DragonofTaters

One disgruntled woman leveled a heavy gaze at the missive upon its arrival. “They speak of allowing the Paladins freedom in their lands, and in the same moment invite a known Nephilim to his coronation. Hypocrites and madmen, the lot of them.” She would pass hurriedly through the leaf strewn pathways, quick steps carrying her to counsel with the free Mali of Nevaehlen.

A woman sits overlooking the quiet village. Wyvern staff laid against her shoulder, wooden fingers tapping an idle beat upon her own leg. Mulling the words on that missive over in silence. Crimson eyes watched the wood and sea alike. Keen ears perked for the merry sounds coming from below. How easy it was for those to speak up from blissful ignorance. How easy it was to cast accusations unfounded. Her gaze wandered towards a certain shrine, Malikki the Ape, defiled since by a strange creature. She recalled the words it had spoken, that twisted daemon she'd summoned from an innocent facade. "Ne today Qard. Ne tomorrow either. You may wish to dance on my grave, but you have to kill me first. You've taken my niece. You've taken my lliran. You'll have ne others..." A match was struck, pipe being lit. Trailing aromatic smoke behind her the 'Ame slipped from the wall. Procuring a torch, she'd head for the Ape. "Duty calls..."

Regarding the Aurum, does it effect all CAs including natural ones such as Epiphytes and Soul Trees? Would these creatures no longer be able to work with them? What about Azdrazi or other immortal type creatures that aren't undead? Should we expect each lore piece's redlines to be adjusted and clarify if aurum works on it?

“Toime t’ steal the Swagbreakehs…Oi mean, ‘ow terrible.” Someone somewhere begins plotting an unknown plot.

"Gods might be talking to him. Or something." The other shrugged, confusion written over her tired features. Rather than leave despite the late hour, she settled her back against a tree. "Going to make sure nothing eats him...And yeah, it's one of the Hareven things." A pause. "You get used to it."

The woman kept watch beneath a tree. Blade in her hand. Waiting enemies that would never come. A wave of grief, so familiar, had rolled over her just hours before. Little did she know it was for the passing of a friend, a brother. One who understood and helped her through every pain she'd carried for a century. When at last she'd hear, her head would fall but a moment. She'd take to the cliffs, the woods, the hills and plains. Pacing in a never ending vigil, sanguine eyes watchful over the world yet another had fallen to guard. How she'd spoken to him of her longing to move on. Of the need to rest. How tired she grew of the burdens she carried. His burdens similar to her own, the yearning of the seasoned warrior echoed in her own soul. Yet, again, it was another who went ahead. His memory now, to be carried in those who he left behind. The burning sigil of a phoenix, marked forever in her mind. Not to be lost. Never to be forgotten. Avius Csarathaire had given himself to free the world. Nenar Caerme'onn would not allow her guard to falter.

A problem I see here largely is in emote count. Healing for corruption in Fae almost always requires the druidic gift of blight healing. Blight healing corruption of this sort takes 5+ emotes. You've essentially created an insta kill with no counter due to the heavy restriction and greatly limited time frame for death.

I appreciate the showcase of the little village me and my friends made on Arcas. It was never intended to be a full blown thing. I got tired of politics and went out there to build myself a little burrow (I like burrows, yes I main elves, it's a me thing oocly. Halflings <3). Went on to make farms and such for materials, and just to grind late at night because I found it therapeutic. Built some trees, another cabin, and a little pond on my own in survival (survival trees suck by the way, do not recommend). A lot of my friends started growing tired of the politics as well. Had GammaRose, @WestCarolina , @Lockages, @RainbowRoad1234, and several others all come out to just add their own little builds and touches. Trees, terraforming, little buildings. It wasn't planned, but it was a nice place to hang out and just get to muck around without worrying about if we were being too memey or weird or getting in someone else's way. Was real pleasant, and a privilege to see how it grew from the funny little burrow I started out with out of boredom at 3 am xD. (It was also never given a name so don't worry about that). As staff, I can understand some of the pain free build can make. As a player, I understand the delight and whimsy it allows. It's nice getting to just build, and get to enjoy what you build in rp without having to worry about the great nation overlords and stewards yelling at you. There's pros and cons either way, but what I can say is doing it with friends makes it a wonderful experience.

