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About Toffee

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    Illynora Sylvaeri
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  1. Toffee

    No Consequence RP

    This this this! It comes from both sides: the injured either not knowing or not bothering how to emote their injuries, and the healer not knowing or not bothering to heal it in a realistic way. I’m actually halfway through writing a guide on how to roleplay a medical patient, including basic symptoms and recovery times with LotC time scaling equivalents, so that people are encouraged to adhere to realism. I’m glad I’m not the only one who hates *puts green paste on wound, heals* emotes...
  2. 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.
  3. Toffee

    Copy and Paste Book

    I haven’t used it, but this post should have everything you need to know!
  4. Toffee

    The Kingdom of Haense Hiring Palace Staff

    MC Name: toffeeZodiac RP Name: Alisandre Grimaldi Position wanted: Lady in Waiting Why you want the job: OOC: I would love to see human RP revived a bit. IC: Alisandre is a woman of noble birth who is well versed in hair styling and haute couture. She is fluent in three languages and wishes to devote these expertise to the Kingdom of Haense through its ruling family.