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  1. A willowy figure sat in the warm and cozied writing nook of her family Mannor, naught but the scratching of her quill and the absent words of song filling the lonesome space around her, a flickering candle illuminating the dark oak and warm reds of the room. A letter, carried by birds and horse, perhaps even bottle, would be soon be spread over the continent to any who cared to fall upon it. A thick parchment, scented of lavender, carried the following words in an elegant sprawl. "It is with a heavy heart I speak, and an even heavier hand I write, to announce that the funeral for the honorable Thalion Drakon is to be held this elven day. In the crypts of our city, before Wyvrun’s witness, I call on any and all who may wish to come and say their regards for the fallen soldier, father, husband, and once leader of the mighty Drakon bloodline. As he comes to grace the lands of fen’ciwn, Wyvrun’s domain, with his soul to be cradled in his safe embrace, still we grieve for the man lost of this realm. Most sincerly- Morael, standing Archon of house Drakon and Priestess of Wyvrun" ((ooc)) Funeral in Fenn, Today 7pm est in the square and then crypts!
  2. MISSING PERSON Darina Sarosa Last seen in Elysium. If found, please take her back SAFELY to the rangers of Elysium 150+ MINA BOUNTY TO BRING HER BACK ALIVE! Description: 4'11", wood elf, dark skin, green eyes, light brown hair in braids usually, sometimes dirty PORTRAIT:
  3. At 3 PM EST, there will be a festival at Ker’Okarn. More details can be found here. These are the five poems that were written by Tide Falkmoor and will be performed at the festival: A Forsaken City The last gong rang, Through empty streets, No dreams, no dreams, When the city fell. Sometimes rock crumbles, Sometimes bells toll, For fallen lies, And darkened souls. There was no sound, No laughing voice, No crying child. Sometimes sorrow, Comes after nothing. Sometimes death, Comes before life’s end And then the bell tolled. The stones sang. The stars fled. No dreams, no dreams. And the bell rang. The Last It seems things That last, Are memories, Of loss. It seems things That die, Are eternal, Nonetheless. It seems things, Survive, Not in this world, But above. What will happen, When you are the last, When you are the note, Held before applause. What will happen, When you sing, When you run Out of air. What will happen, When the harsh Sound, When the harsh Sound, There it is. The last note. The one before applause. When the song stops, What will you sing? Darkened State The heads bowed, Statues, shrunken. The weak cried, Eyes, sunken. The strong sighed, Backs, broken. The liers lied, Tongues, forked. A meeting of hope, lost A meeting of future, past A meeting under stone stars, A meeting never to be had. Light thought not to leave, Must in sky be hidden. Shadowed flame burned, Eternal life stricken. Fire killed, Like mist, it fell, Burning cold, Freezing souls. The Door Mist deepened, Sound damp, Silence screamed, Through ashen night. Words spoken, Seemed stolen, From that quiet, Deathly dusk. Now, nothing, No glaring sound, No hopeful grin, No guidance from the past. Perhaps forgiveness, A furtive goal, Was as shapes, In roaming mist. Then light, Blazing brilliant light, It flooded, Burned, Battered, Drove away soaked statues. As wind on early winter days, The mist lifted. Mirth of Loss This world is full, Its story old, And always, love, Leads to loss. For things that last, Are memories, Of what once was. This world is full, Its story old, So let's not wallow, When one closed. We sing, we dance, We revel in The mirth of loss. This world is full, Its story old, We must not cry, When one is told. For all of us, Are here at last, To revel in The mirth of loss. This world is full, Its story old, So let’s not let, This day grow cold. We drink, we crow, A merry sight, For all those, Here tonight. The world is full, Its story old, And now I must Join the throng. My stories done, My voice spent, Let’s join together, to revel until loss is lost. After being performed, they were categorized and entered into the history of Tide Falkmoor by Selion Drogon
  4. The Birds of the world, flocked around the graceful Peacock. When I, Chen Wenqian arrived in Yong-Ping. I was a woman of tradition and dedicated myself to the morals that were instilled to me, by my mother and governess. Hopeful, to bring forth tradition into my descendants living in Yong-Ping. But instead, I found that my grandchildren, their families, and friends taught me something, opening my eyes in a new way. When I was young, I never would have imagined associating with anybody outside of Ai-Zhou. But to my surprise, we had visitors, from across the globe visit us. Shocking to me at first, I eventually began to come around... My Initiative Now, that my openness to the entire world has blossomed. I wish to learn more of ladies across the world. A form of exchange of traditions, culture, values, among other things. Push aside the conflict between our nations aside, and unite under the one thing that we have in common that we are woman. letters and flyers are spread to the... The Ladies of the Holy Orenian Empire The Ladies of the Kingdom of Haense The Ladies of the Kingdom of Nordland The Ladies of the Crown of Elvenesse The Ladies of the Silver State of Haelun'or The Ladies of the Grand Kingdom of Urguan The Ladies of the Rexdom of Krugmar The Ladies of the Unified Domain of Vortice The Ladies of the Jade State of Yong-Ping The Ladies of the Fakhr Oasis And the other ladies of the land.... Can we come together, as one. Share the things we love, share bread, and share awareness and understanding of each others cultures to one-another. I want us all to realize, that our race, culture, nationality does not define our connection as woman. We may be different in many aspects, but we are mothers, we are sisters, we are aunts, we are grandmothers, we are cousins. We Are Woman. I am hopeful that you all can agree with what I have said and that we can all learn something from one another in the future. Signed, by Chen Wenqian ~~
  5. Simply how to be happy: Step 1: stop playing LOTC Step 2: do anything else, take a bike ride somewhere or boot up that old videogame you haven't touched in a while Hope this helps :D
  6. ╔═════━━━━━───── • ─────━━━━━═════╗ Quenter's Handbook: Fennic Folktales and Myths Collected and spread by Arevthor Tathvir ╚═════━━━━━───── • ─────━━━━━═════╝ ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── Due to the numerous cataclysms the Fennic population has faced over the centuries, maintaining a consistent library detailing written history has been a difficult task. Because of this, many ‘Fenn opt to pass on stories of history through word of mouth. As years go by and generations rise and fall, these oral tales slowly alter and evolve, being twisted from the once historical accounts. This is most often the origin for Mali’Fenn folklore, existing as a twisted view of reality where nightmarish creatures and outlandish heroes are frequent. While the validity of these tales are questionable at best, most of the written works that could counter these tales has been lost to one of the many cataclysms, thus leading almost all Fennic children and even most mature Mali'Fenn to believe in these tales and the values they hold. The folktales themselves almost entirely take place within fin'hesin, and are often used to explain natural phenomena, teach lessons to children, and urge listeners to aspire towards certain goals and values. The creatures within these stories frequently range from fantastical horrors of the imagination; to deific creatures depicted in religious works; to well known, common monsters. The lessons that are intended to be shared will often be representative of the core values of the Mali'Fenn as well as