CorweenieTheJedi

The elder 'ker rejoiced in the company of his new-found kin folk. He looked forward to the tales that the two houses would scribe upon the pages of history, together.

The day was won... But at what cost? Sevrel had been thinking about this moment for months; and as his blade met the traitor's flesh, he thought of what started this all. It was not too long ago that the 'ker had considered Pancho Puerokar a comrade in arms, a friend even. Nothing could have prepared him for the jarring moment when Pancho asked him if he would help in overthrowing the Crown. Over the next while, Sevrel had worked from the shadows to feed information to his High Prince, and his friends. After a conversation with Aerendyl, Evar'tir, and Amaesil; they had a plan in place. Sevrel had told Pancho that he would bring a detail of loyal warriors to assist him... Which turned out to be partially true. After entering with a small contingent of Orenian soldiers, and revealing his hand to not only Pancho, but the entirety of the citizenry of Amathea, Lord Sevrel Valindar turned to face the conspirators, and bellowed out a command. "ARREST THESE TRAITOROUS DOGS!" Before the Puerokars could realize they had been played, and before Pancho had time to react, Sevrel had already plunged his blade into the stomach of the traitor, eviscerating him. After a brief exchange of silent words, the elder 'ker put an end to the coup by swiftly beheading Pancho... Normally, after a victory; songs would be sung and stories would be told... But no such events took place, only the burning of the homes of the traitors, who were once regarded as friends... Sevrel wondered... Would he ever get used to the killing?

This answer... Is acceptable.

Out of all your experiences on the server, what is one thing that you have learned about yourself; or something positive that you have taken away from the community, that positively influences you in real life?

https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/201483-hi-so-were-removing-vortex-116-update-info/

Sevrel throws the missive into the fireplace and hides his son in the basement of his house muttering something about wood elves and PvP goons

"F" An elf says

Name: Cor'vin Race: Mali'fenn Age: 36 Gender: male [[OOC]] Username: CorweenieTheJedi Discord: Cherry Blossom 🌸#0001 Timezone: PST

11th of Sun's Smile, 30 SA Sevrel was no stranger to the unmistakable sight of shed crimson... The day started as any other day. The birds chirped as they flew in betweenst the trees of the realm of Elvenesse, and the water rushed underneath the bridge before the tall gate's of the city. As was his duty, he stood guard atop the front gate, eyes fixed on the horizon. He had a feeling that something was to happen that day, as it had been some time since attackers threw themselves upon the walls of the great city, and that bore the signal that they were soon due for such an event. Still, the horizon betrayed no sign of such assailants. No clambering of hooves, no stomping of boots, nothing. It was quiet, too quiet the elder 'ker thought. He decided to leave another guard to watch the gates as he went for a stroll through the city, his son and recently fellow guard bringing up his flank. That was when it happened. Sevrel heard shouting, and before he could turn to face the source of the noise, he was surrounded by the ruffians, who dub themselves the Rustlers. Their leader had not kept their promise. How they had gotten in, he had no clue, but none of that mattered now. Swords were drawn, and a standoff began, as it usually does. Much shouting and taunting took place, and Sevrel perceived the graveness of the situation. He looked upon the few soldiers he had, and the brave citizens who took up arms, he noticed a startling realization; they were all looking to him. Knowing that this fight could not be won, he bellowed a single order to his people "FLEE". The word tasted as sour as rotten vinegar as it left his mouth. Did he really just issue a retreat? Before he could think much longer, he found himself lunging towards the Rustlers, engaging them in hopeless nine on one combat. Brave? Stupid? Those words rushed through his head as he took on the full brunt of the attacking force, aiming to give his people as much time as they could to escape. He swung his blade left to right, severely injuring many of the Rustlers. But alas, even the most fearsome of warriors could not take on such odds with any hope of victory. He felt the cold sting of his enemies blades puncture and slash him, opening up intense wounds upon his grey skin. Sevrel could not take much more of this, and he tucked his arms in front of him, barreling through the line of Rustlers in an attempt to escape with his life. Arrows whized past him, he heard the whoosh of a warhammer swung by one of the leaders of the bandit group fly by his head, narrowly missing. He made for the cliff by the Omentahu circle, and he nearly made it before a lucky hit struck his legs, sending him crashing into the dirt. His vision blurred, as he looked up to see the raiding 'ker, slowly walking up towards him, but he also noticed the cliff right behind him. He took a chance. In a last ditch effort, Sevrel swung his blade at the woman, buying him a split second more, which was just enough time to roll himself off the cliff. He sunk through the air, and with a dramatic splash, he crashed into the water. By the grace of the ancestors, he awoke some hours later upon the beaches of his city. He tried to move, but pain shot through every inch of his broken body. After a few moments, and many wails of pain, he was able to stand himself up, and began his staggered walk back to Elvenesse. What happened after he fell? Did his people defeat the bandits? What was he about to see? These thoughts circled around his head, expecting the worst. When he stepped into his city, he realized it was worse than what he had expected. Corpses of Elves littered the streets. Throats slit, and bodies bludgeoned. The buildings were ransacked, and some lit ablaze. Sevrel slowly stalked through the city, the ground running red with the blood of his kin. He wished he could wail out. He wished he could feel some sort of pain, but his mind only had room for one thing. Rage... The broken and defeated 'ker stood there, amongst the dead, the smell of burning homes filled his nose. He realized that this was his failure, his folly, and his responsibility. Sevrel growled, as his teeth grit together, and his knuckles cracked as he clenched his fist. There he swore a silent oath to the ancestors. He will make them pay... "Every... Last... One..."

an elder 'ker sighs as nothing happened on this day, he then throws the missive into a fireplace

stop malding

thank you monkee, very cool

(None taken, these guys are always a blast <3 )

Sevrel pledges his allegiance to the NEW prince of Elvenesse! All hail!!!

Sevrel strokes his beard in confusion "The Uruk is so mad that he forgot to speak in blah?"

Sevrel dragged the whetstone down his blade, sharpening the weapon in preparation for the upcoming conflict. "It's all happening again, as it always does..."

Sevrel completely abandons everything else in his life and travels to Haelun'or to join this cult and get swole

An elder 'ker somewhere in the city of Amathea hears news of the evolving situation. Later that day, he sits near the campfire in the city square, puffing on his pipe. "I pray that the Valah choose a peaceful route..." He traces a weary finger over the hilt of his sheathed blade as he mutters to himself. "I have grown tired of killing..." He laments under his breathe, as he turns his gaze to his son practicing his music. A knowing grimace spreads across his visage, as he thinks of the world his son is to inherit.

Sevrel smiles bittersweetly upon the young Feanor, as he officially stood down his position as High Prince of Elvenesse. On one hand, he is pained to see such a fair and pure hearted leader step down from leadership; on the other, he is happy to see his friend finally exhale a sigh of relief. He wonders what the mali will do, now that he has such free time. Among the many mali and descendants wishing to speak to the Royarch, Sevrel offers brief well tidings and good luck to his future; though not goodbye, as their stories are far from over he wagered. The elder 'ker sat upon the beaches of his home, pondering the newly crowned high prince. Will he rule with a firm and just mind? Will he offer a kind hand to those in need? Will Evar'tir be able to grasp the nation, who's heart falters? These questions jumbled in his mind for some time, before he chose to stop pondering and let time tell the tale, as it has done so.

An old 'ker reads the missive, and lets out a long and exasperated sigh. "Perhaps I did not do enough... Perhaps I could have done more for my home." He laments as he gazes upon the tranquil landscape of his troubled nation. "Perhaps, I was wrong to hope."