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A missive is spread throughout Almaris, fine parchment rolled and wrapped with a black ribbon tied and closed by two seals - a purple one carrying the coat of arms of Nor’Asath and a golden one carrying the crest of the R’ikarth Clan. “To all Mali’ker, and all Mali of Almaris From Prince Zirath Talhoffer R’Ikarth The Birth of our New Roots Karin’ayla, kae lliran. For decades, our Dark Elven people have been scattered across the land, with few elven homelands to refer to, subjugated under the rule of non-Elven descendants. Lamentably few have tried to restore our unity, and even less have endeavored to keep it. Others, driven by pride, have seen to our people’s undoing. With the establishment of the Principality of Nor’Asath, we have at last seen progress in this mission; not in centuries have so many of Velulaei’s sons and daughters come together in unity. Descendants of Renelia, Vira’ker, the Onyx Sanctum and even the Warhawkes now walk our halls. It is the best, last hope for the Mali’ker people to forge their rightful place among the other lineages of Malin. It is thus that we call for Dark Elves of all walks of life, all strains of thought, all forms of worship, and from all corners of Almaris to come to Nor’Asath - that the Dark Elven people might at last come home. It is further that we note that in many ways, the state of all Elves has recently mirrored the historical fragmentation of our Dark Elven people. It is thus that we also call for all Elves of Almaris to journey to the Dual Principalities of Fenn and Nor’Asath, there to mingle amidst the largest collection of Elves since the early days of Almaris. It is our hope that, in time, we shall find unity among Mali’ker, Mali’fenn, Mali’aheral, and Mali’ame - for while we have greatly changed since the days of Malin, we are still his children, and it would still be his desire that we reach accord. I, Prince Zirath Talhoffer R’Ikarth, write on behalf of my kin and invite you, the remaining Dark Elven people, to join our efforts. I ask to bring your stories, your cultures, your knowledge and your dreams here to let our newly born community thrive and grow. It is long past time that Velulaei’s people were restored. As of now, we have never been closer. It is my sincere hope that we shall all, at last, be together. Let us make our ancestors proud, and nurture a bright future for the Mali’ker people." Signed, Zirath Talhoffer R’Ikarth Prince of Nor’Asath, Prince of the Dark Elves

(Part 1 of a couple part mythic epic about truly ancient times) Na Yallir Na Prenu Talar'Asul -------------------- The scene is set, A silver moon rides the sky, straddling a sublime city of purest marble and finest construction. The beautiful Mali'aheral, with their poets-a-canter, and maiden song singing, living their lives of plenty. Blessed are they, who dance amongst her white columns, sweet smells rise, and great friendships struck. In this scene, a symposium of comrades. The brothers few, who share with each other boasts and beratements, laughter, and love, gifts offered freely to one another. Together they strike out and make the night their own. Gathered they did, as the blessings flowed freely as gifts of their splendid lives. Salt and Fish from the sea, Fruits and Nuts from the hills, Sweet, sparkling Wine from the Vine. The Symposiasts gathered together for great intent, as these were the times where tongue is tempered in the ring of philosophy and debate. "What is the way to live?" The bronze-haired 'Aheral asked, his hand grasping only the juiciest grapes. "To be free of worry, far from battle, and the prater of lessers, where you have chance to cultivate" An 'aheral responds, his feet hiked as he drinks watered wine from the amphorae Another interjects, drizzling his comrade and himself with oil "That may be part of it, but truly one lives best when he is challenged" His wrestling partner returns as they lock together in a grapple. "I must not be living to the fullest then!" she exclaims before pinning her opponent. As the others drank their water and wine, the young 'Aheral, Son of a beautiful mother, bronzed by the blessed rays of the sun, his body molded by honor-heft in The Iron Temple, and mind enforced by the great teachings of venerated Mali'aheral scholars drank from his own cup of sparkling wine; then spoke again. "Why aren't you, then?" Crossing his legs as the Symposiasts gathered there in the sauna listened on with furrowed brows. "You all gather here almost every night, we eat from our fine plates, we sup from silver chalices and bronzed mugs. We heft big weight, and we clash many lyres, and orate many poems. Our slaves toil for all our needs, and we simply take as we please, bounty from the sea and isle. You say to be challenged is good, but at the same time wish to be free from harm? What is challenge with no risk? With no reward? Mere homework!" Enraged, the 'aheral symposiasts assaulted him with insult after insult, each one her curtailed, like knives off a shield. They all had the same core. "Well then mister bronze elf, why don't you go do something challenging then?" "Well lets go then" He laughed, the symposiasts, drunk on pure wine, did not think they would need to be proving the weight of their words, but they still accepted the challenge anyway, as these sorts of friends do. But when the morning rose, splaying itself out beyond that silver horizon and the waves were perfect to cast away, only him greeted that dawn, his shield of bronze polished, and his cuirass lined with silver laurels. He went about the silver city, and every chance he could, he reminded his friends about their weak word, and wimpish sensibility. Enraged again, the insults flew, but finally, the comrades relented, knowing that he was right. There is a saying in the islands of the Mali'aheral "I hate the symposiast with a good memory" Each of these Mali'aheral were obviously members of esteemed bloodlines of Haelun'or, and as such, benefited from the privileges of that. Obtaining quite easily what they wished, and gathered what was necessary. From polished shields, and arms so beautiful they would make a dwarf cry, even the food for the journey was a thing that not only nourished body, but soul as well. Oh, to be provided for my the fruits of your bounty, the labor of no labor, and to wear it proud, as we are blessed men. Each of them, clad in their heavy bronze with tied and filigreed with silver, and the blues of their crested helms. Each one a champion of mind and body, pure blood and pure spirit. The girls smiled finally having the saunas to themselves again, and then, the comrades set out on a ship of painted sails away from their mother island, yet it was good. One of the key features that distinguishes an 'Aheral sailor from lessers is their patience and ability in long journey Together, through these vast and silvery seas, the comrades knew many great songs and tale, they spoke legends of stars and light, but the lights ahead a manner of elf weeks into the voyage spoke more to them in that moment ((Heres the first post of an 'Aheral Mythic Epic of a great Warrior-Poet and one-day Hero-King! If you wanna read more check out my other posts on The Hyptos, a bloodline of heroes.))

The Circle of Crows Followers of the Divine Unknown Founded on the 23rd of Malin’s Welcome, Year 1844 of the Second Age _______________________________________ To the denizens of Almaris, We are the Circle of Crows. We are those who have lurked in the shadows for countless years, moving between the lands, doing our duties alone and without fail. With the troublesome creation of the Voidal Hollow and other untold imbalances that threaten our realm, we as a Circle have come to an agreement. Many of our members have thought it best to make ourselves known in the realm, to those who follow the same path, and to those who wish to join us in our endeavors. We are here to serve a new purpose in this world, to stay present in the development of things that might affect the balance, and to actively protect that balance no matter the cost. In short, we may pursue things differently from that of the current Circles. Henceforth, we have found a home in the lands of the Elvendom, previously known as Elvenesse. We urge that those who wish to join our ranks, simply reach out by letter or in person. Signed,

In what was but a blink of an eye, they looked upon the sky. Ruin was all anyone could describe such a night. Prince Vival, the young heir of clan Velulaei’onn, stood valiantly upon the frontlines of the evacuation of Elvenese many of elven kind having looked to the skies toward their doom. The Young Ker found himself, brought to an abrupt end by a single slash of a hellish construct. In an attempt to fight for his life, the Prince found himself in the company of Elven lords. His life ended in the company of Sevrel Valindar, who took the honor of delivering the young Lord to his beloved home of the Stygian Hollow. Vival lived as the reclusive young son of the Velulaei’onn line of Renelia born to the first lord of the lands Aroen; Vival was a solitary boy having shared blood and practice within the clan Ravexi, having been raised upon the ideals of the Ironfist of the Ker. His time would have proven a brief one for the young reclusive scholarly warrior as the end brought only exodus. Having been separated by his kin, Vival found himself alone. As was true for many Ker at the time, survival turned into a priority, many integrating into other communities and many more turning toward ill reputable criminal acts. Vival, as he grew up, remained within the criminal underworld, having taken part in piracy at a young age following a less than a prestigious career in thievery. Within time the young Ker, having been forced to live under an alias and disguise based upon his heritage, after an untimely end to his criminal career, Vival lived among scholars in Sutica. Vival spent much time learning about more peculiar elements of the world. Through his knowledge, he earned a grander perspective. As Vival hungered for more, his studies had found an end with the sudden loss of the academy; Vival moved from place to place, continuing his studies and moving from place to place until the destruction of Arcas where old passions reignited though were cut short. Having lived and helped found the city of Freeport, Vival would find himself in a moment of conflict. He had learned some of his family had yet lived in the Holy Orenian Empire. From there, Vivals path became one of walking among a pack, a growing horde of Ker tribes seeking a dream preached by his predecessor of a new Renelia. In hindsight, the goal was perhaps a fool's dream; what he wanted may not have been the best for his people, yet perhaps not one whose ends proved without merit. Vival was not meant to lead, yet upon the stagnation of his predecessor, he was the one left to find a home for his people. During a moment of desperation, Vival led his people toward various potential homes, his sight inevitably falling upon the mountainous ravines in Urguan after his dealings with the Grand King. Through what seemed to be a strenuous effort, the lands of Stygian Hollow formed. Despite the struggles, many found within the city, the Prince grew accustomed to a family, friends, and the trials that even a smaller city may provide. The Young Prince in his final moments fulfilled with his life. ”Aelia, Pardek, and my youngest Ahzekk and the rest of my kin do not weep for eternity simply be better than I.” “To those who remain in the Hollow, our new dream shall not end with me. Carry on for all of our sakes.” “However I may be remembered, I only hope ill be remembered as a llir to all of you; we will meet again among the Ancestors.” “Velulaei, watch over each of you as I now go to join her.”