Her hands had been stained crimson many times. From friends, as she healed them. Foes, as she felled them. Never had the woman thought that she'd bear her sister's crimson ichor on her skin. Spilled, willingly, by her own hand. Nenar had done something incomprehensible. Unforgivable. The moment the blade touched her sister, the druid's soul was torn in half. A burning, unending ache and sorrow. She wandered, lost and unfocused. A constant song of loss, of grief and betrayal, thrumming through the fiber of her being. A promise had been made, broken now, replaced by another. What good was a promise if unable to be kept? The red 'Ame walked alone, a path of abiding pain. Her sister, free now, leaving Nenar the sole survivor of the Pale Fae's corruption. The sole memory of those horrors. How can she explain, to anyone, the myriad of emotions coursing through her? That Tanila's passing brought relief for the protective sister; but the manner it happened, the cause for it's need, struck her very soul. A twisted mass of relief and guilt, pain and joy, eating away at the druid's heart. Nenar was left to walk alone, unable to speak on her pain. She would not, could not, detract from her sister's choice. And so she walked, a young beaver held to her chest. Promises....always promises. The first was broken, by Tanila's request. And again, by her request, those that followed would be fulfilled. Starting now with her favored companion, ensuring it had a fair start in the nearby river. Safety and comfort, she'd promised Tanila. A promise she would keep. Small steps, going forwards. Steps to carry on the duties, until her tasks were done. But every step, every heart beat, felt the rush of sadness. The silent cry, begging forgiveness for the unforgivable. Wicker began to unravel....

A woman tread quietly beneath the emerald canopy. Alone. The earth still, forest quieting around her. Mourning. Nature felt her pain, and so fell into a lull because of it. Blind with tears, she sat by a riverbank. The woman’s lone hand placed in the water. Crystal clear liquid flowed merrily by, but all she saw was red. Plagued forever more with her youngest sister’s blood, an innocent life stolen, staining her skin crimson. A life to save the world. Her duties demanded such a sacrifice. Only nature and Tanila’s spirit would feel the unending ache which would never abate. The anguish the woman agreed to carry. Her burden, now and always.

Tucked away in a village, a creaky ‘Ame sat brooding. The stem of a pipe clenched between her teeth. Soft wisps of aromatic smoke curled from the bowl. Crimson eyes stared unfocused at dancing flames, and beyond, a distant canopy of trees. “She’d better remember being eaten is forbidden.”

“Typical of the ‘Thill to welcome those who torment and torture their Mali kin amidst their walls. Warm or cold, the Silver Elves are all the same.” A woman scoffed, nose wrinkled with disdain.

Adventure stuff adventure stuff let me become a pog Druid adventurer

A lady of crimson and azure strode beneath the star filled blanket of the midnight sky. Laughter and revelry echoed in the distance as ‘Ame celebrated and entertained one another in their camp. Paper clutched between ink stained fingers crackled loudly. A breath let loose, face turning heavenwards. “Not yet, Grandmother…They’ve kept me here a while longer it seems…I pray this one is not captivated by my chest.” A wry chuckle as an oft forgotten memory resurfaced. Though heavy her burdens, the woman’s spirit lifted in recollection of her dwarven friends.

An angry 'Fenn twirled a fork in between skilled fingers. Then a sharp turn and careful throw. The silver stuck into a distant tree trunk, handle buried in the wooden surface. "Trying to gut me, for carrying a frog out of a gate...The chef shall die...All chefs will die..." And so, the fate of any chef that crossed the woman's path was sealed. Death would meet them, at hands of ice. Elmer and his fools, bringing the end to great cuisine across Almaris.

Skin: 6 Bid: $20 IGN: DragonofTaters Discord: you have it ❤️❤️❤️

A scowling ‘Fenn passed by the missive. It was the childish scrawl that caught her eye and caused her to stop short. Silver brows lifted, then the corner of her mouth perked up in a faint half grin. “I hope this lads takes a few of this Dyr’s teeth.” Bemused, she’d continue on her way.

Up in the trees, a tiny figure of red crouched. High overhead, a hawk circled, letting loose an eerie call as it flew over the southern straight. Long its journey had been, and a wing dipped to bring the avian down. It circled thrice the small coastal village before alighting near the red figure. Keen were the crimson eyes that sought the hawk’s own. Misty grey lighting them from within. No fear was shown as the two shared the last few hours of the day together. Tales and visions of a strong mali’ame, shared from the raptor to its friend. In the darkness, as moon rose over the southern seas, a proud smile would be seen on the Wicker’s freckled face. “Ayla, Ker’avern…”

A merry laugh. The brightest of grins. Crystal blue eyes flecked with gold danced with delight. The young mal moved down the street with energy and purpose, his eyes set on the brick home where his best friend, the one he loved, lived. A crunch underfoot. He’d pause, looking down to the cobbled pathway. Familiar, brightly colored sticks of wax, now broken and crumbled, littered the stones. The man’s face fell. Never had he seen Hui discard those crayons. Renewed purpose, now urgent, carried him forwards once more. Up the steps and into the home. Locked or not, he’d make his way in. Even if it meant the destruction of the door or a nearby window. Inside, emptiness. Hollow. Nothing met his senses save old dusty air and silence. The pitiful and neglected chickens, the dead butterflies… No tears, not yet. Then he’d look to the familiar tree. That plant which bloomed with Hui’s favorite blossoms. His heart sank. Never would Hui neglect it. Never would Hui abandon what they loved. Not willingly… In the streets of Vortice, the man crumpled. Hands pressed to his face. Shoulders shook. Ahir wept for a love now lost. For a friend taken too soon. An ache left in his soul where there had been warmth and happiness. Hours later, a cutting from the wisteria in one hand and the neglected chickens in the other, he started off. A certain orange furred cat trailed behind, pausing every so often to look over its shoulder. Hui might be gone, but that which they loved would not be forgotten.

To add on to what OhDeerLord said, there was a group in Elvenesse earlier this map. It didn't get along with the politics that went down. Druids, no matter how they might try, never end up mixing well with whatever nation they've hunkered down it. The same was seen in Arcas, and Atlas with the Naelurir. There's a reason the druid group left the city and moved out on their own. The Father Circle started up the Vale of Nevaehlen because of that struggle. It doesn't work out well irp or oocly, and for the sake of players and characters, the druids try their best to remain a separate entity from nations.

Since when can Druids control smog? That’s not in their department. But seriously dude, I think you need to take a step back or move on. I’ve seen you shitting on Druids for a while now. You’re Lock’s friend so it’s whatever, but dude you need to chill. Hard to get into a community when you go off like this about them. Druid, void, azdrazi, necro…none of the groups appreciate rants about how non inclusive they are because someone didn’t get their way immediately. Most folks who have those Magics work at getting them for a year or more through steady rp. Do some get them from friends? Sure. I’ve seen it. But most don’t. Most do the work and put in the time. Complaining and whining in game, in discord, or on the forums though…This, this is not the way.

A large woman trudged through the stump. She paused a moment to glance at the odd note, smiling at the sight of the flowers. "Aedrie eh? Hope she's enjoyin' her wanderin's. Can't wait t' see her." Her mood lifted, the 'ker left the hollow stump whistling cheerily to go about her day.

A smoldering set of armor, charred and warped, was tossed aside. Soot stained and voice hoarse from smoke, a man strode to the edge of a cliff. Hazel eyes turned to gaze on the soft glow and pitch black smoke that rose from further up the coats. The Titan had fled, his remnants destroyed by things unknown, and here the elf stood in utter confusion. "Why've lizards gotta be so bloody annoying?"

"I used to think dragons were cool." A one legged 'Fenn muttered grimly, grabbing a sword that leaned against the wall. "I guess we will have to bring the ice and death of the North Winds to this one. Damnit, now I have to go talk to my cousin..."

A woman of red watches from the trees. Sorrow in her bloodied gaze. To watch and mourn the kin lost amongst the humans. Those who had abandoned all identity to become nothing more than undying valah. Turning on her heel, the woman strode off, a figure of red and blue amidst vibrant green woods. Soft murmurs followed in her wake, to be heard by naught but the trees and creatures around her. "They are but children, lost and afraid. Led astray by false promises and lies from silver lips. This god they worship cares nothing for Malin's children. Those saints are valah, mortal men cut down in due time. Their seven skies are not for the kin of the forest and snow. We live on, while valah die." She'd pause then, looking up to an eagle that soared overhead. "A life which may find an end, a sacrifice for our kin. For each elf that dies, another stands tall and grows strong on the centuries of legacy left in their wake. We are the undying people. Those that are true know this. They are not mali, no longer children of Malin. They have disowned their father, and run to Horen's feet instead. Malin will not look kindly on those who abandoned him." Scarred hands brushed across verdant leaves. Bare feet tread silently over moss and fresh earth. "I mourn for them. That they cannot be saved from the valah lies as I was."