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A Study of the Myth of The Winged Soldiers Penned by Miss Elaine Victoria d’Arkent [!] An artist's depiction of a winged soldier ((Artist is Meaghan Maxted)) Their depiction and duty A Winged Soldier is a female with large wings which can be any colour she chooses, though the most common one is white. They are also often depicted wearing aurum armour, based on the belief that the metal is the most pure and harmful to dark creatures. Some artists give the winged soldiers natural hair colours while others give them unnatural ones, as no myth has been found that describes their hair colour. Their eyes have been described as bright as the sky or the sun. It is said that the winged soldiers are sent by God to help priests expel the foul beings from corrupted descendants, fight dark beings that threaten God’s descendants, to help guide the sinful back to redemption and bring souls of the dead to the seven skies. There have been those close to the brink of death that have claimed to have seen a winged being come down from the light only to disappear when saved by medics. Other soldiers who linger on the battlefield to find their loved ones have also claimed to see signs of such beings, though there is no proof it was real. ((Couldn’t find the artist, but the signature is there)) Background of the Myth How the myth came to be has been argued by many scholars, as its origins are obscure and several variants of the legend exist. Some believe it came from St. Julia of Paradisus, when she cast out Iblees from her camp when confronted alone by him. The thought that a woman alone had such strength and purity to be able to cast out the dark and foul by herself gave much courage to her sex/fellow women. It is believed after her death that God called for St. Julia to gather herself some faithful women in his skies, giving them wings and power before sending them to do his bidding against the dark. Another variation of the myth is that St. Emma of Woldzmir became the first winged soldier. Due to her life of servitude to God and her prayers to him, he blessed St. Emma by giving her “wings” so she could lift her fellow soldiers into victory from the courage she had gained. And so God continued to allow her to help her fellow soldiers and those caught in war after her death. A third myth is that the winged soldiers are in fact what some call the Aenguls that God created to help him. They do his bidding, yet still have their own thoughts and opinions. Some even fall to temptation and end up corrupted. Which myth is the true origin of the winged soldiers is unknown. It is indeed possible all of them are true, but scholars have since created these mixed variants. Canonist Belief The truth of the myth remains dubious,as there are no mentions of these winged soldiers in the canonist scrolls to my knowledge and thus the myths may even be the fabrications of heretics But as long as us fellow canonists do not worship these winged soldiers and the Church says we are allowed to speak of them then perhaps more studies, explorations and findings will be made known if there is in fact some truth to them. What we also know is that myths often come from people needing courage and to hold onto something during dark times. Some even stem from real experiences that were over exaggerated. Indeed, for instance, the myth may have begun by the rescue of a man at the hands of a woman dressed like a bird, or with an avian companion, that the man saw as an angelic figure.Twisting the story once he had been healed into the woman having wings and being sent by God. So always take myths with a grain of salt even if they are interesting is my personal advice to those reading my study on this particular myth. Signed by, Miss Elaine Victoria of House d’Arkent

MISSING PERSON Darina Sarosa Last seen in Elysium. If found, please take her back SAFELY to the rangers of Elysium 150+ MINA BOUNTY TO BRING HER BACK ALIVE! Description: 4'11", wood elf, dark skin, green eyes, light brown hair in braids usually, sometimes dirty PORTRAIT:

The Story of Princess - Katerina Ceciliya Barbanov - [!] A painting depicting Katerina surrounded by her brother and her mother, Heinrik and Isabel, in the form of a venomous snake. - Please do not metagame the information in this post - It’s just a post I made to end Katerina’s story in Haense, and the start of a new life for her. So unless you know of any of this in roleplay then do not metagame! P.S: There are some triggering topics in this post like mental and physical abuse. A lone figure could be seen on the road leading to the city of Karosgrad, onyx locks flowing in the harsh and cold wind. Somber blue eyes watching, her hand holding a bag packed full along with a living green doll resembling that of a dragon with its own little backpack. Memories flashed in her mind as she stood there. "Vyr borsa needs vy, Katerina. The crown is a heavy burden and he will need his family”. “I know mamej, I will become a medic to protect him!” Family… Is that what we were? The memories of her mother were so strong and loving, yet every sentence she said felt like poison. “But my mother offered me protection from him,” she would always tell herself to sleep better. But protection from what? Her mother threw her own daughter to the wolves all because she was bored: made up rumours and wrote horrible things about Katerina in her stupid paper. Her mother used her kindness against her to manipulate her into staying and caring for her brother when all he did was hurt her. How could she still have love for her mother when she had put her through so much hurt and suffering for her own amusement? “A family,” she pondered, “that was no family.” "I promise I won’t marry you off to a man below the status of Grand Duke, sestra” She knew it would come, every princess had a duty to their kingdom to marry for security and status. She had hoped her brother would be different. That was the day it all started going downhill, after the death of their father and that stupid room they all gathered in: the last day of proper peace and when her brother’s love turned wicked. Why could they not have stayed young, she pondered to herself? Her hand tightened on the straps of her bag from the memories. She knew better than to go back into the whirlwind of emotions that came with it, yet her mind never allowed her such peace. Her dreams haunted her during the night and day, tiring her every waking moment. But she had decided this time to not get stuck, so she allowed herself to feel every memory that came rushing upon her this time. Her eyes closed. "So I can’t do what they do, I just have to sit still and look pretty,” the girl in her memory asked, her tone hurt yet carrying a trace of fear before a pair of dull blue eyes- why was it always those eyes- that stared back down at her. A threatening emotion in the visage of the raven haired boy the eyes belonged to before he spoke “Vy are the prinzenas royal of Haense!” Then in a flash it ended and the next memory swept her away. Katerina was now back in the library in the palace. She knew which memory was to come, she always hated that library. The bad memories were too strong compared to the good ones there. Then a voice rang out in the air; “It’s niet fair, borsa! My uncles get to join the military. Why can’t I join as a field medic?” The girl cried out in a hushed whisper so the rest in the room would not hear them. His eyes turned dark as he loomed over her in a threatening manner. “I’m the Koeng, and if vy don’t stop arguing I will lock vy up in vyr room until vy are eighteen and never be allowed to see vyr friends,” the raven haired boy yelled back at her in a whisper, only her friend Mariya hearing the conversation as she stood close enough to the two. As the boy turned around to leave he punched the book shelves in a loud bang. The girl flinched before she broke down into a sobbing mess. Her own hand reached up to her cheek; when had she started to cry? Katerina knew why: the memories still affected her until this day. Fifteen… She had been so young during that fight, so young and full of life once. The curse of the Barbanov princesses felt almost real to her. Why else would her life be filled with so much suffering? A shivering breath, when had she forgotten to breathe? She did not know, but had no time to wonder before the next memory swept over her. "Vy will nie longer be the Prinzenas Royal or the Baroness of Antioch. Vy will just be Prinzenas Katerina now sestra.” Heinrik spoke, they were both older now. “Why? Is this because of the paper claiming I am homosex, vy know that is just falsities borsa!” she cried at him in anger. Wanting to cling to the titles her late father had given her, the only person in this dreaded family that had cared for her and been so kind with her. Mariya did not count after all, she was married into the Barbanov house, but she too had been there for her all those years. “I do niet believe in those gossip papers. But people do, I will find vy a husband now that vy shall marry to end these rumours.” he said, his eyes glaring daggers into her, daring her to continue. But Katerina had been foolish enough to continue in her desperate plea to still hold onto something that mattered to her. “Please borsa, that will just make people believe the rumours more by forcing me to marry!” And so he struck her on her face. A dark bruise began to form on her cheek. The girl fell silent for the first time as she left. Plotting to run away afterwards. Why had she not stayed in Oren when she had done so. Her memories at last ending. Her mother had died some years later, never apologizing for what she had done to her daughter. She could still feel the lingering shock and hurt when her uncle told them all in the church of her own mother being the author of hearsay. She could never forgive her, she had pretended to of course. But it was a lie, always had been and always would be. She knew Heinrik had apologized to her and stopped the abuse. But it had not mattered, the memories haunted her forever of what her brother had done to her and to her closest friend Mariya. She was gone now, lingering in the seven skies. Waiting to be reunited with Katerina, but it would not be today. “Vy will have to wait a while Mariya, I want to live first. But I can niet do it here in Haense, so watch me from the skies as I leave, da? I could need an extra push vy know...” A soft wind suddenly blew at her as if telling her to leave. And so the woman turned away, wiping away the tears as she did. Not once looking back while she travelled. “Dravi Haense.” Letters had been delivered to a few individuals Tarathiel Asul’onn @Valannor Aestenia Aevaris @Maevlin Stefan Vyronov @Wolfey34 Friedrich Barclay @ColdestPepsi

