critter

Wynanya reviewed the missive from Ebonwood, Elven vassal under the Mantle of Horen, and with a wry smile, tacked it above the Pinecone bar so all mali - and valah - who entered might have a chance to review its emerald wisdom.

"This," she said, tapping it with a finger waved at the next mali to come in, "is truth. We are all Malin's children, ne? Best start acting like it."

[The menu posted within the Pinecone Inn & Tavern - a rustic, overgrown establishment which welcomes passer-through to Ephesius, capital city of Ebonwood.]

DRINKING FOR FREE

Assorted teas, water and juices.

Complimentary for polite custom.

DRINKING FOR FUN

Fine wines, beers and other such drinks best savored in good company - even if that company is only one's own.

EBONWOOD WINE

A bumbling concoction of the local grapes. It swirls a yellowing, transparent color and tastes as refreshing as a summer's day.

EBONWOOD MEAD
A sweet, strong mead. It has notes of wild berries and floral rose over thick honey, albeit a slightly yeasty aftertaste, as if brewed by an amateur. 

EBONWOOD CIDER
Brewed in Lord Hieran's estate room from the apples grown outside his window, kept fresh and crisp by the diligent Royal Butler Chadwick Hemmington. It swirls a classic clear gold and makes the perfect sunset drink.

'LAST HOP,' assorted wines.

DRINKING TO FORGET

Strong, hearty brews perfect for capping off a long day - or banishing a longer night.
 

EBONWOOD WHISKEY
An expertly made drink, brewed in the Pinecone Inn by Lord Hieran. It is a deep, swirling orange, like a sunset by lantern's light. It has a rich taste, with only a faint bitterness as you take your well-earnt sip. Might remind you of a day on the farm, no matter where you're from.

FIREDANCER'S WHISKEY
A malted whiskey, aged to a deep, dark, near-ebony amber. With floral notes of roses; a wash of cinnamon; and a smooth, smoky finish, this drink is best served cold and to ease a long night. If lifted to light, its true color gleams a fiery fox-red.

LOST-TO-FOG
A hasty mash of wheat grown on the cusp of the Melphestaus family manor. It has a sweet honeysuckle-and-rose start and notes of vanilla - but a sharp finish, which burns the throat, and infamously blurs the memory.
Also known as Nimreth's Moonshine, after the late Nimreth Daemyar de Melphestaus.

SQUASHKA

A playfully named vodka, brewed from pumpkin and potatoes grown in Ephesius’s communal farms. It has peaty and spiced notes, though is so unfettered in strength one might be lucky to taste, see, or even think after a shot thereof.

DOBROV VODKA, EPHESIUS GIN, assorted others.

HOUSE SPECIALS

MELPHESTAUS BERRY TEA

Served in bottles tied with soft gold ribbon and purple seals, pressed with the Melphestaus family crest and a crown atop. The tea was made entirely out of lemonade, raspberries and blackberries, giving its iconic fruity sweetness and bitterness! It would be best served cold, over ice. Dedicated on Minuvas Melphestaus' coronation.
 

Ebonwood wines, ciders and whiskeys brewed by Lord Hieran Livarai de Melphestaus; mead, Firedancer's Whiskey, Lost-to-Fog and Squashka by Gwaithor Wynanya Daemyar de Melphestaus, and celebratory teas by Ephesius Gwaithor Bell de Vulnundrose.

Nursing an arrow shot to the shoulder and a fast-strengthening sword arm, Wynanya reviewed the missive, proud to have fought alongside the most notable and fast-rising of the Empire's military ranks. Their names would be tacked next to the Pinecone bar in Orenia's sleepy little elf-vassal, and cheered to with each drink.

CALLING ALL barefoot wanderers, unabashed tree-huggers, would-have-been-seekers, flower children and thorn elders, freethinker free-spirit folk in need of a roof over their head and a meal’fih:

THE PRINCIPATUS OF EBONWOOD, princely vassal of the Holy Orenian Empire and home of its Elves, calls to its Forests those with a heart for nature and a desire to defend it. Ebonwood sits on land full of Nature’s wonders and Descendants’ history alike, and so requires spirited individuals to act as Attendants for its care. 

PLAINLY SAID: seeking volunteers for the protection and preservation of a large swath of land in Oren. Elves and those who tolerate them preferred. Work will be unpaid save for perhaps arrangements with the nearby Tavern. DRUIIAN, DEDICANTS UND ASPECTIST SCHOLARS ALSO SOUGHT AS ADVISORS, REGARDLESS OF ORIGIN.

