Jump to content

Toffee

Member
  • Content Count

    49
  • Joined

Community Reputation

243 Brilliant

5 Followers

About Toffee

  • Rank
    Newly Spawned

Contact Methods

  • Discord
    Toffee#0458
  • Minecraft Username
    TonTongueToffee

Character Profile

  • Character Name
    Illynora Sylvaeri
  • Character Race
    Mali'ame

Recent Profile Visitors

773 profile views
  1. It has been a few days since the Christchurch terror attack— the first of its kind in New Zealand’s modern history. This tragedy in my city affected me in a way that I could never have expected, and cannot hope to explain. However, it did prompt me to consider what is truly important in life, and what is worth investing emotional energy in. As much as I enjoy roleplay as a hobby, it did not make the cut over continuing with my degree and spending time with my friends and whānau. In a world with such immense hatred and cruelty, it is communities and hobbies like this that have the potential to be sparks of light in the darkness. At its heart, LotC (and other MCRP communities like it) are supposed to be about collaborative literature. Creating a character, watching them grow, and creating stories with one another. It is supposed to be fun. I have some advice for LotC which I hope will help people to gain some true enjoyment from this medium, when in recent times they may have lost sight of what it’s truly supposed to be about. One: Take a step back Disentangle yourself from the feelings and experiences of your character. Our characters go through strife and hardship every day, whether that is through losing their belongings, arguing with a friend, making an enemy, or even dying. Just because your character experiences those things, does not mean it has to personally affect you. Take a breath, consider what is actually important, and try to realise that in a game, and in roleplay, everything is salvageable. It may take a little time, but items can be recovered, new characters can be made, and relationships can mend. Two: Identify what you want What are you seeking to get out of your time on LotC? What are your goals? Take a moment to think about what you truly desire from this medium, so that everything you do can be to work towards it. Some people often lose track of why they joined LotC in the first place, which lessens their enjoyment over time even if they don’t recognise it at first. If your goal and incentive for playing on this server is to gain notoriety, or create strife between individuals and groups, then you may need to rethink your motives and find something that will be beneficial not only to yourself, but to the people around you. Believe me, being friendly and trying to help others is far more rewarding in the long run than trying to beat your enemies or tear other people down. Three: Meme responsibly “It’s just a meme, don’t take it so personally” is no longer a valid excuse. Posting a derogatory meme opens you up for criticism, and you should either be prepared for that criticism and disapproval, or keep that sort of thing to yourself. In a medium that is about roleplay and having fun, there shouldn’t be any need for those kinds of jokes in the first place, however I recognise that it is considered humour to some people. No matter who you are, consider if what you’re posting is relevant, necessary, and kind. If it isn’t, but you decide to post it anyway, you forfeit the right to complain when other people call you out for having poor taste. Four: Roleplay! Yes, that is what LotC was designed for! First of all, you should find your niche. What do you enjoy playing? What do you find interesting? For me, it was healing. For you, it could be any number of things, and with the huge diversity that LotC has to offer in terms of play styles and roleplay niches, you can almost certainly find what you are looking for. If not, create it yourself! Your character doesn’t have to last forever, and every interaction doesn’t have to hugely impact on their development and story. However, you should endeavour to give them some kind of goal, or calling, that means you are moving forward with momentum. If you want to get better at roleplay, I have three tips. 1) Roleplay with good roleplayers. Learn from them, take them as role models, adopt a similar emote style to them and then gradually evolve into your own. 2) Read! This a fantasy medium, as are most other MCRP settings, therefore reading fantasy authors can really help you to capture the essence of a character. Books can expand your vocabulary (keep a list of interesting words you come across, to use later). My recommendations are: The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien Throne of Glass and A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas Inkheart by Cornelia Funke A Song of Ice and Fire by George R. R. Martin Harry Potter by J. K. Rowling The Wildkin’s Curse by Kate Forsyth Master of the Grove by Victor Kelleher 3) Write, whenever you are able. Make journal entries from the perspective of your character, write short, creative writing pieces about them. Even writing fanfiction about your favourite book series can help, because it will get you in the practice of writing in a way that enables the reader to visualise a scene. Being a good roleplayer isn’t about winning, or even about having the longest, most detailed emotes. It’s about crafting a character that others enjoy roleplaying with, who interacts with the environment in a way that is fluid. Let others impact you, and allow your character to impact others. Five: Humanise the opposition On LotC, communities and individuals go head to head all the time. When it is kept entirely to roleplay, these conflicts and tousles can be enjoyable— a little competition never hurts. But what I have found increasingly obvious is that roleplay conflicts almost never remain in RP. If you find yourself getting into toxic opposition with someone, firstly, take a step back. And if you want to resolve something, take it to voice. This can be moderated by staff if need be, but actually talking to someone and hearing their voice as opposed to seeing words on a screen helps you to understand that it is a real person who you are speaking to with real experiences, problems, and history. This is a game, and we are here to have fun. Get into a channel and talk it out, and if it’s still irresolvable after that, stay away from one another or take it to staff. I now have a few messages that I would like to share. To Aegrothond— We've created something beautiful, building an entire community from the ground up. Continue being kind to one another, and don't lose sight of the reason why Aegrothond was created: so that people could have a warm, welcoming environment to roleplay in without harassment or baggage. Don't let go of that, no matter how large the community grows. To the Institute of Healing— Thank you for your patience and perseverance. The amount of people who wanted to come and learn how to do healing roleplay astounded me, and I am so pleased with the progress of each and every one of you. With around 30 acolytes and 3 teachers, I hope that most of your characters will choose to continue learning, and some of them will go on to become teachers themselves. The curriculum has been written down and will remain with the current teachers, but I also hope to be posting some of the material I’ve been sitting on over the next couple of weeks. To Fenn, Agnarum, Vira’ker and Brandybrook— It’s been so much fun roleplaying with you guys, you all have great communities which I hope will continue to grow. I continue to be impressed by how different each group is, but how everything works together so perfectly. To the Staff and Administration— Thank you for volunteering your time to keep this server up and running. I know that, for many people, this is a place they call home, where they have made real friendships. This community should be one that has zero tolerance for hatred, bigotry, or bullying, and I hope that through staff reforms and continuing care, you can begin to return LotC to a place where roleplay is considered paramount. Kia Kaha, Kia Maia, Kia Manawanui.
