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Almost there. The surface is within reach. And just as it is breached - there is… dirt? The ‘ame coughs and splutters, having felt the water in her lungs, suffocating her - flooding her every sense… just moments prior. But nothing is expelled from her lungs. Her clothes are dry, and the empty breeze brushes past her. The weeping tide pools of that foreign beach are long gone... as are the creatures that studied her curiously within the bluest of waters ever witnessed by the drugged druid. There is no sea to swallow her whole, here. It wasn’t real. Shaking palms are pressed flat against the dirt, bleary emerald eyes wide open, struggling to focus. Her strength wanes, joints unreliable and bound to buckle. With heavy breaths and the remnants of a now fleeing panic, the vague shape of a tree is made out… close enough to allow her to grab onto and pull herself up out of the dirt. As soon as she is upright - the urge to surrender to the ground that pulls her is strong… tugging at her legs and promising her the sleep she so desperately needs. Fingers, metal and flesh alike - dig into the tree’s bark, leaving splinters beneath her fingernails… but that is the least of the druid’s worry. She takes only a few wobbled steps forward… legs giving out, immediately collapsing into the dirt. But it is different, this time… no effort made to combat the exhaustion. Instead, a moment to reflect is presented to her, an option begrudgingly taken as she draws her legs inwards, folding them and binding them to herself with shaking arms. Her heavy, aching head is set atop her knees as dark, blurry eyes look out across the water. The moon hangs high in the sky, shining down upon the disoriented woman at the base of that tree. Stars twinkle, reflected in the ocean below. This time of night is quiet. The nocturnal fauna of the mountainous forest terrain go about their business as usual - skirting around her when need be, as if she were not even there. A few moonflowers unfurl a few feet away upon the cliffside bathed in a soft silver glow. It should be peaceful. But that head of hers wasn’t the only thing heavy… aching, splintering. She is alone now, on that cliff. There is no one else here. The bustle of the Amathine clinic, the serene clarity of the Glade of Hileia, the comfort of her personal grotto... are all far off, as is the chatter and warmth found around Nevaehlen's fires. Just the waves that claw at the cliffside, the breeze, and her. There is nowhere to hide anymore. Even if she ran, right that second, with everything in her - scaling that mountain frantically - there is no escape. No longer can she run from herself. Running is all she knows to do. And now that has been taken from her… she stares - for a long while, unmoving - out towards the vast expanse of sea just below the cliffs where she sits. This is the eye of the hurricane. This grief is not yet done with her - more is to come just beyond this pocket of solitude. They echo in her mind, words that she had so frequently spoken to her brother. A piece of her that now rests within the Eternal Forest. I am Emerald. I endure all things. But you cannot endure what you do not allow yourself to feel. Feel it. The grieving druid rises, from the dirt... slow moving, half-drugged. With a fortified mind - one that endures all that comes, and what will come to challenge it - the trek onward, the journey home begins. Uneasy, unsteady, but surely, Arle staggers onwards... reaching a sturdy wall of stone that now blocks the way forward. She stares up at the mountains that lie ahead, dread washing over her. The ‘ame turns about, orienting herself. This land is familiar. The song of nature around her is known, well enough, but still does not guarantee a smooth route back to the Glade. There is a long ways to go. There is a rocky platform within reach, though. A sigh is exhaled, and shaking hands reach upwards to hoist herself up onto the plateau… a task that is just barely accomplished, followed by a buckling of knees and a labored wheeze. There is so much green, so much life, blooming and swaying - some slumbering, in the middle-0f-night time that it is, in this moment. It feels endless, this range of mountains. But the path is perilous, wrought with devious ledges, steep drops, and deceitful protrusions - seemingly a perfect hand-hold, until it breaks apart the very second any weight is placed upon it… leaving Arle scrambling and slipping. An already sluggish woman now battered, scratches and scrapes littering her sun kissed skin. Arle’s feet ache, arms sore and head pounding. A brief reprieve provided by a small, grassy plateau - giraffe reaching upwards to feed upon the leaves and apples of trees swaying in the wind, and abundant blossoms blooming in shades of pink, yellow, violet, and white. It does not remedy the physical impairment the ‘ame currently faces… but it offers the tiniest bit of peace to the druid as she passes through. Not long after, she is greeted by more to scale, with tricky footing… an easy task, surely, if she were not as worn down as she is - her collapse inevitable and impending. Against her better judgment, a rather jagged rock is reached for as the 'ame seeks higher ground... the only way home. Fumbling, she slips, a sharp gasp drawn from heavy lungs as an unexpected gash is torn through the skin of her inked palm. It bleeds profusely, forcing Arle to take a small break as she retreats back to a small patch of grass nearby. In this state, in this place, all she can do is tear a strip of fabric from the bottom of her robe-like skirt, wrapping it tightly around the injury and dragging herself up to stand. Onwards. Her breathing is labored, every step reinforcing and feeding the exhaustion that threatens to take over. Over a few hills, though, something in the distance is spotted. A spire belonging to Amathine’s capital city - within it, her home; The Glade of Hileia. A small laugh slips from the delirious druid, met nearly instantly with a wave of pain and a bout of dizziness. Without care, ignoring everything in her body that advises against it… the woman breaks into a sprint, stumbling - and taking a few tumbles. (The last of which nearly took her out right then, with just a little farther to go.) Nonetheless, the Sirame picks herself up - making her way slowly, clumsily, through the forest to the city’s entrance and through the square, into the glade. Dawn is not far off, the sun beginning to push up through the horizon to chase away the moon and stars… but it was no matter to that Magnolia. She was home. No effort is made to get to her own room as she reaches the Vulnrith hall, as there truly is no energy left to expend for such an endeavor - and so, Arle drops down onto one of the sofas. Eyes closing and sore body relaxing, her very soul soothed by the familiarity. The soft, sweet lullaby that is the song of nature around her is heard as sleep takes her for the first time in days… with no drug induced visions. Just rest. At last.

A humble invitation is hung on noticeboards around settlements in the Enchanted Forest and Druidic Circles. Come join the Underlight Grotto as the final of the Fae Moons pass, and we welcome the arrival of the next lunar year! Named for the first full moon during spring's first emergence from winter, or the Season of Birth, the annual festival indulges in a time of music, dancing, and craftsmanship with the lauded Kuila Crystals of the realm. As the second annual gathering, the theme has been decided; the dress attire will be inspired by the very crystal the corresponding faerie tale the festival honors! In folklore from the chroniclers of the fae, the Aspect Cerridwen awakens from her winter sleep at the height of the first full moon of the lunar calendar. From her chrysalis hidden deep in the Fae Realm, she emerges and heralds the arrival of warm spring air and green revival. Likewise, Cerridwen's Devoted of the Mother Circle celebrate this tale with the yearly festivities: A flower dance in which the seeds of wildflowers are sown while enjoying jubilant music, an open air market featuring artisans from around the realm, a dress competition, tiva crafting, and performances featuring the Druid Bard and his trusty living banjo! Come spend an evening with the Grotto at the beachside meadow! Vendors send a letter via the aviary to Aerendyl Hawksong to have space reserved for a booth. [[ OOC: Sunday, February 25th at 6:30 pm EST. IGN CornerianArwing for inquiries.]]

My character always wanted to help nature it he lived in a forest for most of his live in a forest so he wanted to to do something good using the magic. His father (a highlander) wanted to use magic but it never succeeded so bamdun wanting to make his father proud in the afterlife he decited to be teached by the masters of druidism. 1 anyone can teach but elves 2 im a dwarf. My name is Bamdun Hammerworthy

"He is strength, will, and action given form His hooves swallow the earth Thorns and antlers crown his fierce eyes He flies without wings His eyes are as sharp as his star-tipped arrows He is Cernunnos - King of Centaurs" Mythology of the Mother Circle Long have druids known Cernunnos as the Horned Lord; Aspect of the hunt, hunger, and primal instincts. Sometimes he is associated with the gnawing grip of disease, the ferocity of the wildfire, and the tempest's roar. For the Mother Circle, the Legend of Cernunnos stories the Hunt Father as a massive beast-man, depicted as either half stag or horse with strong body, large forked antlers and a bow of legendary strength. His arrows pierce the soul, shattering the mortal coil that delays the rebirth of nature. He and his many sons and daughters travel freely from the Court of the Fae Queen to guide the natural flow of the balance, and during the season of autumn oft associated with the Centaur King, he will blow the Horn of the Wild Hunt, beginning the greatest season of change. The leaves will recoil and shrivel into dark, fiery colors, the prey will be driven from their burrows. Hunters and gatherers alike will rejoice in the fair weather in which they will toil for the spoils of autumn, feasting on the weak and plentiful before the cold inevitabilities of winter. The celebrations of Cernunnos traditionally begin during the Fox Moon, or final Phase of Life. To honor the Hunt Father, the Mother Circle will coordinate adventures into the surrounding realms of the Grove. Before every hunt, a communal prayer is held before the grove is departed. The Huntsman's Creed is recited, the bows and blades of the hunters are blessed, and the hunters are sent off while the hearths and feasting grounds are prepared. The Creed is storied to be the self-imposed rules of any honorable hunter worshipping Cernunnos, including the sparing of young and mothers, the focus upon hunting the elder animal, and respect of animal population in reverence to the balance. Needless slaughter is taboo, and is said to invite the attention of mischievous or malevolent fae. The Huntsman's Creed With blade and bow, O Father, may I remain humble in harvest Grant my feet and arrows swiftness, may my eyes and sword be sharp When the heart is pierced, the throat cut May your arrow loft this animal's spirit to the Forest In their rebirth, may I remember this hunt Keep me their memory, the animal honored And in your will may the Wild Hunt forever come Cernunnos and Astrology of the Mother Circle While a majority of the kills sustained during the months of the Wild Hunts, there is some game that is coveted by Cernunnos himself. For the Mother Circle, a druid has become a part of the natural cycle once they arise from the waters of attunement. Druid and Draoi alike will eventually meet their end at the hands of Cernunnos' bow. Fabled to be tipped with the stars themselves, Cernunnos is also the artist of the constellations in the night sky, for every great hunt must preserve a story to honor the fallen. It is said that when Druids finally enter the Eternal Forest for rest, or Draoi for eternal turmoil, the wake of Cernunnos' soul-reaping organizes the stars into a memorial. Rumored to be the arrows of Cernunnos' bow themselves, comets or falling stars are oft seen as an omen of change. The graves of the fallen are typically marked with the simple pattern of stars and connecting lines forming the druid's memorial constellation, which are best seen from the Mother Circle's observatory. There the living druids ponder wisdom left by the fallen, warnings of those who have failed the Aspects, and legends of the Order's history.