“Take from this bowl and write what you fight for on the stag” The elf prince said to the young ranger he nodded to the prince and dipped his hand into the bowl coating his hand in the ashes with in walking up to the statue of the giant stag he brought his finger to the smooth material of the statue writing ‘family’ as he stepped back from the statue he looked at the writing of so many other around him, he knew they were in for a fight they would know if they would win..but he was going to fight for his home and what he held dear His family Cypress sat there awake, his father and mother fast asleep with his two younger siblings and twin brother also in rest at the little room within the owl’s perch. however he was unable to rest easy, his family was safe but something nagged at the back of his mind. The young ranger stepped out of the room being quiet so as not to wake any others within the tavern, so many people who in one day lost their home just like him. Once outside he took a long breath. He could smell some smoke but it was distant but he could still remember the smoke that invaded his lungs only hours ago, the sound of swords clashing and the yells of people in panic and some yelling orders. It was all fresh in his mind and it all had been too real he felt horrible as he let something cloud his mind during all that fighting as much as he didn't want to admit. The fear of death and loss He had many conversations about it before with the man he long considered his mentor, john. The hours he spent training and talking with him, he was as much of a parental figure to him as the brylynn who took him and his brother in so long ago yet in the moments of terror and chaos in the fight he felt he failed not only the brylynns but also john, as he had barley helped fight and spent more time running in fear like a coward. He had been unable to even speak to his fellow rangers after they came back, looking at all the people tired and burned, during that time and even now he couldn’t shake how these people fought hard and all he had been able to do was run, even his own father who he had seen sitting in the room earlier in extreme pain with scorch marks barley even able to stand let alone stay awake. The young ranger sighed as he continued towards where he left his steed, carefully untying the horse and hopping on its back “come on let's go” he commanded the horse as they took down the path towards elvenesse or what was left.. The young ranger came to near the burning city stopping as his horse did not dare to go any closer, the smell of ash and smog he had smelled before once again infesting his lungs as he coughed but nonetheless he stayed there the same words ringing in his mind over and over like a broken record that wouldn’t leave his mind. Coward, failure, weak His eyes welled up with tears as he clenched tightly to the reins of his horse to the point his knuckles turned white under his gloves, as he just began sobbing as he hunched over as he couldn't hold them back anymore and at least there was no one there with him to see such, he wasn’t sure how long he stayed there for before he finally just couldn't cry anymore, he managed to muster himself up to get his horse to move once more as he headed back. OOC

Prelude. [!] Far and across every realm - to all Descendant kind, the following message would be delivered. To some, it will be stamped with a self-devouring serpent. To others, a single, baleful eye wreathed with flame. To some still, an assembly of seven stars above an Elven crown. The meaning, regardless is the same. I have walked into the den of the Titan, expecting death, and instead am given this charge. This warning I extend to Almaris and all its peoples. “Mark this hour’s passing. Amathea’s doom is certain. I will come upon it as a great and terrible malice of the like that this world has only just forgotten. It will begin at the city’s heart, which will blacken and burn. A poison will flow through the woodland realm’s veins, and when it has been made grey, I will reap all that I have sown and feast upon its lifeforce. Black metal will fall from the sky and mar every monument to elvenkind, every altar to your gods, and every grove in which you celebrate life. I will do this without pause. And when I have finished my work I will look to the East.” For Azdromoth is his name Calamity, his domain Amaethea is next. @Bhased @Panashea @Iverach @_pr0fit @Xarkly @Terry @OhDeerLord@Lionbileti @BenevolentManacles @WestCarolina @Formenost @Malaise @Valannor @Abeam @Monkee@Bethinwonderland @Suicidium

elnarnsae’ame ilmyumier (Tattoos of the Wild Faith) As mali, we are blessed with the ability to experience centuries of history first hand, rather than be party to the realm of dusty tomes. And as ancient beings, the history we experience forms into stories which, either literally or metaphorically, mark and scar us. I believe that we should honor the skin, as mali. Some, like the blessed elves, believe that we should be maintained in the image of purity. I believe to honor the skin is to turn the mali form itself into art. Tell the story of your life's history, belief, and duty through the expression of shape and color in the art of Elven ilmyumier. Here I detail my process, tools, and the designs I have created for my own expression of my faith for the benefit of our people, the mali who employ the ilmyumier and follow our Wild Faith and Aspects. iller'ilmyumier (Application of Tattoos) To bestow, and have bestowed ilmyumier is a sacred process, one that should be sought to be carried out by a trusted and trained individual. It is for this reason that I have a certain disposition towards the notion of a tattoo parlor, where markings of the skin are applied as a cold transaction of business. One giving ilmyumier should do so in exchange for nothing. If you find an exchange is necessary, I believe a friendly and thankful gift is appropriate; typically equal to the amount of supplies spent on the ilmyumier you received. As any sacred practice, the application of ilmyumier should be treated as a ritual. To sit through the process, especially for large pieces, is a test of endurance and respect should be given in equal parts to the artist and recipient as they undergo a process which I believe in itself to be holy. Customarily, a prayer is said by the artist to Sha'maidan, calling upon Her strength and endurance as the recipient readies to bear the burden of pain. In turn, the mali getting tattooed will speak a prayer to Kwakwani to guide their artistic hand. As such, it is typically appropriate for an ilmyumier artist to have a token in the image of both Demidogs, or tools carved to depict them among the artist mali's equipment. fer'ilmyumier (Tools of the Trade) An example of fer'ilmyumier and the accompanied rod. (center) To use this tool, the needling ends of it are dipped generously within the ink, while the back of the instrument is repeatedly, rapidly, gently tapped with the rod as it makes quick impressions and inks the flesh. The process of using this tool is bloody, but effective. These tools are commonly hewn in the images of Kwakwani (left) and Sha'Maidan (right). Several of these tools, each with differently-sized needling heads, are often found in a kit. Many variations of these tools include a simple wooden rod with the honed needling points sticking from it at a right angle. These typically have little embellishment, and are used in training until an ilmyumier artist comes into their own. The art of ilmyumier uses an array of different tools and supplies required for the application, each with a unique use and function. These tools may alter the level of detail at which you work, or make the process itself pass quicker. All methods, unfortunately, carry the sacred pain of application, but there are certain methods that assuage some of that burden at the request of the recipient, or the compassion of the artist. A normal set of tools includes a single thin needle, common amongst all tattoo artist. In my own practice, this is used for thin details and outlines, as well as filling in sharp corners within my designs. However, the majority of my work is with a tool I call the fer'ilmyumier. Wooden rods with an angled and pointed handle, at the end of which is a series of sharp points. This piece is often made of honed flint, or stone. Making this out of wood leads to wear, and a flimsy, broken tool from the moisture of ink. As one might expect, the tool used by every artist of tattoos is ink, whose stains come from any number of sources. For the most common, black ink, one can typically make these out of ash or charcoal depending on the darkness they like. More colorful inks I source from nature, either from berries with bright, pigmented juices and flesh, or from the petals of flowers. An interesting, subtle art to using ink made from the pigments of petals is the implementation of Tiva into one's craft; making inks from particular flowers to convey a message known typically only to the artist and recipient. As with anything, caution is recommended when using berries or flowers to mark the flesh. Nature is vicious, angry, and you may end up marking your skin in poison. Finally, the knife. This is rarely used in practice safe for particular applications of ink, and scarification. Scarification is an honorable variation of ilmyumier, each story it represents carries with it the spirit of endurance. Nearly every design to be featured can be done with scars instead of inks, and I encourage those willing, especially those of the Ichor Way, to immortalize their patrons in pain. Ilmyumyer Designs of the Wild Faith While ilmyumier can denote standing, seed, and clan, my greatly favorited way of using it is through the expression of my faith in representing not only the Aspects, but the Demigods of the Wild Faith. These are designs I have created honoring them, and I encourage those reading to find inspiration in my designs and the motifs used for each one. Each design represented is easily done with scars, as well, for those desiring. Valmir'ilmyumier Rites Most anyone can apply ink to the flesh. But Elven ilmyumier is more than tattoos alone; they are a honed and sacred practice which carries weight, and fosters a connection between those that would create it, and the others that would receive it. To set one's self down this path is easy, and begins only with the desire to not only put markings on skin, but to create the designs yourself. Many of the old markings are lost, but new traditions can be forged, as they should be. Once the desire is cemented, the artist will have another valmir'ilmyumier mark their dominant hand in the markings of the craft while they both recite a joint prayer, to their choice of the Mother and Father, or to Kwakwani and Sha'Maidan. After the rite of application is complete, the newly arisen valmir'ilmyumier allows their markings to heal before they begin constructing their sacred kit, hand carving fer'ilmyumier in the image of their preference, typically of the Mani they venerate. The mark of a valmir'ilmyumier is done on the dominant, working hand, in the preferred/favorite color of the artist. Typically only one color is done, but as the mali'ame are a colorful people, several vibrant pigments are hardly out of the question. Stylistically, the mark can change, but the staining of fingertips and fading lines along the knuckled to the wrist remain mainstays of the mark. Above depicts the author's own mark, featured on his left working hand. - Gilliaen Alhanavir [!] All depictions of tattoos, and tools are drawn by me.