🛡️⚔️ Honour the Past to build the Future ⚔️🛡️ As the world comes to meet great changes we enter a new age becoming: cities falling; moving; and being forged. And alongside it all has come forth a new clan to join those around it. Through an unlikely meeting at a tavern did the founders acquaint, an unlikely friendship formed through campfire stories and drinks together, and soon to be interactions through a shared house. The Odinson clan is built upon a foundation of trust and companionship not easily wavered, strong bonds of familiarity string the founders together and are hoped to weave through to members of future generations. Beliefs Held Dear This is a clan forged with three things in mind; Honour the ancestors, namely Odin, the head of the clan former and dwed father to Eivor Odinson; Let your wits and intelligence guide you to advance your community to the future; Your blade will only be as sharp as your mind, without thought your strike will be no more effective as a breeze. With a crest to represent these things, the clan is built with a foundation of mindfulness. The Helm to show of the former Odin, the Raven to show of the wits and cleverness, the Blade to show of the strikes to be made. A Story of Foundation "It 'ad been a long winta' in the Farlands where oi come from, snowed fer weeks on end an' trapped us on our land with nae way tae even get tae food. Oi was only a wee dwed back then, an' oi was scared fer me loife like I 'ad never been before. It was me father who got us through it alive, by keepin' 'is wits about 'im and usin' them tae outsmart tha winter. 'E 'ad us make blocks o' snow an pile 'em up 'round me 'ome. Oi thought 'e was crazy fer it, but wha' he figured that oi didn't was that tha snow could work fer us as an insulator tae keep tha warmth in an' keep tha cold out. 'E 'ad us build a foire, which oi also thought was crazy, but' as the foire melted tha snow, it refroze an' kept us warm. Aftar the cold 'ad passed, oi realized what it meant tae be in me family, it meant usin' yer moind tae outsmart yer opponents, even when tha gods want ye dead. Oi've kept this in moind me whole loife an' will never forget it. An' now, I shall be passin' it on tae me Clan, tae ye." Future Generations in The Making The Odinson's is nay a clan of exclusion and will welcome any who wish to swear into it with open arms and warmth, those of all races are welcomed in without judgement or hesitation, so please offer a hand or a bird if you wish to join a clan of intellect above strength, or rather, where intellect is strength. Fal'leon Odinson Eivor Odinson OOC: If neither of us are online and you wish to join the clan, contact Deus Mortem#8931 on discord