OBJECTIVES:

• Establish and protect a section of Land as a NATURAL PRESERVE

• Seek, learn and share means of caring for and supporting the Land

• Most obviously, attend the Land: 

  • enforce the laws of the preserve within, once it is established;

  • advise matters such as hunting and logging endeavors; 

  • tend to sustainable and respectful agricultural practices, forestry practices, et cetera.

ADDITIONALLY:

Attendants are encouraged to study practices such as Aspectism and the traditions of the Mali’ame in order to apply their Tenets to the tasks at hand. Attendants who choose to pursue these studies as Representatives of Ebonwood will also be tasked with sharing their learnings with not only one another but the Principatus as a whole. Further responsibility to those chosen to act as a Representative will be discussed.

THOSE WHO WISH TO ANSWER THIS CALL

(or reply with complaint, concern, et cetera)

contact Wynanya Daemyar de Melphestaus of Ebonwood, Gwaithor, Tavernkeep of the Pinecone Inn & Tavern - oft found in the Attic of the Ephesius Clinic or Behind The Bar.

Grati’ahernan und servus ilandria,

- W.D.M.

Wynanya raised a glass to her uncle, beaming in the newly-established, if hasty, throne room.

"Servus und progress!" She called, red-cheeked and proud. "To Ebonwood! To the Princeps!"

Wynanya, nestled in the Empire's very own mali'vassal, nodded, relieved at last to have some precedent in the matter. "-Servus und progress," she murmured, lifting her drink. "To the Princess, then!"

Comfortably settled in the East, a wood elf compared the missive to a similar one published by the Silver State - false Silver State?

"My skies," she said, folding one into better use as a coaster for her tea - "they've made their politics trickier then valah's. At least they'll stay too busy fighting each other to look to us for a while, ne?"

Wynanya, unsure who posted such a thing but not unfamiliar with its rhetoric, would review it from a dear friend's tavern bed, sighing as she reluctantly rose.

"We'll have to find them where'er they're posted in the city," she chided, crumpling it in fist, "before our tali' can see. At least this week's bonfire'll burn bright, ne?"

This is inane, fair warning. My MC username is madmarsupial. My forum, Discord, and general hey-that's-me name is Critter, which is unfortunately unavailable in a simple form. 

Wynanya found the missive as she walked the desperate streets, wiping a single tear from her eye as she read the tragic plea. Truly an act of unimaginable cruelty.

"As Malin rode with Godfrey!" The shortest Melphestaus all but boomed like her tallest uncles that night, returning, for once, into the Pinecone Inn and Tavern rather than behind its bar. She was soaked with sea-water and grinning like a hellcat, the fires the soldiers and crew set upon that Dwarven ship still glittering in her eyes: "ave Orenia!"

55 minutes ago, Gaius Marius said:

 

Gaisorix found the reply and the wax stamp and mulled over how he would word his response. He decided to pen another reply on a fresh parchment and tucked it once more beneath the short series of correspondence.

 

Unfortunately, the Cinged cannot engage in any transactions with you at this time. We are contracted with one of the nations engaged in war with Oren and on our honor, I will not use this as an opportunity to attack Ephesius as you are but a tavern owner looking to stock your inventories. When the war subsides and both belligerents agree to peace, I may visit to inquire on your needs at that given time. God watch over you o' Wynanya, Sidos en ju.

 

- Gaisorix hal'Daelduron

Wynanya, once again gnawing at her bottom lip beneath heavy wools, sighed. The name, Gaisorix hal'Daelduron of Cinged ("- what in Nyrheim are the Sin-jed?" she murmured to herself, brows furrowed at the unfamiliar jumble of letterings) was jotted down in a heavy ledger - and a note, if after war. 

Then, without further ado, she tore off the posting foolishly containing not only her vale but her name - well, most of it - and rode swiftly East. 

4 hours ago, Gaius Marius said:

 

Gaisorix happens upon one of the many parchments on his travels either raiding or ferrying trade wagons across central Almaris. He knew no Pinecone Inn from memory, though perhaps he had passed it without inspection on one of his many routes. He ran a few fingers through his beard, deliberating on how he might go about responding and decided to tack on another smaller parchment underneath the notice. His response read:

 

Where might I find this Pinecone Tavern so that I may know it is safe enough to visit and consult further? My tribesmen may be able to procure tea and honey-mead for your tavern at a fair price.