  2. Introduction Lawless, Aegrothond’s society has never been. There has always been a mutual understanding, a stock of unspoken rules amongst our collective of Free Elves that has maintained a level of peace and prosperity. In evolving significantly from a tiny island in the eastern seas of Atlas, the Seastone Court sees fit to document these rules in an official Codex of Law, so that all elves of the Isles, new and old, can see in written form the morals that form the backbone of our society. Index Definitions Crimes Against the Isles of Almenor Treason Piracy Slave dealing Vandalism Forgery Dark magic Crimes Against the Person Violence Kidnapping Theft Expectations of Conduct Domestic conduct Conduct when abroad Improper gate use Religion Magic Civic Duties Duties to society Protection of the Environment Definitions Isles of Almenor, Almenorean Isles, the Isles, Almenorean Realm These terms are used to refer to the entirety of the southern archipelago, and all communities that reside upon it. Principality of Aegrothond, Caras Aegrothond The Capital of the Almenorean Isles, lead by the High Prince and High Princess. Sable Enclave of Vira’ker, Isle of Harlond The Isle of Harlond, southernmost of the Isles of Almenor, is where the Sable Enclave resides. It is governed by the Sable Prince. Crimes Against the Principality Treason Any citizen who assists an enemy of the Isles, including but not limited to the passing of sensitive information, is guilty of treason. The punishment for this crime is immediate banishment from the Isles of Almenor, including all of its constituent states. Piracy An unlawful act committed at sea, on board or in relation to a ship, amounts to piracy. Acts of piracy include: destroying the goods or cargo of a trading vessel; unlawful taking of goods or vessel; willfully yielding goods or vessel to a pirate; willful tampering of a vessel with the intent to hinder its course or cause bodily harm to its crew. The punishment for piracy is to be left at sea with nothing but a single canteen of water, and banishment from the Isles of Almenor and her domain over the Southern Seas. Slave dealing Everyone is liable to death who, within the Isles of Almenor, sells, purchases, hires, or in any way condones the use of another Descendant as a slave. The act of imprisoning another against their will and using them for personal gain is anathema to the Free Elves of Almenor, and any who are guilty of this crime will be dealt the swift hand of justice. Vandalism Those who have vandalised within Aegrothond or Harlond without criminal intent will be warned, and their changes rectified. Everyone is liable to banishment from the Isles of Almenor who wilfully damages property, with the intent to dampen the beauty of said areas, or cause general destruction. Forgery The act of wilfully forging documentation and acting as though it were genuine, with the intent to bypass security within the Isles of Almenor, is a criminal offence deemed worthy of banishment. This includes but is not limited to the falsification of: citizenry details, enrolment into a guild, letters of consent, admissions of entry, et cetera. Dark magic Practitioners of dark magic are strictly forbidden from the Isles of Almenor. Any who are found to have hidden their true abilities will be immediately expelled from the Isles, as well as banished from ever returning. Guards and citizenry reserve the right to use whatever force necessary to remove dark mages and entities from our borders. Crimes Against the Person Violence Any and all forms of violence within the Isles of Almenor will not be tolerated. Murder of any individual, citizen or otherwise, within the Isles will result in the banishment and execution of the perpetrator. Other forms of violence (excepting that within voluntary spars), will result in banishment. Kidnapping Detaining another Descendant, either without their consent or with consent obtained by fraud or duress, is punishable by banishment from the Isles of Almenor. As with slavery, this act is anathema. Theft Theft or stealing is the act of dishonestly, and without any claim of right, taking the property of another with the intent of keeping it as your own, selling it, or otherwise depriving the original owner of their property. This includes but is not limited to livestock, chattel, trade secrets, and creative property. First time offenders shall receive a warning, though repetition of this act shows an unwillingness to cooperate in a peaceful society, and therefore the perpetrator shall be removed from said society via banishment from the Isles of Almenor. Expectations of Conduct Domestic Conduct When within the Principality of Aegrothond, there is the expectation that you will treat your fellow citizens and guests with respect. This includes maintaining a polite manner, keeping your voice at a reasonable volume, and moderating your language— particularly in the presence of children. There is the individual responsibility to ensure our city's aesthetic integrity is kept in tact, meaning that any above ground construction should be discussed beforehand with the Head Steward. Conduct when abroad Adventurous souls by nature, many Almenorean elves will find themselves wandering to the far reaches of Arcas in search of knowledge. When beyond the reaches of the Isles, you stand as a representative for our people, and are expected to act accordingly. You should never resort to violence unless in defence of yourself or others, no matter what the other party has done to incite anger. You are liable to facing punishment in the Almenorean Realm if you are convicted of a crime in another nation. Improper gate use It is the moral responsibility of every citizen to protect the security of our nation. While it may be true that our gate policy is far stricter than any other Descendant community, this is in the interest of protecting our citizens’ safety, and maintaining Aegrothond’s culture as being a bastion of peace for Free Elves. Any who are found to be admitting individuals not included in the Trusted Visitors list will have their keys removed for the period of one Elven week. In failing to adhere to this code after that fact, individuals guilty of this breach will be removed from the Principality. Religion There is no officially recognised religion in Aegrothond, though shrines and mosaics dedicated to various deities can be found in and around the city. All citizens are free to practice their faith, so long as it does not disrupt the lives of others. On the Isle of Harlond, the Onyx Path is the dominant religion— any visitor found to be blaspheming against the goddess Luara while within Vira’ker is liable to punishment by the Div’cruan. Magic Dark magic is outlawed within the Isles of Almenor, but Voidal magic is not— however, users must have applied to the Magic Registry via a steward. Any practitioners are expected to use their abilities responsibly, and refrain from excessive casting in public. All forms of Voidal magic are outlawed within the Institute of Healing, and the arcane arts are not to be practiced near shrines for the wild faith. Civic Duties Duties to Society Citizens do not have to pay for their homes, nor are they asked to pay taxes. However, in times of great financial need, there is an expectation that Almenorean Elves will contribute in some way to the upkeep of the collective coffers. Additionally, should any outside forces threaten the safety and sanctity of our home, citizens of the Isles of Almenor should be prepared to take up arms to defend their homeland and their people. Protection of the Environment No citizen of the Almenorean Realms will cut down a tree, drain a pond or lake, deposit waste, fish in large quantities, or in any other way upset the balance of nature without first considering sustainable practices. Arboretums are the exception to this. If you believe that your actions upon the environment will be more than minor, you must first consult with the Lord of your respective island.
  3. Toffee