[!] as the wind blew on Stygian Hollow and Thunders roared in the rainy sky, a golden figure glanced over the dark elven city with eyes full of bitterness and rage, burning the trees with its fiery gaze. In the air some energy and tension could be felt building up as the rain consumed the stone under its feet. [!] "may the ones yond consum'd pow'r decayeth and roteth with these poisonous roots yond hath grown with those folk!" ???, ???pm EST, Stygian Hollow, Urguan LOTC event note: the animation is not the best and the voices are even worse but i did my best :) enjoy

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:

Despite the tense expressions of the four present, the Hinterlands hummed with their usual naturesong. The Warden keep rose over the treetops like a great obelisk, the eyes of those within peering out into the emerald ocean of canopy with regret held in their eyes. “You’re certain of this?” The ashen elf murmurs. The snowy locks over his brow dance in the firelight of the keep as he looks between his three companions. The crown above his head mirrors the watchful gaze of the Hound, High Prince Evar’tir. The bearded elder nods. Sevrel Valin’dar gave a sigh in disappointment, pity even - not for his comrades, but for the foolishness of the one that they spoke. The dark elven was the Bulwark of Elvenesse, yet it was still a distressing shock to know that his foes had come from within. “It seems that they have the support of the entire Puerokar Seed, and allegedly… the Tahorran kin.” Amaesil’s auburn head turns to Sevrel. The Young Fox was as cunning as his namesake, and his eyes reflected the confirmation of his suspicions. The Exarch had his hunches, yet it was still disconcerting to hear the truth unfold before him. “Any others?” he asks with his typical confident tone, but there was certainly a gnawing in his gut that he could not ignore. The lone silver-gold headed Aerendyl draws in a sharp breath as Sevrel responds. “An… undisclosed number of allied individuals.” The TimberWolf’s form shook with a nauseating concoction of fury and betrayal. He recalled the days when his House was supporting the Tahorran seed financially, and those adventures that he had with them upon the wild waters of the world. “Those craven snakes... ” he laments, his expression yielding a rare and genuine look of despair. “This nation is my family, my kin, brothers and sisters… my home.” Sevrel speaks up among the brief silence as the four came to terms with the information. “Valin’dar with with you all, for the titles and roles we have are nothing- it is for this family that I will oppose this scheme.” “You have my sword.” Amaesil resounds, the Young Fox leading a quiet rally between the four. “And my glaive.” Aerendyl echoes, turning his gaze too towards the High Prince and leaning upon his wolven-headed staff grimly. The cogs were in motion. The four Lords returned home. They returned to their beds, their family, their wives, and prayed for forgiveness for what must be done. Nobody expected the seats to be lined with so many interested folk... Ithalanen, kin of the Usurper, the Savoyard men, the Ichorians... "Rylleah, I have no doubt that you did not know what Tahlia had done without your permission. And for this, your life will be spared. The docks will be eliminated, and Tahlia is eternally banished." "500 mina for her alive, half for her head." the High Prince chimed in, just as the Puerokar seed was summoned to the center of the room. "Pancho Puerokar, you and your seed have been accused of high treason against the crown. Care to explain yourself?" he echoes throughout the throne room... just as a familiar face shows up from behind the Puerokar lineup. Sevrel marched in with a legion of Orenian lineman. He sternly looked up to the High Prince and pointed his longsword accusingly up to the dark elven Prince. "My Lords, it has come to my attention that there is a situation." The Dark Elf steps forward to the front and looks Evar'tir right in the eyes. "This man has lied to his people, betrayed our honour, and has no right to rule! Me and my lliran are here to deal with this tyrant, once and for all. My people are loyal to the cause, and I shall no long stand for this. You shall be put down!” He shouts, still glaring at the elves atop the platform. Then, he turns around to Pancho Puerokar, and points his blade towards the wood elf. “ARREST THESE TRAITOROUS DOGS!” Like the heartbeat of a great titan, the footfalls of the Wardens marched down the great spiral of the citadel down into the heart of the cavern. There, they halted in a methodical line before the manor of Puerokar. The distant memories of this seed pleading for help from a depraved member beating his son rang in their mines like a distant foghorn. Things could have been so much different… but the fires flew from the line of elves regardless, and with it their disgust and fury at the Puerokar manipulation. No more abuse, no more false cries for help, only the baptism of cleansing embers and righteous retribution. It was a shame. A damn shame, even. Stewards were of this seed, prospective Wardens of Hinterlands, even a capable commander… All to waste. As much as Amaesil, Aerendyl, Sevrel, and Evar’tir hated to be reminded of it, it wasn’t just Mankind who may fall to the desire for power. They looked on not with smiles, nor a glimmer of joy in their eyes, but with regret. This was no joyous celebration, but a memorial for a consuming rot that could have devoured their gladed home with a ravenous hunger. With the fires dying down, and the Green Priesthood already setting to work returning this portion of city to nature, the four Lords turned their eyes to the north shore. They marched to the docks.

ANDO ALUR'S FIRST JOUST [!] two people practicing jousting outside of Ando Alur Welcome one welcome all! Ando Alur Warmly invites you to visit our grand city for our first Joust! His Serene Highness and his event planners, have decided to host several events for his people and all of Almaris! Our city resides in Eastfleet, take the road to Haelun'or and there you will spot a city on a hill, the marbled walls of Ando Alur. Sunday, June 27th. 8:30 pm est Jousting For our first event! We will be hosting a jousting tournament, anyone is more than welcomed to join! Just find a member running the festivities and let them know you would like to sign up. Prize will be announced at the event. Brawl Show off your hand to hand combat skills during this event, impress the prince himself with your skill! Prize, a hundred mina! Novel Competition Here in Ando Alur, we believe knowledge is just as powerful as brute strength! show off your literary skills by entering the book writing contest. Crown Forging Blacksmiths of Ando Alur and Almaris, now is your chance to prove your worth and skill! forge a grand crown for the competition, and the triumphant crown will be worn by his Serene Highness himself! Special Invitations Denziens of Ando Alur. The Silver State Of Haelun'or and the Silver Council. people of different nations are more than welcomed to join! PENNED, Seat of Ceremony, Event Coordinator, 𝐼𝓁𝓎𝒶𝓃𝒶

Third Skin Auction POG! Hi guys its me doreebear again :) ! this will be my third skin auction! I just want to say thank you to all the people who have supported me through my past auctions money is a bit of a problem for me sometimes, but the amount of support and bids I've received has helped me and I want to thank y'all so much for it ;~; I love you all! Some info below! ALL BIDDINGS WILL START OUT AS 3$ USD! the bidding will end tomorrow night at 4pm CST (yeah im in CST suck it.) I will have male AND female skins! theres plenty to go around! cope and paste this for the bids DISCORD NAME: SKIN IM BIDDING ON: MY BID: RULES Ping the person whom you're trying to outbid so they know! I will not be putting my payment info out publicly so please PM ME FOR THAT INFO BECAUSE IT IS PRIVATE! ALSO! please no reposting on PMC! just because you bought the dress does not mean you take credit acting like you made it, I still made it! also do not resell if you want to just pm and I might. if you have any questions my discord is doreebear#3218 I can and Will refuse to sell a skin to a person. If they are a known skin stealer, frankenstien-er, post without credit or even just a toxic and hateful person whom I don't see fit to have my skins. I believe my skins should go to people who respect my work and respect others and myself as a person. Please give people a fighting chance, do not bid on all of my skins at once! you can bid on several just not all of them! also, NO RESELLING MY SKINS WITHOUT MY PERMISSION OR PUTTING THEM UP FOR AUCTION! good god >:( let the Auction BEGIN! Another winterfell vibe (MALE) Roman Queen (FEMALE) Red Russian (FEMALE) Charming Red (MALE) Vasoyevi Royal (FEMALE) Blue Rider (MALE) Blue Middle Ages (FEMALE) Commander Erwin (MALE) Spring Tea Time (FEMALE) Mother Russia (MALE) Red Renaissance (FEMALE) Battered Brown Armor (MALE)