 

- Gaisorix hal'Daelduron

The elf, bound in heavy cloth to swathe face and jagged ears, would have returned on horseback to find the reply, considering it as her teeth gnawed at her bottom lip - bad habit. 

"Ah, curse it," she murmured to the empty road, and leaned forward to tack on yet another reply. "What, we'll be raided again? Might get a drink out of it, anyhow-"

One may visit the Pinecone Tavern in Ephesius at the Northernmost corner of Orenia, in the former Pale of Aldemar. Bird one Wynanya Daemyar prior to visit to assure entry. [This note has been torn away.]

This posting would have been written in a delicate, albeit hasty, calligraphy, smelling faintly of jasmine perfume and.. wet stone?

New tavernkeep seeking fresh sources! Whiskeys, wines, teas, and meads preferred, though we are beyond open to trying new things! Upstart brewers welcome!

Amount of Item(s) required: An abundance!!! Preferably samples: a dozen of each sub-booze in question will likely do! 
Price: Will buy in bulk: 1-3 minae per bottle. Barter welcome, if you so dare.
Meeting Place: To be discussed upon purchase!

Grati'ahernan; servus;

- W.D.M, the Pinecone Inn and Tavern.

And it was thusly sealed with a violet wax seal, image of a Pinecone pressed upon.

RP Name: Wynanya Daemyar de Melphestaus

MC Name: madmarsupial

Voted: Yes 

Wynanya, nursing a wounded shoulder and a wild grin, lifted a battered, though gleaming, tankard to the brave soldiers. "Ave Oren!" - she called, the cry rippling through the few, late-night stragglers receiving word of the battle themselves. "To the boys in red!" 

Wynanya read over her uncle's missive, grimacing, of course, at each spot she thought the Druiian might find issue - mabon, violently - before shaking her head, setting it aside on the ever-growing parchment heaps. "It is a start. A good start, to a better understanding. - Grati'ahernan, uncle, for your help with this bridge."

Here's the skinny: you give me money (fake or real), I make you a skin. Below are some examples and tiers of pricing: I can do dresses! tailcoats! androgynous folk! less-humanoid folk! My style is pretty high-contrast, saturation-oriented, with style influences from the Renaissance thru Victorian era.

THE FULL RENDER - 200-300 mina

Your persona. Their 'fit. My art. Base included on request.

NO TEA NO SHADE - 75 mina

I paint you a one-layer, basic colorblocking of your persona/their outfit and you or another artist of your choosing do the shading/details. 

JK, ALL THE SHADE - 50 mina

I add shading/details to a skin of your design or free use. Good for new scars, minor color changes, adding an accessory, shading the basics. If I find out you are using a skin w/o permission (or have given me a skin w/o edit permission), I'm going to the artist. Snitches get... a decent reputation in the art community, maybe?

THE KITTEN CABOODLE - starting at $20USD

Three outfits. Full shading, full rendering. You want 3 versions of a single outfit - base, travel, rest? Sure. You want formalwear, fightin' suit, and party garb? Sure. You can also request less or more skins: it is $20 for 2 or 3, and +$5 for every additional skin. I will negotiate mina for this, but it's going to be steep. 

DA RULEZ

TIME NEEDED TO COMPLETE YOUR SKIN!

FOR ALL MINA COMMISSIONS: 3-5 days.

FOR CASH COMMISSIONS: 48hrs. EXCEPTION: THE KITTEN CABOODLE: 3 days. 

Please remember I am only human, despite my obvious penchant for pointy-eared alternatives. Tone is hard to convey: sometimes time is hard to estimate, or worse yet, hard to find. I am going to assume you have the best intentions and ask that you do the same. Please do not send me daily check-in requests on your skin: I promise I will let you know when it is done or if I hit a hurdle. Furthermore, when we get to the editing stages, I will do what you ask, but I'm not a mindreader! Reference images always help if you can't verbalize what you'd seeing.

TO COMMISSION:

DM me on the forum or Discord critter#2059 with:

- Your character's name

- Which tier you want OR a basic description of what you're looking for (if the latter, please include price range)

- A few references/screenshots/base skin/etc. Something to know what I'm looking at.

I am an EST artist. I will reply within 24 hours.

