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We Didn't Start The Fire. . .
Statherian replied to milksoda's topic in Nor-Velyth: The Moonlit Lands
The news quickly spread across various Mali'ker communities, including the Val'taelu. Surrounded by his siblings and cousins he overlooked a shipyard, smiling brightly at the progress the Amador builders had been making. The fall of Nor-Velyth was not something they had anticipated, but not something Aithlin assumed to be detriment to his people. "The Ashen State had already failed long ago. Their empty streets, their lack of identity. There was ne hope left for Nor-Velyth to begin with....but perhaps it's time to seek out the former Primarch, lliran" - "Should she still be alive." Their vessel would soon be complete, and their plans would soon come in motion. Aithlin turned his back on the shipyard and waved his kin along, they would soon have their new home. -
The Ashen Solace …Their hope was short-lived. For days, weeks even, Aithlin and his companions had wandered the streets of what they had hoped to be their new sanctuary. A place to rebuild their lives, their trade, and the safety of their futures. However, it had soon dawned upon them that whatever Nor-Velyth had once offered the Ashen Folk was no longer there. Aithlinhad met few others, most of whom shared his sentiment on the distinct lack of….anyone. Was anyone even leading the city anymore? Towering spires, onyx-clad housing, exotic fauna….all slowly rotting away. Frustration amongst the Nor-Velyth leadership towards the state, something Aithlin had witnessed first hand. It was time to move on. Whatever Nor-Velyth might have offered them was ultimately an illusion. Aithlin gathered his fellow Val’taelu, taking one last glance at the supposed bastion of hope for ‘ker across the land. In the distance lay a shipyard. Standing on top of a hill, overlooking the wharf, the green eye’d ‘ker found themselves, waiting patiently for their vessel to be built. Soon enough, Clan Val’taelu would make their presence known once again. Their goals were clear, they would once again ascend to their former eminence.
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While we're all going on about silly admin drama
Looking for Dark Elves!
If anyone's interested, lemme know!
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@Telanir @HogoBojo can I be CT again
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why do we share a birthday please give mine back
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From Kruhso They Came The swamplands bordering the Mali’ker settlement of Krusho, Ramasar The sun had just set upon the swamps of Northern Ramasar. Aithlin stood there in silence, facing away from the waters they had lived by for as long as he could recall. Mirasul, Myriil, Kira and Amaria all stood beside him. In front of the remaining Val’taelu, a band of blood-thirsty, red-eyed ‘Ker had surrounded them. They knew that this was the end of their lives as they had known them. Krusho would no longer be theirs to call home. “We’ll leave Ramasar…just allow us to,” Aithlin begged, stepping forward towards the growing crowd. The others stared at him in disbelief– they could not just leave their homeland, could they? Where would they go? Wherever they had to go to save their lives and their legacy, it would seem. The group’s leader stepped forward, offering Aithlin but a single nod before motioning the Vel’Taelu to move. Aithlin would carry this shame with him for as long as he would live, driven out of their homelands. Had he failed as a leader, or had he brought his family new opportunities– ones they could have never even dreamt of? Regardless of whatever the future would bring, their perils were far from over. Nervously they embarked on the ship docked before them. Would they be sent elsewhere safely, or was this a death trap built just for them? Whatever awaited them, it would be a better fate than anything Krusho still had to offer. They stepped onto the crooked vessel, bringing with them what little they managed to salvage from home before the mob chased them out. Would it be enough to survive the journey? Where would they even set sail to? What they were not aware of yet was that Aevos awaited. And with it, new hope for Clan Val’Taelu was on the horizon.
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Arrival The sun had just set upon the shores of Nor-Velyth. In the distance, any ‘Ker patrolling the city walls would have seen a small band of armored ‘ker making their way along the coast. “Keep following the coastline lliran, we’ll get there eventually.” In the distance, onyx spires had caught their attention. The group quickly reached the city walls, the coastline they had been following for days abruptly blocked off one of the city’s many towers. The only way now was up, away from the water and towards what they had hoped to be a place to rest. Aithlin and his companions began to make their way up the hill. Awe-inspiring fauna greeting them as they stepped closer towards the supposed home of the Mali’ker. Once inside however, the group was mostly ....unimpressed by what they were shown. The impressive architecture and scale of the city could not hide the fact that the green eye’d fellowship found themselves to be the only ones within the gloomy square. Even if empty, at least they found a place to rest. There was no use in sleeping out in the open, however. The band of Dark Elves spread out in the hopes of finding a sign of life. A steward perhaps, able to give them a place to stay the night. Aithlin however, had other priorities. He set out towards the coastline once again, hoping to see the docks they spotted from afar, up close. As he made his way through the various pathways and down to the docks, the ‘Ker’s emerald gaze became fixated on but a single object. Aithlin quickly ran back up to find the others, bringing them all down to the docks with him. “Lliran, who needs a house when you can have a boat?!”
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A BULL IN BRASCA The anticipation was palpable, and the men gathered in front of the siege camp’s outer gate knew what was at stake. They knew all too well what they were about to run into. A hail of arrows, scorched earth, and the thunderous roar of canonfire was all around them. The young Gabriel was only an initiate within the Brotherhood, yet here he found himself– surrounded by Yacht Team 6. The Baron-Consort of Karovia knew whatever danger he would face, he’d face alongside some of the Covenant’s most skilled fighters. He could only think of what was to come, the blood he was about to draw, the dangers he was about to face. Gabe was never the bravest, but knew he had to push on for his Kingdom. This was not his first battle, but it sure would be his hardest. He killed Orcish raiders at the gates of Valdev. He held fast as endless trebuchet fire rained down onto Breakwater keep. Yet here he stood, ready to enter the lion’s den. Before them laid a wasteland, and behind them their allies held fast. All that was left was to wait for an opening. The gate opened up, and the group quickly charged forward into enemy lines. Soon followed the Covenant’s main force, overwhelming enemy fortifications at their frontline. Their barricades and palisade walls soon covered in Veletzian blood. There Gabe and his allies found themselves now– facing a no-man’s land. A final push was soon to happen, until he and his comrades were commanded to the flanks– leaving the main force behind. Circling around the keep, the group had found an opening: a passage into a tower the Veletzian forces had been emerging from. Their hit and run tactics would soon come to an end, as one of their men foolishly left the gate open. Gabriel, along with his fierce allies, charged into the tower entrance– striking down any and all Adrians they could find. And their strike had been a success. Yacht Team 6 found themselves in control of the perimeter around the fort, chasing down stray Adrians and skirmishing at various entrance points around the keep. One by one the enemy’s most elite soldiers fell, thinning their numbers and taking down their leaders. The enemy’s morale and co-ordination was soon to fall. Realizing their mission had been a success, Yacht Team 6 rejoined the main fighting force, preparing to storm the main hall of Brasca. Together with the rest of the Covenant’s forces, Gabriel charged into what remained of the checkered floored hall. He knew victory was close. A final charge into the backroom of the Adrian fort, made possible only by the brave actions of Vasili Vanrov, opened the gate for his allies. This would be the nail in the coffin of the enemy’s futile resistance. “Tiz Dzuty, Triek Caezk” “With duty, comes honor” It soon dawned upon the young Baron what had just occurred. From a nobody, from a mere initiate in the Brotherhood to a warrior fighting along the strongest of the realm. He brought his looted gear back to the Valdev palace, preparing himself for the battles to come.
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THE SOVEREIGN'S MISTAKE | THE EXECUTION OF LOUIS DRESNAY
Statherian replied to Franczhiz's topic in Human Realms & Culture
"Ah da, ve Heartlander accord....that alliance with all its member signing individual pacts to undermine their original pact." Remarked Gabriel Amador, tidying up his BSK uniform! -
Bickando.
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Gabriel Amador took note of his family's invitation, waving it out in front of his mother and siblings alike! "We are all going, right?"
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ALL THAT COULD HAVE BEEN Within the Kortrevich manor, an aged bull found himself alone in his room. The dimly lit space was cluttered with empty bottles and torn pages. It was late at night as Aleksandr was seated at his desk, penning various letters. He had been sitting there for hours now, wide awake, tormented by his thoughts. Aleksandr had never been easy to handle, let alone reasonable. The death of his wife, however, snapped something within the man. He could no longer love, no longer smile, no longer feel joy. He remembered the nights he spent with Nataliya atop the Jerovitz towers, enjoying the sunsets. Those moments of serenity were something he had long been craving for. One by one he saw those dearest to him fall, either through his own doing or events beyond his control. What little he had left he felt slipping from his grasp. His own children he no longer saw as his own, the family he had once helped lead estranged completely. Perhaps Aleksandr was never destined to succeed, perhaps he failed so that others may learn from his mistakes. He knew all too well he had burned the bridges he still had left. The Kortrevich flock he cared for so dearly saw him as nothing more than a crazed man filled with nothing but rage and contempt. What legacy would he leave behind? Would anyone remember him for the good he had achieved? For the times he spent with his family, for his reign as Baron of Mondstadt? He doubted such, as if it mattered little in the end. He knew that he had pushed everyone around him away for good, his relations damaged beyond repair. He eyed the papers before him, contemplating what to do with the unfinished writings. Was it even worth it at this point? In the middle of the night Aleksandr, carrying with him the letters. As he turned to shut the door of the Kortrevich manor one last time he paused, memories flooding to him. Ileana, Yankova, Anastasia, Fabian, Sergei, Irena, Elena, Leonid, Larissa, Dimitri. He could hear them all, for a moment wondering if it was too late to fix things. In the distance he spotted the blue columns of the Amador storefront. Nataliya, Liridona, Magnus, Albus, Henrik, Poppiya, Karl, Magnus, Matyas, Theodosya. He once abandoned the Kortrevich name for House Amador, in the end unsure if it was ever worth it. He would set out to leave Valdev behind one final time, knowing that wherever he was going, he would soon again meet those he had been missing so dearly. A single letter, found within the Kortrevich manor was all that would remain of him. To whoever may find this, an apology is all I can give. I failed you all as an uncle, a cousin, a nephew. Hurt has been all I brought upon this family in the end, and I can no longer live with the guilt that has been eating away at me. Wherever I may go, never will I forget House Kortrevich. You have always been, and always will be my one true family. The future is bright for all of you, but it is a future you will have to face without me. I don’t wish for anyone to mourn me, for I am not worth grieving over. Take good care of yourselves and of Irena especially. “Tiz Dzuty, Triek Caezk” -Aleksandr Kortrevich
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