Sigil by Twilight “The ink upon my skin, the fire within my spirit, the deeds of my faith, these are which bind me to my ancestors.” Caerme’onn is one of the oldest known seeds of the mali’ame, dating back to the early days of the Princedom of Laureh’lin and is built upon the beliefs and qualities of hunters, protectors, and leaders. Caerme’onn is devoted to defend and uphold the mali’ame culture. Compared to any other seed, the Caerme’onn are vastly skilled and knowledgeable people of the forest with strong connections to nature. Many of the members of Caerme’onn have taken up roles of leadership and/or have been notable within the mali’ame culture weather that be under the titles of Archdruii, Princes, Chieftains or community role models. Throughout the years, the Caerme’onns have developed advanced techniques of tracking and hunting, making them excel both at hunting large game, or tracking smaller game. Along with these advancements they have also been known to hone their survival skills, as it may be required to spend days in the wild while upon a hunt. The seed originated in the ancient era of the nomadic seeds, out of a marriage between a seed whose name is lost to time, and a clan of elves from far away. In their union, they took the name “Caerme’onn”, meaning ‘born of destiny’. The Caerme’onn were one of many seeds who fought alongside the Green Dragon Taynei in her war against Garthon, the draoii usurper. Unfortunately, the name faded into obscurity as with many others following that ancient war and the death of traditional mali’ame culture that followed. But, come the 16th century of the Common Era, one Artimec “Camoryn'' traced his lineage back to his ancient tribal roots, and brought his tribe and its customs into the modern era, paving the way for a pan-wood elven cultural revival, with clan Caerme’onn being at the forefront of this. Loyalty Piety Dauntless Strength Determination Ambition Leadership Along with the path of becoming an Aspectist, a Caerme’onn delves into the teachings of the wild animal spirits, the Mani. Of the many worshipped and prayed to, the two established Mani of worship in the seed are the Patron Amaethon and Matron Bolomormaa. Amaethon, The Stag Prince and Sovereign of all Cervidae, is the God of Regality. In times of leading, we pray to Amaethon, the ruler of the herd, who displays dignity and Leadership qualities. The Stag is full of benevolence when bearing protection over his herd and aiding in survival. Additionally, Amaethon resembles that of justice and fatherhood, those who do wrong must meet their punishment and his young follow his lead so that they too can lead their own herds one day. We follow Amaethon for not only his guidance in leadership but also compassion. As a family, we must chief our young to follow our beliefs and values, so that one day they too can lead our kin. Bolomormaa, The Wild Princess of Bears and Bear Mother, is the Goddess of Protection and Guardianship. She does not seek out conflict and she is not aggressive, rather, Bolomormaa is sincere and gentle. If one is to threaten her kin, however, the bear will fight with ferocity. Bolomormaa plays an important role in motherhood, where we may pray to her for her strength and vigour. With leadership comes the duty to protect and guard -- a symbiotic blend between the two Mani. As a seed, we follow Bolomormaa for her guidance in protecting our kin and fellow mali’ame. It is expected of the Caerme’onn people that we are pragmatic, and have a sense of composure when leading our lives. Art by Jaromir Hrivnac The initiate is rigorously taught of the Aspects, what they stand for, and the various ways to worship them. This is done through the various members of the seed, it being encouraged to expand out and learn such from different clans and people collectively. Once the initiate has learned of the Aspects and what they represent, they must give an item of significant value as an offering, while swearing an oath to never hold any deities or powers above them. The initiate is to be instructed and shown the various things that Mali’ame have been raised from, and around. The trial is up to the subject’s interpretation, having to make something that represents an aspect of the culture. Many examples of this would be befriending an animal companion, making a shelter, carving an object from wood, or even making a weapon. This will then be presented to a Chieftain to see if it is worthy. The initiate is to seek out another member of the community and take them on as an apprentice. One key aspect in leading is to have patience. The trial does not have to be explicitly stated as to what the initiate is expected to teach. The Chieftess will deem the trial completed with observations of the relationship between initiate and apprentice, as well as sufficient evidence provided that the individual taken on has successfully learned a lesson. The initiate is to go out on their own, or preferably with fellow Caerme’onn on a hunt for an animal. This is to show capability on how to hunt, track, and most importantly survive by one’s self. The trial will be completed once they have successfully slain an animal, and have utilized the entire body, ensuring nothing goes to waste. The initiate is to show a sign of leadership in their person through a variety of ways. This can be shown by something small, such as leading a small hunt or foraging expedition, or something large, such as a battle against a threat to the Mali’ame. To ensure completion, either a Chieftain or someone chosen by them will accompany the initiate on their hunt to observe their prowess. The initiate is to defeat another member of Caerme’onn, preferably an Elder or Chieftain in one on one combat as their final trial. The requirements for the fight to be fair is that the two must be unarmed to ensure neither have specific advantages. The way that the initiate will pass is by either proving their expertise in battle by knocking their opponent to the ground for an extended period of time, or showing that they are a competent enough fighter to hold their own in a fight. ** All trials are subjective and may change throughout the role-play depending on the initiate. These changes may only be dealt by the Chieftan or Chieftess. Art of Kaelwyn, Miven, Awaiti, Taeral, Lavinia, & Elle'nora by Nikkadonna After one has gone through their trials to join the Caerme’onn, the first rite that one will most likely take part in is the crafting of their personal weapon. This weapon of their choice will solely be theirs, not to be wielded by another. Suggestions can be made as to what they should make, but it is ultimately up to the user as to what they wish to be created, it being required that their weapon be made from Ironwood, decorated at their will. The user will carve their weapon, and then assist in tempering it alongside a member who knows how to do such without fail. Once forged, the Chieftess of the seed will bless the weapon in the blood of a fresh kill. It is highly encouraged that they take this into any fights or hunts they take part in, if not, it being deemed meaningless by the rest of the family. Once every four years a feast will be lead by the Chieftains and members of the Caerme’onn. The day prior to the feast, a large expedition will be held in which the members of the Clan head out to gather food; be it foraging, or by hunting and sacrificing an animal. Such will be brought back to the manor, where as a family they will prepare the food and arrange decor for the following day. The purpose of the feast is to connect with members of the seed, and tell the story of Faeinn. As one successfully completes all six of the initiation trials, they are to be blessed with the rite of marking. The individual decides where they wish to wear their seed tattoos, be it under their eyes, on the chest or along their arms. The member is inked with sanguine dyes before the entire seed. This process is what welcomes them to the seed, and an official means of taking on the name Caerme’onn. Art of Abelas Caerme’onn (Lockages) by DreeaDraws Art of Artanis Caerme'onn (Taufirewarrior) by Val Art of Miven by Nikkadonna Current standing Chieftess: Miven Caerme’onn ( @WestCarolina ) Returning Chieftan: Abelas Caerme’onn ( @Lockages ) [[Any interested in the seed or wishing to join, feel free to interact IRP or PM me on discord! Carol#7747]] Special thanks to @Lockagesfor all the help!

A Document on the Expectations of Conduct for the Father Circle and Nevaehlen, Year 12 of the 2nd Age The following are topics and their descriptions of how members of the Father Circle, as well as those villagers of the Vale, and guests are required and expected to act. All those who visit or live amongst the Vale of Nevaehlen must abide by these rules. The code is subject to change. Druidic trials by the Raitheans may enhance the punishments warranted from those listed below. Topics § 1 - On Classifications of Tenets § 1.01 Shall not harm another druid unwarranted § 1.02 Shall not harm the balance § 1.03 Shall not abuse druidic gifts § 2 - On Classifications of Conduct § 2.01 Required to protect the Father Grove from any harm to the land or its members § 2.02 Required to protect fellow brethren of the Father Circle § 2.03 Required to uphold the tenets of the Father Circle § 2.04 Required to remove any dark mages from the Grove § 2.05 Required to preserve and protect the Father Tree § 2.06 Required to uphold the very Code of Conduct § 2.07 Avoid political matters on Father Circle grounds § 3 - On Classifications of Crime § 3.01 Crimes Against Nature 3.01.1 - Voidal Magic- When a person or group of magi who possesses, practices or attempts to practice the conjuring of spells and creatures within the grove are to vacate the premises or deal with punishments. 3.01.2 - Land Destruction- When a person or group who deliberately destroys, or attempts to destroy an environment are to vacate the premises. 3.01.3 - Animal Cruelty- When a person or group who deliberately harms, or attempts to harm an animal with malicious intent are to vacate the premises. 3.01.4 - Disturbance of Nature- When a non-druid person or group who intentionally acts in a means to disrupt nature's peace are to vacate the premises. § 3.02 - Crimes Against Members § 3.02.1 - Violence- When a person or group attempts or successfully kidnaps, assaults, murders, or harrasses members of the Father Circle, a banishment and shun are warranted within the Grove. § 3.02.2 - Theft- When a person or group attempts or successfully steals the property of a member, a warning will be administered. § 3.03 - Crimes Against the Grove 3.03.1 - Disturbance of the Father Tree- When a person or group attempts, or successfully attacks, harms, or destroys the Father Tree, a banishment is warranted. 3.03.2 - Destruction of Property- When a person or group attempts or successfully sabotages, destroys, or vandalizes property within the Grove, a banishment is warranted. § 3.04 - Crimes Against the Circle 3.04.1 - Propaganda- When a person or group spreads false information about the Father Circle, whether the slander is within or outside the Grove, a banishment is warranted. § 4 - On Classifications of Entry § 4.01 Dark Mages- Individuals who possess or practice the use of dark mages are not welcomed within the Grove; ie, Necromancy, voidal magic, demons. Any who are found within the Grove will be removed from the premises. § 4.02 Unnatural Creatures- Any unnatural creature is not welcomed within the Grove; ie, Undead, voidal constructs. Exceptions can be made for Sorvians depending on their intentions. Any who are found within the Grove will be removed from the premises. § 4.03 Refusal to Leave- Any individual or group who refuses to leave upon order of the members of the Father Circle or Vale, a banishment will be warranted. § 5 - On Classifications of Punishments § 5.01 Banishment- The person or group is not allowed entry within the Vale of Nevaehlen. § 5.02 Shun- The person or group will not be spoken to and are not allowed within the Vale of Nevaehlen. **Under special cases where any of the above is brought to a druidic trial or handled by a Raithean of the Father Circle, further punishments may be dealt depending on the situation. [[ Special thanks to @josey for the new Sigil art! And @Kalehart, @Delmodan and @Unwillingly for feedback! ]]

Hello Fellow LOTCERS Time has come again where I've overloaded on self skins that i need to let go, which is why I bring to you this amazing skin auction- for uh, females. I'm going to keep it short, I've made too many skins. Do i love these skins? Yes. But do i need mina more? Yes ! :D This auction will end at 10 CST on Sunday the 31st of January. So heads start at 30, and clothing will start at 50 , and you bid by increments of 10+ Happy Bidding! -Latte <3 <3 BIDDING FORMAT: (Quote the previous bidder) IGN: SKIN/S: DISCORD: BID: Flower Crown babe: Blue Pirate: Purple Regalia: Soft Spring: Cottage Core: Green Monk: Ruby Red: Air Bender Blue: Renaissance Rouge: Scandinavian Elfess (HAIR AND DRESS SEPERATE, Though, you could buy both for 85):

THE MAGECRAFT ACT Established. 3rd of the Grand Harvest, 08 SA ~ Foreword ~ This Act establishes the process through which practitioners of the voidal arts may obtain permission to utilise their magics and outlines the circumstances under which to do so. Furthermore, the lawful jurisdiction of the Father Circle’s Coven of Thorns in apprehending rogue mages within the borders of Elvenesse, who lack the specified permit or otherwise breach the terms of said permit, is elaborated upon. Article I: The Permit Scheme 1.1. Application In order to obtain expressed permission to utilise their magic(s), a practitioner of the voidal arts must apply to the office of the Lord Exarch so to receive a documented legal permit. Furthermore, said applicant must be a documented citizen of the Princedom of Elvenesse. 1.2. Process A practitioner of the voidal arts in order to obtain a permit must submit themselves to a review of the judiciary. A representative of the Coven of Thorns maintains the right to advise the sitting judge(s) on the details of magecraft and the applicant in question. The applicant is further subject to answer questions levied on the following grounds: Their knowledge of the voidal arts, the number of and which are magics at their disposal and their relative experience with said magics. Their reasoning behind applying for a permit and their intent in utilising their magic, should their application be accepted. Their interactions with the populace of the Princedom of Elvenesse and by extension any criminal records they might have. 1.3. Conditions Should a practitioner’s application be accepted, they are explicitly subject to utilise their magic(s) on the following grounds: By lawful permission of a member of Government or by will of the Sovereign, in a specific undefinable instance. For military personnel, by lawful permission of a sanctioned officer within military exercises, both offensive or defensive. Out of necessity for the purpose of defending one's self, family and property from unlawful assault. 1.4. Revocation In the event a practitioner of the voidal arts, who holds a legal permit, violates the conditions under which they might utilise their magic(s), they will be charged for acting in contempt of the law established within the Indor Tiran (Criminal Law - 7.1) and may be subject to the revocation of their permit. Article II: Coven Jurisdiction 2.1. Enforcement The Father Circle’s Coven of Thorns are installed with the right to act as Sentinels of the law in the apprehension of rogue mages within the Princedom of Elvenesse. This is an exclusive privilege. Any act of enforcement beyond the apprehension of rogue mages shall be deemed an act of vigilantism (Criminal Law - 4.7). Furthermore, all exertions of force must be proportionate to the compliance of the apprehended suspect. 2.2. Rogue Mages A rogue mage is defined as one who acts in contempt of the law established within the Indor Tiran (Criminal Law - 7.1). 2.3. Accountability The Father Circle’s Coven of Thorns will immediately report their arrests to the office of the Lord Exarch. Their activities shall also be regulated by the Lord Marshal and his officers, who maintain authority in dismissing the Coven from legal operations. Signed, HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, Fëanor of House Sylvaeri, High Prince of Elvenesse, Wielder of the Crown of Malinor, Protector of the Almenodrim and Irrinites.

Bravepaw’s Awakening Bravepaw’s eyes slowly begin to open as the warm sunlight shines through once again. The now unsettled motes of dust start to dance through the air, twirling in beams of light, as his head creakily turns taking in his surroundings. One long, deep breath after another slowly tests the limits of his lungs. Having been in this situation time and time again over the course of several centuries, Orlanden is happy to see Bravepaw conscious again, but isn’t surprised. He could feel the awakening growing nearer with each rising sun these past weeks. “You’ve been out some time, brother. And look there. Seems I’m not the only one here to greet you.” As a large plume of aromatic smoke billows from his nostrils and the bowl of his pipe, he points to a plateaued clearing in the forest just beyond some wild raspberry bushes. Bravepaw’s pupils shrink, dilate, and shrink again as he blinks to clear the fog from his sleepy eyes. He gazes to the clearing to see a mother black bear standing upright, reaching toward the boughs of an oak tree for a low-hanging beehive. From behind each leg, a cub appears. The two impatiently wait for their fill of the fresh honey. Seeing the bears, his sleepy face forms a slight smile, but loses it almost as quickly. “I don’t remember falling into hibernation this time. How long has it been?” Tending to the fire and careful not to tip over the pot of venison stew warming from the night before, Orly pauses to think. “Hmmm… It’s been about 300 years since Osage sprouted and... over 600 since Normandor. You’ve only been in hibernation for right at 110 years, now, though.” He chuckles, “Shorter than last time.” Bravepaw sits up in his makeshift bed within the lean-to that his brother built around him to give him some protection from the elements. Finally emerging from the slumberous fog, he scans his surroundings more intently and realizes that they are on the slope of a mountain overlooking unfamiliar lands. He begins plucking dead leaves from his hair, “Where are we?” Orlanden chuckles, “A new land, new people with less than a handful of old, friendly faces, and a new way of life from what I’ve gathered.” “For better or worse?” asks Bravepaw, sitting still for a split moment. Suddenly, he begins frantically feeling for the seed that he’s used to have hanging around his neck, but can’t seem to find it. He fixes his gaze on his brother, but is now alert enough to quickly use his reflexes to catch something moving through the air toward him. He opens his hand to see the dimly glowing Elder Seed. Knowing it’s still safe, he lets out a sigh of relief. Then it dawns on him...the seed is glowing! Orlanden stirs the pot and begins filling a small, hand-carved wooden bowl with stew, “I’m still sorting that out, to be honest. One thing I know for sure, though...our seed has started it’s growth cycle. I knew it wouldn’t be long until you woke up.” He hands the bowl to him and smiles, “Eat up. You need to regain your strength. It’s from last night, but tastes even better today.” Bravepaw nods and takes a sip from the edge of the bowl before guzzling a generous portion from it in one go. Bowl in hand, he slowly stands up and walks to the opening of the lean-to where he can see an overview of the new land below. As the sun hits his skin, he lets out a peaceful sigh. “Change, like scars on the skin, becomes part of us. I suppose when you’re our age, it would be rare to see an elf without many of them” “Well, I’m running out of room myself”, Orlanden says with a laugh, “But from what I hear, there’s much that’s changed since we last spent any waking time together.” Bravepaw smiles when he looks down to his arm and notices a streak of bark slowly forming. “Not all scars are a product of turmoil, however. You know, my favorite trees are those that change. As the cold bites, the leaves turn an array of vibrant colors. While the leaves fall from their year long home amidst the branches, we can rest assured that we will see the flowering buds once more come spring. Without the still quiet of winter, we would never witness such character from a tree.” He places the Elder Seed back around his neck and closes his eyes. Finally, he completely fills his lungs with air through his nostrils. “I believe… Yes... I smell the scent of autumn on the wind. It’s so strong.” Orlanden walks up and stands beside him as they look out and over the world beyond them. He takes a big toke from his pipe and sighs with a newfound ease after the awakening of Bravepaw. He places his hand on his shoulder and smiles, “Come, brother. We have work to do.”

A letter for my kin, the Mali’fenn. 13th of Snow’s Maiden, Year 4 of the Second Age. “I am writing this letter to those who share my blood. To those who regard themselves as Mali’fenn. If this reaches you, then know that I rejoice in the fact my kin are not extinct. I have spoken face to face with some of you, but to my understanding I have not exchanged words with all of you. Furthermore, I have likely not formally met those remnants. To introduce myself to you, I am Aesilnoth Tundrak. Formerly the Commander and later Grand Marshal of the Ivae’fenn, High Justiciar of Tahu’lareh, and protector of Hesin’fin. Since my birth in the Citadel of Acael, I had long served our blessed Princedom under the rule of my greatest friend, Aelthir Tundrak II. And later under my nephew, one whom I had helped raise, Aelthos Tundrak III. Never had I believed to find myself anywhere, but Fenn. However, a great many events occurred just after the construction of Tahu’lareh. My own Haelun’s sister, Sulien Annungilben, was gravely wounded patrolling the northern roads. I carried what remained of her to our clinic, where she subsequently died in my arms. Her remains were encased in ice and sat in the crypt as all honorable Fenn would be. Very quickly however, her death was overshadowed by the passing of Aelthir Tundrak II the Grand Prince. Who unfortunately passed after the conclusion to the War of Two Emperors. To this day his death weighs heavy on my mind. I only wish those of you who hadn’t, could have met him. His remains had not been recovered, for had they been, I would have seen to it that they were placed next to his late wife and the former Grand Princess Arahaelth Aureon. The Sparrow Druid. During my nephew Aelthos’ reign, I ascended to the title of Grand Marshal of the Ivae’fenn. A position in which I claimed several victories for our blessed Princedom. It was during this time that I was severely undermined by the Grand Chancellor of the time. A severe blow to my pride as the Lord Commander, despite my victories I had not garnered their faith. Soon after we rid the plaguelands of Llyria from the grasp of the dark and demented. Yet, my nephew Aelthos forced me to relinquish the title of Grand Marshal until further notice. Even then, I complied and returned to my post as Valkyr. A heated argument between Aelthos and I ended with my resignation from the Valkyrim. I then left the Princedom as my faith in Aelthos diminished. Soon after a truly dark period for Fenn ensued. The Ascension of Aldred Tundrak “The Unworthy” was one of uncertainty. For how long Aelthir had led, it was strange to have another change to the crown so soon. And unfortunately this change was for the worst. After my exodus from the Princedom, I returned sometime later to ease my homesickness. Only to find that dark mages were being allowed entry. A horrendous sight, one I sought to end. Knowing in my heart that true Mali’fenn would see this as a great error on Aldred’s behalf, but my intuition had failed me that day. Aldred ordered the Ivae’fenn and threatened the neighboring ally Irrinor to arrest me under attempted regicide. A crime of which I was innocent. I was thrown into a cell after being beaten and left to await for my trial. Or so I had thought. Aldred had forgone all the laws of our nation. Laws of which I helped write as the High Justiciar. My very rights and honor were stripped by my nephew, who sentenced me to severe punishment. The Grand Marshal Aroiia Drakon entered into my cell alongside a Valkyr. Both of which were former subordinates of mine. They then proceeded to beat me further, an unarmed prisoner in chains. I screamed at the top of my lungs for them to stop. Grasping at any sliver of hope that they would see the error in their ways, but they refused. It was then that a warhammer was equipped and used in an attempt to cripple me for life. After my limbs sustained heavy damages, I was then left in a cell to die. No final words and no goodbyes. The world around me began to fade. Slipping in and out of consciousness from the pain I felt. Had my daughter Rhaella Tathvir not found me in that cell, I would be dead. She smuggled me out of the city and brought me to the Prince Feanor of Aegrothond, our Princedoms once great ally and closest friends. It was there that Feanor saved my life. And it was then, that I found a home within Elvenesse. My days slowly dragged on as I rehabilitated my body. Only a mere blink of an eye for our lifespans. I could finally breathe again, but my mind still swirled at the thought of what had occurred over the previous decades. That was when I was yet again insulted by my motherland. A proclamation from my nephew Akkar Tundrak, deeming that my name should be stripped and I not recognized as ‘Fenn because I did not live within the walls of Tahu’lareh. The anger I felt at that moment was indescribable. Needless to say, I did not take this slight easily and in the end my name remained. Once again, I continued to live my life. Aelthos Tundrak III would return later on to reclaim the throne. Akkar’s rule was soiled by that of a false Vigilant. Prophetic ramblings of Wyrvun and “his six.”, a poison that would soon lead to our blessed Princedoms' destruction. For all true Mali’fenn, it is known that we are bound in the Wyrvunic contract. The Aengul Wyrvun, Lord of the deep cold is our savior and deity. Our very existence is owed to him, as he saved our ancestors from madness. And thus you see that there is no room for “Six.” there is only “One.”. To dedicate time to worship of anything other than Wyrvun is an insult, one that had come to fruition during the waning years of the Princedom. Soon Aelthos would return and reclaim the throne from his son. And for the first time, I had made my peace with my nephew. Merely a few years later, he would pay me a visit. Offered me the Crowns of both Grand Prince and Princess, before he set off into the world. And to my knowledge, no one has heard or seen of him since. Should he have passed on into Wyrvun’s eternal hall of Aira’fin, then may he Rest in Peace. And thus began the crumble of our Princedom. As the war against the Inferi raged, on a particularly somber day, two great flashes appeared. The first, a dragon of the Druidic grove descended into the mortal plane once more. And the second, was the sudden and unexpected cataclysm of Tahu’lareh and the lone mountain. One, that after speaking with Velatha Sylric at length, I have learned destroyed our history, our culture, and our memories. The remains of the first Snow Elves. My aunt Sulien, many ‘fenn I would have died for. Gone in an instant, never to be recovered. Our written history and records turned into ash. Thus I offer this lesson in history to you all. And it is for you ‘fenn and you alone to decide your thoughts on it. For freedom of thought has always been a facet of our race, to never be squandered or censored. And it is this freedom, which always allows the truth to come to light. Believe in your hearts and you shall never stray from a noble path. Have faith, my kin. Faith in yourselves and faith in Wyrvun our savior. And always remember this. Wyrvun’s mortal realm, Hesin’fin, is not always a frigid wasteland. Many make the mistake believing that Wyrvun’s domain is always a physical place. But it is not. For his domain resides wherever the hearts of Mali’fenn reside. Whether we be a flotilla among an open sea, or within the deep roads under a mountain, Hesin’fin is us. I understand there are those among you who have cast out the name Tundrak. For it is your belief that they abandoned you. This sentiment is one that I understand. So, on behalf of my bloodline: I apologize for my nephew Aldred’s madness, I apologize for my nephew Akkar’s idleness, and I apologize for my nephew Aelthos’ rule in absentia. And I offer my own sincere apology, for not being present when perhaps I was needed the most. I invite any and all of you to an open correspondence with myself, for I would like to exchange words with you. Even take a step further if you wish, pay me a visit within the lands of Elvenesse as Velatha Sylric has. Meet with me face to face, one ‘fenn to another. I look forward to hearing from my kin.” Signed with regards, Aesilnoth Tundrak.

Even-Out Evening 11th of Snow's Maiden, Year 3 of The Second Age Video Première link : Our last public announcement yielded great success, with those on ‘the band of the hours’ side giving a thunderous standing ovation. Cheering our name in the streets as we at last redistributed the surplus amount of wealth to those in need of it, while also liberating them from the shackles of society. No longer will the oppressors of these lands turn their noses up and look down upon the common man, for they will soon be eating alongside their unfortunate necessitous peers. To do this, another plan had to be devised, to show the hard-working that our group of mere men will stop at nothing to bring the pigs to heel. Our men were once wallowing in the depths of society too, by your side, yet they raised their consciousness from the bottomless abyss. To ensure that nobody would have to live like them again, underneath the frilly heel of a pompous Nobleman. At long last sticking at nothing until a true to man societal reform is put into place, not a true to nobleman reform. They are the outnumbered ones in this world, yet they still feel so inclined to treat us without regard. Thus, in no more than a singular winter’s night, a plan was hatched. ACT 1 - The Bank Heist The plan was as plain as a picture book; for the foe was as easy to read as a three year olds idle scribblings. Their discipline is similar to that of the crayons colored outside of the lines in a picture book. We were to steal as many of their tax slips as possible, handing them out to the backbone of their nation thereafter, the farmers. So with talk of their military gloating about a singular, yet entirely false killing of one of our comrades, we knew that we had to return them from their childlike fantasy; the reality in which we controlled. Due to bolstering our five champions, myself included, not one intruding thought passed through our minds as we strode into the bustling city, when it was most alive. Upon entering the city, distant clashes of metal and inept barking were easily discerned by our five. The Imperial State Army was in the midst of conducting their typical improper training. Then within half of a second, our leader echoed his voice to make himself known to those dwelling inside of their grandiose yet compensating haunt. Hurtling into the bank after, two of us hovered over the rest with torches while they set about cracking into their many safes. Before we knew it, the bank was surrounded by the Empire’s trembling soldiers, all donning scarlet red. We hastily departed from their governmental building, being greeted by the named army at hand. We knew from our last raid there was nothing in the slightest to fret about, as numbers mean little if incompetency is the only thing your army is renowned for. So we stood there, without a singular bead of sweat upon our brows, our shoulders straight and chests out. As the Imperial State Army fumbled into ranks, we yet noticed that not one of their soldiers could yet equal our mens heights, not even if one were to stand on another's shoulders. Our up-and-coming companion, who was new to the company, uttered lowly, “My comrade, they have thrice our numbers.” Lacking a second inbetween, our leader responded with “Yes,” his voice sounding both resonant and composed. For half an hour, our group ran their horde around their own city, hurling our torches towards buildings that had previously been marked on the eve before. Hopscotching from wall to wall subsequently, our destination had been found without a singular scratch showing on our bodies. Once we had climbed down from their tallest wall of all, we reached to our sides and all pulled our flasks into our grasps. We cheered and clinked our drinks together, while the soldiers above contemplated saving their buildings or giving chase to our smaller force. One eager rapscallion, foaming at the mouth and hair dripping off his head as though a razor had been taken to it slipped. This was the fault of none other than a well-placed banana peel, all according to plan. The other soldiers, mistaking a genuine slip for some form of leadership, followed suit, and plummeted into the field. Their leadership needed to show that their city was safe, they could not simply allow mere freedom fighters to combat them again and triumph. The people of Providence fund them, yet in every circumstance their funding is misplaced. So it was their time to shine, to prove their worth in a time so vital, and shine they did. Not in triumph, no. Not in mere stalemate either. They shined in waves of their own flickering blood, all cut down and put to rest. Each of them sharing a blood-curdling scream, as they clawed at the walls that were supposed to protect them. There was nothing to save them from it all, they might have stuck together at first but they shattered at the first sign of loss. They were so displaced from the initial charge, that our men frolicked between them without being impeded, the red tide mistaking foe for friend. After hearing the jaw of their General crack under the pressure of ‘Ts’ steel-lined boot, their swarm lost all composure and dispersed like lambs running away from a wolf. Their feet could not be trusted either, being effortlessly caught up to and crushed by the infamous ‘roadrunners’. Their numbers continued to grow thinner and thinner, much like the hairlines of the sharks at the very top of the inferior scarlet army. They did not stand a chance. Outmatched by our tacticians and outdone by the unparalleled synergy of our men, the ISA realised that outside of their imposing walls, they are nothing and will never be anything besides training dummies for their betters. There was not a thing that could have saved them from the outside, their weak mental strength faltering as soon as they tasted the fresh and free air outside. That ends the tail of the butchering of the Imperial Army, yet, not a singular simple man was hurt that day. I propose you cease in paying their wages and instead invest in more gardens, for flowers give as much protection as the ISA can provide. Perhaps then, we shall see a smile upon General Peter Baldwin D’Arkent’s face. ACT 2 - Dark Elf Liberation While the named group above was occupied laying an entire army to rest, another group of like-minded individuals was picked for a similar task. This army was larger though, to everyone's surprise, proved much more primitive and further intellectually incapable. Laying low in a thicket just off of the capital of Elvensse, the group lay their eyes upon a predetermined figure, another oppressor of the people. No minute was made to waste, so they darted after him and dragged him to a steep cliffside, where a boat was waiting for their arrival. Just as they had arrived, in the course of traipsing down to their port of call, an army almost four times the size of our force met them. They were cornered upon all sides, the steep cliffside lingering behind them and the Wood Elven army bearing arms in front of them. The Elves all had vicious smirks spread across their thinned lips, yet they soon curtailed and contorted into angst frowns. Our men had all taken a second of silence before plunging from the cliffside and into the dangerous waters; leaps of faith. If a passerby was to roam by, they would have screamed bloody mary and proclaimed it a mass suicide. Fortunately it was not the case, the group plunged deep and raised to the surface within moments, all drawing thin and shattered breaths. With their hearts in their mouths, they tread the water and looked up in disbelief as the opposing soldiers started to rain from the sky. It was an impulsive decision quite clearly from their lesser-trained military, all plopping into the water, but more so diving into death’s door. Just like sharks to fish, the Ferryman at the top of their chain pulled the dagger-eared men one by one under the water. In which a minute would pass before a body would float to the surface in a puddle of blood. The weak-chinned Elves began to panic, already realising that certain defeat was guraunteed. It was magic, seeing such a force disappear in no more than five minutes. However, their force had not been the only thing to have faded away, as our kidnapped target had given into death. We might have lost a valuable hostage, but the spoils gathered were greater than the price paid for any singular Elf; feeding the mouths of many. It is time for revolution friends. Do not give into the listed oppression and allow us Ferryman to lead the charge, for our minds lie with you, not ourselves. We hope to see you, common men and women, at our side when the evening comes. The evening where every palace on this realm is plundered. We will tear the golden coating from their pillars and provide some good in this shallow world. Written by: Dyselxic