    A Map of Arcas

    Absolute legend
  4. On the other side of the continent, a healer knelt before a large seaglass mosaic. Hamasta, the Dolphin of Mercy, glittered in a thousand different pieces, casting errant shards of light over a dark expression. “Rest well, Commander,” she whispered, in a voice that was heavy with regret.
  5. Healing lesson at the Library of Dragur at 7pm EST (2.5 hours from now). Feel free to come along to learn some roleplay skills and meet some other characters! 

     

     

    1. Aeldrin

      Aeldrin

      how do u make status updates

  6. [!] A flurry of seabirds make their way across Atlas, bearing missives sealed with the sigil of Aegrothond’s Institute of Healing. To whom it may concern, A blizzard swirls across the land, threatening the lives of all Descendant races. People of the southern kingdoms suffered first, and they continue to suffer the most-- destroyed crops, freezing children, and citizens dying of afflictions caused by the intense cold. As the Healer on High for Aegrothond’s Institute of Healing, I welcome all who are able to attend to the warmer lands of the north, where a lesson will be held on treating these afflictions. You need no prior healing experience, all that is asked is that you bring note taking supplies so that you might share this knowledge with your neighbours and kinsmen. No man, woman, or child need suffer unnecessarily from frostbite or exposure, with learned healers able to tend to them. This lesson will be held in the Library of Dragur (please see the enclosed pamphlet for directions). All attendees are asked to respect the space which the Library’s Caretakers have so graciously lent to the Institute; it is a place of learning and serenity, not bloodshed. I hope to see many new faces there, as well as the familiar faces of existing acolytes. The opportunity to enrol at the Institute of Healing will also be available to all attendees. With warmest regards, Illynora Aureon Sylvaeri, Healer on High for Aegrothond’s Institute of Healing
  7. My recommendation would be to join the New Player Discord as a returning player, so that you can relearn the ropes of what you may have missed while being gone 🙂 https://discord.gg/x2JnPZ
  8. Finding a cove abundant with green woods the Almenodrim therefore landed, and commenced a great labour; together they raised the walls of a new citadel in the image of their homeland in Almenor, and named it ‘Aegrothond’. - The Tale of Dagnir, Book I in the Lay of Aegrothond Among the tales of sorrow and ruin which come to us out of the elsewise forgotten years before the rising of the Moon, there are yet some in which the eldritch dolour is lifted, and a light is shown to endure even beneath its gloaming shadow. Of these histories perhaps the most stark is that of Sylvaen, and of the Almenodrim who were his progeny. House Sylvaeri has a rich history, threaded with culture and tradition that has evolved since the days of Malin himself. Deeds of the family are recorded in the Lay of Aegrothond, detailing the swell in Almenorean culture ever since the First Ages. Ancient history commands the present day, with beloved customs honouring famed heroes and fireside tales that have been told for generations. As said in the Tale of Dagnir, They sailed with the wind, and followed the seven stars of the Mariner, which denote the westwardly direction and are beloved of all seafaring Elves. As such, a traditional sail race was established in 1326 by the Almenodrim of Aegis, to commemorate the founding of their second citadel in the era of Malin. Elves set off west— no matter which constellations glimmer in the night sky— steering a small vessel around a circular course. Whomever passes the designated point first is declared the winner. This tradition remains in modern day Aegrothond, despite the citizenry being comprised of more than House Sylvaeri and its followers. Sail races take place at all times of the year, particularly featuring in festivals held in honour of the Almenodrim of yore. An ancient tapestry originally in the halls of old Almenor, before it burned. Aegrothond in Atlas is an island nation, though the citadels of old have always resided close to the sea. As such, water based customs have existed for generations. In addition to the sailboat races, it is a tradition to scatter gemstones in the shallows and have elves dive for them, with the individual collecting the most coming in first place. This custom began in the late 1300’s in recognition of House Sylvaeri’s prowess in the fields of smithing and gemcraft. In these days of the world, where mali’ame culture is prevalent in the modern citadel, this ancient tradition has merged with the elnarnsae’ame (Aspectist) rites for Hamatsa. Now, elves dive to collect gemstones and seashells, with the latter being given as offerings to the Dolphin of Mercy. An artist’s depiction of Edrahil, second son of Sylvaen. Well-armed and armoured they were, for each among them bore a sword and a spear, and a shield rendered by the highest arts of the Almenodrim. Upon their faces were fearsome mask-helms of gilded steel… - The Tale of Edrahil and the Dragon The Almenodrim were not a bloodthirsty people in the days of Malin, and nor are their descendants in Atlas. While those in Aegrothond do not lust for war, most are proficient with blade and spear as those of the Company of Edrahil were all those centuries ago. In celebration of that, martial events such as armed duels and spear throwing occur on festival days. Many wear gilded helms in honour of the heroes that came before them, while others opt for the armour forged by Fëanor Sylvaeri in 1696. Due to wood elven influence in modern Aegrothond, many also partake in archery competitions. Targets are set bobbing in the waters of the cove, to be shot from shore or moving vessels. While cliff jumping serves no celebratory purpose, it has certainly become a custom in the modern era. Any who visit the lofty halls of Aegrothond will see elves jumping from balconies and cliffs frequently, to dive safely into the waters far below. Because this was already a common practice, worshiping Hamatsa came easily to the Aspectists of Aegrothond. Although Sonnos is the patron mani of House Sylvaeri (and by