warnings meant to caution young children. While the range of stories told is vast and ever changing, one of the most consistent points that will always persist is the oral method in their retelling and their ever changing and evolving nature. Bestiary A collection of obscure tales that describe creatures more than an actual story. These range from common house gnomes to horror inducing creatures living under the sea. One commonality of all these tales is the distinct lack of characters, using its time to describe the form and habits of these folk-landish beings. Arctic Elementals In the darkness of night, unlit by fuel-burning fires, some speak of light appearing in the thickness of the black beyond the walls, not of normal shades of fire-light, no oranges or yellows, but rather of whites and blues glimmering at times. It’s as if in a single moment the pitch-black would come alive with resistance in its center as an elemental attempts to wake and wander the walls of Fenn in search of ways in. Some say it’s not a creature but rather Wyrvun gathering power away from the watchful eyes of other higher beings, yet others exclaim it is merely the moonlight scattering in shards of ice and onto the neighboring environment. Vul-kina Howls from afar, through the tips of the trees, through the valleys of snow & ice, through the timber and stone walls of the capital: a deep howl. Many Ivae’Fenn reports recall a deep and ominous howl coming from afar, nothing like any known beast, yet without fail, someone is always found dead near or around the sounds. Some Guardians outright refuse to go anywhere near those sounds until at least a full day has passed, reports of disobeying orders and outright fighting in defiance, as if the deepest part of our strongest fighters is screaming at them “don't go there”, and rightly-so, cases of lone Guardians or small patrols of two investigating and never returning are all too common. Something prowls around for whatever reason, it’s a certainty of death and an impossibility to find, unless it wants to be found. Faesullral The Faesullral is trapped in the sea for most of the year, but emerges from its watery depths in the winter months. It looks like a horse with fin-like appendages, translucent skin, and blood-red eyes. It's gaping maw permeates a toxic vapor that causes crops to wilt and livestock and children to fall ill. The Faesullral is so dangerous that, traditionally, its name is hardly ever spoken, whispered only in hushed tones that are quickly followed up by a prayer. If you see the creature, it will pursue you, and the only way to escape it is to cross a running body of freshwater. As a creature of the sea and of sickness, the Faesullral cannot stand freshwater. The sound of ice cracking over water is said to be the sound of the Faesullral neighing. Malnii’lin These little folk protect the homes of those who invite them in and are known to leave tiny gifts for their house-folk, though often Malnii’lin will pick a home without invitation, almost acting as a pest themselves. Often felt but rarely seen, they act much like house cats, warding off pests and unwanted vermin. In return they will often steal small portions of food and perhaps the occasional sock or small piece of cloth. They often adorn their heads with cones made out of cloth in order to keep themselves warm. While they are fearful of adults, they will often take a liking to small children, viewing their innocence as pure and allowing them insight into their tiny world. If one is to ever find that their food rations are running low, jewelry or puzzles pieces missing, or socks and gloves wind up unfound often the Malnii’lin will be blamed. Folktales This is a gathering of various stories and tales depicting the growth and development of various characters within Fin’Hesin. Many of these stories hold a message within them, sometimes cautionary sometimes inspiring, to help guide young ‘Fenn. Much of these stories exist within the basis reality, referencing historic events and locations, though the events that make up the stories themselves seldom have other works or evidence supporting their validity (perhaps a result of the written works being destroyed years ago). Av’iler, the last son of the Fenn’asul Upon a setting dusk there stood a Fennic line renowned for their skills in tinkering and healing. Fenn'asul is what they called themselves, brandishing the name with pride. Tragedy would strike however in the form of a Cataclysm, demolishing the bloodline and leading any remaining members to be hunted. There was a single ounce of hope for the survival of the bloodline in the form of Av’iler, the last son of the Fenn'asul. With him he carried the collective knowledge of his kin and their ancestors. His fate was already sealed however, as he was hunted and killed by enemies of the Snow Elves. It is said that Wyrvun offered Av'iler eternal slumber within Fin'ciwn, but he refused the offer. Rather he insisted that he be sent back to Fin'Hesin as a Diraar'maya, taking the form of a bear reminiscent of his family's crest. To this day Av'iler wanders the tundra, seeking to remind the Fennic people of his ancestors, and the ancestors before them. A whistling sound can be heard echoing through the tundra, said to be the call of Av'iler, the Last Son of the Fenn’asul, calling for all to remember. Fiym’fih Faitil was a young Fennic man who had struggled all his life with his devotion to Wyrvun, failing to believe in his strength. One fateful day Faitil found himself on a hunting expedition with a group of like minded men before tragedy struck. A blizzard rolled in, stranding the party in a nearby cave for shelter. Days went by and the party still found themselves stranded within the cave, struggling to find the necessary rations to survive. Faith was held by all that Wyrvun, Aengul of the Deep Cold, would guide them to safety and relieve the storm, all but Faitil. In the dead of night he slayed his companion and feasted upon their flesh. Wyrvun was furious at the lack of faith and the willingness Faitil had to turn on his fellow man. A curse was placed upon the young ‘Fenn, transforming him into a Fiyem’fih. Fiyem'fih walks the lonely stretches of taiga far in the north, constantly searching for a new hunt. Though it towers at a whopping fifteen feet, Fiyem'fih is often described as being emaciated, suggesting that it is never fully satisfied with its cannibalistic urges. It gives off a strange and eerie odor of decay and decomposition. Unlike other carnivores, it does not rely on chasing its prey; rather, it mimics human voices to lure people in and draw them away from civilization. Myths Synonymous with historical events, these Myths depict very real events that have happened within Fennic history. There are many ‘Fenn still alive who remember these events, some even were apart of them, still sharing their perspectives to this day. Of all Fennic tales these are the most valid stories, with multiple sources referencing their validity. The Call to our Ancestors Fennic folk are quite familiar with finding themselves fighting an outnumbered battle. While any other would drop their weapons in fright, the ‘Fenn are far too stubborn. In order to even the odds, a Call will be made to their ancestors, asking them to leave their slumber within Fin'ciwn for but a moment to bear witness to the glory their descendent carries. The call takes many forms, a muttering of chants, a song limerick, the banging of one’s shield, or even a simple whistle. It is said that the ‘Fenn can feel the presence of their ancestors’ spirits fill the surrounding area, slinking from the shadows and the rolling forest, perhaps even being glimpsed by a lucky few. These onlookers will never lift a hand to their descendants aid, rather believing that they possess the strength to bring glory to the ‘Fenn by themselves.