"When the moon rises in hue of strawberry, then has come the hour of the flower faerie. On beams of moonlight, they paint and dance, a springtime eve to enchant!" Excerpt from the folktale of the Wildblossom Faeries When the Crystal Moon has set, the druids of the Mother Circle pay homage to the arrival of true spring by observing one the season's more prominent faerie tales. After the Fae Queen Cerridwen emerges from her winter chrysalis, the Springmother breathes the first warm winds onto the land and blesses the dormant ground with life. Upon the perfumed breezes of moonlit nights come the Wildblossom Faeries, thought to act as the paintbrushes of the Aspect herself. The vibrant hues of spring, nearly endless in color and shape, make the living world not just a vessel of life from the Aspect, but also a reflection of her eternal beauty. Sometimes depicted as riders of springtime birds such as cardinals, robins, or hummingbirds, the faeries are believed to serve as the helpers of the Mani Kholibrii until the arrival of the next moon. _______________________________________________________ ____________________________________________________ During the passing of the Painted Moon, the Mother Circle celebrates the lunar month as one of creation and artistry. Wine and liqour is bottled with essence of spring, new clothing is sewn, performances are entertained, and the colors of the wilds are welcomed into the grove. Great care is taken to foster the growth of the blooms brought by the passing of the Painted Moon, avoiding harvest of the flowers until the time of the faeries' crossing has passed. In folklore, it is thought that those who have earned favor with the Fae Queen will discover many blooms around their house, and find their family blessed with prosperity and health. Some devout druids may choose to cultivate a certain color of flower during the season in hopes to provide their space with some living air of inspiration, such as red blooms for courage or white flowers for peace. While the Mother Circle celebrates the Painted Moon and awaits the arrival of the next, the druids offer a creation of their own to Cerridwen in hopes that when the fruits and berries of summer come, the Aspect promises a good harvest for the druids in return for their faith.

The Rite of Rebirth The most celebrated ritual of the Mother Circle is that of Attunement, or the Rite of Rebirth. Toiling for years in the wilds and among the great druidic family, a dedicant that has successfully proven themselves will earn the chance to be presented to Cerridwen within the Mother's Sorrow. There, guide and student arrive together in the crystal waters to immerse the spirit within the crystal clear waters, symbolizing the tears the Great Mother sheds to bring the druids the miracle of rebirth; to experience the light of life through the transcendence of the soul and into the web of life. For every miracle of birth, there is death, and in those tears of understanding are druids born into this realm anew. The Lyric of Rebirth During the Rite, the lights of the grove are dimmed. The attuning druid prays to the Great Mother through song, asking for her guidance as the druid ascends into the cerulean dream. The prayer is in gratitude to the Mother for providing the blessing of sharing the gifts through rebirth and for life itself, and for her watchful eye over the life and eventual death of all of her children. This is often performed with the gift of singing, so that the newborn druid may rest easier and find comfort after attunement. For times of childbirth among the mothering druids and for when a brother or sister must be said goodbye to, the lyric is often heard in accompaniment to a similar ceremony. Kae matayna salume I experience the great life Ahaelun, mataliiyna’ito Great Mother, within my essence Nae elasirameonn myumiera You have brought Rebirth (Attunement) Fitayna, Fi’Talonnionn (You brought) New Life, New Child (Of the great family) Mawynn taliiyna’ito Great Joy is within the heart Mawynn taliiyna’ito Great Joy is within the heart Kaean ahernan ito nae We thank you Kernan’tayna For the nights of Life Kaean ahernan ito nae We thank you Karinan’tayna For the days of Life O Cerridwen, O Cerridwen Hiylu’evar, fidruii Welcome, newborn druid Kae ito Ma’Talonni I bring you into the Great Family Kae elsul salume I experience the light Ito maillern, fitaynan kaeleh’ito A miracle, a birth from me Mawynn taliiyna’ito Great Joy is within the heart Mawynn taliiyna’ito Great Joy is within the heart Kaean ahernan ito nae We thank you Kernan’tayna For the nights of Life Kaean ahernan ito nae We thank you Karinan’tayna For the days of life O Cerridwen, O Cerridwen

"And now the Winter Moon settles behind the horizon. The light of the stars dim; the hour is near. Then the curtain of night swallows the skies, black and hungry. The Wolf Moon has risen, the end of the Wild Hunt is nigh." Excerpt from the faerie tale of Cerridwen's Wintersleep ______________________________________________________________ _____________________________________________________________ An artists' depiction of the Wolf Mani Morea swallowing the Moon The final moon of the Lunar Cycle is also the darkest time of year both literally and spiritually for the druids of the Mother Circle. Once the Moonmoth Faeries make their pass under the light of the previous Winter Moon, it is believed that they whisk away the weak and old as a flurry of a thousand pure white snowflakes; peaceful, deadly, and beautiful. As the Winter Moon sets, the final hours of the lunar year chase away the last golden rays of the winter skies, daring not to rise again until the first breaths of spring. It is when the long, frigid and hungry nights of deep winter arrive that the cold Wolf Moon rises, along with the final reaping of Cernunnos' Wild Hunt. Thought to be chiefest among the Centaur King's Huntsmen, the Wolf Mani Morea arises as a frozen shadow and swallows the lingering life not meant to recieve the Breath of the Springmother in the new year. In this, Morea is believed by the Mother Circle to be the enactor of Cernunnos' Bounty and a symbol of the inevitabilities of life; the eventual cost of death for that which is of the Balance is certain. In the Tale of Cerridwen's Wintersleep, it is storied that Cerridwen grants Cernunnos and his Wild Hunt pantheon her own bounty: the willing sacrifice of a part of herself to ensure the Wild Hunt leaves behind a healthy, strong generation to be reborn. Morea leaps from the shadow of the setting Winter Moon and swallows the last lunar phase, named the Wolf Moon after this faerie tale. Blessing given, the Fae Queen falls into a deep, death-like sleep. The warmth of the SpringMother is gone, there is little fruit and prey, and the world seems to hold its breath. In the shadows, the Packlord Morea and his IceFang faeries stalk the realm unseen, concealed beneath the shadow of the new moon and the beginning of the new lunar cycle. _____________________________________ ______________________________________ The faeries are depicted as the terrible spirit of hunger itself, with long arms and ravenously sharp claws and eyes like stars; a mirror of Cernunnos' arrows. They are the fear of those that have not accepted death, and the awful, violent fury of the hunt they have evaded for too long. On the eve of the new lunar cycle, the druids of the Mother Circle place things that are in excess, such as old trinkets, food offerings, or memories of the past year that they wish to grow and move on from. With these offerings, a bonfire is lit to destroy them in an offering to Cernunnos, the light from the pyre symbolically keeping the faeries away as they seek out the excessive and the lazy.

Father Circle Trial Beginning The trial, much like the last one, began with all possessions being left behind. Though this time I wasn’t blind, and it wasn’t just a trial of survival. But a trial of a hunt against another entity that was stronger than myself. Something to truly test me. Deciding to take a bit of a trip with the previous trials in mind he stepped into the woods and just…walked. Walked until he felt there was something I had found that needed to be hunted, or something that challenged me themselves. Stepping over the bridge and walking back into the deep woods and walking. Ruins that were being reclaimed by nature took hold of sight on the horizon, the sound of thriving nature, of bird song and critters echoed out from all around. The soft touch of grass and soil brushed against bare toes as the sound of nature slowly dimmed, growing quieter due to the unfamiliar predator that was stalking the woods. The grounds soon gave way to a thicker, heavier mud and a gathering of berry bushes. Along with a half buried branch that seems to have fallen and pierced into the ground. I gathered up the branch from the ground and gave it a few testing swings to see if it was balanced at first. And then some jagged stones and a larger, rounder stone as I moved to take a seat and slowly began to grind them, and sharpen them in the hidden shade of a tree. Grinding stone. It echoed out and danced through the air as the feeling of curiosity flowed from the tree line. Soon revealing a squirrel that skittered closer. Observing. A smile traded before a rustle in the leaves has it fleeing into the bushes. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. With the smooth stone, the pointed edges of the sharpened stone pierced into the branch. A crude, stone axe was born. A flash of orange appeared after the axe had been made and the squirrel had fled. But I took a moment to gather up some of the berries. Crushing them with the mood to make it even more sticky while grabbing some fallen leaves. Filling a ‘nest’ of leaves with the sticky residue and thorns before curling it up and sealing it. Effectively making two projectiles before I moved to investigate what the bloom of orange was. Caution bled through the music. In the voice. A fox. Blood soaking its jaws and looking up to the predator that looked upon it. No interest was shown to the beast, but it noticed him. It dragged the carcass. The rabbit. Before abandoning it and fleeing out of sight and view. Leaving its bleeding remains. The rabbit had some potential to be used as bait so I took it and hooked it on my belt. Though in the end I never got a chance to use it as nothing more than a meal as it wasn’t long after this that I discovered something that was…luring me, attempting to have me drop my guard by flashing its horned antlers. A flash of black slinking out of sight drawing attention and drawing me further and further away from the path I was on. Its form slowly revealed itself with a soothing, calming song. A black, sleek and large stallion of a horse. With a beautiful mane flowing and hanging down its form. Walking towards a small lake before looking back with obsidian eyes. The song beckoned…guiding towards the edge of a hill. Beckoning. Then…the horse stepped upon the waters. And realisation shot through like a wave of ice chilling the spine. Realising just what this creature was, and what it was attempting to lure me into doing, tension had risen. One of the balls was grasped in my hand that I had created. Not planning to become the prey like I had seen another be to one of these creatures before. And then, it was launched. The sticky mud and thorns impacted against its head and blinded one of its eyes as the thorns sank in and caused it to bleed. Right as the battle truly began. Something new. Shocking. Came from the creature as a blade of water rose up and whipped through the air. Pain spiked while a body tumbled down the hill closer to the waters that it had made its den. More waves, heavy, bruising, battering waters descended. The old tactic. Duck, roll. Evade. Rinse and repeat. A second orb hurled. Blocked. Defended. Inching closer. Caught! And hammered, locked against a hill being battered again and again by the heavy waters. Being battered, attacked, bruised and beaten, a free hand of mine grasped one of the sugar canes and broke it, leaving a jagged tip at the bottom while ducking behind the canes for some cover. The fae horse was enraged, sending water everywhere after losing sight of me as I climbed up the hill. Making sure I stayed low and patiently waiting for the prime time to send the makeshift javelin of sugar fly through the air. Successfully piercing it into the neck of the beast. But it barely seemed phased at the moment. And the battle raged on. Stone axe in hand and round stone in the other. Weapons diminishing. Intatitive couldn’t be lost. Rushing feet hammered over the shoreline and the axe swung. It rose up, evading, defending. Standing upon the surface of the water itself as the axe sank deep into its front leg. And with a surge of water the predator that was fighting the other predator was pulled into the waters and began to be dragged down. Only a firm grip on the axe, and the searing heat of retained breath kept darkness from claiming the man under its hooves. I was unable to get the arm strength to get the axe out of the limb while the waters raged, battered, and attempted to drag me into the depths as hooves moved to hammer down upon me. Especially as it was the only anchor I had to the surface. Reducing me to using my stone to try and hammer the javelin deeper into its neck. Almost losing my hand to those sharp canines of razor fangs before the pain had the beast whip its head back as the javelin was knocked deeper within. But…a price was paid for the exchange. Crunk. The hand that was working to anchor him was caught, and crumbled under the heavy impact of the hoof. Pain of both beasts echoed through the air. An intake of water, seizing and choking the lungs. Falling back to primal instinct another ape swing of a stone was bashed down. Rooting the cane that was soaked in black ichor that was starting to taint the water. And piercing it through. Pain, rage, gleams of predators' emotions shined in both of their eyes. And waters surged. Propelling its form directly at me using its powers to enhance the roll its entire being crashed, and crushed my chest as I was flung from the water to the shoreline. By the crack and shortness of breath I was sure some of my ribs had been crushed in that act. No doubt getting even worse as the fae horse came crashing down upon my own, crushing me under its weight as I was pinned against its frame. For several moments the legs kicked, and the jaw moved with the creatures intent to keep fighting. Even as the black ichor poured from its neck, soaking my form underneath it…and then. We locked eyes. Pain echoed through the song. Horrid, deep pain. Obsidian eyes met Aqua, emotionless, but glistening as if they were ready to shed tears. A song of respect, and an echo of the land of fae, of eternal flowed back as words in prayer began to be spoken as a soothing hand moved to brush through the thick, matted hair of the beast. Attempting to sooth in the final moments…The eyes closely closed before his own. And down came the stone, a firm, final strike. Giving it the sweet release of pain and the gentle melody of silence once more. I gave my prayers. And with a tortuous moment I lingered under the crushing weight before wiggling free like a worm. The next part was tricky, with only my non-dominant hand working, no tools, no containers. I had to skin, feast, and gather the remains of the kill. Thankfully I had the rabbit and bones. Along with the sharp stones that came from the makeshift axe when it was broken to do the cutting. Blood was gathered. The hide, recovered as best as it could be. Flesh gathered for the long journey home. What couldn't be reclaimed returned to nature. And with that…the hunt was complete. Covered head to two in black, and purple bruises. Three ribs broken, but thankfully not puncturing my lungs. A hand crumpled beyond use. Exhausted from the hunt, and head ringing from being battered around like a toy by the waters for so long. But a successful hunt, it was. And those antlers turned out to be nothing more than branches tangled to the mane.