THE TREATY OF KAL’DARAKAAN With the dissolvement of the War Nation of Krugmar, the Iron Uzg, the nation’s successor, has realized the wrongs of their previous government, and has officially surrendered to the Grand Kingdom of Urguan. Meeting within the halls of Urguan’s capital, Kal’Darakaan, the leaders of both nations negotiated terms of surrender, leading to the agreement listed below: SECTION I: TERMS OF SURRENDER The Grand Kingdom of Urguan and the Iron Uzg hereby agree to the following terms of surrender: I. THE Iron Uzg shall publicly and formally declare defeat at the hands of the Grand Kingdom of Urguan in the form of a public document. I. SAID document shall include a formal apology to Grand Marshal Bakir Ireheart for shaving his beard without being given an honorable fight. II. THE Iron Uzg shall formally banish and whitewash the orcish criminals known as Hu-din and Fishbref. I. IF the Iron Uzg is found allowing said individuals within their lands, the treaty shall be declared null. II. IF the individuals are allowed within the Iron Uzg either officially or unofficially after the publication of this document, the Grand Kingdom shall perceive the action as an act of WAR. III. THE Iron Uzg shall withdraw all previous negative statements made about the Grand Kingdom by their predecessor state, Krugmar. I. SAID statements include but are not limited to: Any official document denouncing Urguan, hinting at collusion with Undead, or falsifying the slaughtering of innocents at the hands of the Grand Kingdom. IV. THE Iron Uzg shall continue the abolishment of slavery from their culture. I. THE Grand Kingdom holds the right to officially oversee the abolishment of Slavery. II. IF said abolishment does not occur, the treaty shall be declared null, and the Grand Kingdom shall perceive such as an act of WAR. V. THE Iron Uzg shall permit the Legion of Urguan full access to the Uzg’s land. This document is forever binding, regardless of any future change in government. Signed, Grand King of Urguan, Lord Chancellor of Urguan, Elder of Clan Frostbeard, High Remembrancer of the Order of Remembrance, Son of Rhewen The Grand Marshal of Urguan, Clan Father of the Irehearts and Jarl of Dol’Gorix Rex of the Iron Uzg, Skaatchnak’Izgi [!] The mark of a bloody hand would be beneath the Rex’s name.

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Simply how to be happy: Step 1: stop playing LOTC Step 2: do anything else, take a bike ride somewhere or boot up that old videogame you haven't touched in a while Hope this helps :D

A Fitting End for Slavers The sun rose high on a dense, insect-ridden jungle near Krugmar, the undergrowth threatening to devour already-crumbling stretches of road. It was in this choked, humid land that a small group of battle-hungry Dwedmar and a single Uruk clad in crimson hunted, far from home and hearth. It was the slavers’ scent that drew them from the mountains, and soon enough they had found the filth they sought. On a quiet road, two Uruks of Krugmar - one of whom being none other than the Snagagoth - had the misfortune to meet the children of Urguan, each one more eager than the last to carry out Dungrimm’s will. The Uruks carried an Umri slave with them; fresh, breathing, and undeniable proof of their transgressions. The Dwedmar and their Orcish comrade held their weapons aloft, eyeing their prey as Yazmorra Blackroot negotiated the surrender of the slave being transported. The slave was released, and not a moment later, the first strike came from the Grand Queen herself. The ensuing fight concluded with the Snagagoth face-down in a pool of his own blood, a Frostbeard blade lodged in his chest, and his Raguk accomplice attempting to offer terms. Both were brought back to Urguan’s halls in chains. The slavers were thrown into sky cells, to await questioning. Not long after, their interrogations were complete, and the Grand Queen was left to render judgement. The Uruks would face death, and it would be one of their own kind who would give it to them; Naffog, the Orcish Grandmaster of The Crimson Edict who’d fought alongside the Dwed patrol - upon his own request. The Uruks from Krugmar were dragged into the city square, their hands and feet soon nailed between the stone tiles. The Raguk pleaded for his life and the Snagagoth placated himself, suggesting that a slaver’s soul could be saved. The Orc who’d been chosen to mete out their punishment would hear none of it, and had already chosen what fate his misbegotten kin would suffer. Soon, skin was separated from muscle, and bodies were tormented beyond recognition. So it was that two Uruks, flayed living and hung on posts, decorated the heart of Urguan. An end befitting any slaver. Grand King of Urguan,