  7. RESPONSES AND ANSWERS 32 S.A. - [!] April reading over her cousin’s writings [!] This missive would be sent out directly to the Motherland of Haelun’or - Karinah’siol. This piece would be formulated in two very distinct writing styles that infers the obvious. To Lliende Tillun’sae - aka Pueurir’arche , Dear Infrequent writer (translated to the common tongue) , Although I have no personal quarrels with you, and I have too seen your own work and even worked under you for some time as a Tilruir, I still see fit to acknowledge your own response, as is only polite. Debate is in our blood, anywho. And I, April Viradiraar, am definitely not afraid of debate. Do you care to truly debate? Or just talk around in circles, as you have with your response. You accuse us of having a disregard for the public. Yet, it is your direct words that you abandoned elcihi when it died down. When it got too boring for you. As if you only return when asked, when warranted. Like a sheep. To address the following claims, Have we not learnt what is lost when our Maheral is lost, lliran? Did we not mourn the death of Malaurir Azorella Elibar’acal, this striking blow to our tradition, our leadership, our wellbeing? Yet still, we are complacent to hold a state without Maheral, without Guidance. Azorella was a known impure. Everyone who is everyone knows that. Apologies for striking the little bubble you live in, llir. As for the Mahaeral, we are all guided by our wits, by Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya. If anything, Mahaeral is a useless position. Mali’thill , should they stray, should find purity within themselves instead of going to a cheap version of a Cannonist priest. Rather than putting out the fire, bringing forth their own visions for the Silver City, one would prefer to abandon ship, to leave their lliran to burn within. To put out a fire, all one simply needs is the wit of themselves, and that’s it. A case easily closed by tossing water or sand, maybe a rag over the flame. To abandon ship means for one to leave whilst it is sinking; before it has sunk, so I presume you have come to the realization that Haelun’or is a sinking ship without a savior. As we left the city you claimed sinks, you were the one controlling its reins, and you were the one to let it burn. Our lliran, the ones who are truly there for us, are completely content with our actions, and have kept in contact with us since. What is it about Haelun’orian Labs that you despise, llir? It’s so very inhumane. Do you not realize the lives, despite them not being silver, you are hurting for your pursuit or progress? There are other ways of creating progress than a government torture chamber that is better crafted for insanes than mali’thill. In this respect, this is anything but progress. The regressing of. Why are you hiding behind Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya despite hating Progresss? What is it about the elimination of Mali’ata that you despise, llir? Purity is indeed something we must uphold and hold dear to our hearts. You and I can agree on that, llir. But, wasting your energy killing those who do not agree with our standards? Do you have standards? If one is deemed impure, they should be stricken and banned from Elcihi, but not death. Death is warranted for murderers. Now, that is progress. Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya infers that the health of the high elven race should be protected, yet, you blatantly disregard this fact. Why are you hiding behind Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya despite hating Progresss? What is it about even the Acid Pits that one despises, llir? “Would one not consider it the most kind method of execution for those few who cannot be redeemed” If one cannot find the fault within this , then I suppose you are truly lost. You call it a painless death. This is so very laughable. Too laughable, infact. It makes me wonder if you have ever touched the liquid that reigns the pools. Ask any elf poor enough to touch them, and one could realize this is an extremely painful way to die. “ What method of removal is more appropriate than Acid Pits for those ‘ata who truly are disgraceful, for the Izalith of the world?” Death by noose, clear and simple. Let me get this through your thick skull: Noose, good, Acid, bad. Why are you hiding behind Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya despite hating Progresss? It is said time and time again, we are often doomed to repeat the past if we do not acknowledge the faults with it. You , llir, clearly cannot as you wish to go back. So, Why are you hiding behind Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya despite you so evidently clearly hating Progresss? The cousins on the Haelun’or Coast 32 S.A. - To the government of Haelun’or, It’s an interesting thing, the fact you haven’t reached out to us. Now, don’t mark us as offended, but simply surprised. You pushed so hard to be heard and yet didn’t try at all with us….. What a life I lived, while within the silver walls. What a life we lived. While it was lovely at first, it soon became careless and filled with sorrow. Hesitance to enter the gates we once felt protected by plagued us, the thought of returning making us sick to our stomachs. Our pyromantic act against the petitions was nothing against one Lleinde Tillun’sae, it was simply a statement. One that would actually be seen, one that would be heard, as our words were not good enough. We attempted to bring light to the dire situation and return to our times of happiness- times we could gather together and share moments. Times we will no longer have. You fall back on the maehr’sae hiylun’ehya, yet you seem to have forgotten its true roots. A phrase you use to cover yourself, to mask your incompetence. You claim that you’re good for wanting new things, yet keep them to yourself- choosing only those you wish to have access to. Thus always to those who presume themselves better than all, I lament. For one day, you will find the karma you so well deserve will greet you at your doorstep. For one day, what you deserve will befall you, and coil itself tightly around your neck to show you all the wreckage you caused. For one day, the bad outcomes that should be dealt to those with such thoughts, will be the hand you’re dealt, and that you’ll find your last card will be one you’ve caused many times before. This is the last letter from us on the topic, as you're either too idiotic and numb-minded, or simply too ignorant to fully consume our words and come forth with an accurate response. You've seen us, you've heard us, but you'll never truly do anything about it, as you feel you are too high above the rest to do such. Call us impure, call us 'ata- call us whatever you'd like. But don't ever forget that we were the ones who took the step. We were the ones that took that chance to open everyone's eyes- to show all what is hidden under silver. We leave the Silver State, a feeling of accomplishment washing over us. With the closing of the letter, we leave you this; Is it truly the way of ‘thill to blindly follow their leaders, and those they consider such, without question- or is that simply the way of sheep? And as always, our mailboxes are open for more debate. -=- Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya. Signed, Seraphite Viradiraar April Viradiraar
  8. THILLN’S LAMENT - - The Viradiraar cousins under a tree in an Undisclosed forest, 32 S.A. [Spreading Tree by Sir George Clausen] [!] The following missive would be sent to various locations around Almaris, namley Haelun’or and its surrounding territories. Larihei’s image is what we all strive to be as ‘thill. Prosperous and Progressful . We are all blessed with the abilities to fulfill the grounds of Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya. Yet, it is Stagnancy , you accuse. This is completely false, as when the Republic collapsed it brought on true stagnancy, and the near death of our people in the midst of a long aggravation with the ‘name of the forest. The last regime sought , and actively brought back the progress of the state as well as replenished the citizenry, Seraphite as an important Okarir’mali and I, April as her Tilruir and Head Physician. The city was brought back into existence, from the brink of extinction. - Karinah’siol - But now, we are headed back in time, to a time of disgrace - to a plague of a regime that had collapsed all by itself in past time, more commonly known as the blessed Diarchy. Your ideals of purity are forced and tyrannical, who denounces and pits any poor ‘thill caring enough to speak up on the dreaded ways. It’s reckless and foolish, not only to bring the horrible ideals of the past (such as the return of the labs, acid pits , elimination of ‘ata) as well as public signing. It has no structure or order. You’ve fallen once, and will fall again, in due time. We burnt the propaganda of a tyrant to see it fall to ashes. We destroyed what it was, so you wouldn’t get ahead of yourselves, because a spark will always turn into a flame, and the sparks in your eyes were enough to put out. The ashes we made are a visual of what Haelun’or is to become with the way it’s headed. A way that will not let any see the good. And so, Larihei weeps. Not for the stagnation of the people she had worked so hard to bring together, but for the overall regression - for your failure. You are regressing, but we refuse to follow. For what is purity without truth, what is power without a true leader. This is not our Haelun’or. And so, we will not be returning to your dreaded Diarchist city for your trial. -=- Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya. Signed, April Viradiraar Seraphite Viradiraar
  9. Hello everyone I am xepphir and I am the lead builder in the Stygian Hollow settlement. Today I am here to give my great thanks to those who supported me and assisted me in this long journey. First of all I need to give great thanks to ColonelKuehl1 for trusting me as a lead of a project this big, even being my first one, and giving me full artistic freedom. I must thank Kuehl for finding me great assistants after he saw that I was struggling to carry onto this project alone after spending day and nights on it. I need to give a great thanks to Hotbox that took into his hands the build when i had an hard time due to my personal health and giving his personal touch to the build, but still respecting the style and the layout of it. Thanks to Frenchless_fry, worldprincessii, trnsparentsoul, Cappor, Pakkleaf the interns, the smaller buildings and the details were created to bring the build alive. Thanks for the other ones too that tried to help in their own way by decorating and stress testing the build to make sure that it was safe. I started this build alone and I ended it with a beautiful team, stronger than ever. This was my first big project and I will remember it as a great success thanks to the help of you guys! If I remained alone in this I don't think i would have been able to complete this. I am really happy i found a great team like this and I'm happy we were able to work together, i hope the journey of this settlement will be a fun and interesting one and i hope we will provide a great role play environment! (I'm sorry if you are not in the screenshot) Sincerely thank you! From Xepphir i will be making a youtube video about it soon!