extension, the Principality), Hamatsa comes in close second. There are frequent rites performed by adherents of elnarnsae’ame to the Dolphin of Mercy, and in return, he watches over the healers of the isle and those who set out into the surrounding seas. Malin’s Eve is a celebration that occurs once every half century or so, recognised by elves the land over. In Aegrothond, it is incorporated into what is otherwise known as Krugsmas by other Descendants— involving gift giving and general cheer. A great feast is had, with signature Almenorean refreshments such as Giselin Tonic served in abundance. The Summer Solstice is a time widely celebrated as one of vivid colour and vibrancy. It is because of this that the weeks surrounding the Solstice are known as Festival Season to those of Aegrothond. Events celebrating Edrahil and his Company, the founding of ancient Aegrothond, and the deeds of fabled heroes are hosted during this season. On the night of the Solstice itself, a light show takes place with firework rockets; a large bonfire also features, where a roast is prepared. Elves move through the mists, likely on their way to a Reforging. Many were lost thusly, for they retreated only rarely, and did not hold with cowardice. Renarion, and Muindir his twin perished beneath the blades of the Undead, as did Serinwe, and countless others when Almenor itself was burned. - The Tale of Dagnir Grief and loss is unavoidable for all Descendants, even those such as the mali who were blessed with longevity. Cemeteries do not often feature in Elven nations, and such is true in Atlasian Aegrothond. The Almenodrim of yore burned their dead, as they do in the modern era, though there is a custom that serves as a communal remembrance for those who have been lost. A Reforging takes place in the depths of winter, when the forge must burn red hot in order for metal to smelt. Each ingot represents the life of a loved one, to be forged anew into something for them to be remembered by. To this day, House Sylvaeri’s vaults are filled with relics made during a Reforging, with one of the most famous being a replica of the Dawnbreaker’s anchor, made in remembrance of Eleron Sylvaeri in the very flames that ended his life. It is now used to moor the Red Dawn in the Bay of Aegrothond.
  9. Well written, I think having a more “passive” mani could be interesting. A very colourful idea!
  10. A large crab storms Aegrothond, circa 1695. Day had dawned bright over the eastern sea, casting dappled patterns across a swelling congregation. Illynora approached on cat silent feet, the butt of her elderwood staff thudding against soft soil, and ran a swift look over those gathered. Too many to count, though all familiar faces… save for two. One was possessed of features eerily similar to those of the male elf she stood beside; Miklaeil, bronze skin made darker from his time in the pleasant island weather. The other was of mali’ame descent, that much was certain, though Illynora had never seen the elfess before. Talks were pleasant, laughs exchanged, and the day seemed as though it would be once again comfortably mild. Until a violent tremor shook the isle of mists right down to its very foundations. Some fell to their knees, many cried out-- from above, a helmeted mali’fenn crashed through dense foliage and landed harshly against the earth with a sickening crack. As Feanor and Delmira hurried from their home, Illynora scampered up a rocky incline to stand atop a terracotta tiled roof overlooking the shuddering cove. There was naught to be seen between the roiling whitecaps save for shards of dislodged driftwood. As she was about to climb down to solid ground, another force struck the island and Illynora was sent down onto her knees, hard. Pain exploded through them, light splintering in her vision as she slid down to loamy soil. “To higher ground! Rally at the hall!” Belestram’s voice was a boom across the eastern arm of the island, all within earshot jumping to do as was bid. The golden haired elf held an arm to the prone mali’fenn, helping him to stand and then further supporting him as they hobbled up towards the great hall. No sooner had they arrived in the cavernous room, already bustling with elves, did Feanor’s voice ring out. “Giant hermit crab, north bay!” Sure enough, as mali flocked to the stone balustrades, a large crab could be seen storming the northern side of the isles. Water churned in its wake, turning the sea into a pale froth, but Illynora did not linger to see anything else as she hurried to the injured snow elf’s side. Her healer’s hands made quick work of tending to him, a steady concentration serving to drown out all else. Some distance away, Belestram drew his runeblade with a metallic rasp. Runic lettering blazed to life, a similar fire shining in his grey eyes as he stared unflinchingly across at the giant crab. “To arms! The crustacean menace has arrived!” Longbows were snatched up from against stone pillars, spears were leveled, swords bared. All seemed prepared to storm the beach and put an end to the encroaching hermit crab… but another beast performed their task with brutal efficiency. A wyvern, black as death, swept in from the heavens and decapitated the crustacean with one snap of its vicious jaws. It twitched and seized for long moments, while the elves stood with bated breath, before falling lifeless into the ocean. None moved as the deafening crash of waves reached them, completely transfixed as they watched the wyvern take flight. Some seemed relieved, as though the beast might fly away… but the hunters of their group watched the horizon with a keen eye. The creature circled like a monstrous bird of prey, before alighting on the mast of the Red Dawn and loosing a terrible, piercing scream. Blood dripped from its maw, barely visible against the backdrop of ink-black scales. Cries of “To the shore!” sounded out, and soon enough there were ten elves on the beach, preparing to face off against the serpentine creature. Ten remained above, lining the cliff faces-- bows and spears trained on its heavily scaled back. As the order to fire burst from Elros’ lips, the wyvern abruptly lashed its whiplike tail to those stood guard on the beach. Spikes rattled and disconnected from its