HOUSE TELEMNAR A Comprehensive Guide, by Olórin Telemnar. Seed. 12th of the Deep Cold, 02 SA ~Introduction~ The House of Telemnar is a noble family of sea elves whose roots trace back to the firstborn son of Malin, Sylvaen Everflame. They claim their elder descent through the bloodline of Telemnar Sylvaeri, an esteemed mariner of the ancient world and custodian of the high seas. In the present age, they have established their home within the Princedom of Elvenesse. ~Ancient History~ In years of yore, in the wake of the Aegisian wars, upon the rattled Almenodrim was imposed exile, their society setting out across the vast oceans, departing Old Malinor. The subsequent centuries of voyaging and chartering culminated in an almighty seaborne civilisation, with great citadels of solid stone being raised upon even the most distant of shorelines. Through these bustling ports did both resources and wealth flow, enriching the lives of the indulging elven mariners for generations. Yet, so too with wealth did greed foster, and in its wake was born an age of piracy. Beyond the sheltered citadels, no merchant could ever hope to find refuge from plundering seadogs, and there were none more feared than the Dread Pirate Kaer. A silver-maned elf, infamously skilled at the mast and honed with a brutal instinct of cunning. His black ships, like the tentacles of a merciless kraken, crushed any unfortunate vessel caught within their grip, thus seizing mass hauls of bullion and spices. Said stolen fortune was enough to secure any one elf a luxurious life, but a vast deposit of gold could also fund greater ambitions. Kaer’s treasury was vast, but he lacked a sustainable port at which to dock, where he could unload his cargo and resupply without fear, nor bounty. None were more capable of providing such a prize than the Almenodrim. Intoxicated by craving desires, the Dread Pirate emptied his coffers, mustered an armada of over a hundred ships and like a tidal wave descended upon the trade colony of Ellerina, now present-day Amathea. At his back stood an army of ruthless mercenaries, hell-bent on breaching the outer walls and taking the Almenorean harbours for their own. They bombarded the coast and set the blockade, sealing in the garrison whom they sought to starve out. Word swiftly travelled to every corner of the established realm, with no more than two weeks having passed before ravens reached the citadel of Aegrothond itself. Ellerina, an established territory of the Crown, was under siege by a sizable seaborne opponent. At this revelation, Sea Prince Aegnor I sought the counsel of his most trusted advisors for three days and nights. Ultimately, a retaliation was in order, and so the Prince called upon his most valiant nephew, Telemnar Sylvaeri. Aegnor set him the task of assembling a fleet and breaking the siege upon the colony, for none amongst the Almenodrim were more adept at the helm. Telemnar, with fervent loyalty, obeyed his liege’s command. The fleet of warships, hastily assembled, numbered no more than forty, but what it lacked in size it compensated for in speed. Kaer had banked on securing the colony before his opponents could muster a relief force, but the starved garrison stood with the strength of a tower, for another month repelling every wave that dared crash against the shore. The corsairs, impatient and restless, grew so fixated with their objective that they had turned their eyes away from their perimeter. On the eve of the new moon, Sylvaeri’s fleet arrived, finding the stricken harbour battered and smouldering. Although the foe was ignorant to their arrival, Kaer still outnumbered the Almenodrin host near three to one. An attack in broad daylight would spell disaster and defeat. But Telemnar was cunning as a tactician and so he ordered the crews of two ships to disembark, the wooden hulks now to serve a separate purpose in his campaign. They waited until nightfall whenever the corsairs had retired and gloom clouded their vision. Within the darkness, crews awoke to the frantic tolling of bells, paving the way to a blood-curdling realisation. Two fireships steered straight into the heart of the armada, unleashing terror among the ranks of the immobile mercenaries. In the spur of the moment, many prematurely cut anchor, rendering their ill-prepared vessels vulnerable to the treacherous tides. Telemnar’s decisiveness had forged an opportunity and his warships subsequently tore into the chaos at full sail. Awoken to disarray, Kaer found himself trapped between impregnable cliffs and waters ablaze. In gracious formation, the swan prows of the Almenodrin host fell upon the flagship, timber hulls colliding in a shower of splinters. At the bow of the foremost vessel stood the black-maned Sylvaeri, clad in a silver habergeon wrought like fishes’ mail. The marines of Aegrothond disembarked, pouring onto the deck of the corsair ship. Blades rang in a brutal battle of blood and steel, and amidst it clashed Kaer and Telemnar. The Dread Pirate and Sea Lord exchanged blows and equal ire, both cutlass and falchion notched and horridly streaked with crimson. Yet, as the morning sun rose over the red bay, it was Telemnar who seized victory, lashing Kaer from navel to collarbone and sending him sprawling into the churning waves below. Broken and scarred, he was soundly hauled from the dark abyss by his sons, with what remained of their forces retreating beyond the horizon. With the foe’s ambitions thwarted and the armada either routed or ran aground, a triumphant horn sounded from the distant harbour, signalling the long-awaited end to the siege. As a reward for his exceptional service, Sea Prince Aegnor I installed upon Telemnar the right to bear his own standard - one that, alongside his name, would be passed down for generations to come. ~Customs~ The House of Telemnar take great pride in their traditional customs, many of which stem from the common practises of their people, the Almenodrim. They are largely mariners by trade, remarkably skilled before the mast and often found at the helm of a vessel. Indeed, it is nigh impossible to come across one who lacks the knowledge to crew a seaworthy ship. The family is also known to have fostered remarkable artisans and smiths, often contributing to the rigging of ships and fashioning of armaments. So beloved is the sea that they have adopted a sentimental practice in accordance with their lifestyle. On the eve of a lengthy seaward expedition, it is expected of a spouse to present a wreath woven of coniferous branches to their better half, which is then fastened to the prow of the boat as a charm of good fortune. Blessed are those who bear such an offering, for it is believed they shall ultimately return home unscathed. Peculiarly, the Telemnars are also regarded as one of few branches of Almenodrim who still pay homage to an old animistic deity, the mystical Goddess of the Sea. Adherence to this ancient creed is typically conveyed via prayers uttered upon voyages or depictions of an oceanic lady in crafted icons, murals and tapestries. However, their most revered tradition, in taking after their cousins in the House of Sylvaeri, would be the custom known as the Oath of the Seven. A sacred vow sworn by all members to come of age in commemoration of the Seven Sons of Sylvaen. It is then accompanied by the application of rings crafted from Bloodsilver, set upon the prospect’s finger still fiery from the forge. Over the centuries, the Oath has instilled values of integrity and honour within the family. To violate it is to disgrace yourself and to turn your back on the bloodline. ~Characteristics~ Historically, the House of Telemnar has carried distinctive traits, largely those tied to direct scions of Sylvaen. Elves of this bloodline are universally tall in stature, usually bearing skin of a fair and ageless complexion, though occasionally tanned due to working within the sea trade. Their ears are also relatively modest, often more refined and smaller proportioned. In elder days, the family were known to bear long weaves of raven-black hair. Yet, in recent centuries, this has been largely phased out by fairer shades of both blond and copper, the former more common in the present age. However, their most distinctive features would be the colours of their eyes; either neutral grey - commonly attributed to Sylvaen himself. Or alternatively, luminous teal - uniquely reserved to descendants of the main line.

____________________________________________________________________________________________ ____________________________________________________________________________________________ This is just a simple little page I've put together with examples of my skins! My PMC Scroll down and open the spoilers to reveal the examples. :0 Latest: Edits made: -Added 'Other' spoiler -Requests Closed -PMC added -Halfling and human spoilers added. Request Form: CLOSED Username- Description- Ref- What will you pay with? (Mina, items, etc)- CLOSED..

The Seed Well In Ancient scrolls and carvings found across the archipelago of Axios, it is said that when the emerald fires of the War faded, the emergence of Druidism brought an unseen age of prosperity to the fauna and foliage that once again scattered the lands. And when the last of the ash was swept away with the winds of progression, the Arch Druids communed with Malin in private quarters, to discuss how they would never again allow such corruption to spread through their homeland, and indeed, all of the Islands that surrounded Aegis. The congregation, including Malin himself, poured every ounce of their combined energies into a well in the seclusion of the distant forests, which would house their unforeseen and self-sustained potency. It became known as the Seed Well, for their intentions were clear. The Druids procured many seeds from the bags they had brought with them, choosing the healthiest of each type to bathe in the verdant waters. Once this had been achieved, they locked the well, returning to their respective homes, allowing the passage of time to nurture their efforts. (The Pale Stranger) Many moons would come and go before the congregation would once again meet at the Seed Well, unlocking the interconnected vines which held it shut. Yet as they lifted the wooden cover, a voice spoke out from the trees. "You pour your energies into this well, unbeknownst to the outcome." It said, emerging forth from the shrubbery. It was a pale Elf, with long flowing hair of pearl-white, and draping robes to match. He rose the gnarled wooden stave in his hand, and proclaimed the dangers of bringing into the world that which had not occurred naturally. Before the communion could respond, the man vanished as quickly as he had arrived. With confusion, they shrugged off the comment as the meanderings of a mad-man, before returning their focus to the Well before them. Everything seemed in order, and the seeds were taken from the well. Malin himself took a handful of the seedlings, and placed them into a container which he had previously filled with the potent waters of the well. From this moment onward, Malin would no longer be seen on Axios again, and the Arch Druids returned to their private lands, tending to the seedlings they had infused with their energies. (One of the trees of the Seed Well) For many decades, these plants would be cared for in clandestine quarters, and would develop into considerable sizes, each a vast and unique array of beauty. Yet they did not grow as usual, for their forms began to split, and the bark began to resemble a humanoid figure. The Arch Druids studied in intrigue, fascinated by the process of this growth, and cared not to meander in their flourishing environments. Instead, they observed intently as the trees continued to emerge. Ellethwen Thendiel was the first of the Arch Druids to witness the awakening of these trees, for each Druid had been assigned to a specific tree, and her's developed at a much faster rate than the others. The bark creaked and groaned at first, the Druid stepping back in shock as she felt the roots beneath the ground begin to detach from the soil, and the oaken limbs emerge from the ground. Before long, an amber radiance began to emanate from the apex of the bark, where the newly conscious creature looked down upon her. She cheered with glee, for her seedling had grown into what later became referred to as Meldamiriel, true Children of the Forest. It seemed aware of its surroundings, yet was incapable of speech and many of the basic functions of movement. Instead it sat, listening to it's mother and those around her as it absorbed information like rich nutrients in the warmth of soil. Soon, the other seedlings began to grow, and before long a family of Meldamiriel graced the Arch Druids with their presence. These were the results of Druidic efforts, and would later become protectors of nature, goliath and foreboding personifications of the Forests, who would scour the land and protect it from destructive forces. (Gambadriel, protector of Ainsharu) Ellethwen would later name her child Gambadriel, and would assign it to a nearby forest that she would also dwell in, for these creatures were still young, and would need the guidance of those that birthed them into the world. With decades passing, these giants served their function with unanticipated effectiveness, and soon began to develop their own tongues; of which only the Arch Druids were capable of understanding, for it was not a language of the physical, but of the deep attunement within nature's stream. Yet all things are destined to succumb to the cyclical nature of the world, and what was once a state of progression would change into one of ruin and degeneracy in one fell swoop. An arrow, of unknown origins, sank into the chest of Ellethwen as she reeled over in anguish, slinking against the bark of a nearby tree. Gambadriel would sense this traumatic event, and would rush to aid his "mother", yet it was too late. Before long Ellethwen had grown as cold as the winds that swept through the forest, and the trees lamented alongside Gambadriel as his core contorted and formed into a seething anger, fueled only by his continued anguish and loneliness. This theme swept across the islands of Axios as one by one the Arch Druids were slain in solitude, their children crying out in pain as they edged on the verge of madness, their forms losing the blooming flora that once adorned them. They became husks of their former selves, little more than vessels of anger that scouted the graves of their long-dead Druids, destroying any life that would dare venture close enough. (Gambadriel's Husk, warding off an Elven Soldier) This growing epidemic shook the foundations of the Elven people, who had already begun to split from one another in pursuits of power and political gain. The once stalwart protectors of the Forests were soon slain in many numbers, rid from the world forever by the Elven people, and the Well of Seeds was destroyed, preventing the process from ever occurring again. Yet from all death comes life, and the husks of these entities would scatter beneath the Ancient Soils of Axios, awaiting the return of the Well of Seeds, where they would once again emerge. OOC:

Dark Elves (also known as Mali’ker) Physical Appearance Dark Elves are the most muscular sub-race out of the three and as such are the best suited for physical labour and combat (as a note, this does not give you the right to be unrealistically strong, it is just that the other Elven sub-races are not as hardy as this sub-race). Mali’ker may be the strongest but are by no means the tallest with Dark Elves averaging around 5’10 to 6’4 in height (any taller than this and it you are reaching into High Elf territory and they’re called High Elves for a reason so, please, stick to these guidelines). The most defining features of Dark Elves are their skin colour, eye colour and hair colour which greatly differ from their paler counterparts. Dark Elves are renowned for their dark skin colour, unseen in any other race on Lord of The Craft, and range from light gray to jet black pigmentation. Purple can be a skin colour of Dark Elves but this is a rare occurrence and rarely seen in game. However, in direct contract with their dusky skin colours are their hair which is commonly pure white, like snow, or silver/platinum which is very common as well but hair colours such as black and a light blue (and I mean light as in edging on white with a blue tint, not vivid blue) are rare yet not unheard of. Typical eyes colours of Mali’ker include blue, green or violet, yet red is still commonly seen on the server and is a unique trait only Orcs and Dark Elves have. Dark Elven eyes are generally duller than their High Elf equivalents i.e they’re more low-key and not vivid or unrealistically bright. Brown and yellow eyes are not eye colours Dark Elves can possess. Mithius Dalma (Jonificus) Culture All three sub-races of Elves have their own different distinct and cultural differences from each other. Dark Elves, unlike the other sub-races, live their lives based almost entirely on passion and emotion which consequently means the other races often view them as simple or basic despite this not being the case. However, this is not to say all Dark Elves are headstrong and thrust themselves into positions without thought, Dark Elves will often consider their options and make a decision based upon rational thought over brashness, this comes with experience as most live decades upon decades. As said before, Dark Elves wear their hearts in their sleeves and are evidently more spirited than their paler counterparts and this is shown by even their fashion sense. Dark Elves dress in bold colours which darker reds, browns and black being popular but also light greens, blues and purples. Dark Elves are believers in natural beauty and as such female Dark Elves often show a bit of skin (this is not an excuse to dress provocatively or skimpily i.e no bikinis or anything of the sort). Jewelry is also incredibly important to Dark Elves and rings, brooches and even piercings are all used and common in Dark Elves, normally used to show which clan or family one is from or head of. Dark Elves also have a very family oriented society which is ruled by a military dictatorship basically with young ordinarily being trained in combat at young ages to make them effective warriors but also to discipline them. Dark Elf parents often decide what line of profession their child/children end up in as Mali’ker children are eager to meet the bars set for them and strive to do so. Dark Elven culture is all about honouring your clan and your ancestors, helping your fellow Dark Elf and respecting each other. Ancestors are well respected by all Dark Elves and are the diseased Mali’ker who possessed remarkable traits or achieved great things in their life times leading to them being eternally remembered. For more in depth knowledge on Ancestors, look at Dakirennis’ guide. For more in depth knowledge on Dark Elves as a whole, look at Lego XBOX's guide. Notable Dark Elves Khel Oussana Dak'ir Des'nox - Leader of the current Dark Elf settlement Mithius Dalma - Famous merchant and jewelist (Big thanks to Jonificus for helping me with this section.)