  10. Ethereal Light He laid soft steps upon the muddy ground, his feet were weary from days of travel as the cacophony of crickets ushered in the evening moon. The traveler sighed. Too long had he been on the roads, with the scars still fresh and wounds to prove the roads were no place for the lone. It was a life of solace, the traveler thought to himself as he continued down the moonlit road, but it was not so bad. There were friends, however fleeting; periodic moments of hope inspired by charismatic priests, or perhaps that was just nostalgia. Then, he heard it, an all too familiar noise: the clink of chain and squish of heavy leather boots. The trio of darkly clad men stepped out from behind the trees as they called for him to stop. The traveler knew the drill: his possessions for his life, and so he gripped the book beneath his tabard tightly. He was tired of it though, and he was out of valuables. He did not wish to lose a digit, or a limb for that matter. He had spent too much time working, too much time just to stock his now empty pockets with meager rations for his journey to the mountains. He took his chance, a more than likely foolish one, as he turned into the dark and thick woods. The snap of twigs betrayed his escape, as the trio chased him, a bolt whizzed by his ear, slicing it as he yelped. He slid down the ravine, hiding beneath a large chestnut tree as he whispered a rhyme he’d picked up ages ago, one that had always brought him a strange comfort since: Every day I am plagued by three thoughts– A heavy weight on my soul. First, that my time is finite Second, I know not when I will depart But it is the third that torments me most That there is no way to know where I’ll go* The traveler’s breath began to steady after the third repetition, the harsh sound of his impending death fading deeper into the forest in pursuit. He waited, before deciding to take an uncharted path in the forest. He rose from the nook in the tree and began to meander forwards, guided only by the stars and moon. His hope faltered as he continued in the dark. He began imagining his savage death to those that camp within the forest’s lawless territory, wolves or boars, or even worse, man. His mind failed him, or did it? The soft glow of the candle light could not be real, or if it was, what men did light it. The traveler approached it cautiously, staying within the tree cover. He smelled food, again he thought his mind failed him. He sighed, wondering why the fates would play such evil tricks upon his humble being, a trial to prove his strength, he concluded. Finally the candle came into view. It burned slowly upon a pike dug deep into the dirt, but it was not alone. Through the dimly lit forest was a path lit by these piked candles, and the scholar let his gaze follow the lights until he could not see beyond them. Cautiously, he stepped more pronouncedly onto the dirt road, but was halted by an abrupt invasion of fearful and curious thoughts. “CRRRRAAAACKKKKKK” echoed from in front of him as an immense light painted the sky and its very nature was, for a moment, torn asunder. The unexpected burst of light and harsh pop sent the scholar upon his back. But he was a curious man, and though he feared men, this unexpected occurrence felt different, so he began to stand. The scholar dusted off his robes and secured his prized journal as he set off with hastened steps down the road towards the light which had turned the night to day. The Principality of Ando Alur “In Knowledge, Power...” To the far Eastern vales of the Almarisian continent, beyond the wave-lapped sands of the western shores, there lies an ivory spire — one which claws to the very heavens in hopes to reach the gods. This divine citadel, a final refuge of the noble arcane, stood to embody the hopes of descendant-kind to reach the seat of the gods. Many come here seeking enlightenment, whether they be some roaming scholar, weary knight, or cloistered monk — each taking solace in the gleaming light of Ando Alur. Leadership of the Principality Governance is a necessity of all societies, even those as great and wise of elvendom, and those of Ando Alur know this well. However, though given the reigning authority of a Prince, the people of Ando Alur are also sustained through the Council which advises the High Prince on matters pertaining to the wellbeing of the city-state. The High Prince [Vulnir Syllar - 6xdestroyer] The Prince is the recognized leader of Ando Alur and is responsible for the safety of those within the realm. The Prince acts in coordination with his council and guilds, ultimately holding the power of binding contracts. Drawing their power from the Onyx codex, they are ritually crowned in front of their kin by the Councillor of Culture. The Council of Seven Whilst the Prince may hold the power of binding contracts and direct authority, the magnificence of Ando Alur is no product of his virtue alone, for even he must have guidance through the Council. The Council of Seven is composed only of the greatest minds of the Almarisian continent, holding the power to make executive decisions and attend the works of the Prince. During the instances of disagreement between the Prince and Council, they may override his Highness if in unanimous agreement. The council will always possess at least one elven, one dwarven, and one human member. The Councillor of Council [Thallan Syllar - Cobbler] The Councillor of Council is in charge of all diplomatic matters within Ando Alur, as well as the recording of such, often heading foreign diplomatic missions in representation or assistance of the Prince. The Councillor’s primary role is the documentation of all legal and diplomatic proceedings that transpire within the Principality. They also possess the ability to hold judicial trials, presided over by the wider council, to help administer punishments to individuals arrested by the Inquisitors or other internal policing forces. The Lord Inquisitor [Erilian Oranor - Shmeepicus] The Lord Inquisitor is the head of the Inquisitors, the military force of Ando Alur. Not only is the Lord Inquisitor expected to be passionate and patriotic, but also tactically cunning and politically attuned in order to effectively defend the marble city and her people. While the Alurian Prince may grant the honorary title of Onyx Knight to worthy Inquisitors, the Lord Inquisitor’s recommendation is almost always a requirement. The Councillor of Keys [Jakob Castington - Oh_Ontario] The Chamberlain assigns living situations for all citizens and can charge tax on behalf of the Principality. They are also able to evict residents and organize events for citizens to partake in. The Chamberlain also presides over the market stalls within the Principality. The Lord Auspex [Avurak Syllar - Morghuul] The Lord Auspex is in charge of all religious activities within the Principality. Their duty is to that of the Ancestors and the Spirits and making sure the onyx children are guided on the lunar path. They build and maintain a spiritual following in the Principality, devoted to converting wayward humans, elves and dwarves onto the path of honour, building and maintaining shrines and totems, blessing kin, and