flesh, and were sent spearing towards raised kite shields and masterfully forged plate armour where they were cast harmlessly away. From the walls, and the sandy shore, arrows pelted the ebony beast. One struck it directly through the eye (rousing a victorious cry from its source: Cedlas), while the others skittered harmlessly across its armoured scales and fell into the tumultuous sea. Just as Leyne drew her arm back and launched a spear straight for the wyvern’s other eye, it reared up, and an ear-splitting clap rent the humid air as it launched itself upwards with the speed of a lightning bolt. Those below were sent stumbling back with the sudden gust of air, and were unable to steady themselves before the creature came barreling down at them like an oversized hawk. Four arrows managed to pierce the flimsy membrane of its wings, three (Nenar, Turge, and Feanor) having come from above, while Elros was the first of those on shore to act. The others were still stumbling to their feet, reaching for fallen weapons, when the beast darted forwards to bite at Cedlas. He dropped his mace in a panic, diving for the safety of the golden sands, and Belestram made his move. Illynora watched from above, having sent Aesilnoth off with a splinted leg, as Belestram brought Gimil-Zagar down in a singular, sweeping motion. Sand sprayed up beneath his boots as the elf swiveled, as nimble and fluid as a dancer, and brought the runeblade down on the wyvern’s outstretched neck. To no effect, save for a few dislodged scales. Time seemed to slow as the beast turned its attention to her husband, screams of “Belestram!” and “Father!” echoing in her ears. It lunged, teeth closing down on his right arm, and pulled away in a shower of gore and blood. A keening wail broke out across the bay, but Belestram made no noise at all as he collapsed against the white sand and stained it crimson. Focused entirely on consuming its ill gotten meal, the wyvern did not notice as Nenar took her chance and leaped from a nearby cliff face onto its waiting right wing. Using her daggers as picks, she stabbed them into muscle and dragged her way up its back, but before she could lodge steel deep beneath its armour-like scales… the creature bucked, throwing her halfway across the cove. She was nary more than a flash of red hair as she flew, striking the hull of the Red Dawn and crumpling beneath the waves. Elora dove after her, strong kicks taking her beneath the water, while a fresh volley of arrows rained down on the writhing, furious wyvern. It loosed a roar of defiance as some arrows struck true, and a mace bounced harmlessly from its scaled hide. While something inside of Illynora howled for her to leap down to the beach and save her husband, her healer’s heart told her to be calm, and prepare the great hall for an influx of injured elves when all was said and done. Belestram would want her to protect the collective over the individual, even if that individual was her lifemate. So, with only a glance over the balcony to see that Exa’vier was staunching Belestram’s stump of an arm and moving him to higher ground, Illynora gathered up the healers and set to work. For the past month, Nikai’s life had been absorbed by one thing, infinitely more precious than her life or anything else in their imperfect world-- the perfect, cherished Saeros. Her babe did not squall as others did, and was sleeping peacefully as a blood curdling shriek ripped through the otherwise peaceful isle of Aegrothond. It was instinct to leap to her feet and seize a sword, before charging out into the warm morning air. Saltwater sprayed up against cliff edges, roused by the wings of… “Aspects…” she breathed, as a thrice damned wyvern lashed its spiked tail across a crowd assembled on the beach. Among them: Miklaeil. Running past arched windows, quick as a stream down a mountainside, Nikai caught flashes of the action occurring below. A flurry of attacks did nothing to the massive beast, and she felt a horrified scream wedge itself in her throat as a blonde haired elf was taken by the torso in its gaping, long-fanged mouth. Blood sprayed, scarlet splattering the sand when its teeth sunk deeper. It was only when Rinae struck the wyvern’s side with a warhammer, dealing a bone shattering blow, did its jaw unlock. The now-dead elf was flung into the sea, showering blood, though Nikai could not make out their identity on account of their mangled features. Her feet slid across loamy soil and uneven shards of stone, breakneck pace taking her at last to the gates. She had just swung herself through when an unfamiliar mali’fenn was sent smashing against a nearby cliff with the ease of a ragdoll. Kharris and several others were still firing from above, and Nikai didn’t have time to see if the armoured figure was badly injured. Miklaeil was on the other side of the beach, she just had to reach him, make sure that he was safe… Cedlas, for all his faults, was undeniably a warrior. He charged forwards like a whirlwind in black plate, before bringing his blade down in a graceful arc exactly where his father’s blow had landed earlier. It cleaved through sinew and bone like a knife through butter, leaving the wyvern’s head upon shore like a grotesque trophy. Aegrothond’s cerulean cove was stained crimson, but a collective sigh of relief blew through the ancient trees and settled in Nikai’s heart. Relief soon turned to dread in her stomach. Mali who had been up in the great hall were now on the beach, Lady Illynora crouched over the pale and bleeding form of her husband. Those elves were unarmoured, much like herself, unable to fend off any attacks… let alone the dozens of three foot long spikes that exploded from the wyvern in its dying moments. Screams split the air, Nikai’s world had gone red… Miklaeil had a spike speared directly through his shoulder while Belestram… Belestram was dying. His blood ran thick and fast over Illynora’s hands as they fluttered uselessly around the spike lodged in his chest. Behind her, on a spit of red-stained beach, Elora’s thigh had a spike blasted through it. Nenar lay unconscious and unresponsive beside her, both soaking wet and chilled to the bone, but Illynora had not an ounce of concern to spare as Belestram’s breath rattled in his throat. Dangerously shallow. Tanager’s corpse washed ashore, borne on the waves formed by the wyvern’s death throes. The creature lay still, now, floating in the chum bucket water. Gulls soared overhead, insect-song resumed, and Belestram’s lifeblood continued to seep through Illynora’s desperate fingers.
