kwakwani, the Trickster Raven. Though they adapted to the new ways and melded them with that of Felixii’s, creating a unique and unknown culture that they are in the modern age. During the times of Malin and the nomadic Mali’ame, the Arvellon were led by a man called Carsul’il. Known amongst his kin as the Laughing Lynx for his hearty attitude and his peculiar style in hair. The Lynx was the first to take on the name of Arvellon, and was the founder of their ame’lie. A grove considered to only be a myth and named the Harvest Wood, for some said it was a place of perpetual Autumn that was always bathed in a copper and gold light from the rays of sun shining through the canopy. Trees soon to be called the Taliame’miruel, meaning Eternal Autumn. Many thought the grove was a legend, as very few knew of its name. Much less of its existence. These trees produce a dense fog that the Arvellon used to their advantage, living within it to hide themselves. Many believe this is where they received their moniker, the Autumnal Watchers. While most of the tales sprung from this age, and of Carsul’il specifically, are considered myth and the true events that happened are lost to the winds of time, the more modern era of the Arvellon is easier to recollect if similarly unknown to anyone but the Arvellon. The Autumnal Chieftain eventually disappeared into the wilds as most ancient Mali’ame do, leaving behind his ways for his second child, Merriel Arvellon. Unlike her father, Merriel did not have many daring adventures, as she preferred the quiet and watchful side of their ways. Living her life upon a simple farmstead with her mate and listening to the breeze for all manner of news and secrets until the day she had her first and only child. Miklaeil. A boy that was bound to take after his grandfather from the day he began to walk; always grinning and dashing about from one adventure to the next with the clever wit of a cat. Only his mother could truly tame his lust for the thrill and unknown, until the day he came of age for manhood. Miklaeil gathered what few things he possessed and set off into the realm, leaving a supportive but deeply saddened mother behind. Years passed and the young Arvellon found himself in what was known to be the Dominion of Malin. It was in the Dominion that Miklaeil decided to first attempt at securing a steady life after thirty or so years of travel, though doing so cost him the identity of his ancestors within him. He donned bronze and silver platemail, shouted war cries in the name of various princes and princesses, and even took on the name and beliefs of another seed entirely in his patriotic vigor. He began to look less and less like that of Carsul’il, and the letters to his mother were more filled with his grim and dark experiences rather than with their usual joy and wonder. It was around this time that Merriel Arvellon passed, caught in an accident with farm equipment. Years passed and Miklaeil gradually fell back into the old ways of his grandfather. His constant grin and cheeky quips became his trademark along with his vigilant and cat-like eyes that were always watching with a certain mischievous glint. Long after the Dominion collapsed, he became a Lord upon the council of Aegrothond, and it wasn’t long after that he met the lovely Empyreal Princess of Alderyn, Layla Le’Cai. It didn’t take him long to notice the same playful glint in her eyes and he fell in love and fully returned to the ways of Carsul’il. Between the two of them, the Arvellon seed’s history and culture were reborn into something new and old. After several decades passed, the Arvellon grew and changed beyond what they were upon Miklaeil’s reclamation. It was around this time that the seed was begrudgingly convinced to join the fledgling Forest Realm of Irrinor. The reluctance of the seed’s chieftains to take such a step proved to be exact when the Aspectist nation fell to infighting, leaving the Arvellon to flee back to the Talus Grove. Disillusioned with the politics of greater elven nations following the fall of Irrinor, Miklaeil declared the rite of Maya’meracahe to prevent more misfortune befalling the Arvellon. Several families were born and brought into the seed’s warm embrace following its departure from Irrinor, allowing the group to spread out and diversify amongst themselves as they chose according to the rite of Maya’meracahe. Despite this rebound, Layla and Miklaeil were left tired and in need of respite from the civilized places of the world. A moot of the seed was held in the Talus Grove where Eretria and Nerrin were chosen to be the next chieftains, allowing Layla and Miklaeil to delve into the realm’s deep wilds where they found solace. After the departure of Miklaeil and Layla, things soon fell to ruin. The misfortunate acts of a handful of Arvellon led to their dismemberment from the seed and forced them to move away from their Autumnal kin. The seed fell stagnant not long after as Eretria followed in her brother’s footsteps, overwhelmed with the circumstances of her kin, and fled to the wilds to find solace for some time. Seeking hope and guidance during her absence. When the Chieftess returned to their hall in Siramenor, she was one of the first to welcome a new Arvellon into the seed. A joyous occasion yet she still felt lost and needed answers; ones her people could not give her no matter how hard they tried. The Arvellon were small and despite their best efforts, they could not seem to restore the seed to its former prestige. She remained for some time, guiding others and trying to repair the state of their seed alongside Nerrin, even in Elvenesse, before she once more fled to the wilds. Nerrin would join her not long after, once more causing the seed to fall stagnant. After time had passed, Eretria decided it was time to stop running and return to her people. She found herself amongst the small group of people of Nevaehlen during its early days of discovery and reclamation. Time was spent in the small mali’ame village before she decided this is where she wanted to establish a home for her Autumnal kin again. In recent days, this is where the Arvellon reside. Living in a village rich with the culture and ways of the mali’ame people, where they thrive together and live within their hall marked