An artists' depiction of the Court of the Faerie Queen "She is the breath of life in our lungs, the rain that both mourns the fallen and nourishes the living. She is the kaleidoscope of colors in spring; the heartbeat of the world. Her name is Cerridwen, Queen of the Fae." Mythology of the Mother Circle Oft regarded as the orchestrater of the druidic gifts herself, Cerridwen has been a lauded symbol of motherhood, guidance, and life itself. The Mother Circle has cultivated a rich culture in reverence to the Aspect of life, and hosts many notable shrines and sacred glades dedicated to her role in the Balance. Even if she is as silent as her equal counterpart Aspect, Cernunnos, the evidence of her eternal role in the Balance is just as clear and colorful. While the Father's symbol is fire, the Mother's is water. Her seasons are spring and autumn, when the flowers and harvest are at their strongest. In the mythology of the Mother Circle, Cerridwen holds dominion over all living things, but particularly of the fae who are thought to be the richest representation of life's potential. As such, the lunar calendar is a visible symbol of Cerridwen's three eternal promises: birth, life, and decay. The Lunar Phases and the Fae Moons The calendar is separated into three seasons to represent the flow of life. Additionally, each Archdruid of the Grove represents a lunar season. The Moons of Birth - Spring to early Summer, depicted as the Waxing Moon The Moons of Life - Summer to early Autumn, depicted as the Full Moon The Moons of Decay - Autumn through Winter, depicted as the Waning Moon Rarely, a thirteenth moon will be visible during the lunar calendar. Known as the Fae Queen's Moon, it is believed that Cerridwen's influence over the realm reaches a crescendo at the height of the full moon, calling the wandering fae and the souls of deceased druids home to her court in the Fae Realm. Phenomena of whimsical and beautiful natural wonder are storied to emerge on this sacred night, bathing the world in the pure light of the Mother's radiance. Depiction and Worship The Mother Circle traditionally displays Cerridwen as a winged being of wondrous bioluminescence, crowned with wisps and butterflies. When depicted in physical means either through statues or shrines, she is also seen as a green lady with misty eyes and wild tresses of ivy. Chiefest of the sacred places within the grove is known as the Mother's Sorrow, where the Cerridwen's glowing gaze looks down upon the pool in which the Rite of Rebirth, or Attunement, is performed. Here, a descendant is born again, bathed in the tears of the Mother. Just as in the labors of childbirth, Cerridwen baptizes her newborns in both tears of joy and tears of sorrow, for even druids will too decay, and suffer the eventual toll of death. The druids of the Mother Circle believe that all life is merely borrowed from Cerridwen, and in time it must be given back. The crying statue of Cerridwen within the Mother's Sorrow, overlooking the Attunement pool In addition to the physical worship of the Aspect, the Mother Circle believes the Fae Queen's pure spirits, known as faeries or the fae, are the manifestation of a mother's specific lessons, cherished traits, or even enactors of the will of the Aspects themselves. While not truly worshiped in the same manner as the Aspects, they are revered as sacred beings and are sometimes claimed to be seen fulfilling phenomena in nature. The StormTreader Stags, for example, are pure white faeries of deer that are believed to the source of lightning when they crash their antlers to smite the souls of draoi or evil spirits.

"And then comes the kiss of winter, pure and silent. They come as flurries, frozen tears of the Faerie Queen, beautiful and deadly; and the soul is ferried onto the next rebirth." Excerpt from the druidic Faerie Tale of the MoonMoth Midwinter marks the rise of the Night Moon for the Mother Circle, and the arrival of the first snows that blanket the realm in frosted, shimmering powder blankets. The days become short, and long nights of cold darkness arrive in which the Night Moon is named. As the third Moon of Decay and the third cycle of the Wild Hunts of Cernunnos, the MoonMoth faeries are storied to cross into our realm and enact the Horned Lord's will of death. They are depicted as pristine white-winged moths of winter majesty, as small as mice. Disguised as an alluring, shimmering flurry of snow, they swarm the dying and sick in numbers uncountable and freeze the soul in silence. Then, the faeries steal away the dead upon winter winds and back to Cerridwen, where life is reborn during the Moons of Birth. A painting depicting Cerridwen, the Faerie Queen with a cloak of MoonMoth Faeries For the druids of the Mother Circle, the mythology of the MoonMoth faeries parallels with the yuletide tale of Cerridwen's winter slumber. When the Centaur King's hunts reach their crescendo, the Faerie Queen falls into a deep sleep to prepare for the Moons of Birth. It is during this time in the lunar calendar that the Mother Circle exchanges gifts and festive greetings, for the completion of the Lunar Cycle is as revered as the start. It is thought that to be selfless and generous even during a time of scarcity earns the favor of the Aspects, and ensures prosperity and rebirth when the snows eventually melt. Paramount above all is the acceptance of death, however, and the druids will often leave offerings to their dead within the garden of memories.

"You can't see it... but you can see where it's been. It's the lightning that starts the forest fire, or the rain that will douse it. Fate's a funny thing... but I've seen stranger." A Huntsman's Grimoire on the Faerie Legend of the Windrunner One of the more abstract faerie tales regarded by the Mother Circle is the story of the Windrunner, oft depicted as either an eerie winged beast as the shadow of death, or as a guardian of the harvest boughs and abundant life. The Mother Circle druids regard this faerie as a Fae of the Wild Hunt, but more specifically one of the hunter's preservation and destruction of life. Some have claimed to be haunted by the cold eyes of the faerie after surviving a near-death experience, courting with paranoia of the thing after cheating death. Thought to be associated with the wordless will of fate within the Balance, the faerie is believed to manifest as the creeping cold of winter, or the autumn feast for the hunter. One will never give unless the other takes, as it is with the Balance and the perpetual flow of time. The Mother Circle, during the height of the Crimson Moon's passing, a great feast is held. It is a time of thanksgiving and toasts to good health and fortitude for the coming winter, but also a day to remember those whose fates had been decided. The toll of death is best not forgotten, for the harvest of the now is seldom achieved without sacrifice. At the end of the feast, offerings are given to the sculpture of the faerie in hopes that the rejection of excess might align themselves further with the Balance, and to honor the aspect Cernunnos and his Wild Hunt. As it is in the Huntsman's Creed, the druids of the Atoll remain humble in harvest. Only when the dead have been honored and the feast concluded, the Mother Circle druids prepare for the frosts and hardship left behind from the Crimson Moon's arrival.

In the story of Nailah, the fox faerie tale, it is told that the Vixen Trickster has lead victims astray, never to be seen again in the forest. Some claim that great discoveries of wealth are the meddling ways of this spirit of hunt and ambush, scorning their rivals for unimaginable luck. Perhaps a whimsical story about the realities of life, but a wholly merry gathering for the Mother Circle none the less. Crafting a mask in honor of the Mani or Fae, the druids gather beneath the glowing glade of the Moonlit Forest for an evening of riddles, games, and drinks. Dressed in white and fall colors, a grand masquerade is held beneath the full moon. For the final celebration of the Fox Moon, a circle of the masquerade goers partake in the Chimes prayer. In tales of Nailah and the will-o-the-wisp, the nine lights are said to tempt travelers off their path and into an unfortunate death with the distant chiming of bells. By celebrating games in her likeness and chiming the bells, the gathered might have sharpened their wits to keep them safe during the final days of the Fox Moon and the beginning of the hunts. [Saturday, 5pm EST at the Atoll Grove]