  11. The Blue Forest, by Cassiopeia Art Whispers are strange things. They begin as small expulsions of breath in misty air, that are somehow cast as far and wide as a fisherman’s net by the time the week is up. Somesuch whispers flit across the continent of Atlas, skittering across city flagstones and weaving their way through ageless meadows. Aegrothond, the whispers echo, tumbling from lips not hushed from secrecy, but rather an unwillingness to wear their hearts on their sleeves. The soughing of words between buildings and ancient trees speak of a far-off island, and its enigmatic denizens. Elven, that much is certain, of all varieties provided they are pure of heart and clear of mind. No shackles gird their feet, no crowns of metal sting their brows. A host of free elves, resting within a bastion of peace and untarnished Elvendom. An eastern tower, limned with the light of dawn. Those who listen closely to the soft-spoken conversations will become familiar with a story. That Aegrothond, this home of free elves, was founded by House Sylvaeri, following the banishment of its Lord from the city of Caras Eldar in 1679. It had originally been a noble seat for that venerable Elven house, until the Dominion of Malin itself began to crumble. The Dominion’s slow stagnation has left many elves with little option-- they have no desire to gain residency in the successor state, and fear the southern lands which have been largely dominated by humans for decades. And so whispers continue to dart this way and that, permeating the ears and minds of purehearted elves. Personal accounts join the fray, solidifying what was once vague murmurings into forge-hardened truths: the crimson banner of House Silma, depicting Malin’s brightly burning flame, flies strong and true beside that of Sylvaeri. Aureon ilmyumier can be seen adorning the arms of many residents, including the Lady of Aegrothond herself. Joy, peace, and prosperity abound, with laughter and music threaded through the pealing of Caras Eldar’s goliath bronze bell. The great hall. It is said that the elves of Aegrothond find you, as opposed to the reverse. That her shores are barred to all who mean to bring war and bloodshed. Listen to the whispers, children of Malin, and you may find the halls of Aegrothond rising up on a dusk darkened horizon in your future.
  12. As one of the key pillars of society, faith is very important to those within the Principality of Rosenyr. Orateurs are held in high regard as founts of wisdom, and interpreters of the enigmatic and ever growing pantheon of Croyance. Within the faith there are varying ranks, with the Orateur Principal (or Prime Speaker) serving as the ultimate mouthpiece for the gods. Orateur Principal - Prime Speaker No matter how far the Croyancy spreads, l’orateur principal is considered the shepherd of all-- peasants and monarchs alike. He (or she, as the chosen speaker of the gods can be of either gender) is responsible for overseeing the entirety of the faith, in every realm of the Principality. They serve for life, forbidden from marriage, with their underlings aiding them in menial tasks when the burdens of old age become too much to bear. Second only to the trueborn High Prince of Rosenyr, l’orateur principal sits upon the princely council, advising the monarch in all things faith related to ensure he does not offend those within the pantheon of Croyance. Grand Orateur - Grand Speaker Fulfilling what would otherwise be known as an “archbishop” role in other cultures, a Grand Orateur takes responsibility for several churches within a region. There are not many Grand Orateurs within the Principality on Atlas, as the faith is budding like a fledgling rose. Even when in full bloom, there are not expected to be many filling this position-- of those that do, a select few provide counsel to the Orateur Principal upon le conseil de foi. In order to become a Grand Orateur, one must oversee the construction of two or more churches, or gain responsibility over existing churches within a region of the Principality. Orateur - Speaker Every church within Rosenyr must have an individual who acts as a speaker of the gods’ words and will. This Speaker, or Orateur, has jurisdiction over a particular church and its happenings. L’orateurs are responsible for training les serviteurs des dieux, turning apprentices into fully fledged servants of the gods, to spread the faith throughout Rosenyr and surrounding lands. Within their respective churches, l’orateurs perform marital and funerary ceremonies, as well as provide guidance for all who require it. Those seeking penance, or forgiveness for sin, may also seek out an Orateur so that they might perform le rituel de la pénitence on behalf of the gods. Serviteur des Dieux - Servant of the Gods As the name suggests, les serviteurs des dieux live to serve their gods. Some may choose a certain patron to preach about, though they are servants to all within the Croyancy. An Orateur or Grand Orateur may task them with traveling to certain lands and spreading the faith, though most stay close to home-- preaching in the city streets and helping those in need. Many serviteurs des dieux served as medics during the deadly plagues that swept through the Principality before they migrated to the lands of Atlas, as all are instructed in the basics of healing and righteous combat. Apprenti - Apprentice Young and old alike have been known to become apprentis de la foi. Trained by an Orateur or higher, these aspirants are willing to commit themselves fully to serving the gods. Once they have completed their training and trials, they are awarded their pendentif des dieux, a symbol hanging from a chain about their necks that marks them as a true servant to the Croyancy. Marital Rites While the man waits near the altar, his wife-to-be is led up the aisle on the arm of her father or male guardian. Once both are there, the marital rites begin. By the grace of