snuffing out evil. The High Praetorum [Olrin Hildinyr - Sorcerio, Muriel - Geidleth] The High Praetorum are esteemed roles within the courts of Ando Alur, being responsible for the documentation and regulation of magic and artificery within the Principality. Along with this, they are also responsible for the defence, preservation, and protection of the marble city through their many arts, and work vigorously to achieve knowledge that can be used for the betterment of the Principality and her people. The High Praetorum are also responsible for the direct oversight of all arcane activities and projects within Ando Alur, as well as working closely with both the Lord Auspex and High Inquisitor to ensure balance and security within the Principality. The Councillor of Land and Sea [Vanya Hileia - Space_Solstice] The Councillor of Land and Sea oversees the construction of guild halls and helps to manage the various guilds within the principality in the aim of leading to higher levels of productivity and recruitment among them. With their gentle guidance, as well as their affinity with architecture, the Councillor of Land and Sea oversees the ships and construction within Ando Alur. The Councillor also takes on the role of presiding over the Alurian naval forces, working closely with her sister counterpart in Haelun’or. The Seats of Grace The Seats of Grace are granted to those of honourable merit and high prowess. These Alurians sit below the Council, but still hold an immense amount of responsibility. Seats of Ceremony [Lorelei Vamyar - Clonky, Ilyana, Clonky] The Seats of Ceremony are titles given to Alurians who demonstrate keen abilities to work with the denizens of Ando Alur to organize and schedule festivals, galas and feasts in the name of joy and entertainment. To facilitate these events, they may present requests to the Council for whatever materials, funds, or support they may need. Seat of Health [Elren Asul'onn - BobBox] The Seat of Health is tasked with ensuring the health and day to day safety precautions for those within the city. They often consult the High Praetorum and Lord Auspex to ensure any arcane actions are balanced and will not negatively impact the health of the city on a major scale. Seat of the Hunt [Open] Whereas the Seat of Ceremony is tasked with internal Alurian events, the Seat of the Hunt is tasked with providing and organizing events beyond the white walls. The Seat of the Hunt is expected to be skilled in tracking, archery, and the various skills that go along with the name. Seat of Poetry [Open] The Seat of Poetry is given to one skilled in the art of literature and missive making. They are assigned the responsibilities of ensuring transparency between the council and the good people of Ando Alur. They are encouraged to write their own poems, literature, and works of art in their own time to be spread across the continent. The Four Podiums The Podiums sit in the throne hall of Ando Alur and await the statues of the heroes to come. Alurians, or their allies, which perform great feats in the name of the city will receive a statue of their likeness made from the finest marble of the white cavern. There are four podiums: [Out of Character Info] Want to Get Involved? Ando Alur is not only meant to be a place for those seeking knowledge or needing refuge in roleplay, but also a welcoming community to its members out of character. If you wish to help out with anything around the city, whether you know what it is you want to do or not, we will do our best to help you fit in and get involved in the community! Click here to join the Discord. How to Get There *Poem is by unknown, I do not claim credit for it* ((Post not put in Ando Alur subforum as it is currently glitched.)) Thanks to Sorcerio for formatting help!
  11. The Following Missive would be scattered around various Mali filled nations: A SHORT COMPOSITION OF ELVEN PHRASES Heya’van ito nae’leh? - How do you fare? (Heya- What, How, Who) Ayla ito kae! - I am good! Llum ito kae’leh - I am sad (Sorrowful) Nae’eyha? - And you? O? - Why? Adont’ahern - Please Ahernan ( ito nae’leh) - Thanks/ Thank you Itone - You’re welcome Llun ito kae’leh - I am Sorry Tilunen’ne ito nae’leh - I don’t forgive you Malieir ito nae’leh - You are a traitor! Ikur ito nier - It’s cold here. Ne, enet’ento - No, (but) Next time. Nae adil’taelu... naeluir ito kae’leh? - I wish to learn , are you a teacher? Ne, ne ito perithe, adil’ehya ne ito nae’leh! - No, I don’t remember, and i don’t want to. Malii ito hae/lae'leh - She/he is a child. (Elven maturity is 50 depending on the culture, whilst physically maturity is 18) Ikrun ito hae/lae'leh - She/he is a fool. O’llyt ito nae’leh? - Why are you so aggressive? (I.E: Why are you mad) Lae'leh acaele celian'ehya ito anah'wy - Her head is in the sky and stars. (She's out of touch with reality/ is a daydreaming) Medi ito nae’leh, ahernan! - You are helpful, thank you! Ohn'wehn ito Nae'leh - You are like grass (you are not special) Parsaere! - I have an idea. Halare - I promise. Narn il’kae - Come here. Iyl u’iyul? - This or that? Cihne, adont’ahern! - Stop, please! Mal/Men - Mal Woman/Women - Lari Child/Children - Malii Kae mal adriere- I hate men. Acaln: Gold Ayal: Yellow Belou: Pink Ibar - White Miruel - Red Taynei: Green Lentos: Brown Merku: Peach Lenti’kariman - Spring (Months of growth) Mamaria’kariman - Summer (Months of heat) Feta’kariman - Winter (Months of cold) Wehn’kariman - Fall/Autumn (Months of wheat)
  12. An oak tree stood still among the cold, endless fog… unmoving, statuesque. Nothing else was there. He'd seen this tree dozens of times before, and no matter how much he ran, or how much strength he forced his feet to carry, it remained ever far away. Never closer, never out of his line of sight… The elf lord was frustrated to no end. He awoke in a sweat, in the lonely comfort of his bed. These dreams did not cease to gnaw at his thoughts since he began his journey. Sometimes he wished for something else to haunt his nights, craving the warm embrace of his lady in the late hours or the steady roll of the tide. The elf-lord swept the sheets off of his bare form, his feet finding his boots as they had done every morning since the start of his long life. There, at least, something was consistent. Comforting. Tailed coat and trousers followed with their own faithful and obedient beckoning. Another day of questions, curious insight, probing into the Emerald unknown. That night, the fog was thinner and the oak tree was closer. He could circle around the trunk, who stood unmoving at the center of the empty clovered fields. There was no treeline, no mountains… just a consuming fog, and the green beneath his feet. He circled, and circled… a small victory sparked in his heart. Sweet progress, finally, in this maddening and recurring dream. Or so he thought, before he came face-to-face with the amber, somber gaze of a canine.It sat on its haunches, cloaked in a fiery mane of auburn and umber. The veterinarian's eyes knew exactly what this creature was as his twilit eyes follow the slender, cunning point of his maw. The coyote held a branch between his teeth, each end burning a brilliant flame that gave off