Father Circle Trial Summer guided the sightless Through the biting chill of night Only darkness greeted the directed Sound, scent, soul. All that was felt in the newfound world A world untouched. Untamed senses outstretched. Hindering, humbling, and heavy. Suns Sightless Summer. It was a strange experience, to be blind; to have the eternal night brushing one’s senses. Where not even the outline of structure in the night can guide one's hand or steps forward, reliant on the hands and guidance of a mentor to mount a steed for the ahead while the only senses that he found was sound, rippling through the dark like a droplet on a river. Trot, Trot, Trot. Ruffle of fabric. Dance of leaves and a tickle of cold on the skin. “Are we in the north?” His voice felt consuming. “No. We are not.” Her voice felt distant. They arrived, and with an unsure step he carefully brought his feet down upon the unseen ground. Grass was felt, banishing the idea that they were in the north. As his mentor's voice danced in the air and he turned, trying to keep focus on the sound as insects buzzed loudly within his ears. Final words were given, the earth feeling coarse, and dry. He didn’t know this land. The ruffle of feathers echoed in his ears and the sound of the retreating trots of a horse grew distant. He was alone. Dry earth. Ticklish grass. Caution driving the man on all fours like a beast. Pushing forward, he crawled. Like an ape. Drawn deeper. It was getting…warmer? But wasn’t it already the day? It began to burn on pale skin. Scorching. Hot. Darkness revealed naught. The heat of the night had hidden the truth from his senses, making him believe that night was day, and day was night. Something that he became painfully aware of as the travel he made bared the heat on his skin as night began to turn to day. Not able to find shelter the heat bared down, suffocating his senses. Drawn by the sound of insects he found bark, wood. A tree. Grasping blindly. Insects grasped and crunched between jaws. Nourishment. Nectar. Refreshing in the burning drought. The sun scorched blindly on flesh. Fingers dug between roots. Digging out a hole. A burrow. Hiding from the heat. For several days hiding within that burrow when the air began to grow hot, and scavenging insects from the tree, clamouring up the branches and swinging upon them while being lured in by the sounds of fluttering wings, buzzing, and the feeling of carapace against skin. Yet it couldn’t last. The insects began to learn. Growing distant. Retreating from the tree he had made a burrow under. He needed to keep moving. Food is scarce. Hunger gripped and thirst clung. Braving the heat again. Only to slip. What was thought to be even ground revealed a slope. Gravity claimed away and tumbled the vessel down. Impacting against earth, ground, and then scorching sands. He stumbled down the side of what could have only been a cliff, a hill, perhaps even the side of a mountain. He could not know in the darkness. Earth and stone scratched and bruised flesh as he fell down, slipping further and further down the slope while protecting his head until the soft, but scorching heat of sand greeted him. And the sound of splashing waves - the shoreside? The heat bore down and the need for shelter had him pushing to the waterside, dipping in the salt and cooling off from the scorching rays. Salt surrounded the sense of smell. Waves echoed in the ears, drawing out all. Warm waters cooled and protected from the scorching heat. A moment of reprieve followed by the sting of a claw. Crabs are cruel demons, he decided then, when one latched upon his toe and soon became his dinner. Cracked under fist and bone then eaten raw. It was delightful compared to the crunch of insects he had been reduced to eating for the last few days. The shell of the crab had been kept and tucked into his pants for use later as thirst tugged on his dry lips and tongue. The juices of his prey could only sustain him so far. But what was that…smell? Flowery aroma. He knew that smell. Or something similar. Drawn to it, the touch of an oily petal touched his fingers. Then the texture of a fruit. Plucked. Feasted. Thirst quenched. The world swam. Diddyfunkle. While the fruit were refreshing, and likely saved him the aftereffects, it cost the time he needed to train his senses to stretch even further. He began to hear sounds where there wasn’t any, the scorching sun felt strange and tingly on his skin. Everything was different, soothing. He was hallucinating. No colours to see, only the world began to swim and dance all around. Passing out and awakening, unsure of where he was. Only feeling the scorching itch, and burn of blistered flesh from the sun he had laid within under the effect of the diddyfunkle. Pain spiked with every movement. Shaking the limbs. Aching the flesh. But he needed to.To move. Lost, lonely, light headed. Wings followed. He was starting to notice that the sound of wings seemed to circle him ever since he arrived here. The weight that birds were likely waiting for him to perish so that they could scavenge his corpse filled his mind in that moment. Doubt almost consumed his mind before he focused, calmed himself with a moment of meditation in a form that screamed with scorched flesh. And then the buzzing sound of insects returned. And he found an edge to a mountain side. Though If it was the same or another he had no clue. Fingers dug, scraped, and grasped at soil and stone. Tugging, biting painfully at an already abused form. Pushing through limits. Away from sands. Stone. Fingers finding grass, earth. Shade of a tree sheltering flesh. It was a different tree he had found this time, and he could only assume that he had found a different mountain. Or a hill that he had scaled on all fours. The leaf span of this tree was able to cover him, reducing the need for him to dig under the roots, so he instead pulled himself into a nook within the trees and began to rest. Taking a solid day of rest just to recover before his senses stretched out. Insects surrounded him from all around, but also…birds, and what sounded like a trickle of water? Water on a mountain. A lake? An oasis? Movement fled him as he moved to the edge. Finding nectar of sweet, cool waters. Flowing waters through a current. For the first time in what felt like weeks, he had fully tamed his thirst and had coverage from the sun of the scorching day. The scent of flowers, of flora, filled his breath and the crisp cool water. Life was around him. And if there was a lake? That meant one thing. Fish. He pushed into the water and attempted to catch fish as he felt the ripples of their movements against his skin. It took time. Practice. Eating the flora like a herbivore and drinking from the water until finally his fingers clenched around the scaled body of a fish. It was delicious. All was consumed. Head, eye, flesh, guts. It all went down. Nourishment. Sharp fangs tearing into flesh. A fish a day kept the hunger away. Time passed like this uncounted, the shift from scorching heat to warm summer being his only clue of the passing time. Soon followed by him getting used to the shifting sound of nature around him. The insects were quiet during what he felt was the ‘day’, yet the fish were louder, splashing and feeding. At night the song of the insects grew more vibrant, making it easier for them to be hunted. And so he existed for a while, catching fish, hunting insects, occasionally eating a flower when a day of hunting was sparse. Until one day he made a strange discovery on the lake…a boat. Tied up and bound at the bottom of it with a stone. Perplexed. Confused. Bamboozled. A boat in the middle of nowhere? It made no sense. Was there descendant life nearby? Here!? Confusion leads to curiosity. To blind exploration. Fingers searching the surroundings and seeing what they could find. No words were given, for he did not desire to meet anyone. Just understand more of where he was. And understand he soon did. Finding what felt like marks in the earth…of a battle. Old. Ancient. Abandoned camp with a blanket so worn with holes and full of insects that it must have been left here for a very long time. Further exploration found a hot spring that he took a moment to bath within. And felt the presence of other animals joining him in the waters. Soothing the aches and pains that lingered. And finally…what felt like an altar, damaged, destroyed. And a pedestal where a tome should have rested, stripped clean. A cult of some faith lived here. Had lived here. But something dealt with them. In fighting? Rivals? But they were gone. Long gone. Ruins reclaimed by nature. It was a strange relief knowing he was the only ‘descendant’ within the land. Tension he didn’t know had built up eased, and the continued path of survival reclaimed his form. Dead flesh from the scorching heat peeled off and washed away in the flowing hot spring, giving way to flesh that seemed to be able to handle the heat better. Able to bear and adapt to the flame of the land's fury. Time passed, his habit of checking the moon turning to counting the shift of temperature to mark the time that continued on. Until the day the rain came. The rain was heavy. Hammering the land and loosening the soil. The lake grew wild, the currents stronger. It gripped upon him and washed him away through the current. Direction less, breathe lost. Water filled his lungs. Impacting an unknown shore and hacking the current out. He hadn’t been prepared for that. The rhythmic repetition that he was slowly growing used to with his sense of touch, hearing and scent, washed away by the storm of rain and water. He didn’t know how long the waters had pulled him, how far away he was from where he originally was. But he felt he went down, flowing away from the mountain. And once again he was battered and bruised from the descent of the mountain. The rain made it difficult to tell left, to right, or hint in which direction to go as everything echoed its song. He could only rely on his touch. Digging into the ground and pulling forward to find shelter. Sand and earthy grass mixed under touch. The prickle of a cactus stung. Biting skin and clinging. Repulsed and a new direction found. Clear water found upon fingertips, a rocky growth giving shelter. A new nest was found. Rest and slumber came swift. The rain lasted slightly longer than expected, and the thorns from a plant that grew on the rocky walls burned as it cut and dug into flesh. Several pointy plants had wounded his hands now that they were starting to twitch from them. Or perhaps it had been the venom of the plants themselves that were making his hands tremble and twitch. It took a day for the sensation of touch to return to them where he nibbled on the moss that had grown near the water and drank of its source. The shell of the crab finally proved its worth as he scraped the moss from the stone to eat it. Recovered, thankfully no breaks from the slip down the water slide. Then..a cluck. A cluck of a chicken echoed out. Body froze. Stomach rumbled. The blind stalked the sound…waited. Pounced. Neck snapped in jaws. Crimson soaked skin. He went feral for a moment. Or was he just returning to how he was in his youth? He stalked the chicken; or at least he assumed it was a chicken, by its sounds. Lowered his form to be less noticeable, waiting for it to draw close before he launched at it. Sharpened canines biting down a thin neck before he jerked, felt a snap. And the body grew still within his jaws. He ate well that day. The feathers felt pleasant on his skin. He didn’t know where he had ended up but he could feel that the grass here was…softer, cooler. More vibrant in its life. And he couldn’t feel any sand around as the echo of crashing waves filled his senses from the left of him. Waves echoed in his ears. Cool grass under toes and knuckles. Insects were scarce, he couldn’t hear them anymore. But animal sounds tugged his senses. No trees to be found, only brush, green, and animals. An open plain by the sea. He had gotten utterly lost in the darkness and the rain. The origin he had been left at felt so distant, yet it could have been at his back for all he knew. Or even just ahead of him. But with a lack of insects around he began to regress to a..primal, natural state. Hiding in the bush and pouncing upon shifting and moving prey. Finding rabbits caught within jaws, chickens snapped and plucked. Bones and feathers began to decorate his hair and tattered fabrics around his waist as crimson clung and stained his skin until he washed it on the coast side. Berries found by following the trials animals had left with his fingers allowed him to quench his thirst. His mind regressed. Settling on basic needs. Food. Thirst. Shelter. The food cried and fell still under my jaws. Fruits and berries fed nourishment. The sun still burned. But shelter in trees eased the heat. Strangely the wings of the stalking bird still echoed above… The predator he had become was tempted to climb and hunt the bird that he caught circling above him so many times now, the flap of the wings, the ruffle of feathers. Even the cry of a hawk's call. Which increased when he caught the sound of swooping wings as a rabbit, or mouse he had been hunting became the prey of this bird instead of himself. It almost became a competition. Who could catch the prey first, the land bound beast, or the avain in the skies? It soothed a loneliness he didn’t realise he was feeling to humour the idea that it was the same bird each time, despite how unlikely that was. A grunt, a squeal. Something was rushing towards him. He dove out of the way. The feel of something sharp. Cut his flank. A heavy trotted foot. A huff of breath. A boar. He listened for the charge. Waiting. Ducking. Rolling. Evading. Landing kicks to its flank. A leg snapped. The boar tumbled. He pounced. Boar tusks added to the decorations of blood soaked feathers, rabbit toes and scrapes of pelt he hadn’t eaten upon his garb. It was too much to eat alone, eating his full and then trusting on nature to take their own filling. Listening, and agreeing with his senses as he felt wings descend upon the boar, and the brush rustle as other creatures grew near. The carcass was going to be plucked clean. But the wound on his side wasn’t going to deal with itself. The bite of salt water splashed and washed the wound. Leaves were cleansed and laid over the cut, and the vines of a king were bound tight around to apply pressure. The wound burned. Stung. And itched all at the same time. The leaves were packed tight. Nature’s bindings. And he laid still. Feeling the flow of crimson still. But he felt light headed. Tired. Sleep came soon. He, luckily, didn’t bleed out. The binding was tight enough to stall the blood flow. Even luckier that it didn’t get infected without clear, boiled water to cleanse the wound. But as he was healing. he went over his senses through the darkness. He was used to the sense of sound now, enough to catch the movement of beasts to avoid attacks, the sound of movement in the wind. The sense of smell gave him an idea of what was nearby, of what he was stalking, from the scent of pelts, to the markings left in surroundings, and even the aroma of flora. His skin had hardened under the trial and rough treatment. Yet he had honed his sense of touch, to the point where he could trust himself to move through branches within the trees without risking falling. He had returned…to nature. Sightless, Soundless, Boundless. He grew in the flames. Hardened against stones. Held by the grasp of rootes. Scent, Sound, Sensations. Honed, practised and grown. The lack of vision. Of colour. Have a way to a new world. A beauty in the ripple. The pulse of shadow. A canvas of the night. An Ode to the Blind.