Silence filled the halls of Goodbarrel Burrow. The afternoon sun shone through the window, casting light on the thousands of pages of writings sitting on Greta Goodbarrel’s desk. As it had often been over the past few years, the burrow was empty save for Greta and a couple of Sorvians. Once home to five halflings, the burrow was now home to only two. Not since her early days in Brandybrook had Greta lived in such an empty burrow. As she entered her dining room, her eyes fell upon the various paintings on the walls. There was a portrait of her daughter Eliza when she was a baby. It was rare now that Eliza, all grown up and off on her own, would visit the burrow. Everyone has left, Greta thought, haven’t they? As her eyes moved across the other portraits, that same thought crossed her mind. There was a portrait of Inkers, and of herself and Isalie Gardner speaking before a crowd of halflings. She had grown accustomed to seeing these faces every day, but had not spoken to them in decades. At ninety-two years, Greta was not really an elderly halfling, but she had certainly begun to feel like one. Greta was entirely alone when she took a seat at her dining room table. Her wife Kerra had left on a shopping errand and her Sorvian Tolerance was still in the study reading. An opened bottle of Greta’s favorite fortified red wine was already resting on the table, and she hardly gave a second thought before picking up the bottle and taking a long swig from it, as was her custom. Not even a minute passed before the woman felt a sharp pain in her chest. She recognized it instantly. She knew what moment had arrived; a moment she had been imagining nearly all her life, a moment she had been long prepared for, though she had rarely imagined it would look like this. Greta did not call for help, she didn’t even stand up. What was coming was inevitable, there was no choice now but to let it be. She began to imagine what people would be saying about her next week, or next year, or a hundred years from now; though it was not a question unique to this moment. All her life, Greta had been fixated on building herself a legacy, on writing things worthy of being read and achieving things worthy of being written about. She had resolved long ago not to become the simple housewife her mother had intended her to be and, to that end at least, she had succeeded. For as much as she resented her failures, reporting on them had left her finally satisfied. For nearly a decade now, Greta had felt her life was more or less complete. But now the notion that Greta’s life was over was not just a feeling. As she began to lose consciousness, she started to imagine what she may soon see. Greta did not believe in any particular god, but she had never ruled out the possibility of an afterlife. In fact, as she collapsed on the table before her she could almost swear she had caught a glimpse of it. She could see her father, looking up from his book to offer her a warm smile. She could see Jol, waving to her with a mug of coffee in her other hand. She could see people she had hardly known like Kit-Kat and Fred Puddlefoot, and great halflings who had died long before her such as Rollo and her cousin Micah. Yet, as Greta got ever closer to the other side, her mind wandered back to the living world, to Kerra, to her daughters Elsie and Eliza, and to her friend Winter. She wondered if she would ever see them again. But Greta did not have long to ponder that question. Soon the pain gave way to nothing; no more senses, no more thoughts, and no more feelings. Nearly an hour passed before Tolerance went into the dining room to check on their maker, realized what had happened, and rushed off to find Kerra, to tell her and anyone else that should know that Greta Goodbarrel was dead. As was her fashion in life, Greta had left behind quite a hefty pamphlet, which; after a brief introduction, was helpfully divided into sections addressed to various people she had known: The Last Will and Letters of Greta Goodbarrel To any it may concern, If this pamphlet has been published, I have died. Whether by the hand of another, by unexpected tragedy, or fault of my own, my life has ended. As chance very likely has it, however, my departure from this world was abrupt, and I was not given what time I needed to give each of my loved ones a personal send off, nor to sort out my wishes for burial or my bequests. It is for this purpose that I write these final letters: To my dear daughter, Eliza; To my dear wife, Kerraline; To my dear daughter, Elsie; To my dearest friend, Winter; To the Warden and Isalie; To Anne; To Valorin, Inkers, Maenor, and Aiera; To all others who have crossed my path in Bramblebury, Haelun’or, and Norland; If you feel that I have neglected to send you a letter, my apologies. If you believe you were at all important to me, then you likely were, for I do not show affection lightly. As of writing this, I have no idea how long I will have lived, but I am confident that it will have been far too short a time to live among such wonderful people. If I have ever offended you, I can offer only my general apologies. I, as much as any other person, was far from infallible, and throughout my life have committed many errors. Nevertheless, it is my hope that history will be kind to me, for I have devoted a great deal of my life to changing its course for the better. Though I will spare you all a political sermon, seeing as most of you are likely tired of such things, I will close by offering a final wish to any in the world who may listen: that a day soon comes when all peoples of the world live in peace, freedom, and equality. With Regards to my Body and Belongings I leave everything; including my books, my jewelry, my sword, my Sorvians, and my burrow; to my wife Kerra with the expectation that she will pass them on to Eliza when the time is right. Though my wife is under no obligation to continue caring for our vineyard or brewing wine in my place, I do hope that each and every bottle of Goodbarrel Wine soon finds its way to a thirsty person. As for my body, I ask that, if possible, it be put out to sea in the fashion of Polo Gardner and other halflings of old. After all, my life was nothing if not a series of adventures. It is only fitting that it should end with one. I bid all who are reading this one last farewell, may you all live long and happy lives.

Halflings are actively seeking to recruit new players! We have 2 villages on Almaris at the moment, Knoxville in Haense and Bramblebury in Elvenesse. Both of them are pretty decent and have cool stuff going on in them! Link to Knoxville discord: https://discord.gg/q2g2PYbv8e How to get to Knoxville: Knoxville usually has roleplay from around 2 PM EST to as late as midnight EST. It has some nice neighbors out in Attenlund and decent farming RP. Link to Bramblebury discord (also used for general halfling discussion not related to any village): https://discord.gg/uXsA9wq How to get to Bramblebury: ((not sure if this road path is accurate)) Bramblebury runs events on the Spicy Shrimp (the big ship moored in the village) and has a bakery ran by @Rioling Link to halfling roleplay guide (slightly oudated): Link to halfling burrow building guide: Halfling Skinning: Let me know if there's anything else you want or need if you're making a halfling persona!

Hi, this is just an annoucement that if you're looking for someone to RP a golem or a Sorvian then DM me, my discord is GeneralPumpkinCZ#1005 Note: This is not begging or something, just that if you have spare golem or Sorvian persona then contact me please. Also i can't roleplay any Creature App until 1.8.2021 Thank you for your time. Btw this amazing peace of art is an art of a golem played by - Reece_Nolan

[!] Musin Guard propaganda is pinned to The Mousehole notice board. It consists of a short song and a tapestry with a catchline. ♫ We are fighters through and through, Blood of Musin the Brave, blood of Crumlin and his crew, With them in mind, our paragons of virtue Mastery and efficiency, we will pursue Vermin Ratiki and adversary, shall be slew For our ancestors, we pay our dues! ♫ OOC: Join The Musin Guard here!