Celenus, the Goddess of Beauty, the betrothed are bound in body and spirit, symbolised by a crimson ribbon tied around their clasped hands. While joined, they speak their vows to one another-- of love, loyalty, and undying devotion to each other and to the gods that watch over them. The Orateur unbinds their hands, before anointing the couple with holy oil upon their brows. Those present should shower them with flower petals, to represent the new life of spring blossoms and thereby the new life borne from the woman’s womb. Gifts are given, before the couple retires to their marriage bed in order to consummate their joining in the light of the gods. Funerary Rites Those who have passed on must be burned, so that their souls may be released and returned to the gods. The ashes are then placed into a ceremonial urn, painted with depictions of deeds done during their mortal years. Over a family grave where the ashes are interred, the Orateur bids those of the Croyancy to watch over the deceased, and lead them to the hallowed fields where they may rest for their immortal days. Family members speak to the merits of the deceased, before all present cast a handful of soil into the grave. A vigil is held for three days and three nights, lit by the golden flame of a beeswax candle. If the individual passed while defending the Principality in battle, military honours are bestowed upon them post mortem, and their family is provided a hero’s stipend for the rest of their days. Should a woman die during childbirth, they are afforded similar honours-- as to bear children for the Principality is the most difficult battle of all. Coronation Ritual When a new High Prince comes to power, the coronation ritual serves as their final trial before the gods, to prove that they are the chosen of the Croyancy. All those who will be swearing fealty to the new monarch enter the maison des dieux in reverse order of importance, with the High Prince and Orateur Principal entering last. Upon arriving at the base of the throne, the High Prince kneels before it-- the only time that he will ever bow, and for the only things that are worthy of him kneeling: his throne, his people, and the gods. The Orateur Principal speaks blessings over the kneeling Prince, anointing him with holy oil from a ceremonial chalice. He must speak of his devotion and loyalty to the pantheon of Croyance before, by their divine grace, he ascends his throne as the High Prince of Rosenyr. All of his vassals then step forth, kneeling before the monarch and swearing their fealty before kissing his ring and returning to their places. The ritual concludes with a cheer to the High Prince, to the Principality, and to the Croyancy.
  13. An old, decrepit woman in flowing white robes prepares for the coronation. Her hands, riddled with liver spots, pour holy anointment oil into a ceremonial chalice for the occasion, which is decorated with rubies and sapphires of the finest clarity. “Louez des dieux,” she utters quietly, before shuffling off to continue her preparations.
  14. Sonnos, Prince of Foxes Condensed Lore To Sonnos, Prince of Foxes Sonnos, being a master strategist, personifies cunning. Those seeking cleverness and agile thinking should pray to him. Common: “Vulpine Prince Whose cunning rules the forest, We give to you our devotion. We show to you our respect for your kind. Oh Sonnos, the clever, show us your blessing.” Elven: “Ellaurir’Vulnan, Heya'leh orvull vulmaehr'ehya y'elame sohaera, Kaean’leh ortilrun nae illerae. Kaean’leh Sirame ay’nae’leh lye myumierae. Oh Sonnos, vul'oem, nae’leh ahern kaean illera.” Credit to Nivndil for the Elven translation! @Aethling Sonnos - Prince of Foxes Where the Prince of Ravens is a trickster, Sonnos is the patron of calculated thinking and strategy. He is cunning, and often worshipped by trackers, politicians, and merchants-- all who benefit from his boon of quick thinking. With foxes inhabiting the woodland regions where many elves call home, it is often considered a sign of good luck to see the tail of a fox disappear into the brush. Many believe that to follow a departing fox is to follow the path to treasure. Ethereal Form Extended Lore Whistling, like an expelled breath of air through teeth, rent an otherwise silent meadow. The arrow struck true, flying from yew bow to embed itself neatly in the flank of a stag. Not a killing shot. Findaas cursed. Amaethon was not with him, the mali’ame thought as he watched the injured, though still nimble deer take off through the Loftywoods. It was disheartening to be of a race famed for use of the bow, only to miss an easy shot on an already unsuccessful hunting trip. Findaas leapt over algae-slick stepping stones, picking his way across a rushing stream. Between that stream and the glittering jewel of Elvenesse lay miles of forest, rich with game and plants to feed Caras Eldar, as well as provide plentiful trade. His deer had run off, but there would be others. Boar, caribou, rabbits… as well as wolves and other creatures that Findaas would be wise to avoid. Night was falling swiftly above the canopy. Dusk light streamed through the leaves; a mottled pink that cast the trees around him in shades of rose and plum. His camp was not far off, nestled as it was in a shallow valley carved by a meandering stream that ended all the way at the northern sea. Findaas would eat the salted boar meat hunted three days past, before setting out at dawn to try his hand at felling a much larger prize. Crack. A twig snapped to his right. Findaas froze. Swiveling slowly on the balls of his feet, Findaas silently drew an arrow fletched in green feathers from the quiver peeking over his right shoulder. When a blur of brown shot from the undergrowth, the arrow was loosed with a blind, instinctive precision. The hare died instantly. While a part of the mali’ame was cursing at his own cowardice, a more significant imagery of hot stew boiling over an open flame served to dispel the adrenaline that was still pulsing through his veins. He said a quick prayer and pressed onwards. Slung over his shoulder, the hare weighed next to nothing. There would be none left over for a scant breakfast in the morning, Findaas knew. But when another sharp sound cleaved through the quiet dimness