by the Taliame’miruel trees. Eretria is the sole Chieftess of the Arvellon, and she continues to welcome new members into the seed with a warm embrace. ⤞Overview⤝ ─━─━─━─━「₪」━─━─━─━─ “Given a wink from the Wildcat and a grin from the Raven, Carsul’il set off into the woods.” ─━─━─━─━「₪」━─━─━─━─ The ways of the Autumnal Watchers are deeply rooted in Aspectism and the Mani Pantheon, their various styles and values based upon the old ‘ame teachings. Their patron Mani are Felixii the Elusive Wildcat, and Kwakwani the Trickster Raven. Most of their values are derived from each Mani and each one is an inspiration for their love for fun, and their ability to keep secrets. The Arvellon are a close-knit group who are known to have a lust for life, often being the source of a harmless prank and the cause of a good laugh. They are a cheerful and chaotic bunch of people, making it their goal to keep things light-hearted in nature amongst the many evils and stress-bringers of the realm. [The Smell of Dead Leaves by Anato Finnstark] ⤞Religion and Seed Values⤝ ─━─━─━─━「₪」━─━─━─━─ "One life. That is all we get. Just one. Why aren't we running like we are on fire towards our wildest dreams? We need that chaos in our soul.” - Eretria Arvellon ─━─━─━─━「₪」━─━─━─━─ Religion Aspectism and the Mani pantheon are both well-cherished parts of the Arvellon culture, most everything about them being derived from these practices. However, like most other Seeds, the Arvellon worship a select few Mani in particular. Those being Felixi the Elusive Wildcat, and Kwakwani the Trickster Raven. Both of which heavily influence the day-to-day lives of the Arvellon, making for Elves with an odd mixture of secretive yet colorful personalities, flitting back and forth with words and actions like a cat or bird at play. Oftentimes these Elves make offerings to both Mani in the form of tricks and pranks upon those deserving of it, or merely for the fun of it. With regards to Felixii, the Wildcat is seen as the head of a lesser pantheon of her own that includes the other feline Mani gods. The Lion, Tiger, and Panther Mani all fall into this grouping though are not quite so revered as the Wildcat herself. Many decide to incorporate the teachings of these individual Mani princes into their worship of Felixii. Those Arvellon particularly devout to Felixii tend to tread through life with care put toward their own actions yet are not afraid of the spontaneous. Witty, clever, and watchful are the best descriptions for an Arvellon Wildcat follower. It is taught that a proper Wildcat follower should remain ever vigilant for what knowledge they can collect or what whispers they may hear. This is usually referred to in regards to one’s own pursuits or craft, meant to encourage learning and growth in the mind. The Trickster Raven teaches her Autumnal followers the ways of artistry, beauty, and fun-loving attitudes. Those devout to Kwakwani are often the most playful of the seed prone to pranking their family and friends when it is least expected, or developing skill with their hands in the way of arts and craft. Many Arvellon take up trades in things such as painting, jewelry, writing, or even blacksmithing and woodworking. Their work is done with the intention of creating beauty with their very own hands, worshiping the Raven in the act alone. As per the teachings of their ancestors, Aspectism is a large part of the Arvellon Seed’s beliefs. They are taught to help uphold the balance and to protect nature. To not over hunt but to make sure there is not too much growth spreading about. Along with being Aspectists, the Arvellon are taught to involve themselves with the Wild Faith; a collection of their ancestral cultural ways of worshipping the Mani and the Aspects, as well as teaching and learning to keep their faith alive. Values ─━─━─━─━「₪」━─━─━─━─ “Live your life to the fullest, my child. Raise your boy, love your family, and see them flourish as I have.” - Carsul’il to his daughter, Merriel Arvellon ─━─━─━─━「₪」━─━─━─━─ When the Arvellon realized that the world is much too dangerous to face alone, they began to stick closer together to ensure safety and prosperity despite the hardships that the Descendant world is prone to endure. Thus, their ideology grew over time to incorporate values based upon the creation and protection of family. ⤞ Family is treasured above all else to Arvellon. To protect and provide for one’s family is the highest priority and one that each Arvellon is expected to see done. Providing for the family also includes having children with which to fill it and continue the legacy. Due to the elven curse of infertility, adoption is not unheard of amongst the seed and is even considered honorable. With family comes Love. It is a sacred emotion connected to the very soul of a person that shapes them as it grows and evolves over time’s passage. An Arvellon couple is accepted as an eternal bond and a testament of passion and loyalty for such long-lived people as the elves. To break off that bond is a break of trust that many consider to be deserving of no less than a shun or, if the cause of division is so revolting, death. Love does not extend only to romance either. An Arvellon finds love in anything that they wish to look for it in. Some pursue trades and crafts to pour their passions into. ⤞ Trust is built through experience and time together. An Arvellon without the trust of their kin is an Arvellon surrounded by the hounds of darkness, bound for an early rise of elven madness. Along the same vein of thought, Unity within the seed is expected by all its members to uphold fervently. According to the rite of Maya’meracahe, the Arvellon should never allow the frivolous squabbles of greater elvenkind and the Descendent world as a whole to divide them. ⤞ Cheer and light-heartedness are seen as desirable traits among the Arvellon. Being a fun-loving people, they seek it out with a Lust for Life that goes unheard of among many other elven cultures and even in the mali’ame themselves. Adventure, pranks, good fun amongst their kin, all this and much more are the deep thoroughfare to an Arvellon’s heart. ⤞ Survival is often seen as the willingness to do what is necessary. Most Mali’ame are taught how to survive in the forests at a young age, though the Arvellon are also taught how to survive in many other ways such as hunting to provide for their kin, combat to protect them, and even something as simple as how to keep a secret. These traits are taught so each Arvellon can be fully equipped to help protect their kin in any way necessary. ⤞Appearance⤝ ─━─━─━─━「₪」━─━─━─━─ “Touched by the season of Autumn in body as well as mind.” ─━─━─━─━「₪」━─━─━─━─ [Art of Eretria and a Karin by Mikki] Arvellon born elves typically share the same set of physical traits, depending on the circumstances of their birth. A true born Arvellon would carry the traits of one, bronze or tan in skin tone, usually a warm hue of some sort. Their hair tends to be curly or unruly while varying in shades of red and brown. This, coupled with brown or green eyes, make them quite suitable for their favorite season - Autumn. Although not every Arvellon is born from the Autumnal bloodline. The modern generation of the seed is a wide variety of adopted members and members who married into the seed, with the proper rites taken. This means one could find most any elf with any mix of traits donning the Autumn paints of an Arvellon. They are often seen dressed in apparel, dyed to mirror the warm shades of Autumn - red, gold, yellow, and orange in various hues. Said to acknowledge the natural cycle and symbolize the changing and colorful personalities of the Arvellon. ⤞Traditions⤝ Tradition in the Arvellon seed is developed over the course of time and experience, its members learning new ways to adapt to their environment and adding to their ways to fit. [Tattoos designed and drawn by the wonderful Numirya] ⤞ Ilmyumier is an important rite to becoming an Arvellon, the marking itself thought up and designed by Layla. The ilmyumier implements three of the most prevalent parts of the unique culture of the Arvellon, headed by that of a Wildcat and donning the wings and feathers of a Raven, and the colors and symbols of their beloved Autumnal season. Along with the primary ilmyumier that is found on the dominant arm, an Arvellon is known to wear a stripe of paint across their eyes to act as a sign of luck to attract good fortune for them and their kin, or during times of war and unrest in the world as a whole. ⤞ Miruel'ame, the Red Trees of the Arvellon forests that once served as the living, subtle guardians to their ancestral ame’lie known as the Harvest Wood. The cultivation of these trees, once a closely guarded secret held by the main bloodline of the Arvellon, has been passed down to the seed to reintroduce the tree into the world. The Miruel’ame releases an ever-present fog that surrounds its immediate vicinity and is considered to be the reason the Arvellon remained wrapped within a mystery in the early eras of the world. ⤞ Maya’meracahe was put in place in the ancient times of the Arvellon, when they lived in the depths of the Harvest Wood. Where their homes were safely hidden from the turmoil beyond. This ‘redeeming balance’ was put into motion by Carsul’il after a near disastrous confrontation within the seed between two brothers living in separate nations from one another. The Laughing Lynx decided that the Arvellon seed would not serve as a political entity among the rest of Elvenkind, though it would not limit its individual members from taking part in what nations they chose to reside in. “To be an Arvellon is to have only half a heart and soul. Their partner has the rest.” ⤞ Mallir'hiylun - Love is a sacred and precious thing to the Autumnal elves. An emotion and act held dearly since the days of Carsul’il and the Harvest Wood. Making such a declaration toward another elf is a grand and life changing event for the Arvellon. To them, there is only one such person to be found in their lives and it is an irreversible and unbreakable bond through both body, mind, and spirit. While not used until later in the seed’s existence, there is a binding ritual performed to cement this connection between two elves. Before an altar of Felixii and Kwakwani, the two would arrive during the height of a Harvest Moon in secret. Both would wield a ceremonial aurum blade to slice the other’s palms. After the blood flows from both hands on either lover, the bloodied blades are laid crossed upon the altar before the two clasped hands to mix the blood of their palms and in doing so, intertwining the essence of their bodies and spirit. Once the ritual is complete, it is said that the mates develop a true and absolute bond. While it is not known whether this is merely firm belief, or if something truly binds the souls of the lovers, it works. These Arvellon lovers remain together until death, and even then, it is said that their spirits pass on as one. ⤞ Birth has always been celebrated within the elven culture; a precious and sacred event for all of elven kind to be taken seriously. When a new child is born, or when one comes of age, a ritual is held in the child’s honor by the Chieftain. During the ritual the babe will be bathed in the waters surrounding the Father Tree, or in fresh springwater. The child’s forehead will then be painted with an eye to resemble the Wildcat, and outstretched wings on either side to represent the Raven. A prayer will then be recited to both patron Mani. Asking each of them to bless the new elf with an observant gaze and a sly nature - just as Felixii, and requesting for them to be granted the creativity and playfulness of the Trickster Raven - Kwakwani. ⤞ Death is not something that is normally celebrated, however the Arvellon honor death in a rather unique way. The corpse of their loved one is carried out to the Taliame’miruel Forest to be buried, where their souls are said to become the eternal watchers of Autumn. In spirit, just as they were in body. A prayer is then said while a stone is constructed atop the gravesite, acting as a headstone. This marker is referred to as Lareh’puerith, or Stone of Memories. Their loved ones will gather around the stone with buckets of paint and carving tools to create an exquisite and intricate mural telling of the Arvellon’s life. Flowers are then planted around the burial site, so that they may be fertilized and the Arvellon may live on through nature. ⤞Trials of Initiation⤝ ⤞ The Trial of Escapade: The prospective Arvellon is to show they are capable of joining the others in their Lust for Life. Their task during this trial is to conjure up a harmless trick on any one of their choosing, and to carry out the prank without getting caught. Additionally, they are to ask an Arvellon who has earned their markings to accompany them and to deem it worthy. ⤞ The Trial of the Artisan: The creativity of the prospective Arvellon will be challenged during The Artisan’s Trial, as they are tasked to create in the name of their patron Mani. They will be shown examples of crafts they could make, crafted by the current members of the seed, to aid them in brainstorming. Their task at hand is to create either one piece in honor of both the Wildcat and the Raven, or alternatively create something to solely honor Kwakwani, as the Raven is known to be the one of fine arts. The crafted piece will then be placed in the Arvellon hall to be displayed with the others. ⤞ The Trial of the Observer: The observant eye and mind of the prospective Arvellon will be challenged during this trial shaped around their patron Felixii. The Autumnal Watchers are known to be protectors of secrets, just as the Wildcat themself. They listen, and observe, and gather what secrets they can to be offered to Felixii for protection. There are many ways the prospect could go about completing this trial, which will be explained by the Chieftain. The intent is to gather at least three secrets from whoever they can and record them on a piece of parchment - without a name being etched with it to protect the secret teller. That piece of parchment will either be placed in the hidden library in the hall, dedicated to and blessed by the Observant Wildcat, where it will go unread and eternally protected. Alternatively, the piece of parchment will be offered to a shrine of Felixii and tossed into the flames, where it becomes nothing but a whisper in the wind guarded by the Wildcat. ⤞ The Harvest Moon Hunt is the final, unofficial trial for the budding Arvellon. Every year during the Harvest Moon, when the night is bathed strongly in amber hued light, the prospective member will be asked to dress in the colors of the Autumnal seed and tasked with leading the rest of their kin on a ceremonial hunt beneath the height of a harvest moon. Prior to the hunt, their face will be marked by the Chieftain to resemble the rest of their clan while treading through the realm to find their prey. [An adult, large sized karin drawn by Ben] ⤞ The Rite of the Karin is not recognized as a trial, but instead as a warm welcome into the clan. When an Arvellon comes of a certain age, or is adopted into the seed, they are allowed the gift of a feline companion. A twin-tailed, crystal antlered colorful Karin, that they will raise from a kitten to a full-grown adult. This companion will be their forever friend and will offer comfort and playfulness where they know it is needed. ─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─
  3. A Trial of Self Discovery ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ All of her life she has been told that you are never finished learning, something she quickly discovered to be true. Her perspective was forever shifting and expanding, and with that came knowledge. Another thing she has always been told is to always be who you want to be; and so she did. A mother is who she aspired to be, and so she found a partner and bore his children. A drui is what she wanted to become. Someone to protect and preserve the balance and nature around her, and so she started the path of a dedicant. For a long while these duties were enough to make her feel content, enough to fill that gap temporarily. Years of servitude and even more of being a wife and a mother brought her happiness, but there was still something missing. There was something more out there, and that she was certain of. Her path started anew, and she sought to learn everything she could. To teach the younger generations. To guide her people and to ensure that their ways were preserved. Even that was not enough to satisfy that strong pulling at her heart. Her true identity is what she sought for, one granted to her by the Aspects. A path of trying to find herself, and so she prayed to them until they deemed her Wildlife. A newfound sense of pride and worth this gave her, but that strong tugging would remain even after. Perhaps she was seeking to find herself by too often trying to find herself in others. It wasn’t until the old and sacred secrets of her ancestors were shared with her, that she found hope. “It’s gonna be ok…” The Arvellon was lulled into a state of meditation where a vision began. This is where her new path began and that strong panging within would lead her through. Spring Summer Autumn Winter ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ “Y’know, you make funny noises.” The Arvellon murmured to that funny little panda while they both wandered through the forest. The panda making excited little squeals as she gathered more berries for them to snack on. “Gonna be sad when I have to return home without ya. Maybe I can bring ya with me, or come visit everyday. I’ve got plenty of time after all.” The critter huffed through its nostrils and accepted the handful of berries she offered to it. That bond created between them became unbreakable. All the wounds she had to endure to finally find what she was looking for made it all worth it. She shared a few final moments with that little critter before she made her way back to the village, covered with various scratches and bruises yet she’d seem content. A final goodbye was murmured to the creature before she departed. “It’s gonna be ok…” ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
  4. The Arvellon Chieftess returned to the village with Eonan's belongings, placing them within his home with the Bruin. She kept a watchful eye on his family while he was away, just as she'd promised. Even if from a distance. For the entire time he was gone, she'd make her way around the village. Not only keeping an eye out for the people within, but to watch for his return. Finally, she saw him. That familiar, tiny 'ame made her way to the front gates, bearing a proud smile as she greeted both him and his beetled companions with an eager wave. "Welcome home, wolf man."