_________________________________________ _________________________________________ A painting of the sunken city of merfolk faeries " It is a realm not quite near, and not quite so far... In those sunken, forgotten halls The Ocean's daughter mourns evermore. " Excerpt from the Faerie Legend of the Sea Maiden During the third and final full moon of the summer months, the Mother Circle reflects upon the legend of the Sea Maiden, a mermaid queen fabled to be the source of all ocean treasures. There, deep in the cerulean city of the ocean's splendor, she guards and keeps the tides, waiting for a day that shall never come. When the the world was young, and the seas without graveyards, a Son of Malin ventured into the surf with silver sails to glide over the water's surface as a shooting star in the night sky would. His hair was as pearly as the sea-foam upon the shore, and his eyes glimmered with the wondrous blue of the deep ocean. From her young throne, the Sea Maiden, Queen of Sirens and Mermaid Fae gazed up from her throne and knew that no pearl, no shell nor jewel was fairer than he. Yet, when the Sea Maiden erupted from the surface to meet her beloved... He denied her. For the elf with a mane of stars and eyes of tempest sought not love nor beauty... He sought glory that she could not give. Then, the world experienced the first cataclysm of the sea's legendary rage. As the sailor departed, the white hull of his vessel trailed a terrible, sorrowful storm. The tides swelled as the Ocean's daughter wept day and night. Even the land trembled beneath the black clouds; wailing, tumultuous pain of love that will never be. The typhoon raged across the land and deposited all of the riches of the ocean onto white shores. Pearl, fossils, coral, and shells and jewels like a kaleidoscope of treasure showered the shores of Kings and peasants alike. The Sea Maiden had rejected all of the Ocean's wealth that day. Her heart longed not for the shimmering coat of pearls and gems, but for the diamond-hair of her sailor. Still, she sings a mourning song in the depths of the sea, hoping that one day her sailor might return and join her atop the Cerulean Throne. It is rumored that sirens and mermaids are drawn to sailors, so that they might lure them into the abyss to bring the Sea Maiden her true love in which she searches for even still today. An artists' depiction of the Mermaid Queen To celebrate the fable of the Sea Maiden, the Mother Circle holds a great Ocean Ball at the end of the summer cycle. Donning sea-side treasures such as pearl, abalone, and coral are seen as a gesture of good fortune, as the Sea Maiden supposedly sends trinkets into the surf to those that reject fame and glory for the quieter fates of life.

The compiled writings of Dubh Ainmhí, a sister of the Druidic Order. Little known as she is, the meandering crone has seen fit to distribute her Work. By way of loose-leaf tome, board-bound posting, or hidden, roadside scrawling, these texts have been dispersed to the world at large. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ THE WOVEN WAY: Between Beginnings & Endings A passage from my doctrine’s ramblings, offered in preamble; though, there is little weight to my putting these thoughts to paper. For now, my predecessors and I are insignificant. That does not mean it is done without purpose. Without justification in its boldness, even as it is penned by the hands of a circle-less geist. Revelations and mysteries, like those revealed to me in the pursuit of my attunement, demand recognition. Let this be my acknowledgement. Let it be an answer to the ever-gnawing question that has plagued my line since the times of the first divide. Let it be the provocation for countless more yet to be asked. It is not a story the druii would tell you, ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ THE WOVEN WAY: On Absolutes An excerpt of my own musings on Nature, as well as the mire of thought, cast into obscurity by the ages, that we call Balance. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ THE WOVEN WAY: THE ASPECTS (CENTENNIAL: 0101) This posting details interpretations of Aspectist and Druidic lore that, today, have been suppressed by ignorance and misunderstanding. It is not intended to discredit the beliefs of those that may disagree with its contents. This interpretation is that of my doctrine: The Woven Way. Like all other philosophies of its kind, such as the paths sheltered by the Father Circle- the Ichor Way, the Sage’s path, etcetera- the teachings of the Woven Way ultimately concern service in the name of Balance. Any who claim to represent, adhere to, or otherwise work with difference to its beliefs, must do so with this in mind. The Balance, sometimes referred to as a Cycle, or the Design, is the natural state of things as was originally intended by the wild divine. It was a careful agreement struck between those antediluvian powers that we druii serve; yet, I purport that it is not one intended to remain static. That it is, at its heart, a plan to foster our world, rather than drive it to stagnation. This document details how that plan was set into motion, and sheds new light on the entities behind its upkeep. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ A RECORD OF SORROW: The Schism Words wrought of my mother’s memory, scribed above in a labor of love, once leveled towards my kin. This is a more complete recollection of her words. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ A RECORD OF SORROW: To My Siblings While not the first of my missives toward this sentiment, this served as one of my most pointed. It was a spark, lit by the igniting clash of my siblings' hate. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ OOC: man...

"Deep in that realm, the Prince does slumber With royal mane of leaf and umber. When the days turn long, the sun's veil of fire awakens summertime from the Lion's choir." Excerpt from the Faerie Tale of Majira, the Midsummer Prince _______________________________________ ________________________ The Sixth Moon of the Lunar Calendar of Faeries is known as the Lion Moon, named for the likeness of the druidic fable of Majira, a great lion thought to guard the Court of the Fae Queen. Majira slumbers most of the year at the entrance to the Verdant Glade, where he rests after his yearly roar that brings the crescendo of summer to the realm. He is thought to be the father of the PrideMother fae spirits, roaming hunters of mischievous faeries and trespassing spirits of draoi, and a patron of wild and domesticated feline companions to descendants alike. With Majira's watchful eyes holding the light of dusk and dawn, it is storied that witnessing reflective eyes of cats big and small is a sure sign that there are foul magics or dark spirits afoot. When the Stormtreader stags cascade their cacophony of thunder and rain during the Fifth moon of the calendar, Majira will awaken and loft his head high. His roar shakes the realms of the Forest and Descendants, rich ribbons of summertime season weaving nature's crescendo into the land and sky. Exhausted, the Great Lion shakes his mane, billowing sweltering breeze to shoo away summer storms that have overstayed their welcome. The oceans begin to stir with life, and the world bears summer fruit of sweet nourishment. Then, the Midsummer Prince returns to rest, so that he might regain his spirit to bring the next year's summer. The Pridemother's Chant, Song of the Midsummer Dance Lye orrarae, Maln! (We hunt, Father!) Lye orrarae karinte, Maln! (We are going hunting, Father!) Il'Kaean narnae, larionn'an, lye orrarae karinte! (Come with us, sisters, we are going hunting!) Lye! Uhierae, ehierae! Lye! Uhierae, ehierae! (The people!) (We seek, we find!) Maruriar, Maln! (Roar, Father!) Lye! Haelun, kaean annil! Lye! Haelun, myumier ito! (The people!) (Mother, guide us! Mother, carry us (to it)!) Ito orrarae! (Here, we hunt!) Oh, draoi uhierae! (Oh, we hunt evil!) A painting of Mother Circle druids partaking in the Midsummer Dance In the Mother Circle, a great celebration is held in honor of this story during the phases of the Lion Moon. Known as the Midsummer Dance, performers travel dressed as Majira and his pride of daughters to spread the joys and beliefs of summertime according to druidic values. The chiefest display involves firedancing, a great demonstration of the story of Majira in the form of a traveling performance and feast. Adorned in bright summer colors and masks of the Midsummer Prince and his hunting pride of daughters, the druids of the circle travel the world to instill strength and faith into those that aim to preserve nature. Summer fruits and laurels are few of many gifts brought to a communal feast, while stories of great accomplishments for the preservation of the balance are shared. While Summer is indeed a season of vitality and strength, it is also a season where the weak perish. When the Mother Circle celebrates the Midsummer Dance, they are praying for the wisdom and strength of the hardy spirits of summer. Wise druids know that no season truly holds an era of quiet when it comes to the protection of the balance, and the summer heat often proves harshest to many. Celebrating the Midsummer Dance and feast forges bonds that many wish to maintain in solidarity of the hard work yet to come.

The duty of the Druid is to protect, to heal, to preserve, and to serve the Balance. The Balance is simultaneously mighty in its enormity of influence and fragile enough to require the aid of Druids. From ensuring that descendants do not leech nutrients from the earth from over farming to snuffing out vile sorcerers, the duties of the Druidic Order are varied. They can be quiet, challenging, lethal or anything in between. For the development of Druids both early and late in their journey, it is important to collaborate with our kin. The Mother Circle has seen value in delegating tasks to any willing party of druids for the continued benefit of the Balance. Here you will find adventures to embark on with your kin, with potential reward for all involved, be them attuned or unattuned. Seek purpose here when your duties become light. ____________________________________________________________________________ Current Expeditions of the Mother Circle Riverside Rumble The Rivers beside the Atoll grove have had their natural flow altered by some means, affecting everything downstream. The lack of water has caused great thirst to the land and animal population, and the chance of wildfire by negligence has become dangerously high. Seek out the affected portion of the river using the provided rafts, find out what has caused their disruption along the natural flow and rectify it. Suggested party: 2-3 Suggested party composition: Dedicant, Young Druid Combat: Unlikely Hazards: Whitewater rafting, unstable wilderness, probable wild animal encounters ((Repeatable?: No)) Seashore Shenanigans While the world’s political state has become uncertain with the Orenian and Dwarven war heating up, we’ve seen an increase of military cargo, trading ships, and pirates passing by our portion of the oceans. Some of these ships have sailed dangerously close to known coral reefs, and I am entrusting you and your kin to ensure that these fragile ecosystems are not disturbed by the passing of these vessels. Suggested party: 3-4 Suggested party composition: Dedicant, Druid, Blight Healer Combat: Possible Hazards: Underwater exploration, coral reefs, sailors ((Repeatable?: Yes)) The Laughing God ((Part 1)) Some travelers have been sending the Archdruids letters of warning for travelers traveling from the desert. According to them, there are ‘protectors of nature’ unknown to us that are robbing, stealing, and harming anyone who expresses a wish to travel to the Atoll Grove. One traveler has requested an escort party to help guide their pilgrimage to the Grove. Stay on your toes, team, we don’t have any other insight to the situation. Suggested party: 3-4 Suggested party composition: Any Combat: Expected Hazards: Harsh climate, potential bandits, lengthy travel ((Repeatable?: Yes)) Updated 12th of The Amber Cold ((4/4/22)) ((OOC))