no heat nor noise. It simply licked the air in wild curls and brilliant colors. "I don't… I don't understand." the Hawksong managed to utter, just as his eyes focused back onto the ceiling of his familiar home. The dream was gone, again. It tormented him like some unsolvable jigsaw, the pieces morphing into different shapes just as they began to seal together. His feet swing out of his bed, again, and into his routine. "I don't understand." Another day of questions. Some he could explain without obstacle, the others were impossible. Complex and malleable in his brain, no tongue of descendants could express exactly what he was seeing. He was warned of the strangeness of dedicancy, but nobody could truly prepare him for what plagued his nights and days. Another moon rises, her pale beams giving way to that same fog in his dreams. That same oak, that same coyote with the branch in his teeth… At his flanks, the statues of two great bears flank the coyote. They towered over the umber-furred creature, paws held before their waist at either end of the coyote’s branch as if they were nursing the flames themselves. The fires burned brighter, with unseen colors of an ethereal rainbow. The elf could almost hear the echoes of something, somebody… it sounded so familiar, it sounded like- He awoke again, staring at the ceiling that mocked his bewilderment. He threw his covers off and commanded his feet into his boots as they always did, the sunlight careening through the slats of his balcony onto his face as if to spur him on his way. One last druid, endless queries. The oak was ever still, again… but the fog gave away to snow. Lovely, dazzlingly white and powdery snow that danced like dainty gardenia petals down to a thin blanket of cold upon the field. The coyote waited as he always did, branch in teeth with the fires burning with nearly blinding brilliance. The statues of the bears had swiveled their head as he came to within this dream, watching… waiting for him to eventually reach the foot of the oak for answers as he always did. The crunch of the snow beneath his feet was nearly real enough to believe, if this dream hadn’t haunted every second of his mind, awake or asleep. He left no footprints as he trailed towards the coyote. To his shocked surprise, the creature finally moved as he came to a halt before him. The pads of his feet loped in a gentle canter around him, leaving a trail of dazzling embers from the fires of his branch. He could hear the voices clearly, now… it was his own. He saw visions of himself within the swirling firestorm, and what he dearly wished himself to be… The long locks of a flaxen elfess twirling in his fingers, his lance hoisted high in the sun amongst a line of Wardens, a clinic packed full of patients he had saved. Visions cracked across his conscious as fast as lightning, and their strange meaning rocked his soul like rolling thunder… Family, lover, duty, medicine… all things he wished to be a warrior for. Just as he reached out to take the last vision’s hand, the ivory skin of his beloved… she recoiled in fear, falling before him with bruises upon her flesh as he suddenly found himself with clenched fists. “No...No!” he shouts, just as he is thrown into a wild, standing spin and seeing himself in another nightmare. A flash of his white cloak of Warden armor raked against his foe, his strikes were wild, furious, ruthless… blood poured upon the ground, as if a pack of wolves had torn through these souls. Just as he sprang forth to help them, or ask them anything… his hands were deep in the bloody, pulpy rib-cage of some long enemy of his. Their eyes were glassy, anemic, pleading as the surgeon tortured the man. All the awful things that he could be a warrior for... “....Help me.” The man says simply up to the surgeon, and the elf-lord emits a harrowing scream that shuns the visions of himself back to the fire, back to the coyote who sits at the base of the oak tree. “You have a choice ahead…” the animal spirit says, his maw unmoving as he carries his branch. His voice was ancient, old, and cunningly wise. “Awaken, Aerendyl, and forge your chosen path…” The elf does, rousing from his sleep as the dream fades away with the explosion of crow feathers. He felt oddly calm as he decided to lay there for a while, turning his head to his loyal pair of boots. They didn’t find his feet that morning… instead, the elf walked out of his house that day with a pair of simple but elegant robes, off to find his teacher. The eyes of his totem awoke that day, seeing clearly.
  13. The Chens are quite notably a Elven family of Li-Ren descent. There are multiple branches to the family, though, it is mainly a family of art and theatrics. Traditional dance, calligraphy, tea ceremonies and such. Coming from Ai-Zhu, they'd be found in the bigger cities but also within farm homes. With this in mind, some roles for the family are open and if someone is interested, they can contact us via msging tadabug2000 or at beautifulwatty#6584. More roles will open up over time but we really aren’t ready to try and bring in the parents, sounds like chaos. If you are interested in the family but don't see a particular persona you'd be interested in, we could possibly come up with something. If the persona is crossed out, they're already claimed. Disclaimer: The making of skins can be assisted with, alongside persona art. Ages, names and such are subject to change and we can discuss this for whatever makes it easier. The current references are made by other artists and not us but if the persona begins to be played, personal art will be made for them. Chen (Han) Xia, Female, 12 years old (Elf) A cousin from the farmlands of Ai-Zhu, sent to the main branch as a way of expanding their horizons and giving her better opportunities and a better upper class life, whilst her older brother stayed to help his parents with the farm. Chen (Han) Mengyou, Male, 17 years old (Elf, vacant) He has been told he is being sent to assist his cousin in her acclimatization, that he would have better opportunities and the ability to further his studies and talents in the big city. But really, it's because his mother is hiding the fact that he's starting to resemble his Fathers Brother a bit too much, due to an affair had 17 years ago. Chen Xifeng [Female], 22 years old (Elf and Dwarf) The adopted cousin from Wencheng’s side of the family. As the only adopted child of two fathers, they had a rather sheltered life. And in order to break out from the ridiculous helicopter parenting and fussing of their two fathers, they went to go life with their cousins and claim their own independence. Han Jianjun, Male, 872 years old, [Elf] This old Elf has begun to go insane in his old age and much akin to hot potato, he goes from branch to branch of the family, where each takes turns caring for the man. Certainly a force to be reckoned with! “Back in my day, we fought in the trees..” Chen Chuntao, Female, 275 years Old (Elf) An auntie that has made it her goal in life to see to it that the current generation finds an auspicious match, and that the family continues to grow in wealth and power, a bit of a penny pincher, but ready for extravagance when needed.