  5. >───⇌••⇋───< “Come, little leaves,” said the wind one day. “Come over the meadows with me and play! Put on your dresses of red and gold, for Summer is gone and the days grow cold. Soon as the leaves heard the wind’s loud call, down they came fluttering, one and all; Over the brown fields they danced and flew, singing the sweet little songs they knew. -George Cooper ━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━ The warmth of the summer’s days soon came to an end and the seasons began to change. The Autumn sun spread a carpet of leaves, by hundreds, all dressed in colors of yellow and crimson as the village prepared for the harvest. The wilds, too, prepared themselves for the coming changes. Busying themselves with preparing a safe haven and foraging for food to store before Winter came. Changes were brought upon the realm after the ending of Ostara. The leaves transitioning from shades of green to vibrant colors or crimson and yellow as those of the fold prepare for the Rite of Mabon. [Art by Mathias Zamęcki] ━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━ • Offerings• Baskets full of herbs and fruits foraged from the first day of fall will be brought to the ritual grounds. Members of the fold will also bring stacks of wood and other materials foraged from abandoned structures to add to the stacked fire pit. An act of parting from the plethora of goods provided by past seasons. ━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━ • Ritual• On the first day of Autumn, members of the fold will gather to head out into the lands to forage wood and other materials from abandoned structures or fallen trees to bring back to the village. Members will gather beneath the glowing moon at dusk. At the start of the festival the Autumn Raithean will call upon members of the circle to stack their foraged goods into the pit where everyone will gather ‘round and chant to the Horned Father while the Autumn Raithean lights the pit ablaze. During the months of Autumn, Father Circle druii will feed the flames of Mabon to keep them lit throughout the changing season. ━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━ • Rite• At the end of the Autumnal months, members of the fold will gather around the fire once more. To mark the end of the Equinox, the Autumn Raithean will bring black water from the Father tree to douse the dancing flames. ━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━┅━ Eretria Arvellon - Raithean of Autumn
  6. Please follow the rules when bidding. If you have any questions or comments, please contact me on Discord Mewliet#6297 <3 Auctioning some skins I've done to get out of the funk of burnout. Enjoy. •• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ •• Rules: -All payments should be in USD. -Bids must increase by $2.00 -When the auction is over, payments will be made through PayPal. -Do not edit your bid comment. Quote the person you are outbidding in a new one. -If for some reason your bid falls through, the next highest bidder will get the skin. -Do not edit or resell the skin. Minor edits can be made upon request (i.e. converting from steve/alex) Bidding closes @ 8pm CST on 06/30/2022 Bid Format: Skin Name: Bid: IGN: Discord: Skins: Simple Dress - SOLD Starting bid - $12 Auto Buyout - $25 Horizon Dress Starting bid - $12 Auto Buyout - $25 Blue Overcoat - SOLD Starting bid - $12 Auto Buyout - $25 Blue Scarf Armor Starting bid - $15 Auto Buyout - $30 Bronze Armor Starting bid - $15 Auto Buyout - $30
  7. My first character was a wood elf named Luna Rose. When I first joined the server I was introduced to a small group of people in a place called Halsworthy. A few months later she got into leadership there and then later died during canonist attacks. Then I made my druid, who still exists! Stardew Valley! Also absolutely you can. Maybe we'll get more cells and have more brain power. First memory is always being in the vc of the Mother Grove discord but I'd always be muted because social anxiety. Then we got closer and you made me levitate so high until I could no longer see anything but blue Comfort food is definitely taco bell. Or chocolate covered blueberries *Insert many swear words about shoeshi here* All time favorite color is any shade of green, though I like the softer shades better. Oatmeal?! More like boateel Favorite flower is any type of lily. I have many variants in my garden! Ya like jazz? ✨
  8. whoever, whatever, wherever, whenever, however I know a lot of random cat facts and I’m pretty good at gardening. I think those count! And I’m sorry, I don’t see an issue with my rep farming! (But also SoonTM. Irl took me out) yes This question is invalid because there’s no such thing! Everyone <3 The glorious thing about our waffle braincell, is that one of the squares has the ability to make me forget about butter. That’s half of our brain power. The other squares are cat related things and nerdy things fistewli <3 Bob for sure
  9. I’ve been on the server for about 4 years and some months, and it’s been a wild ride. I hardly do these things because tbh I’m lazy, but we goin’ for it. Ask me cool things! Or send pet pics. Both are neat. B)
  10. Tanila glanced around the lush forest she woke up to after sacrificing her life to save the ungrateful and to avenge the unfortunate. The woman simply wondered. Who asked? "Only good mage is a dead mage..." The young elfess murmured to her aunt before taking a sip of tea.
  11. [Art of Tanila by MistressOfEvil] “Do not think that because you did not die in glory, that you are not valued. You have endured things that most of our people could not fathom. That sacrifice, although unwilling, meant another did not have to suffer in your place. That means something.” - Avius Csarathaire The words of steel stuck to the back of Tanila's mind from the moment she heard them, and would do to the end of her days. Despite her fatal condition and all that she endured, she was, in a way, thankful for her own suffering. For, if not she, then another would have undoubtedly suffered the torment in her place. Tanila reflected then, on all that was done. And all, indeed, that yet had to be done before her days came to an end. She remembered. The childhood memories. All the life lessons that learned, all of the friendships and links forged. She remembered. Never would she forget. [Corrupted Fae ref, Artist Unknown] Forget… To scour the pain from memory was all Tanila could ask for now. To forget the sight of that grotesque creature that dwarfed her in size, looming high above. To be rid of the memory of its titanic limb, pinning her to the earth. Unable to move, barely able to breathe… The hunters had quit the village in search of a creature to hunt. Predators searching out prey. What they found instead would haunt them in this world and the one beyond. The forest floor, once lush with verdant life, now awash with rot, festering blood and animal corpses in the hundreds. It wasn’t long until the party noticed movement. A massive shadow lurking in the darker corners of the forest, skulking between the trees with tremendous weight. A goat’s haunch and cloven feet, the face of a lion and three sets of legs, each scaled as tree trunks. A twisted creature of nightmare from the otherworld. The predators clashed with this Fae interloper. Spears thrust into its leathery hide. Volleys of archery needled its form. Tanila herself fought bravely alongside her husband and beside her kin. All was well. A moment later, it was not. The fortunes of combat tilted towards catastrophe. Tanila took a blow, blunt, forceful. The next moment she was falling. The next, she lay pinned to the soiled earth below. Whilst struggling to free herself, she heard sounds that her mind instinctively pinned as horrifying. Disgusting. The next moment, she realised that the instrument of this cacophony were her own bones, cracking and breaking under the blight fae creature’s bulk. Tanila’s screams, macabre and periodically interrupted by the eruption of blood from her throat, echoed through the trunks and the leaves. All efforts were in vain. In that moment, Tanila’s own frailty, her mortality, became all too clear. She was utterly at this thing’s mercy. And mercy it possessed no longer. The slim thread of consciousness faded, battle cries of companions and comrades grew distant. She prayed in those agonising, flickering moments. For herself, but also for the lives of those fighting her tormentor Matters surely could hardly get worse. But, the world proved its malicious sense of humour that day. When she looked up again, the light of her consciousness snapping on briefly, a malignant metamorphosis began to take place. The abomination of fae-make changed and twisted, its body deforming and reforming unnaturally. A bastardisation of the Aspects’ realm became a further corruption of the mortal one. A Pale Tree, anathema to life. Bark of a sickly pale, faded to the color of bone. Tanila followed it, herself deathly white as death approached. But, cruelly, the release of death refused Tanila’s embrace. Rather, all color left her form and her pallor changed to match that of the malevolent creation. Those emerald eyes of hers, eyes that Laedrad, oh Laedrad, had fallen in love with, disappeared forever, becoming crimson red and bloodshot. [Pale-Tree ref, Artist Unknown] Pain… That was all she felt. Every bone in her body breaking, her lungs crushed as she lost the ability to breathe. Her beating heart began to slow and the Aureon began to fade. A familiar cry echoed throughout those distant battle sounds as they tried to save her. Tanila’s emerald gaze turned and sought out the source of the cry. Her sister, frantic. Panicking, and desperate to save her Tanila. Too late. Nenar fought vigorously to try and save her sister but her efforts were not successful. Instead, there was only one way Tanila could be saved and Nenar knew what she had to do. The woman had to kill her sister to end her suffering. Blight began to fill the air around the twisted tree, poisonous spores burning the lungs of those who sought to destroy the beast and save their friend. The others turned to flee and save themselves from the toxic air, all except for Nenar and Tanila’s partner, Laedrad. Together they began to climb the tree and face the maw of the pale creature, where Tanila was trapped and entangled inside. Roots tore through her and held her in place, as if she were a part of the tree. The woman’s features were pale and her eyes, although alive and no longer her own, cried out in anguish as she was forced to suffer. Nenar sought desperately to end her baby sister’s torment. Multiple times she tried and multiple times she failed - until she, too, was struck with those same roots and pulled into the creature’s maw to suffer alongside her sister. The group retreated to recover and revise their plan, though the agonizing screams of the entangled women rang throughout the forest and followed the group as they went. Whatever wounds the tree caused, it would only heal and force them to live when all they hoped for was relief. Their bodies were no longer their own to control. Every breath, every beating of the heart, was controlled by those branches entangled within. A Cycle they were unfamiliar with. Dying, only to be brought back and forced to live a life they could no longer control. A life Tanila no longer wanted. Healing… A little over a year later the two would be found. The twisted tree decided it no longer needed them and spat them out for them to be found. Something or someone found them and brought them back to their home, just outside of Nevaehlen’s walls. Nenar’s husband came across the two laying in the grass and embracing each other, just as they did in the tree for months on end. They were brought inside and treated for what wounds remained. Tanila lay there for months. Sleeping, recovering, grieving. Once she was able to leave the clinic, the woman went into hiding. Away from the world, away from the people. An attempt to escape the nightmares that constantly haunted her and lingered in the back of her mind. Tanila awoke screaming each night now. Heart beating staccato against her chest, sweat pouring down her face. The few hours of rest her body allowed her barely resembled rest at all, warped as it was into a path back in time, back to that seemingly, at the time, endless epoch of suffering. Times of waking were hardly any better. An initial hope of recovery died swiftly, as did hope and life’s brightness. The soothing chill of the shadows was Tanila’s closest companion during that time. Weeks, months and then years of terminal decline went by. One purpose sustained her. The education of her one daughter, her heir, to whom she bestowed everything of value she knew. Gradually, inevitably, Tanila’s body weakened. Pain. Fatigue. Sickness. She felt the failure coming, felt herself fading into the dark. Remedies and medicines aplenty were applied and consumed. Not a one even succeeded in stalling the coming inevitability. During one of those ministrations, though she remembered not which, Tanila finally realised that the death for which she had prayed finally approached. A cliff’s edge into unknown waters towards which she could not stop stumbling. Rather than serving as a final nail in the coffin of her despair, however, an air of relief came upon her instead. It was time to act in the brief window that remained. In the days that followed, Tanila ventured back into the light, spending time with family, friends, kindred and loved ones. Most of all, ensuring that her daughter would, after the end, be taken care of. [Weeping Dryad, by Harkalé Linaï] Sacrifice… The Aureon knew now what her final duty would be. One last gasp of defiance against the nightmares of the world. She, with those whom she had marched out so long before, would traverse into the voidal hollow. With druidic warriors at her side, she would lay down her life, voluntarily, to heal the scarred, screaming land. The decision, despite her situation,was far from simple. Nevertheless, the deed had to be done. The greater good meant everything. Tanila was raised and tutored to understand the importance of the Balance, and the importance of keeping the taint away. Her choice was final. The group of warriors traveled into the hollows and stood beneath the only living tree. Surrounding the hillside and assuring nothing prevented them from completing their task. Everything felt wrong there. The air, the ground beneath her feet. Even the skies, warped by corrupting forces from beyond. And so, lacking any focusing point for rightness on the outside, Tanila looked inward. And so the Hyssop Druid, martyr of the Aspects, banisher of the void, spent her final moments saying her final farewells. Comforting her family and gazing into their eyes one last time. The trio of Aspect stones, immortal, sacred relics brought from across the world, were taken from their guardians and, at long last, came together akin to pieces comprising a deific jigsaw. Tanila approached the single stone, imbued with the might of all three Aspects, hand in hand with her sister and her mother. She embraced this gift of the gods and then cast looked over her loved ones once more. “Forgive me.” Nenar murmured, near silently. Yet, despite what was to come, Tanila held no grudge or animosity for what she asked of her sister. Precisely the reverse. Feeling true peace at last, Tanila lay herself back and stared upward, with those blighted eyes, at the tree looming over her. A glint reflected against her crimson from the crystalline leaves overhead. A faint smile crossed the woman’s lips before her eyes closed. The time had come. A tri-blade dagger, a key, was withdrawn. The fourth piece. Nenar gripped it, hesitantly. Tanila could see the struggle in her sister’s eyes. The stroke that was to come repelled her, but both knew it had to be done. With a single, powerful and yet gentle thrust, the spiral bladed key penetrated between ribs and straight into Tanila’s heart. Lifeblood spilled from the wound. But, in truth, Tanila lived no longer. Her body seethed and pulsed, thrumming with sheer energy. A pure energy. The aura of a forest in bloom. The ferocity of a wild hunt of predators sprinting through the wilds. Then, the stones rose and split apart once more. Between them formed a new sun in the sky, a rift of verdant green. A sliver of the Gods’ power unleashed, by the Aureon’s selfless sacrifice, onto the mortal realm. From that gateway spilled creatures and bolts of raging, primal fury. Cerridwen’s wrath that her life had been perverted. Cernunnos’s unbound fury, an urge to bring death to his enemies. The Aspects’ creatures, heralded by their greatest servants flooded into the world. Under the strain of this ferocious assault from the Great Forest beyond, the voidal hollow’s malignance was utterly powerless. It simply ended, cracking and falling away like shed snakeskin. Those still living witnessed a great, cloudless storm and