The path of the Aspect's Chosen is not paved with fame and fortune. It is a quiet, woodland stroll, of silent suffering and wordless joy. The service that druids provide to the Balance, and subsequently the Aspects, is a long, storied, and arduous tale. There have existed druids so dedicated and steadfast in their attunement that we continue to pass their teachings on today, tomorrow, and ever more. There have existed druids so disturbed and troubled by their attunement that we pass on the story of their struggles in tandem. This is as it should be, for there is no great spiritual harvest without there also being a great spiritual winter, and the fulfillment of the complex flow of Balance is unachievable without equal portions of joy and lamentations. It is not without great caution that the Verdant Path is offered, yet it should be equally so that great caution is taken when withholding the path from the inhabitants of the realm. In this belief, perhaps the small yet industrious bee may offer their wisdom. The duty of the bee is immense; without the support of its kin the bee would die without the products of the hive. The flowers would go untended, their plants withering without the careful attention of their striped friends. The bear would never know the sweetness of the hive's determined industry, and the bird may never take nourishment that is the sacrifice of the bee. For the continuation of this harmony that is Balance, it is paramount that the role of the Student, the Druid, the Guide, and the Grove is defined to the best of literature's means in which it may serve as the pillars of the Druid's values, goals, and purpose. The Student The King and Peasant are not so much unalike, for both may thirst for the rivers of spiritual knowledge. To take the path of Dedicancy is that which is truly sacred: it is the agreement to learn, to submit one's self to strife and challenge in the hope of achieving deeper understanding of our tumultuous world. The Students are those among us that may make great discoveries, face indescribably challenging conflict, and learn lessons in which they foster a great desire to share. The Student's role is to learn, but it is also their sacred, unsung, and perhaps unintentional role to teach their Guide. To assume that a Student's Guide has experienced every challenge and hardship is not only irresponsible but demeaning for both. The seed is the representation of the potentiality of life, such as the student is the representation of the potentiality of great knowledge. Guides need only to foster their growth, and learn from their journey so that the next seed, or Student, may be just as enriched as their elders. The process itself of becoming a Student is very easy, and can be taken by anyone of good character and pure intent. When a seeker has discovered the inspiring acts of a druid and gained a thirst for deeper understanding, they may beseech the druid for their tutelage. In this gesture, the Student may be unknowingly granting the greatest honor achievable for a Druid: the affirmation of the value of their teachings and a desire to learn from that Druid. From there, their path may begin through a series of tasks and lessons that pertain to real, current duties of the druidic community of the time. The Student will immerse themselves in the realm of Balance's struggle, and gain valuable insight before the Student is attuned into the Great Family. These tasks may range from challenging, quiet, cerebral and physical. In preparation for the Student's body and soul to serve a the greater call of nature, they must incorporate themselves in the daily struggles of existing Druids. This should not be a path unhappily followed, for should a Student find that there is no value in that which is being taught it is just as vital to allow them to stray from the path or seek another Druid. While the desired understanding can and has been attained by a single Guide's teaching, it is an unnatural restriction to expect it totally from each Guide and Student relationship. The Seed, or Student, must be allowed to grow in accordance to what answers they seek, and secrecy will stifle their potential growth to an unknown severity. The Student is the Spring season of the cycle of the Druidic cycle. The Druid To willingly suffer on the behalf of those that cannot speak is to love purely and justly The baptism of a graduated Student in the energies of attunement is a right of passage all within the Great Family have taken. The great equalizer of druids is the process of Attunement, for once the path is taken and endured, they join a family of those that can see, hear, and feel that which was previously unknowable. Every druid, newborn and elder, hears the same voices, delights, and anguish of the natural world. It is the light of perspective that shines upon Druids and allows their individual strengths to blossom, and give a kaleidoscope of culture and meaning to an otherwise overwhelming sense of perception. Elders have often said that the culmination of all hopes, fears, struggles and bonds they have nurtured and severed bombard the mind of the newborn druid like a great tidal wave. Here, the Aspects are presented the soul of the Student and examine the dedication of the oath they have sworn to nature. All unsung accomplishments, the quiet deeds of kindness, and grand victories for the preservation of the Balance are seen and heard by the Mother and Father. If the Student has satisfied the tenets of each Aspect in Balance, they will bathe the Student in the first and most important gift of all of the gifts: Perception. Emerging from Attunement, which is often but not necessarily done within a quiet and secluded pool in a grove or the wilds, is akin to second birth. Where there was silence and lack of life now there is song, color and feeling. Attunement is never ceasing, for it is an eternal state of awareness in the delights and distress of all living things. It can be maddening, even fatally so. This is where the Great Family emerges like the eye of a hurricane for their young brother or sister. Druids have been acutely conditioned to recognize anguish, and some have mastered the arts so finely that they may enlist the help of that very thing they protect to support the newborn druid in kind. Even where druids may not possess the means to sway the song of the world so potently, they may possess other skills or acts of care in which to comfort and support the new Druid. As a mother and father of the physical world would hope that their children care for each other, so too should we assume that the Aspects would hope that their druidic children would care for each other. This is the core concern that arises when Druids murder or maim Druids: it is as symbolic violation of nature itself. The Role of the Druid is to practice. Attunement enables the Druid to reach for the Gifts that have been freely offered to us by the Aspects. While the Gifts can make the task of the Druid easier, it is not that which makes impossible solutions possible. The acquisition of the Gifts does not place the Druid in any state of higher or lower authority over Druids that do not possess the same Gifts, they are truly and simply Gifts. The beauty of receiving a gift in the physical realm is the sense of gratitude and appreciation for the self, and even so the desire to share the Gifts persists among the Great Family of Druids. Abuse of the gifts is an unfortunate reality that most Druids are aware of. It has, as well, created a platform for heated debate among Elder Druids, Students, and every Druid in between. The voice of the Student or Dedicant should never be silenced in a flawed desire to pursue perfect dialogue, for they may offer the most valuable insight and perspective simply unavailable to those who have been Attuned. Allow Students and Druids alike to voice their concerns among the matter of ongoing debates, great or small, difficult or easy. The Druid is the Summer season of the Druidic cycle. The Guide There can be no preservation of the Balance without the guidance of Spring's youth, for Winter always comes for the old. The progression of Druid to Guide is much like observing the flight of the songbird, and knowing that at one point that bird did not know how to fly. Yet, it is still very much a songbird, an equivalent to the bird that is still within its egg, unborn and innocently naive. Much like the adult bird in this scenario, it is the role of the Guide to harbor growth and learning within that unhatched egg, so that one day a songbird may fly onto great things. It is also the duty of the Guide to ensure that a Student does not anguish unnecessarily or cruelly, but to allow them to face challenges in spirit of the Balance and in pursuit of ensuring the next generation may bring renewed sanctity to the journey of Druidism. Should the Guide find their spirit weary by the sheer amount of Students, it is the most honorable choice to refer the Student to another Guide. The Guide is a fount of knowledge both abstract and representational, but varying between Guides. It is not expected for a single river of the realm to offer water to every living thing of the world. Therefore we must allow many streams, or Guides, to quench the thirst of many kinds of students. Perhaps a callow teaching when pondered at first, but it is also of principal value to understand the innate wisdom of the Guide. For one who has lived and seen many things on their journey, it is also their discretion to deny a Student's request to learn. This should not be done without great consideration or reason, for it is an observable fact that when we stifle or prevent the learning from an otherwise valid druidic candidate we invoke the ire of talented minds upon ourselves. The ability to teach should never be conflated with an absolute requirement to teach. Additionally, most Guides are nominated to teach through great meetings between Druids called Moots, but it is by no means a requirement to begin passing knowledge to the next generation. The Aspects, through their notorious silence, have clearly spoken in disinterest as to what a descendant may refer to themselves before taking the Verdant Path. The Guide may offer the Verdant Path to peasants, Kings, men, women, elves, orcs, dwarves etc. The state of existence is of no matter to the Aspects that grant us our abilities. Their chiefest interest in this world is and has always only been the Balance, and it is also the duty of the Guide to ensure that other Guides may hold themselves to the standard in which the Aspects have placed faith into and expect from Druids. The Guide will teach the Guide as fervently and kindly as they would their Student. The Guide is the Autumn season of the Druidic cycle. The Grove The Grove will envelop the weary druid and comfort them, nursing their spirit back into vitality The Grove is perhaps the simplest structure of druidic culture, but has been long and unintentionally involved in political affairs that the Druid should not strive to mingle within. At the core, the Grove is a sanctuary of flora and fauna that provides shelter, nourishment, and physical rest for the Druid. This allows a great many of druids to mingle beneath great canopies and among fantastic creatures, as well as pool the resources of gifts into a convenient place for Students, Druids, and Guides alike to access. Where the more intricate function of the Grove comes in is in management of the site. Typically a grove is maintained by the permanent residence of one or more druids, with some taking on various jobs. Historically, these have been called Archdruids, but there are many names that one may give the caretaker of the Grove such as Raithean, Keeper, etc. Speaking in terms of relevant change that this grants the Druid, there is very little. The Archdruid is granted no additional gifts from the Aspects, nor does their state of awareness within the confines of attunement alter for better or worse. Archdruid, much like Guide, is simply the title of a very important job that facilitates the cooperation of all Druids among the realm. The Grove is a beacon for Druids and Students to come home to, but there must exist one or more to remain and keep the fire lit. Caution is taken when an Archdruid is selected, for it is something that must be agreed upon by many that the person in question possesses the ability to remain steadfast in times of quiet or strife. Groves typically hold vital structures within its suggested borders, including a library or information hub, an attunement pool, memorial grounds, and Moot room. Of course, many groves hold further spaces for other purposes needed for cultural ideas or otherwise, but most have generally followed this list. These give a great feast of tools for the Druids to utilize, particularly on the topic of meetings, public attunement, and historical archives. Arguably the most important function of the Grove is to facilitate the formation of the Moot, or meeting. Students, Druids, and Guides will gather within the Moot area and will discuss threats to the realm, coordinate festivals or events, and consolidate gifts to share with other Druids. There has been a need to discuss any potential harm caused by Druids, for there have existed and will continue to exist those that abuse or otherwise twist nature to serve their own desires. These accursed Druids are known as Draoi, taken from the elvish tongue as a title for an evil or otherwise harmful Druid. While genuine Draoi are fairly few and far between, it is important for Druids to convene and discuss potential conflicts of interest as to better understand how to prevent or rectify the presence of a Draoi. For the Druid, the Grove is a safe haven to rest from the tiring duties throughout the realm. It is not extended only for those that are on the Verdant Path, however, and frequently they have been used to offer refuge for citizens of natural disaster, war, or to simply offer food and comfort for the unfortunate. For this reason, it is a duty for all druids to protect and defend them wherever they may be constructed, be it in the wilds or in the nations of descendants. As nature has given us the means to survive, Druids will continue to offer that survival to all. The presence of one grove or many groves should not indicate a fracture in how the Verdant Path is joined, maintained, and protected. A Grove within the harsh desert serves the same purpose as the Grove within a glade of the mali’ame, a people historically very supportive of the Druidic Mission. Because the main purpose of the Grove is to support Druidic growth, the presence of many groves should serve as a testament to mission success. It should be the ultimate goal of the Druid to exist in harmony with all Groves, and allow the wayward druid to find their calling among all or none should they choose. Welcome, and indeed celebrate the Druid that serves many Groves, for the Balance is granted greater protection through it.

[!] On the noticeboards of a number of locations sits an advertisement, nay, an invitation. "My friends, have you ever looked to the forests around you and wondered what it may be like to live within? Or perhaps have you looked at your home and seen the destruction of nature, and wished for a better way. Please, join me, Fal'leon Odinson, in a venture to learn how to make the wilderness your home without harming the environments around you. Join me on the 19th of the Grand Harvest, 62 SA, and allow me to teach you. This event is apart of a druidic grand task and so I must request your utmost respect and dedication. Those joining will also be invited to spend time longer than what is designated, and shall receive a copy of my newest book: Among The Wild. I thank you for your consideration and hope to see you joining me. Contact me by bird if you take interest."