RESPONSES AND ANSWERS 32 S.A. - [!] April reading over her cousin’s writings [!] This missive would be sent out directly to the Motherland of Haelun’or - Karinah’siol. This piece would be formulated in two very distinct writing styles that infers the obvious. To Lliende Tillun’sae - aka Pueurir’arche , Dear Infrequent writer (translated to the common tongue) , Although I have no personal quarrels with you, and I have too seen your own work and even worked under you for some time as a Tilruir, I still see fit to acknowledge your own response, as is only polite. Debate is in our blood, anywho. And I, April Viradiraar, am definitely not afraid of debate. Do you care to truly debate? Or just talk around in circles, as you have with your response. You accuse us of having a disregard for the public. Yet, it is your direct words that you abandoned elcihi when it died down. When it got too boring for you. As if you only return when asked, when warranted. Like a sheep. To address the following claims, Have we not learnt what is lost when our Maheral is lost, lliran? Did we not mourn the death of Malaurir Azorella Elibar’acal, this striking blow to our tradition, our leadership, our wellbeing? Yet still, we are complacent to hold a state without Maheral, without Guidance. Azorella was a known impure. Everyone who is everyone knows that. Apologies for striking the little bubble you live in, llir. As for the Mahaeral, we are all guided by our wits, by Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya. If anything, Mahaeral is a useless position. Mali’thill , should they stray, should find purity within themselves instead of going to a cheap version of a Cannonist priest. Rather than putting out the fire, bringing forth their own visions for the Silver City, one would prefer to abandon ship, to leave their lliran to burn within. To put out a fire, all one simply needs is the wit of themselves, and that’s it. A case easily closed by tossing water or sand, maybe a rag over the flame. To abandon ship means for one to leave whilst it is sinking; before it has sunk, so I presume you have come to the realization that Haelun’or is a sinking ship without a savior. As we left the city you claimed sinks, you were the one controlling its reins, and you were the one to let it burn. Our lliran, the ones who are truly there for us, are completely content with our actions, and have kept in contact with us since. What is it about Haelun’orian Labs that you despise, llir? It’s so very inhumane. Do you not realize the lives, despite them not being silver, you are hurting for your pursuit or progress? There are other ways of creating progress than a government torture chamber that is better crafted for insanes than mali’thill. In this respect, this is anything but progress. The regressing of. Why are you hiding behind Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya despite hating Progresss? What is it about the elimination of Mali’ata that you despise, llir? Purity is indeed something we must uphold and hold dear to our hearts. You and I can agree on that, llir. But, wasting your energy killing those who do not agree with our standards? Do you have standards? If one is deemed impure, they should be stricken and banned from Elcihi, but not death. Death is warranted for murderers. Now, that is progress. Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya infers that the health of the high elven race should be protected, yet, you blatantly disregard this fact. Why are you hiding behind Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya despite hating Progresss? What is it about even the Acid Pits that one despises, llir? “Would one not consider it the most kind method of execution for those few who cannot be redeemed” If one cannot find the fault within this , then I suppose you are truly lost. You call it a painless death. This is so very laughable. Too laughable, infact. It makes me wonder if you have ever touched the liquid that reigns the pools. Ask any elf poor enough to touch them, and one could realize this is an extremely painful way to die. “ What method of removal is more appropriate than Acid Pits for those ‘ata who truly are disgraceful, for the Izalith of the world?” Death by noose, clear and simple. Let me get this through your thick skull: Noose, good, Acid, bad. Why are you hiding behind Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya despite hating Progresss? It is said time and time again, we are often doomed to repeat the past if we do not acknowledge the faults with it. You , llir, clearly cannot as you wish to go back. So, Why are you hiding behind Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya despite you so evidently clearly hating Progresss? The cousins on the Haelun’or Coast 32 S.A. - To the government of Haelun’or, It’s an interesting thing, the fact you haven’t reached out to us. Now, don’t mark us as offended, but simply surprised. You pushed so hard to be heard and yet didn’t try at all with us….. What a life I lived, while within the silver walls. What a life we lived. While it was lovely at first, it soon became careless and filled with sorrow. Hesitance to enter the gates we once felt protected by plagued us, the thought of returning making us sick to our stomachs. Our pyromantic act against the petitions was nothing against one Lleinde Tillun’sae, it was simply a statement. One that would actually be seen, one that would be heard, as our words were not good enough. We attempted to bring light to the dire situation and return to our times of happiness- times we could gather together and share moments. Times we will no longer have. You fall back on the maehr’sae hiylun’ehya, yet you seem to have forgotten its true roots. A phrase you use to cover yourself, to mask your incompetence. You claim that you’re good for wanting new things, yet keep them to yourself- choosing only those you wish to have access to. Thus always to those who presume themselves better than all, I lament. For one day, you will find the karma you so well deserve will greet you at your doorstep. For one day, what you deserve will befall you, and coil itself tightly around your neck to show you all the wreckage you caused. For one day, the bad outcomes that should be dealt to those with such thoughts, will be the hand you’re dealt, and that you’ll find your last card will be one you’ve caused many times before. This is the last letter from us on the topic, as you're either too idiotic and numb-minded, or simply too ignorant to fully consume our words and come forth with an accurate response. You've seen us, you've heard us, but you'll never truly do anything about it, as you feel you are too high above the rest to do such. Call us impure, call us 'ata- call us whatever you'd like. But don't ever forget that we were the ones who took the step. We were the ones that took that chance to open everyone's eyes- to show all what is hidden under silver. We leave the Silver State, a feeling of accomplishment washing over us. With the closing of the letter, we leave you this; Is it truly the way of ‘thill to blindly follow their leaders, and those they consider such, without question- or is that simply the way of sheep? And as always, our mailboxes are open for more debate. -=- Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya. Signed, Seraphite Viradiraar April Viradiraar

THILLN’S LAMENT - - The Viradiraar cousins under a tree in an Undisclosed forest, 32 S.A. [Spreading Tree by Sir George Clausen] [!] The following missive would be sent to various locations around Almaris, namley Haelun’or and its surrounding territories. Larihei’s image is what we all strive to be as ‘thill. Prosperous and Progressful . We are all blessed with the abilities to fulfill the grounds of Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya. Yet, it is Stagnancy , you accuse. This is completely false, as when the Republic collapsed it brought on true stagnancy, and the near death of our people in the midst of a long aggravation with the ‘name of the forest. The last regime sought , and actively brought back the progress of the state as well as replenished the citizenry, Seraphite as an important Okarir’mali and I, April as her Tilruir and Head Physician. The city was brought back into existence, from the brink of extinction. - Karinah’siol - But now, we are headed back in time, to a time of disgrace - to a plague of a regime that had collapsed all by itself in past time, more commonly known as the blessed Diarchy. Your ideals of purity are forced and tyrannical, who denounces and pits any poor ‘thill caring enough to speak up on the dreaded ways. It’s reckless and foolish, not only to bring the horrible ideals of the past (such as the return of the labs, acid pits , elimination of ‘ata) as well as public signing. It has no structure or order. You’ve fallen once, and will fall again, in due time. We burnt the propaganda of a tyrant to see it fall to ashes. We destroyed what it was, so you wouldn’t get ahead of yourselves, because a spark will always turn into a flame, and the sparks in your eyes were enough to put out. The ashes we made are a visual of what Haelun’or is to become with the way it’s headed. A way that will not let any see the good. And so, Larihei weeps. Not for the stagnation of the people she had worked so hard to bring together, but for the overall regression - for your failure. You are regressing, but we refuse to follow. For what is purity without truth, what is power without a true leader. This is not our Haelun’or. And so, we will not be returning to your dreaded Diarchist city for your trial. -=- Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya. Signed, April Viradiraar Seraphite Viradiraar

Hope you enjoy the small video <3 please visit us sometime. More videos to come. and updated as time passes by. The white Marble Building Company's news shop

Greetings! I, Suleiman Al-Hattan, have stumbled upon a most Unique type of Metal, one of which has the properties of Steel, yet looks like that of Bronze. As well as being much lighter than that of normal Steel, and being a large plate in size. I am not looking to sell it for mere Mina, but another item (or items) which might be equal to it in my eyes. As plates formerly belonged to what I can only surmise as that of a being, not humanoid like that of fellow descendants. But instead, possibly similar to that of the terrors from the Voidal Tears that plagued our former home! In order to contact me, I will not only be accepting Birds for Trade Offers, but also be occasionally travelling throughout the next few Saint Weeks! (IGN: RhythmrhymE | Discord: RhythmrhymE#7874) Spoiler

[!] A job opportunity is posted up on The Mousehole noticeboard. THE MUSIN GUARD The official guardforce of The Mousehole, with the primary purpose of protecting the shanty town from any threat. Musin are trained to hone in on their advantages in combat such as agility and awareness, as well as improve their overall skills. The group is not intended for fighting wars. THE HIERARCHY All ranks are to be referred to as [Full Title] [First Name] when working, besides Head Scout who's title will be shortened to Head [First Name]. GUARD A Musin part of the Guard. GUARD SUB-SECTORS SENTINEL A guard who only does duty inside The Mousehole. SCOUT A guard who regularly attends missions outside of the Mousehole. HEALER Specialist in healing rather than combat. Goes on missions with the Scouts. HEAD SCOUT A scout leader may or may not be appointed by the Captain to oversee missions. CAPTAIN Leader of the entire guard. Everyone in the guard acts under their orders. Their orders also go if it is a matter of urgent safety in The Mousehole. REQUIREMENTS All of The Musin Guard must be of age (15 years minimum) and in adequate mental and physical health. [!] A form for Musin to fill in. JOIN THE GUARD Name: Age: Sub-sector: Sentinel [ ] Scout [ ] Healer [ ] OOC MC Username: Discord:

[!] Flyers are posted up, one before the Urguan entrance and another onto The Mousehole noticeboard. THE BAUDELAIRE TROVE CLOCKWORK & ANTIQUES The Baudelaire Trove is a quaint shop, specialising in the sale of antique items and clocks, particularly pocket watches. Most items are one of a kind, available only till they're not. You can find us tucked away in a quiet corner of Almaris; The Mousehole, beneath Urguan. Look left of The Cuckoo Post! We also buy unique items. Speak to Thyme Baudelaire to arrange a Trove purchase. Thyme Baudelaire, Owner Oregano Baudelaire, Co-owner OOC: If you buy anything from the shop, you can pm me on discord RIO#8249 for an image reference of it :) <3

A painting of the Prinzenas Royal. Petra Emma Barbanov Prinzenas Hauchmetvas of Her Royal Highness, Prinzenas Royal Petra Emma Barbanov, Duchess of Karosgrad Joma and Umund 379 ES A Lady Hauchmetvas (known as a Debutante in Common) shall be held in the Nikirala Prikaz to celebrate Prinzenas Royal Petra Emma Barbanov’s 14th birthday and her ascension from adolescence to adulthood. Suitors are encouraged to introduce themselves and offer gifts and flowers to the young Prinzenas Royal during the occasion! Kokoshnik Tiara Bestowment to the Prinzenas Royal A kokoshnik tiara inherited from the former Prinzenas Royal, Katerina Ceciliya, will be bestowed upon Petra for her to wear as a symbol of Haenseti pride and prosperity. Father-Daughter Dance A ball in the Nikirala Prikaz shall be held while the Prinzenas Royal begins the event alongside her father, Koeng Heinrik II, who will dance with her. After the conclusion of the dance, the ball will fully commence and suitors may ask to dance with the Prinzenas Royal if they so wish. Expected Attire Guests are expected to don soft, pastel colors or floral patterns, although it is not required! The Prinzenas Royal also requests that no one else adorns yellow, as she has chosen that color to wear for her special day. SIGNED, HER ROYAL MAJESTY, Annika Anastasija Barbanov, Queen of Hanseti-Ruska HER ROYAL HIGHNESS, Petra Emma Barbanov, Prinzenas Royal of Hanseti-Ruska [OOC] July 11, Sunday at 5:30 PM EST Nikirala Prikaz in Karosgrad, Haense

The Mousehole A town devoid of life, despiriting. A town stagnated, silent. When I peer out from the windows of my dwelling every morning, afternoon, evening and night, that is what I see. For so long now, this has been the state of affairs in The Mousehole. A keeper should not be there simply to take care of taxes, but people also. Keeper Toffee has made her best efforts to do so. Lamentably, she no longer has the mental energy for the job. She leaves the following message for us all: Our race has faced tremendous hardship. As Musin, we have spent many decades from the years of Crumlin, merely surviving. We deserve to thrive. I look to create an environment in which each and every Musin family can do so. When you sleep at night in The Mousehole, I want for you to feel warmth knowing you are being watched over. I am stepping up to this task, not as the representative of Musinkind, but of our home. ⚜ Thyme Baudelaire Keeper of The Mousehole, Owner of The Baudelaire Trove, Watchmaker. [!] Copies of the letter are pinned to the doors of every Musin home. Upon entering The Mousehole town square, one may notice that the once small campfire had been piled up into a bonfire, with more sitting space than there previously was. OOC: Hello! If we've never spoken before, I'm Rio or Mario. I've been roleplaying on LOTC for over 2 years and have previously led the halflings in Brandybrook for 9 months. I hope that the Musin created by Slorbin and others will be around for a long time ❤️

Ethereal Light He laid soft steps upon the muddy ground, his feet were weary from days of travel as the cacophony of crickets ushered in the evening moon. The traveler sighed. Too long had he been on the roads, with the scars still fresh and wounds to prove the roads were no place for the lone. It was a life of solace, the traveler thought to himself as he continued down the moonlit road, but it was not so bad. There were friends, however fleeting; periodic moments of hope inspired by charismatic priests, or perhaps that was just nostalgia. Then, he heard it, an all too familiar noise: the clink of chain and squish of heavy leather boots. The trio of darkly clad men stepped out from behind the trees as they called for him to stop. The traveler knew the drill: his possessions for his life, and so he gripped the book beneath his tabard tightly. He was tired of it though, and he was out of valuables. He did not wish to lose a digit, or a limb for that matter. He had spent too much time working, too much time just to stock his now empty pockets with meager rations for his journey to the mountains. He took his chance, a more than likely foolish one, as he turned into the dark and thick woods. The snap of twigs betrayed his escape, as the trio chased him, a bolt whizzed by his ear, slicing it as he yelped. He slid down the ravine, hiding beneath a large chestnut tree as he whispered a rhyme he’d picked up ages ago, one that had always brought him a strange comfort since: Every day I am plagued by three thoughts– A heavy weight on my soul. First, that my time is finite Second, I know not when I will depart But it is the third that torments me most That there is no way to know where I’ll go* The traveler’s breath began to steady after the third repetition, the harsh sound of his impending death fading deeper into the forest in pursuit. He waited, before deciding to take an uncharted path in the forest. He rose from the nook in the tree and began to meander forwards, guided only by the stars and moon. His hope faltered as he continued in the dark. He began imagining his savage death to those that camp within the forest’s lawless territory, wolves or boars, or even worse, man. His mind failed him, or did it? The soft glow of the candle light could not be real, or if it was, what men did light it. The traveler approached it cautiously, staying within the tree cover. He smelled food, again he thought his mind failed him. He sighed, wondering why the fates would play such evil tricks upon his humble being, a trial to prove his strength, he concluded. Finally the candle came into view. It burned slowly upon a pike dug deep into the dirt, but it was not alone. Through the dimly lit forest was a path lit by these piked candles, and the scholar let his gaze follow the lights until he could not see beyond them. Cautiously, he stepped more pronouncedly onto the dirt road, but was halted by an abrupt invasion of fearful and curious thoughts. “CRRRRAAAACKKKKKK” echoed from in front of him as an immense light painted the sky and its very nature was, for a moment, torn asunder. The unexpected burst of light and harsh pop sent the scholar upon his back. But he was a curious man, and though he feared men, this unexpected occurrence felt different, so he began to stand. The scholar dusted off his robes and secured his prized journal as he set off with hastened steps down the road towards the light which had turned the night to day. The Principality of Ando Alur “In Knowledge, Power...” To the far Eastern vales of the Almarisian continent, beyond the wave-lapped sands of the western shores, there lies an ivory spire — one which claws to the very heavens in hopes to reach the gods. This divine citadel, a final refuge of the noble arcane, stood to embody the hopes of descendant-kind to reach the seat of the gods. Many come here seeking enlightenment, whether they be some roaming scholar, weary knight, or cloistered monk — each taking solace in the gleaming light of Ando Alur. Leadership of the Principality Governance is a necessity of all societies, even those as great and wise of elvendom, and those of Ando Alur know this well. However, though given the reigning authority of a Prince, the people of Ando Alur are also sustained through the Council which advises the High Prince on matters pertaining to the wellbeing of the city-state. The High Prince [Vulnir Syllar - 6xdestroyer] The Prince is the recognized leader of Ando Alur and is responsible for the safety of those within the realm. The Prince acts in coordination with his council and guilds, ultimately holding the power of binding contracts. Drawing their power from the Onyx codex, they are ritually crowned in front of their kin by the Councillor of Culture. The Council of Seven Whilst the Prince may hold the power of binding contracts and direct authority, the magnificence of Ando Alur is no product of his virtue alone, for even he must have guidance through the Council. The Council of Seven is composed only of the greatest minds of the Almarisian continent, holding the power to make executive decisions and attend the works of the Prince. During the instances of disagreement between the Prince and Council, they may override his Highness if in unanimous agreement. The council will always possess at least one elven, one dwarven, and one human member. The Councillor of Council [Thallan Syllar - Cobbler] The Councillor of Council is in charge of all diplomatic matters within Ando Alur, as well as the recording of such, often heading foreign diplomatic missions in representation or assistance of the Prince. The Councillor’s primary role is the documentation of all legal and diplomatic proceedings that transpire within the Principality. They also possess the ability to hold judicial trials, presided over by the wider council, to help administer punishments to individuals arrested by the Inquisitors or other internal policing forces. The Lord Inquisitor [Erilian Oranor - Shmeepicus] The Lord Inquisitor is the head of the Inquisitors, the military force of Ando Alur. Not only is the Lord Inquisitor expected to be passionate and patriotic, but also tactically cunning and politically attuned in order to effectively defend the marble city and her people. While the Alurian Prince may grant the honorary title of Onyx Knight to worthy Inquisitors, the Lord Inquisitor’s recommendation is almost always a requirement. The Councillor of Keys [Jakob Castington - Oh_Ontario] The Chamberlain assigns living situations for all citizens and can charge tax on behalf of the Principality. They are also able to evict residents and organize events for citizens to partake in. The Chamberlain also presides over the market stalls within the Principality. The Lord Auspex [Avurak Syllar - Morghuul] The Lord Auspex is in charge of all religious activities within the Principality. Their duty is to that of the Ancestors and the Spirits and making sure the onyx children are guided on the lunar path. They build and maintain a spiritual following in the Principality, devoted to converting wayward humans, elves and dwarves onto the path of honour, building and maintaining shrines and totems, blessing kin, and snuffing out evil. The High Praetorum [Olrin Hildinyr - Sorcerio, Muriel - Geidleth] The High Praetorum are esteemed roles within the courts of Ando Alur, being responsible for the documentation and regulation of magic and artificery within the Principality. Along with this, they are also responsible for the defence, preservation, and protection of the marble city through their many arts, and work vigorously to achieve knowledge that can be used for the betterment of the Principality and her people. The High Praetorum are also responsible for the direct oversight of all arcane activities and projects within Ando Alur, as well as working closely with both the Lord Auspex and High Inquisitor to ensure balance and security within the Principality. The Councillor of Land and Sea [Vanya Hileia - Space_Solstice] The Councillor of Land and Sea oversees the construction of guild halls and helps to manage the various guilds within the principality in the aim of leading to higher levels of productivity and recruitment among them. With their gentle guidance, as well as their affinity with architecture, the Councillor of Land and Sea oversees the ships and construction within Ando Alur. The Councillor also takes on the role of presiding over the Alurian naval forces, working closely with her sister counterpart in Haelun’or. The Seats of Grace The Seats of Grace are granted to those of honourable merit and high prowess. These Alurians sit below the Council, but still hold an immense amount of responsibility. Seats of Ceremony [Lorelei Vamyar - Clonky, Ilyana, Clonky] The Seats of Ceremony are titles given to Alurians who demonstrate keen abilities to work with the denizens of Ando Alur to organize and schedule festivals, galas and feasts in the name of joy and entertainment. To facilitate these events, they may present requests to the Council for whatever materials, funds, or support they may need. Seat of Health [Elren Asul'onn - BobBox] The Seat of Health is tasked with ensuring the health and day to day safety precautions for those within the city. They often consult the High Praetorum and Lord Auspex to ensure any arcane actions are balanced and will not negatively impact the health of the city on a major scale. Seat of the Hunt [Open] Whereas the Seat of Ceremony is tasked with internal Alurian events, the Seat of the Hunt is tasked with providing and organizing events beyond the white walls. The Seat of the Hunt is expected to be skilled in tracking, archery, and the various skills that go along with the name. Seat of Poetry [Open] The Seat of Poetry is given to one skilled in the art of literature and missive making. They are assigned the responsibilities of ensuring transparency between the council and the good people of Ando Alur. They are encouraged to write their own poems, literature, and works of art in their own time to be spread across the continent. The Four Podiums The Podiums sit in the throne hall of Ando Alur and await the statues of the heroes to come. Alurians, or their allies, which perform great feats in the name of the city will receive a statue of their likeness made from the finest marble of the white cavern. There are four podiums: [Out of Character Info] Want to Get Involved? Ando Alur is not only meant to be a place for those seeking knowledge or needing refuge in roleplay, but also a welcoming community to its members out of character. If you wish to help out with anything around the city, whether you know what it is you want to do or not, we will do our best to help you fit in and get involved in the community! Click here to join the Discord. How to Get There *Poem is by unknown, I do not claim credit for it* ((Post not put in Ando Alur subforum as it is currently glitched.)) Thanks to Sorcerio for formatting help!

A depiction of Elysium’s park on a sunny day, circa 1820 Fresh fields of Elysian blooms lie before the couple in question. The rolling hills of Elysium are teeming with life, speckled with vibrant blossoms bearing hues of purple, pink, and yellow. The soft, gentle glow of a stray lantern casts its light over the river’s crystalline waters. Beside the river sits a jubilant couple, much like the shining, bejewelled ring that now sits upon the lady’s finger. They beam and grin at such a grandiose prospect: marriage. The radiance of the sun itself could not compare to the radiance upon their faces! The engaged couple then briskly sets off to make preparations for the upcoming wedding. A Union of Jubilation An Asul’onn - Astrean Wedding Christopher Asul’onn and Amicia de Astrea cordially invite you to witness and celebrate their marriage, which will take place in the park of Elysium. After the ceremony, guests will be directed to another area of the park for a celebratory dance and reception where the festivities shall continue into the evening! All citizens, friends, and allies are invited to attend this momentous occasion of jubilance and merriment. Guests are asked to don blue, as per the bride’s request! [!] A map to guide attendees to the location of the ceremony is depicted above. [OOC] Friday, June 11th 9:30 PM EST Coordinates X: -1123, Z: -2856

Dear halflings, Firstly, I must introduce myself. My name is Thyme Baudelaire. I am a Musin living in The Mousehole, a dwelling deep in the Urguan caverns. I have been visiting your village, Bramblebury, and met a few very pleasant halfling peoples, who made me feel welcome in their home. In turn, I wish to invite you all to mine, and to meet more of you cordial folk. It seems to me the Musin and halflings are not too different, from our stature to our love of food. We shall sit around the campfire and enjoy marshmallows among other sweets, you may grab a drink from our tea shop or tavern too! Perhaps each bring some items over to trade, as I hear halflings like to do so. This invitation is for one week from now. I do hope you'll accept. (OOC: Monday 7th June, 6pm EST/11pm BST) Thyme Baudelaire Owner of The Baudelaire Trove, Watchmaker, Commander of The Mousehole.

[!] A majestic hawk would deliver a letter to Owyn de Joannes, Regent of Sedan ((@Emery)). The letter would be neatly folded and sealed with the crest of The Rustlers. To Owyn de Joannes, the House of de Joannes, and all those who align themselves with the Goats of Sedan, I am aware of what you have done. Rest assured that this is both your first and final warning. Should any Goat lay a finger upon any of my men again, there will be trouble. While we do not wish to pursue conflict, we will not hesitate to do so, should your dishonorable acts persist. Heed my advice, men of Sedan: Beware the blue bandana. Signed, Elsil’Ceru, Rustler Boss Signed, Elsiimah’Ceru, Rustler Boss

A small ledger bound in Brown leather with pure white paper and golden ink would be found all over the Decedents capital Cities -= Ledger =- - Link to our portfolio and prices "A kind letter regarding our work please feel free to send Vanya Hileia or Jakob Castington a bird, we reside in Providence for now." Kind regards - Vanya Hileia and Jakob Castington - Space_Gene#1217 or Oh_Ontario#4000 ((OOC)) We are still in the process in creating a proper portfolio, please bear with us <3 Portfolio Youtube nature Build