something more beautiful still. An old friend. A mentor long gone. A princess. A servant. Awaiti Aureon crouched there, cradling the spiritual remnant of Tanila in her arms. “Run.” she murmured, to the druii present, gentle but severe. The dim green star lingered brightly in the skies above the fading nightmare. From within the portal broken into reality; emerged a slew of animalistic beings. A polar bear with slick white fur, a gargantuan bird akin to a drake. Even a far greater beast, a worm stretching the length of buildings, burrowing beneath the earth. Together the Mani worked alongside one another to purge the land - a crocodilian leviathan of titanic proportions joining them as waves of verdant green poured down from its wing beats, purifying the ground below. “You did so well…” Awaiti murmured softly. With great care, she cocooned Tanila’s soul within her hands and pressed a kiss to her forehead, before allowing her soul to ascend into the idyllic world beyond. The soul passed through that verdant sun and out of the world of the living. The lifegiving rainfall seemed to age the ground decades for each second it fell, rapidly forming lichen and moss. Grass and shrubbery grew in the wake of the Mani’s cleansing assault. Blighted land returned to normalcy. When their work was done, the radiant star in all its viridescent diminished and faded. It vanished, the sky returning to its clear blue normalcy. A burden was lifted from nature’s melody. The Voidal Hollow, once a tumor near the heart of the world, had vanished with wilderness. Now, only sacred wilderness remains. From Tanila’s physical form, a towering willow grew. It reached for the rejuvenated skies, looming over the newly remade lands of lush green. This mother tree grew on the site of sacrifice, championing the chorus of nature as it once more asserted its supremacy over the land. When a druii dies, the land weeps for their loss. But this time, it wept not. The land sang a song of mourning, and of joy. A song of rebirth and sacrifice. It would sing forevermore.
  12. [Artist Unknown - Representation of the forests outside of Nevaehlen] “Animals are such agreeable friends. They ask no questions and pass no criticisms.” -George Eliot Day One On the morning Tanila woke, she remembered her task at hand. To find a young creature who lost its parents and raise it. Teach it and befriend it as a companion. The pale woman rose from her bed and got herself dressed, the words of a particular Bruin echoing in the back of her mind. “When I miss her, I go to the rivers to speak with her.” An idea struck the young Aureon and she set out on an adventure - one that would surely change her life. For the first time in many years she would leave the walls of Nevaehlen, crossing the bridge with the aid of her walking cane and disappearing into the tree-line of the forest. She slowly followed the riverbank with her eyes and ears peeled as she made her way through the trees. Memories of her childhood played in the back of her mind, remembering the companion she had when she was younger. She wouldn’t leave the forest until she found another. Tanila traveled further up the river until she spotted a small beaver’s dam that appeared to have been destroyed. Whatever family that lived there was nowhere in sight, and the predator was long gone. Crimson colored eyes searched through the forest as she stood in place, looking for any signs of remaining life. Just as she began to make her way off, she heard a faint rustling of grass followed by a low-pitched whine. The woman turned in an attempt to find the source of the noise, but at first she found nothing. Not long after she would hear the same thing, and her gaze fell to the ground to find a small beaver, young in its years, and alone with no mother in sight. It seemed to be the only survivor of the ruined dam. Hours the woman would spend in the forest, aiming to gain the kit’s trust and bring him home. Lowering herself to the ground, she would sit just a few feet away from the small creature while reaching for a small chunk of fallen tree bark. Slowly her arm would reach out with the soft bark resting in the palm of her hand, the kit eyeing it curiously but making no move yet. “Come on little guy, it’s alright. Whatever it was is gone now, and you must be hungry.” Tanila spoke with a soft coo to the young beaver, tempting it with a little wave of the bark she held in her grasp. It offered a few curious sniffs before slowly it would inch closer to her, keeping a cautious eye on the Aureon woman. She remained as still as she could with her hand held close to the ground, allowing the beaver to feast with ease. Finally the kit came to a stop just before her, reaching tiny hands out to grasp onto the small chunk of fallen bark to munch on. With small yet large teeth the young bit small chunks of the wood off to feast on. Meanwhile a hand reaches out, seeking to gently stroke the top of its head. It ducked down a few times but slowly warmed up to the woman who fed him. Slowly she gained his trust enough to take him home with her. A month later… The young beaver had grown quite a bit and entrusted Tanila fully. She fed him every day and even made him a little wooden structure beside one of the ponds within the village where he could learn to be independent. Soon enough he began to seek for his own food and fend for himself, even adjusting the small structure to his liking. Once Tanila felt as if she completed the task she set out to do, she would search for her guide.
  13. The golden haired Nevaehlen librarian wept upon hearing the news, distraught she would never see her fellow book friend again. Nalaya proceeded to hang a small painting in the library in his honor.
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