“Go out into the forest with nothing more then the clothes on your back” The elfess thought this over in her head as she stepped into her home, carefully heading up to her room. She began removing the plate mail she often wore, letting out a sigh as the weight she had gotten so used to was removed, Nemea rolled her shoulders slightly as she put the blucky set away. Once the elfess was dressed in the proper attire, she picked up a paper and quill scribbling down a simple note which she put down on the table before heading out the door. so the trial begins She travelled the dirt trail as her home became further and further from view, eventually she stepped off the reliable path into the thick forest. As the time passed the elfess focused on the set thing, finding a place to set up, night came closer and closer which she knew would make it harder to navigate. Soon she heard the sound of moving water which meant one thing: a river. Nemea came up to the river and smiled slightly, her brown eyes looking about the greenery. “Seems I have found my spot” she affirmed to herself, she began collecting some dry twigs and branches, working it into a proper set up for a fire. Once the elfess was happy with her work, she grabbed some good rocks and kneeled in front of the set up of branches and twigs. THWACK The sound slightly echoed in the quiet forest continuing over and over till finally a spark formed, she then softly blew on the flame nurturing it to a nice crackling ember. Nemea moved to sit properly as she kept close to the heat “this should ne be too bad” she said to herself stretching slightly, after sometime she laid down letting her eyes fall shut. The next morning her eyes slowly opened smelling the smoke of the fire that had dwindled over the long night “well…” she said pausing to yawn “ne time to sit around got to get to work..” she got to her feet walking over to the river cupping her hands to catch some water sipping the kool clear liquid. She carefully moved over the river mindful of straying too far from her space she had made the night before. She eventually found a fallen over tree from what she could assume from a storm she could see moss growing along the decaying bark. She carefully began snapping strong pieces from the tree “can use this to make something to help catching food..” she stated to herself. She spent most of the day working on some tools using the wood which she whittled into sharp points and a lot more. As the days passed she spent a good amount of them collecting berries and other fruits though she spent some time lost while doing so, soon she decided she would hunt an animal, picking up a spear she had made she began looking for an animal. Nemea travelled looking for all the tell tale signs, eventually she noticed a clearing and standing there..was an elk. The elfess crouched down watching the elk graze about, she took some deep breaths before she took aim. The cry of the elk came as the spear hit it but..she had missed any vital point. “****” she muttered as the elk took off and she had to make chase after it until she finally caught it, and was able to kill the creature. She then pulled the spear out of it, muttering some apologies for having made the creature suffer, Nemea got back to her simple little spot, she laid the creature down and began working on putting the creature to use. That night she sat by the fire working on cooking the meat and preserving the rest, the pelt over her shoulder which she had turned into a cloak for extra warmth the bones and such making use for cutting things. She finished cooking her share for the night, grumbling as she had carelessly burnt it but she wasn’t going to let it go to waste eating it before taking her rest. She began getting a routine as the days went on, keeping a mental note of the days and they seemed to go by rather fast though it was rather peaceful with the gentle breezes. One day in particular brought attention as she noticed a change in the sky with darkening clouds and insects seeming to buzz more “mm..rain then” Nemea muttered to herself and..she was indeed right. Most of the afternoon and night of that day the rain came down hard , the elfess having to squint as she made a set up to safely put her supplies in a bag dangling from a branch which she had made with leather from her hunt. She walked around looking for shelter using the elk pelt to keep herself slightly protected from the rain. She came up to a cave stepping into it before she stopped hearing movement, Nemea squinted looking into the cave noticing animals that had taken shelter in there. She sighed softly knowing she would not want to disrupt the animals that already took shelter, she turned and headed out of the cave back into the rain. Though the night was rather cold and damp, she rested in a tree waiting out the storm, the next day least to say for the elfess was drying the pelt and herself. Luckily for her, she didn’t have too many issues past that, as the last day came to a closure she packed up her stuff and made her way back home. Nemea spent most of that night navigating the forest until she got back to the dirt path a month ago she had taken, the city came into view though it did feel rather...odd though her body was sore she had gotten used to the quiet and nothing but the sounds of nature. Once she got home she stepped inside putting away her makeshift weapons she would use later, she then went upstairs changing back into her armor and cleaned herself up. Rather then resting, she stepped outside once more whistling as a her horse came up to her, Nemea petted the horses face gently “karin’ayla llir..missed you” she then carefully hopped onto the horses back motioning the horse gently to begin galloping down the path. Her trial was over and it was time to see her teacher once more to talk about her experience

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 59 year, 2nd Age 15th. Down below are the collective words that were spoken during the fourth moot of collective Drui, Dedicants, and Citizens of Nevehlen that gathered together under the father circles Tree to speak of important matters, information that everyone within the Vale needed to be aware of, and new pressing concerns. Allowing all those that missed out on the meeting to be informed of the passing discussions. —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Miven Caerme’onn - “Alright! Welcome, welcome. This our…forth. Forth I think Father Circle moot we’ve had here in Nevehlen.” Miven Caerme’onn - “A lot of new folks here, so for those of you who are new, the Raitheans will address some issues, or topics and then welcome you all to comment on them. At the end, the floor is open for you lot to bring up any pressing new topics that you believe the Circle should be aware of. Any other matters, feel free to find Raitheans on a later day.” Miven Caerme’onn - “If everyone understands that, we’ll begin! First moot points will be pressing matters, the voidal blighted lands, preparations against Azdrazi attacks and conflicts with other darkspawn.” Miven Caerme’onn - “Let us start with blighted lands, ti?” Ahn Gulr - “YUB” Evar’lae Amayril - “TI” Lle’sil - “Ti!” Roylan Grant - “Aye.” Miven Caerme’onn - “The father Circle has had four scouting missions out in the blighted lands, and of the four, three we managed trekking through. During those we tried healing, we’ve tried burning land and flora, nothing worked.” Miven Caerme’onn - “The last scouting mission we didn’t make it out of our own gates and we were attacked outside our northern walls. A hoard of mages and behemoths, protecting some orb. We fought, we killed them all, and as soon as this protection was gone, the orb tried to escape.” Miven Caerme’onn - “The orb was destroyed, however, with this brought new theories as to how we can cleanse the land or bring thoughts of studying the orb.” Miven Caerme’onn - “And for clarify, the orb is destroyed. When they are destroyed, they will have harmed warriors. Frostbite, and blight that can be healed.” Yae’vel Caerme’onn - “Our warriors are strong, but some will be hurt on these expeditions. These tainted monstrosities continue to threaten our way of life and the balance, but wwe continue to fight. I am proud of each and everyone one of you.” Malii-evarir at this point arrived into the moot and slipped onto the stands to witness it. Miven Caerme’onn - “That said, the next couple of elven years Father Circle Drui will go in the blighted lands, and outskirts again.” Miven Caerme’onn - “We need to find more of these orbs, should they be on the outskirts, and study them the best we can.” Miven Caerme’onn - “Does anyone have anything they’d like to note on this particular issue? And the blighted lands?” Evar’lae Amayril - “Stay the **** away from the ocean.” Axilya - “And stay the **** away from the middle.” Miven Caerme’onn - “Fisuli first, then Varan and Lle’sil.” Yae’vel Caerme’onn - “We do not have such…rules. Speak your mind and you will be addressed as such. The raising of hands is…mhmm how do I say? Dumb. We are equals in our protection of the balance.” Lotus Lorenthus - “She just said you don’t have to raise your hand.” The Kodiak Druid - “I do what I please. And. I like raising my hand.” Fisuli - “I first ask, have you already tried removing corrupted material from the hollow before purifying it?” Miven Caerme’onn - “I’m ne sure if any have trie that. Something we can do on our next trip, bring blighted flora on the outskirts and heal. Ahernan for the suggestions.” The kodiak druid - “Were these necromancers with you spoke of prioersister bear? If so, you recongize this is awfully odd. Orb of theirs exploded into frost, has an alliance between the frosty-women and the necromancers been considered? After-all, I assume they both want to end all of us anyway.” Miven Caerme’onn - “One moment! I believe fisulii had more to add.” The Kodiak Druid - “Ayal” Fisuli - “I believe that could be a simple test to see the nature of the connection of the orb. If that doesn’t work, dousing the object in auric oil or other ways of breaking a voidal connection might work.” Fisuli - “If we could confirm such a connection is causing the abnormal ability of the hollow to resist purification than we could focus our efforts on that. If not if might suggesti something more potent than the orbs at play.” Miven Caerme’onn - “Ayric oil, to the land has unfortunately proven not useful. It’s only good against creatures. Necromancers did ne have an orb, a group of voidal magi and voidal behemoths had this orb. The necromancer situation is solely them needing life to thrive - our glade, our kin.” Miven Caerme’onn - “Varan, I saw your hand was up?” The Kodiak Druid - “Ahh- Makes sense.” Fisculii - “Oh, and I suspect if we break an orb within the hollows we might elicit a rather…voilent reaction. If there connections are complex enough. I am not entirely certain, but it is worth being wary of. I believe that is all I have to say. Lotus Lorenthus: - “I can most likely figure out who the necromancers are. It would cost a lot, though…” Miven Caerme’onn - “Voilent reaction wherever you find the orb. Thankfully those who smashed it on our lands were covered head to toe and were protected.” Miven Caerme’onn - “We’ve two locations as to where the necromancers are coming from, both that the gladeguards of nevaehlen, and Father Circle drui will be scouting.” Varan - “I just ask if you have any shards of the orb that I could study.” Lotus Lorenthus - “And the frostwitches? I also know how I can find them. But as said before, it’d still cost a lot for me.” Roylan grant - “I believe I have already brought up the discovery of a library that I have heard of to you Miven, which books filled the shelves that were identical to each other. That might be another place we could try to hunt down and locate if we venture out there again.” Ilra Ba’kana - “I am not sure if it is connected - However I may know where we can find another orb.” Miven Caerme’onn - “Ne, it completely exploded into frost. Varan. But we the next time we encounter one where we are more prepared, that’ll be wise to try and get it.” Miven Caerme’onn “Oh- ti, ayla. “Aimed towards Roylan. “Marayla, ti. Definitely something I asked you to share with the other Gladeguards, Father Circle Drui and Wild chiefs. Mind sharing with the other folk here what you and the others discovered?” Roylan Grant - “Apologizes, I was noting down for our own moot minutes. I found from a trusted source that there has been groups that went to the voidal hollow. From what I have heard the shelves were all filed with the same tone that was filled with runes that couldn’t be understand from the inside. I have unfortunately not been able to locate or get ahold of these books. But if we can find the library the book could be another item for us to research.” Miven Caerme’onn - “Sulian! And ahernan Roylan.” Directed at another. “You still wished to comment?” Ilira Ba’ikana - “Ti - I am ne a hundred percent sure if we speak of the same types of orbs, however I do know of an orb that may be related that could be studied. I do also believe I know of which tomes Roylan speaks of, and I know of two people that have been trying to study the tome to offer more answers.” Miven Caerme’onn - “If you speak of the orb that attacked Taevas, it is something different, unless you experienced another orb?” Miven Caerme’onn - “As for the tomes, it’d be great if you both share what you know at the end of the moot, maybe compile informationsssss and put it in a journal?” Otter - “Dunnae ief oi’m allowed ta speak er nae, bu’ief iets ta same tomes oi’m thinkin’ o’, oi’ve one ien me own possession. Ta writings are considered undescriphreable, I was visited t’is librareh meself w’ere oi graded iet.” Wynanya Melphestays “-The NGS is in possession of a similar tome, which they have believed inscribed with unseen runes that, as of two years’ past, they counne read, too. They may’ve made a breakthrough since.” Miven Caerme’onn - “Marayla brother otter! That be very helpful if you could share.” Ilra Ba’kana - “I suspected that may be the case- but I figured I should mention it just incase. I know of nothing of the tomes myself, apart from the fact that one was brought into my home in the hollow, and that they’re illegible. I also known of someone studying them trying to read them in order to better combat whatever is going on, though I had no idea it was related to the voidal tear, of course I an certainty reach out to them an compile a journal of what they know of so far.” Otter - “Ta Mother Circle worked on t’is issue some years ago - t’ey are confirmed t’at iets impossible after Sister Jackdaw nd Brother Bluejay both took ah crack at iet….Though perhaps, iet ies ah different book.” Miven Caerme’onn - “That’d be appreciated, aheran! Haelun, you had something to add?” Miven Caerme’onn - “Then we’ll move on to the next topic.” Tailesin - The lynx druid - “I did, yes. Down. If these books are voidal related. We could try and ask a trusted void mage to read it. Or two other options. Be it something who is…erh. Moonstruck? The idiots who drunk a lot of voidal horror blood. A seer might be able to read it since I know they have some weird abilities to see things, might be a include weird writing? Not sure though. Either way. One of those three might be able to read the book.” Wynannya Melphestaus - “If they’ve found someone to read the voidal tablet, it may apply to the same sort of read these books. Could write them quickly, to find out.” Meteor Druid Edrahil - “I wouldn’t get our hopes up about these books. Writing pertaining to the void has a history of being incomprehensible.” Miven Caerme’onn - “I’m ne sure what a seer is, but ti, if we have any iran with that ability those are great suggestions sister lynx.” Miven Caerme’onn - “I agree Wynanay. When we aren’t fighting, it’ll be good for those to keep busy studying the books either way. The Lynx druid - “Yup.” Miven Caerme’onn “Moving on! Since we’re coming close to how long we keep these moots, I’ll make sure to address this next bit as clearly as I can. We’ve both the dragonkin and then the darkspawn to look out for, as we always have. But more than ever should we continue to train, gather knowledge, smith gear, and be ready to fight. Our last few attacks have been successful.” Miven Caerme’onn - “Any who have information on these creatures, be sure to share them amongst your kin. Our librarian book lari Nalaya has been working hard keeping all our records, be sure to give her what you can as well.” Miven Caerme’onn - “Any pressing comments on necromancers, darkspawn, or dragonkin?” Scoria Memoras: - “I would like to get some input on the death pillar I found awhile back. I still am convinced that is is related to mystics or voidal mages, but haven’t been able to get it clarified.” Miven Caerme’onn - “Fee free to show or tell the Gladeguards or Father Dircle Drui what you knew about this pillar Scorai.” Miven Caerme’onn - “I think for now, since the blighted lands was our biggest topic, we’ll move on to nominations and wrap up the moot. Is everybody okay with that?” Evar’lae Amayhil - “Nominations?” Miven Caerme’onn “Nominations.” Evar’lae Amayhil - “Nomainations Indeed.” Lynx Druid - “I enjoy shorter moots.” Meteor Druid - “For what?” Lynx Druid - “I remember a six elven hour moot.” Fisculii - “Nominations.” Otter - “T’at was nae too long ago.” Scoria Memoras - “Perhaps that is so. Miven, can I borrow some of your time after this to explain what I saw to you?” Archeila Jupiter - “What are the..Nominations?” Miven Caerme’onn - “We’ve some Drui amongst our Circle who’eve been with us for awhile, and the Raitheans would like to nominate them for Guide. That means, they’d be teaching either dedicants, or Drui through the ways of the Father, keeping in mind our tradiations and preparing students for iminations trials to join the Father Circle once attuned.” Evar’lae Amayrill - “Ooooh.” Miven Caerme’onn - “With the completion of their Father Circle trials, we want to nominate Sister Snow, and Sister Lynx during this moot as guides of the Father Circle. Should they accept. Liri is ne here, but - We’ll vote for Liri and see if she accepts, but do you accept the nominations.” Evar’lae Amayrill - “Call me bias, but I accept.” The Lynx Druid - “Huh? Wha? Oh, I’m already an old person but…I suppose knowing how to teach youngin’s going by the Father Circle traditions would probably be useful. Sure…why not. Though this ain’t an invitation to pester me!” Valmuel - “Just bribe her with snacks if ya do pester her.” Otter - “OI get first dibs on pesterin’ Sister Lynx! Form ah line after meh.” The Lynx Druid - “Snacks don’t work on me, that’s a Liri Thing.” Evar’lae Amayril - “Oh wait, you mean does Lynx accept nominations? I thought you were asking if we were accepting her as a nominee.” Roylan Grant - “I certainly vote for them to be accepted as well, if it was not for Liri and Tailesin I would never of found this place and been among all of ya lovely people. Aye, it be a shame not to vote for them!” Yae’vel Caerme’onn - “I believe it may easier to see if any object. Speak now if ya object to the nomination.” Miven Caerme’onn - “Then lets start with Talesin, Sister Lynx. Ti or ne for her becoming a guide. Those who are Father Circle Drui, or Students of a Father Circle drui may vote now.” Evar’lae Amayril - “Wait what if I’m a student of Liri, who’s not a father circle guide? Do I abstain?” Miven Caerme’onn - “You abstain ti.” Gilliaen Caerme’onn - “Ti.” Evarlae Amayril - “What am I saying, I am a student of Liri, but do I abstain? Alrighty.” Meteor Druid Edrahil - “Ti for Me.” Brother Spore - “Ti, might as well.” Talim - “I vote for Ti, I have ne been here long, but they have been one of the most dependable Mali I have known.” Miven Caerme’onn - “Marayla! With majority vote, ahernal ito, Sister Lynx and Ahernan! Now for votes on Sister Snow, Liri. If she were to accept, to or net for guide.” The Lynx Druid - “Given she’s my wife, I think it would be heavy bias if I voted.” Evar’lae Amayril - “Still gotta abstain.” Meteor Druid Edrahil - “True, we don’t need a biased nae vote. Ti for me.” Eritrea Arvellon - “Aye!” Miven Caerme’onn - “Then let that end the votings! I’ll bring the news to Sister Snow. For any Father Circle Drui who’ve completed their trials interested in becoming a guide, we can discuss in the coming days what’s expected and bring it to a moot vote during out next moot.” Miven Caerme’onn - “That’ll be the end of the moot, Aspects guide you all, and ahernan for attending.” —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ To Summarise all that had been discussed for those that do not wish to read everything that had been discussed word by word, and simply skipped to the end of the tome like most commonly do. Writings shall be placed below to breach each subject broached and what they pertain to. Though for greater understanding please read the words captured in the pages before skipping through to the end of this book which you may have done here. —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Summary Subject One: Discussion of the Voidal blight and what has been done, and future plans on the subject. Tying to an orb that was found and destroyed in the most recent ventures, with suggestions given by Fisculli to test it. Along with a book that was noted by Roylan Grant, The Otter Druid, Ilra Ba’kana, Wynanya Melphestays and several others that were discovered within the place. Discussions were had on what to do, and what research can be done. With brief mentions of the necromancers and potential, and very likely allegiances between them and the Frost witches of the north. Summary Subject Two: Darkspawn, Adrazi, and Necromancers. A bit scattered instead of located solely within the second subject, these sources of threats have been breached and mentioned multiple times within words. With warnings and reminders to stay armed, be prepared, and keep training so when we need to deal with them again we will be able to. Finally a mention from Scoria detailed a tower of a sort that they discovered but didn’t go into much detail. Summary Subject Three: Nominations for the Druid Lynx, and the Druid Snow to place them as guides and instructors within the circle was held. With resounding positive appeal for both individuals marking them as active teachers of Vale, should they so wish to take up the position. Tailesin had done so. Liri had not been at the moot at the time to accept. —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ This collective discussion of words has been scribed by Roylan Grant, Dedicant of the Wicker, Gladeguard of HALERIR'ELAME, Aspirant of Sirame and Ranger of the Wild lands. —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[!] A small note written in white ink upon a blue paper is posted on the bulletin board "To those who know me, I shall be unavailable for the next year- Elven week, for my elven friends -due to a task for my dedicancy. Those who need to speak with me shall have to wait until this time is over, as I will be hidden away in an undisclosed forest location until my return. Birds shall not be met with a reply, as I will not be bringing any form of parchment to do so with. I wish you all an excellent year and cannot wait to return to my friends and family. Sincerely, Fal'leon Odinson, Head of the Odinson clan."