of the woods, a spark of hope ignited in his chest. Another hare, perhaps? Expecting a streak of brown or black, Findaas was surprised to see a triangular face of russet and white peering out at him from between the wild brambles. Succulent blackberries clung to the branches, limned with silver by the moonlight that now cast the forest in grayscale. When Findaas crept forwards, still the fox did not shift. It was only when he came within a hand’s breadth that the creature turned tail and disappeared into the roots of a sprawling shrub, with the mali’ame shooting after it as quick as an arrow. A fireside tale returned to him, of his father telling a group of wide eyed children that a fox always leads to some woodland wonder. He certainly hoped it was true, at least as a compensation for the low swooping branches that were casting stinging whips across his face. Some had even broken skin-- he could feel the blood welling up and spilling in rivulets down his cheeks. At last, the endless forest broke into a small clearing. Night dark as it was, Findaas had difficulty making out the shapeless mass that dominated the centre of the space. The fox was nowhere to be seen, but as Findaas crept forwards… he realised that another had appeared-- though this time, the vulpine depiction was made entirely out of stone. Moss coated the granite structure, which rose to hip height on the relatively small mali’ame. It was slightly larger than life size, though the statue’s eyes seemed to follow him as he crossed the clearing towards it. There was a mischievous air about him, (Findaas found the statue distinctly masculine, though he couldn’t place why), which the young elf found strange. He was not afraid of the forest after nightfall, but it certainly took on a creepy disposition once the sun had dipped below the horizon and the fireflies came out to play. This stone figure allayed those fears, and as Findaas came to crouch before it, he realised why. An offering table was laden with bones, strips of silk, and delicate glass bottles containing all manner of perfumes and herbal concoctions. The granite fox almost seemed to smile as Findaas gazed up him, though the triangular face was unmoving. Sonnos, Prince of Foxes, a whispered voice supplied, though there was no one else in the clearing. Findaas’ subconscious must have supplied the mani’s name. Like most young mali’ame, despite not being a part of a Seed, Findaas had been raised on tales of the mani and their deeds. The fear, respect, and love of the Aspects had been instilled in him from a young age, until the beings took on a life of their own. Even if Findaas had never seen a mani, and didn’t know if they truly existed… there were always stories. Terrible and awesome stories, that had kept him awake long into the night from fear or excitement. Taking the hare from over his shoulder, the mali’ame laid it on the altar and ran his hunting blade down the centre of its belly with a practiced precision. Cooling blood spilled over his hands and stained the altar red, while the scent of blossoms and earth became permeated with the smell of the hunt. Sweat, blood, death. Sitting back on his haunches, Findaas placed his blood-slick hands on his knees and began to pray. “Vulpine Prince Whose cunning rules the forest, We give to you our devotion. We show to you our respect for your kind. Oh Sonnos, the clever, show us your blessing.” When several minutes passed and nothing had happened, he cracked open an eye. The forest was still-- not a rustle in the branches nor hoot of an owl to be heard. Even though Findaas had not truly expected anything from an isolated shrine, especially considering he was not a druid, a sharp pang of disappointment cut through him all the same. Somewhat dejected, the elven hunter left his latest kill on the offering table and began trudging back to camp. In his wake, and unbeknownst to him, half a dozen foxes crept from the surrounding trees to gorge themselves on the hare. Dawn broke clear and bright the next day. Findaas inhaled deeply, and found that he could smell the dew outside, and the lingering scent of roasted boar from days ago. Thinking nothing of it, he rolled from beneath the furs he had been sleeping in and emerged into the crisp morning air. He cricked his neck from side to side, rolling the discomfort from his shoulders as he paced towards the bow that was rested against the gnarled trunk of a towering oak; one last day of hunting before he returned to the bustling streets of Caras Eldar. When the quiver was slung securely across his back, the mali’ame set off down a familiar path that wended its way between tree trunks mottled with lichen. The forest retained its wonted stillness, with not a breath of wind to stir even the highest reaching leaves. If the wind had been gusting, Findaas may not have been so quick to notice a snapped branch upon the woodland floor. While he was an adept hunter, sometimes the smaller tells of an animal’s progress through the trees went unnoticed by the young mali’ame. He followed the trail, silently cheering for his hawk sharp eyes. Bent over a softly babbling stream, a magnificent stag had paused to drink-- its broadside was exposed to Findaas where he crouched behind low lying ferns. Quickly assessing his position, and the angle of the being across from him, the hunter drew an arrow, took a deep breath in, and loosed a killing shot on the exhale. It pierced clean through the beast’s side, rupturing vital organs and sending it toppling to the loamy floor with a muffled thump. He would gut it then carry the stag whole, Findaas said to himself, and carve it up upon arriving back in the city. Padding over to the felled creature, his breath caught in his throat. For there, embedded into the deer’s flank, was half an arrow shaft. The rest had been snapped off, likely during the stag’s flight through the woods, but there was no doubt about it-- it was the very same creature from the day before. Findaas sent a prayer to Amaethon over its corpse, before swiftly relieving it of its innards and hoisting the carcass over his shoulders. He headed north at a steady jog, unaware of the vulpine eyes that watched his retreat. Miles away, the statue of Sonnos smirked.
×
×
  • Create New...