FULL NAME: Wynanya Daemyar de Melphestaus

AGE: 28

EXPERIENCE: Private study of history, herbalism and language; herbalist practice; travel/diplomatic endeavor; girlhood

JOB: Tutor

[USERNAME/DISCORD]: madmarsupial/critter#2059

An Elven man, dressed in a ragged tailcoat and clutching a rain-soaked stack of books, stopped in his tracks to survey the flyer. With an adjustment of his glasses, he nodded to himself - "de Rosius... Da. This is vork I could do - the teaching.. da. She vill have to be written to at once.."

(The following is a narrative account of the labor in Ephesius, which as it begins its many repairs and reconstructions, has begun with its once-wild walls.)

Morning found the Ephesius walls crawling, not with the creeping fogs of the once-Pale or thick vines of its wood, but the very denizens they sought to protect. The trees which had long since stretched over the low wooden walls had been cut back and were cut back further still, some left near-stripped; others felled entirely, though more still awaited the cruel, and yet necessary, work. One couldn't forget the sight of dwarves in trees at the Slaughter; not easily, anyway, and not from where the windows of the tavern showed that sprawling green.

It was a small group, that day, though anyone kind was, and continued to be, invited to join the labors. There was a cousin here, a familiar soldier there, her one-armed uncle laboring hard at the gate as Wynanya herself planted her feet on another rampart, a borrowed ax in hand. All throughout the little city echoed the mismatched thunder of a dozen axes. The punctuating cries of "watch below!," hollered by some cautious kin and almost always followed by the now-familiar crack and crash of another branch tumbling to earth. The rolling chains, hauling the newer, thicker gate open to allow another log's corpse to make its final procession from within town. Elsewhere, the clatter of wagon and stones, piled high so like the cairns she herself had once stacked, here, before the war had truly begun. Before the Archchancellor's capture. Before -.

Before a lot of things. 

She was still young, this elf: not yet thirty, even, not even of-age amongst Elves or even Orenians.  Her youth's eyes had seen much of the land she still habitually called Nyrheim; her soft face, still a testament to how little she could yet understand of it all. But today, the hatchet's handle splintering her healer's hands, twigs and leaves and shards of wood embedded in her braids; her usually-smiling lips pressed into a hard, grim line; the curls of wood embedded in the soil far below, well.

Today, Wynanya felt much older.

She wondered, planting a foot on a thick branch gouged already with her effort, what the druids would say of this. Should she visit them again, anyway: not like the roads were safe, not like the woods were safe, either. Gone were the days of those untamed rides through Urguan and the cusp of the Hallow, back in that great, distant Before. Trees could grow back, at least. Not like ears, not like mali limbs. The wood they gathered would go to the sparring course she'd set to, when the clinic was too quiet, the tavern too loud, and her body felt too weak for better work. And, really. Better -

she thought darkly, lifting her hatchet once more for another brutal swing forward, teeth grit as it struck deep into the old oak's bark, 

to be alive for the lecture

she heaved the axblade back out; hoisted it far over her shoulder; winced, at the tug on her ever-aching left arm; and then swung again, the rare, unfettered sun glinting off the scraped blade, 

than dead beneath the canopy. 

Wynanya swept off woodshavings work on her new bow seemed to produce by the barrelful, breaking into a grin as she looked over the missive. "Oh, this'll be fun!"

Wynanya spent the first day after the incident chasing down rumors, which spread like a plague through the city, and attempting to repair the shattered gaps of her memory. When these gave way, she made some valiant effort at routine - work, meetings, a lone effort at misadventure - until at last she barred herself in the upstairs of the Ephesius clinic and vowed to blow blissfoil in the face of anyone who bothered her with anything but a scrap of good news.

And so in due time, she stood among the rest as at last the Archchancellor emerged. There were some whispers and perhaps even titters (met with an unusually cold glare), at his lack of wig; some aghast gasps, at the scars he wore so openly; but mostly, a heavy, expectant silence.

And then it was broken by the same reassuring-if-slightly-disapproving drone of her uncle's voice, a real, true laugh escaping her at twenty marks - and a curious look at her sandals, wondering if it wasn't time to invest in some real boots for all this allegorical marching.

Wynanya reviewed her uncle's missive from their home tavern, lifting a freshly-polished tankard in cheers: "ti, Onncle! This is it! Let's hope I didn't ride to those bleeding groves for nothing, ne?"

Wynanya paused from the ever-pressing tidying of Ephesius's inn to review the missive, finding a nervous smile for her uncle's well-crafted and, as always, comforting guidance. "Servus und progress, ne?"