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! ]]

Basics Name: Elorna Avern Lle'hileia Nicknames: Lle'hileia, El, Lorna Age: 198 (as of July 3'15) Gender: Female Race: Wood Elf Status: Good Villainies: 1a, 1b, 1c, 2a Description Height: 5'6 Weight: 110 lbs Body Type: Pear Eyes: Deep Blue Hair: Dark Red Skin: Tan Markings/Tattoos: A faded scar in the shape of an 'A' on her right cheek. Her pointed elven ears were cut and left rounded and scarred. Health: Good Personality: She would most identify with the ISFJ personality type. She tends to be friendly, but reserved, formal, and polite. Over time she has grown deeply suspicious of strangers, and her former trusting naivete has given way to extreme caution and near paranoia. She has strong maternal instincts, and is usually selfless. She tends to be clingy, sometimes overbearingly so, toward the people she loves or finds safe and familiar. Normally, she is a very gentle woman and does not want to see anyone come to harm, but has developed a more stern, strong-willed side over the years. Inventory: An opal pendant on a chain of braided vines, a diamond necklace on a chain of silver, and a variety of other such jewelry. A staff of living birch; at the top several leafy branch-like wooden tendrils grow, sometimes used for various things when Elorna needs them. Journals and books, a leather helmet/cap, a feather covered in blue runes, a music box, and a clock from a land where time stands still. Further Details: Hair is curly Life Style Alignment: Neutral Good Deity: The Aspects Religion: Druidism Alliance/Nation/Home: Nature, Laureh'lin, Lin'ame Job/Class: Heirophant of the Druidic Order, Iyat'ento (think vice president) of Laureh'lin. Titles: Dove Druid, Heirophant, Keeper, Iyat'ento Professions: Iyat'ento of Laureh'lin (Previously Keeper of Lin'ame and Okarir'ame of Haelun'or, Guide Druid, Leanniel Laurir and Conclave Adjudicator -> Steward on the Lower Council of Malinor ->Head Scribe on the Lower Council of Malinor -> Farmer.) Special Skills: Farming, sewing. Can talk to animals, control plants, and heal tainted land. Flaws: Can't cook, has no skill in healing, abandonment issues, overbearing/obsessive, clingy. Magic Arch-type: Druidism Sub-Type: Nature's Communion, Control of Nature, Blight Healing Abilities: She can easily communicate with and befriend any animal. She can influence the growth of trees and other plants, and even have them move around or form different shapes. She can bless individual plants or fields of crops to grow with exceptional health and bounty. She can cleanse patches of corruption or heal sick or damaged plants. Weaknesses: She can sense pain in the nature around her, which can be distracting, uncomfortable, or even tormenting in some cases. Her abilities are useless if there is no plant life nearby. She relies heavily on hand motions to portray how she wants plants to move, so if she's immobilized her control of her abilities are greatly hampered. Weaponry Fighting Style: Keep at a safe distance and control tree roots to trip, block, strike, or grab an opponent. If that doesn't work, shoot. Weapons: Tree roots, branches, vines, thorny rose bushes, or a bow and arrow. Armor: A chainmail shirt and open-faced iron helm, or leather cap. She rarely uses armor though. Archery: She's a decent shot, but not a master. Biography Parents: Mayilu Avern (mother, deceased), Viris Avern (father, missing) Siblings: None. Spouse: Phaedrus (link). Previously Avern'len San'taeleh (link) (deceased) Children: Gregory Baldwin (ward/adopted son). Lenniel'onn (son with Avern'len, born June 15th 2013). Miruel (daughter with Phaedrus, born November 14th 2014). Extended Family: http://www.familyecho.com/?p=IR7ID&c=k5a5lt2dgc&f=495287913265079130 Known in RP: Hera Acius (cousin) Pets: Leyu, sparrow (lost in Elysium). Autumn's Rain, horse ('died' in a server crash). Lenti, dove (died during the corruption of the Equinox Grove). Asul'narnir, horse. 'Ponybird', horse. Miral, phoenix. Fred, owl. Many different wolves, cats, birds, mice, and other animals. History Elorna's Journal: [link] Elorna has a kept a journal for a large portion of her life, starting when she was about 40 near the beginning of Anthos, though there are many gaps where she didn't write anything. The current journal is not included. These are her actual RP writings, which I think show better than anything I can write in a biography how she's developed as a character over the years. (Warning: it's long and there's a lot of sappy emotional rants. And keep in mind not to meta!) Biography (not up to date): Updated but short: Artwork Progression of Skins: Art of Elorna by Awesome People: Stupid Pics of Elorna I Made: