Persephae sighed in deep relief, nodding - "da, da. Everyone vas lovely - niet bad, either, for a dress ea found in ve final hour. See, Dimitri?" She nudged her twin, gesturing with a rare, pleased smile - "best of ve trio. Vait until they see vhat ea have in store next."

Wynanya nodded in support for her mal'onn-in-Balance, lifting a glass.

"It will not be a joyous day in the Ebonwood until action is taken for the lives lost in Krug," she remarked to a Karin, swirling the wine within. "But Amaesil's proposal is a brilliant one. One battlefront, won. A toast to the Fox."

Wynanya read the second missive after the chaos of the day prior, from a stack of papers in her small cave - a cat purring in her lap, another batting at several crumpled efforts at letters upon the floor.

"This is a mess," she informed them, pouring herself a second glass of wine. "-A right disaster. We'll have no more part in it, that's for certain - oi donne eat that - "

A young Dedicant rolls up a cigarette, reviewing the missive from the city she'd spent so much of her youth in.

"Well, shit."

Wyn reviewed the missive from a dinner table, extinguishing a guilty cigarette with a sigh and a crease to her brow - her sympathies with the mother, her mind on the power dynamics at play.

".....Politics."

Persephae Erika de Astrea, blotting an invitation free of water where she had promptly spilt it and knocking her longsword into her dearest twin @rat deltaDimitri in the process, reviewed it with a look of vague wariness.

"-If ea go, vy go. Ai?"

To the comfort of the coast, by the warmth of a fire, a young dedicant's sister would sit over a cup of tea, lifting her head from a murmured prayer. A rare frown graced her features: to the left of her, another teacup, although empty; as if set out by mistake and then forgotten.

"It's too quiet," she said, to no one in particular. A pair of karin-cats napping by the hearth blinked sleepily; "without her."

Wyn reviewed the letters brought to her by a diligent courier in a quiet nook within a treebranch, hming and hmphing softly every so often.

"Suppose he took to that book, then!" She chirped to a sleepy-eyed karin-cat by her side, tucking the letters into her large ledger. "Temperance und humility, ah? Lessons to heed." And, lighting up a cigarette: "lessons to teach, perhaps."

5 minutes ago, ClassyBells said:

Fisulii, upon seeing the green soup on her beloved sister’s menu, quietly mumbles to herself behind the bar. “It was just a joke, it was just a joke, it was just a…”

 

Not a soul must ever know of her crimes against Almaris.

1 minute ago, guy22127 said:

Ayred, slowly twiddles his thumbs deviously thinking of potential ways to ruin the reopening in revenge as he reads through the established menu.

Tyrant Tavernkeep Wyn revels in the IRON GRIP she holds on her siblings, buffing down the counter with steady movements and a faint, smug smile as the pair go through their respective crises, teakettle boiling happily behind her as the Antler readies for another day. 

The Iron Antler is a humble, homey tavern on the front edge of Nevaehlen, the mali’ame village on the sunny Southeast coast. Owned by Wyn Arvellon and run by a merry crew of hardworking, creative-minded folk, weary travellers and familiar kin alike are welcome to the warmth of its fire and wealth of its menu.

(( @ClassyBells))

DRINKS

TEAS & NOT-BOOZES

MEADS, WINES & CIDERS

FIREWATER & OTHER LIQUOR 

MEALS & DESSERTS

SAVOURIES

SWEETS

HOUSE SPECIALS

GRATITUDES

Matriarch Miven Caerme’onn ( @WestCarolina) for the keys to the castle.

Lari’onnii Fisulii Alusa Arvellon ( @ClassyBells ) for banner, banter and soups galore.

Malii’oem’ii Arcelia Guenevere ( @marslol) for charming drinks, snacks and smiles alike.

Ser Uncle Roylan G. Sirame ( @Royal Peasant) for Ironwaters, pie, and patience.
[Uncle says: Don’t forget me Crackadonk and Serpent recipes! Ya need to eat up, ya much too skinny Niece] 

Teamaestro Cyllan ( @Clayphish) for his lovely teas and paintings alike.

Lady de Booze Elain ( @Itz_Cookie) for her dutiful service and cheerful whispers.

The people of the Vale for guidance, support and, on very rare occasion, coin.

"Mr. Miravaris - you poisoned yourself by leaf?" 

An incredulous 'ame inquired, looking over her unlikely llir's paper with a hearty laugh. 

Wynanya sat in the Nevaehlen bar, a cigarette in one hand, the missive in the other. She sighed; choking on the smoke, in the process.

"Right," she said, setting it aside with a sideways glance at the large karin observing her. "-Well. Good thing I never did get that baptism, huh, Cat?"

MC Name:

         BuffCritter

Character's Name:

         Wynanya Arvellon de Melphestaus

Character's Age:

         38

Character's Race:

         Wood Elf

What magic(s) will you be learning?

         Housemagery

Teacher's MC Name:

         Vortice Self-Teach Book

Teacher's RP Name:

         Self-Teach Altar

Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it:

         No!

Do you agree to keep Story updated on the status of your magic app?:

         Yes!

Are you aware that if this magic is shelved, that you may no longer use it in character?

         Yes!

Interesting practical prospects in metalsmithing - tumbling/polishing stones and pieces, for instance, a la the modern-day ultrasonic cleaner. A little confused on the root inspiration for this spell, given the vagueness on particulate matter vibration.  

A bright-eyed, gleaming-feathered raven would arrive to the conclave, a leather encasement lashed to its leg containing parchment written upon in a familiar, delicate calligraphy.

Dearest kin; lliran; Malin'onn,

I write as Mali and nothing but Mali. The actions of Haelun'or against their fellow Children of Malin have been long-known to us; even myself, one of the youngest of our blood, and even my peers. This is not to say all Mali are free of err against their fellow Elves; but it is to say that when we hold the history and choices of Haelun'or against the decisions of the North and West, I would think it quite clear which reflects the will of the King. To the North and West we see unity; the collaboration of 'Ker, of 'Aheral, of Fenn, of 'Ame. We see Malin's will in their actions; in their numbers; in their willingness to stand as One. In Haelun'or, we see what? Seclusion; division; a disregard for the Balance, for those they think 'lesser' - a rank which includes very Mali!

And furthermore; was it not our very House, my Melphestausan, that could not until this last decade travel to the Silver State without fear? Is it not our very tongue which tells us Thiln Equs Excrimenta - that the Haelunorian understanding of so-called Purity is, to put it plain, horseshit? 

I say allow the Mali fighting for the righteous cause to know where our hearts and blades will lie, if they will so have us among their ranks, and look to them alongside our Emperor for example on the depth of our engagement thus. 

So be it.

Wynanya Arvellon de Melphestaus

Greenblade of Nevaehlen 

Tetarch and Advisor to the Ebonwood

For even Malin so loved his children that he turned to the aspects for wisdom and help...

Wynanya, in a tavern far from home, would nod and smile, lifting a glass to the missive. "Ilandria. A cihe with hope, indeed. - And perhaps less stone!"

Wynanya, nursing an impressive hangover the day after the fact and eyeing the birds outside the Nevaehlen tavern with a vengeful eye, took an near-half hour to peruse the introduction alone. Several confused minutes were dedicated to wondering when Arhiln had renamed himself Author, or if it had always been spelt that way; and several more spent confusing Aiera Sullas for Amaesil until the entire thing had to be reread.

"Marvelous work," she offered the scribe in question, delicately pushing the publication back across the table with a grimace. "- Though perhaps next time you might include, say, a brief.. summary? At least a touch of the first-person, ne?"

Wynanya grinned, winding a thick rope around her hand - the other end wedged deep into a steel spike in the mortar of their tall, fortress-esque stone walls, her feet planted in the dirt, a glimmer to her eye as wiry arms heaved the first haul.

"For Malin's will!"

A technically-sort-of medical intern lifted a glass and offered a wide smile to the happy couple!

Wynanya Daemyar de Melphestaus, upon seeing the missive, scurried promptly for a journal to begin brainstorming the possibilities. 

A fi'Eldari daughter, pile of Aspectist tomes on either side, a lorraine over her head, and scattered notes on Malinism everywhere else, reviewed the daresay declaration with an exhausted smile, though was swiftly distracted by an unusual clatter elsewhere in the Magara: "no king but - ((@Chopper774/ @Monocle101)) Akalonii! Ana! What are you two - our onncle is writing important things! - Perfect children of Malin my - "

and was forced to abandon it, scurrying off to reprimand some of Malin's youngest on their latest shenanigans.

All the same.

Based.

A cousin reviewed the announcement with a fond smile, raising a glass from deep beneath the family homeland. 

"May he be as sharp as his father and brilliant as his mother, and may he grow strong enough to bear this House's name. Blessings, Tjesmirii. Blessings, Sylvari, haelun. Ave!"

Introductory Note and Summary

The preserve and outpost, as we have been calling them, are a recently-established endeavor on the outskirts of Oren. Its basic mission is to keep a portion of the Ebonwood and Empire preserved in its present, wild state, as negotiated with the Father's Circle of Nevaehlen in 1849 and as written into Ebonwood Principatus law.

It is my belief, however, as the elf who has spent nigh-on years now seeing this effort come to fruition, that this project could be so much more. A bridge, from the fi'Eldari to nature: an institute and center of learning, reflection, connection to the wilds, to our history, and to Malin. I have lived but a brief life yet, most of it spent as either nuisance or mends-maker; and so the organization established here is little more than suggestion, a foundation on which to build upon. This document is to be a living one, fond as we are known to be of our writing, and is intentionally left somewhat vague and theoretical. It is to reflect my high hopes and the high potential to be had here.

Or perhaps I have spent too much time in my cave-office and have gone simply and wholly mad. I see no other way to find out, however, than to extend open hands to anyone else mad enough to join this path of pursuit.

Servus ilandria,

Wynanya Daemyar de Melphestaus

Acting Elestel

View from the Magara. Tapestry, 1853.

The Asimulum Glen

The Glen, or preserve, is a protected parcel of land within the Ebonwood Principatus. It begins in the Ebonwood itself, near capital city Ephesius, and stretches to the cusp of the Northern mountain ridge. It is both marked and guarded by the thornline, an encouraged growth of briars and brambles along its perimeter.

The Glen was established in the first laws of the Principatus. It has no legal owner, though it is seen to by Lareh’onn Tilruir - or attendants, volunteers who span the line between disciples, scholars and rangers. The Tilruiran are led by an Elestel (Common: The Trusted) who’s tasks include authorizing diplomatic endeavors (usually with the Druidic Order) and advocating for the Glen and Attendants in the broader community.

Magara Outpost 

Magara Outpost is on the Eastern outskirts of the Glen, established in an abandoned coalmine. At first meant as nothing more than a bunkhouse for attendants, the Outpost soon came to include a focused library, a communal center, and open study space. It is now meant as a more secular center of preservation and perseverance for matters both natural and cultural. Its purpose is to provide meditative shelter away from the yoke of civilization, and provide space to educate Descendents on their ties to the land; promote respectful, sustainable practices regarding its preservation; to cultivate connections to nature and history alike; and to promote living as Malin lived and communing with nature as Malin so communed.

Lareh’onn Tilruiran 

(Common: Servants from the Mountain)

The attendants are a varied group more formally known as the Lareh’onn Tilruiran. Dedication is flexible: interests varied, though all within the interwoven realms of land preservation, natural science, nature-focused spiritualism, and so on. But when at service, all Tilruiran’s common duty is, above anything, to serve: to represent the time Malin spent protecting the forests and his children alike. As they often act as teachers, advisors and researchers for and within the fi’Eldari community, the legacy of Malin is usually quite centered in their efforts. 

Tilruiran operate on a loose hierarchy of experience. New Tilruir are not to practice or teach in the preserve until they have, by hand, woven their cloth - a distinctive, stone-gray shawl, donned by a Tilruir on-duty. This task, worked on the looms within the heart of the Magara, allows prospective Tilruiran to meditate on where they fit within the allegorical tapestry that is both the Glen and Mali (and if all the effort is truly worth it). However, it is far from intended to be completed in one sitting: the cloth can be left in the Magara itself for as long as needed, and worked on whenever the individual has the time or mind to put to it. It only need be worn, once complete, when the Tilruir is at work in or for the Glen.

All are organized by Elestel, the Trusted, the Tilruir who best knows their colleagues’ strengths and weaknesses, advocates for them as a collective, and ensures their endeavors remain aligned. Elestel is the only Tilruir bound by this level of obligation: the rest are expected moreso than encouraged to have other duties, roles and paths which they must walk. 

AMENDMENTS LOG

This is hard, the labor is free, and it's just a hobby. Looking forward to the WC proper.

A wounded elf, secure in a rented home deep in the heart of Providence, read the call with grim face and sword at her side.

"Oren aut Mortem it will be."