  14. ((As a note, this is an event that overlaps my IRL birthday! I can't actually go anywhere special due to my line of work even if I am vaccinated, so I thought I'd just lump mine and my character's big day together so I can have some sort of party this year. This year is also my tenth anniversary in the community, so I think it's a cool way to celebrate with the whole community! Come have fun with us!)) An invitation is left at the mailbox/taxbox of every registered home and seed hall, with a formal address to the blessed Seeds and Houses of Elvenesse. The House of Hawksong cordially invites you to attend a very special gathering to celebrate the golden years of our House Matriarch, Titania! It is with great pride that we do celebrate her life, but we wish to celebrate the blessed long years of Mali as a whole as well. Therefore, a grand gathering in the Elvenesse throne room will take place in one elven week. There is no requirement of gift-giving, but party contributions from the great families of Elvenesse is greatly encouraged so that we may celebrate in the blessing of the long lives of all elves and the ageless bounty of each house and seed. The Pamphlet contains a mock painting of a real portrait of the Twilit Matriarch, followed by a short biography for those unfamiliar As an Aegisian War veteran, Titania has had a long history of allegiance with the elven people from the old city of Laurelin to the Great Halls of Amaethea today. She has been a mother, a Malinorian High Princess, Teutonic General, Dominion Princess and faithful servant of the Crown since her departure from leadership. Many of our cities have been crafted in whole or in part by her hand, and currently she resides in Elvenesse living out her sunset years as the Head of House Hawksong and the Rochirran. What to expect at the event! Community Games Food Artifact Raffle (no cost to play) Drink Music Dancing Additional, personal invitations are as follows To the Esteemed House of DeNurem The descendants of the Legendary Hochmeister Mirtok are invited to reminisce and reforge bonds once shared so closely during the age of Anthos and the Fringe. To the Snow Druid The Mother of her Beloved is invited to celebrate, and any additional party of which you desire to bring. To the kin of Artimec, the Blessed Seed of Caerme'onn The blood of one of her closest friends are especially welcome, for the bond between Hawksong and Caerme'onn is old and unwavering To the Oracle, Awaiti Sirame The once fellow ruler of the elven people, and teacher of the brother of the Matriarch is invited to celebrate their roles in history To the Proud Hawk-kin of Seed Tahorran The masters of the river and sea, whom have embraced a ironwood-strong friendship with the House of Hawksong are invited to liven the event with their spirit ((Time 7 EST Saturday the 27th of February))
  15. Ji'Vanna Eileine Ularan ‿︵‿︵ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ・❉・ ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ‿︵‿︵ "Freedom in any case is only possible by constantly struggling for it." - Albert Einstein ‿︵‿︵ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ・❉・ ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ‿︵‿︵ ‿︵‿︵ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ・❉・ ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ‿︵‿︵ Race: Mali'Aheral [identifies as such, but is half-wood elf] Height: 5"7 Appearance: Pale, snow-kissed skin. Platnium-Blonde hair, with braids and two clips. Family: Kuskyn Ularan (Father/Not IRP), Jastira (Mother/Not IRP) Culture: [Past] Mali'ito Elberun'tir [Current] N/A Current Home: Unknown Past Home: Haelun'or Profession: Warrior [was going into medicinal studies but backed out of it for personal reasons] ︵‿︵ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ・❉・ ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ‿︵‿︵ Young Ji'Vanna
  16. drawing my character ji-vanna but at the same time it looks really odd - like yes, it's not done but i am panicking inside as i'm doing it like. am i doing this right, why she built like that. i really don't know
  17. The Silver Calendar of 9 S.A. 20th of the Amber Cold Throughout the city of Silver and the children of the Pure, the denizens of the State would find that they would receive an ornate scroll at their doorstep. The scroll would be on a black parchment with silver lettering and detailing with splashes of color lining the page. Mali’thill Wine and Tea Kaliri The Deep Cold “A long drawn out debate between Mali’thill has been between the preference of wine and tea, so it has been seen fit to host an event revolving around both which the ‘thill enjoy. The wine and tea afternoon shall be hosted in the Silver Stag Tavern on the Deep Cold of 9 SA. ” Signed, Okarir’hiylun Valyris Wynasul [[OOC: TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 2ND @ 5:30 PM EST // 10:30 PM GMT]] Mali’thill Yoga Snow’s Maiden “The citizens of elcihi’thilln are invited to attend a class of Mali’thill Yoga! The class is intended to assist teaching one to increase their dexterity and flexibility. Yoga is meant to help teach one focus and mental fortitude. This class is especially recommended for young mages to help learn control over their mana and connection to the void. The class will be held in the park in front of the Silver Stag Tavern and afterwards, there shall be a breakfast bar and smoothies. ” Signed, Okarir’hiylun Valyris Wynasul [[OOC: WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 3RD @ 5:00 PM EST // 10:00 PM GMT]] Painting in the Park Malin’s Welcome “ In the park of the citadel, there will a painting class to help encourage artistic creativity amongst the Mali’thill. No experience is required to attend and it is meant for the enjoyment and entertainment of the Mali’thill. Afterwards, it will be followed by a brunch themed picnic.” Signed, Okarir’hiylun Valyris Wynasul [[OOC: THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 4TH @ 4:30 PM EST // 9:30 PM GMT]] Snail Race The First Seed “ A staple of Haelun’orian society is the highly vetted Snail Races. With the recent years being oh so busy, it has been seen fit to host one on a larger scale within the Silver Stag Tavern. All are invited to bring their speedy gastropods to participate in the snail race of the century! One may review the rules of snail racing attached to the back of the calendar. ” Signed, Okarir’hiylun Valyris Wynasul [[OOC: FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 5TH @ 4:30 PM EST // 9:30 PM GMT]] Constellations Festival Grand Harvest “ On the night of the full moon there will be a festival themed around the stars, held in front of the city between the gates and the newly established public farms. There will be several telescopes available for one to gaze out at the night sky, bards will be hired to play music, and there will be games of all sorts of variety, food, and more! This festival is meant to represent Mali’thill returning back to the Motherland, hence it being held outside of the gates. ” Signed, Okarir’hiylun Valyris Wynasul [[OOC: SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 6TH @ 5:30 PM EST // 10:30 PM GMT]] liewyn'Larihei eltaeleh walehe ohn vallein eltaliyna walehe
  18. i personally want 1.13 and for the devs to focus enhancing 1.13 rather than update to 1.14 with a bad chunkloading, the new blocks are cool but it doesnt replace the chunk loading, we cant move from point a to point b it takes literally too much time for travelling, maybe we can go back to 1.13 with an older save if world corruption is a concern but we cant stay in 1.14 its ruining the traveling of the map
  19. OOC: From now on I’ll be writing these posts in a somewhat dramatic story-telling fashion. This was not uncommon in ancient times. Most history was written in rhyme or in a the dramatic. (It’s also more fun) The sweltering sun beat down upon the thirsty dark elf. Used to the cool of the forest trees of Siramenor, the heat of the desert plains during the Sun’s Smile fell like a hammer on his shoulders. The sound of his footsteps sounded hollow across the barren landscape. A soft, hot, humid wind ruffled the gray grass. It whistled past small rocks that stuck up from the red dusty earth. The crimson eyes of the ‘Ker rose slowly to glare at the sky. His lips were curled in a slight grimace as if daring the sun to shine. The sun paid no attention to the small, figure. The light of the sun seemed to sparkly lovingly off the red sand. It jumped from stone to stone. Yet as the elf cleared the next small hill, his gaze fell upon an orc who lay dead upon the ground. His mouth was open and his tongue protruded from the side, cracked, swollen, and stiff. The dark elf glanced at the orc. He walked over to the body and knelt by its head. The voice of the elf sounded in the deathly silence, croaky but still with a touch of sadness, “Hello my friend, I suppose you fell to the sun’s embrace.” The elf then smiled at the orc, a smile that seemed entirely out of place in the brutal heat so close to death. “May you have died so that the sun does not seek to take me.” The elf paused looking at the orc before continuing on, his feet plodding, each impact releasing a fine cloud of red dust. It was for ambition that the elf was to be found on that day, on that road, in that heat. His eyes shared a kindred spirit with that terrible sun, as they burned with the intensity of fire, his irises flickering. Yet who are we to judge the sins of elven kind or of the morality of powerful ambition. For do we consider the world to be filled with only those perfect and those evil? This elf struggling through the heat was no saint. But like the sun, a force of nature, he bore no ill will to those that stood in his way. Like the sun, his hammer would fall regardless of race, creed, or allegiance. Should we call that evil, or immoral? If you define it be so, yes. But, like the sun, this elf could be gentle, giving life to those he loved. Like so many emerald trees, the fruits of his labor would grow and would be loved. Perhaps, in the end, we shouldn’t think of this elf as the sun that killed that orc, or as the sun hovering over the trees of Siramenor, but instead as a flawed being just as any other. Good and evil in equal measure, internal struggle radiating outward, burning and loving, killing and growing. On this day, he was none of these things. He wasn’t the sun, or powerful elf. He was a small figure who was thirsty and lost. The elf was searching for Ker’Okarn. He hoped to bargain with the ‘Ker who lived there and begin the building of the tower of Sirame Khel. He hoped to start a great dynasty lasting thousands of years. Yet, on this day, he was nothing but a young wandering poet. It was many days till he reached the sea port of Ker’Okarn. He looked down upon the small city, his throat parched, his eyes stretched thin, his water bag empty. Yet the salt air woke his tired mind. His thin ashen lips curled in a smile as he surveyed his new home. He could imagine where the tower would stand, a little off to the side, and near the shining sea. This was a dark elf without family, without a father, without a clan. A dark elf who lived during one of the the most dangerous and terrible times for his race. Yet as this elf of little means looked down from that small hill his lost heritage didn’t matter. He would forge a new family, a new clan, and a new future for the dark elves. Poem written by Tide Falkmoor at this time: A deep sorrowful note, A long forgotten song, A wailing from each throat, The tale of those long-gone. Silence upon the scene, For birds knew not to sing, When the oldest did keen, When death the breeze did bring. No comfort for the weak, No promise to forgive, Paradise they did not seek, For they sought not to live. A rushing of dark wings, As quiet ravens flew. The dissonance now rings, Of stories sadly true. Deadly rain, Fire of incessant pain, Fire of a realm insane. There is no light. Except burning deathly bright. Light that only dead may see. Entry two of “The History of Sirame Khel and its Rise to Power” by Selion Drogon
  20. This is a series of entries in a journal that are written by a historian about Sirame Khel. They will be entered into the grand library of Dragur upon the event of Tide Falkmoor’s death or that of the order. (OOC: so you can't use this information until Tide Falkmoor has died) On the 15th of the deep cold, 1780, Sirame Khel was founded. There was no fanfare or celebration. This order would forever hide in the shadows, protecting itself from prying eyes. At the time there were only three dark elves whose only connection was their hope for the future and their belief in the honor of the Ashen Folk. Their names were Tide Falkmoor, Salaron Chaeydark, and Selmas Chaeydark. They pledged to change the world and the fate of their race. Salaron Chaeydark was a brazen, tall, and haughty ‘Ker. He believed that the dark elves should be proud and thought that an open assault upon the order of the realm would soon be necessary. He wore dark leather and carried with him a short sword. He spoke with great conviction of the plans of the order and was determined to see it as far as he could. Little did he know that his part in the story would end sooner then any would think. Selmas Chaeydark, the sister of Salaron Chaeydark, was a quiet, younger ‘Ker. She had a full and loving heart and wished to help the growth of Sirame Khel because her brother was invested and she believed in helping those poor and powerless. She would speak slowly as she then could not speak common as well as most but still understood more about the future of Sirame Khel then any other. Tide Falkmoor was a sly, quiet ‘Ker. He, unlike Salaron, believed that the authority of Sirame Khel and of the Ashen Folk could only be grown through slow and gradual growth. He was a poet, a singer, and an expert swordself. For Tide, the world changed through words and not actions. He considered fighting to be beneath him and through his methods, the power and influence of Sirame Khel would grow exponentially. His speech was always considered and careful. Yet beneath this veneer of genteel, cultured, intellectualism hid a vibrant, dangerous elf who, when faced with a challenge, would forge forward no matter what obstacles stood in his way. While not evil, Tide Falkmoor would never shrink from any method so long as he got what he wanted. This small group of dark elves immediately began building a network of elves and spies. At first success seemed inevitable. Elves flocked to join. Sirame Khel even made a deal with the leader of Ker’okarn to gain land in the city of Krugmar. There they began to build the tower of Sirame Khel. This would be the place where the members would meet met for many years. However, tragedy struck sooner than any would have expected. Salaron Chaeydark was slain during a moonless night by a faceless guard. This death destroyed Selmas Chaeydark. She had lost her father only a few years earlier. Now she was without family and for the Ashen Folk, family is everything. This also meant that the order of Sirame Khel had lost someone who was important to the cause. Tide Falkmoor was determined to continue the order in memory of his friend. He was now the sole leader of Sirame Khel and as a result, the methods of the order would from then on would follow only his philosophy of quiet subterfuge and would avoid antagonizing any group, race, or nation. However, Salaron would always remain at the heart of the order, leading it in his name. His excitable spirit would guide the order towards higher heights and would never be forgotten by those who followed the order. The Tide A poem written by Tide Falkmoor at this time. Roaring waves, Pouring over deep red stones. Slow water, Flowing into sharp wide cracks. For years, the tide has risen, Yet now waves lap on shores. Sparkling drops, Flying orange in bright rosy light. Streaming rays, Turns oceans to gold, Rocks to pillars, And fish to angels. When water hits a wall, Mountains move. Entry one of “The History of Sirame Khel and its Rise to Power” by Selion Drogon.
  21. Her Last Feather PK of Marcella Avern-Barclay Born in 1688, Marcella Baruch was the daughter of Richard Baruch and an unnamed woman from Curon. Her father was a known necromancer in his past and the woman was unknown but to a select few. However, under the custody of her father, he aimed to improve upon his ways and took up an alchemist stand within the city of Sutica. When Marcella was just shy of one her father was arrested and executed for his past crimes, abandoning her in the basement of Richard’s shop. Her adoptive brother Hiren had found her some time later and brought her to her first mother, Serenity Avern, who took her in to raise her in her youth. While Serenity was not present most of her life, her sister Mayan was and would later adopt Marcella as her own. Marcella’s childhood was rather uneventful upon relocation to Carouldstadt of Renatus. While there many Averns took part in the clinic affairs as surgeons and practitioners. While there Marcella had begun to learn some basic medical skills however not proceed further than that. Some time later, the family returned to Sutica for the remainder of her childhood into her early adult years. While living there Marcella met the man that would later become her husband, Wilheim Barclay. The Averns did not approve of the Haenseman, but Marcella took this as her strike towards independence and began to spend more and more time in Haenseti-Ruska. This later proved to be fruitful to serve as the starting point for the soon to become Barony of Freising. As the house was founded, Wilheim grew in the ranks of the army and received his knighthood as the Stallion. Both Marcella and her husband became Aldermen and later had two children, Klara and Erwin. While Klara and Erwin were young they were able to spend time with Mayan, though as they grew up, Klara went on her own travels and Erwin stayed close to home to follow his father’s footsteps. All the while, Marcella did her best to support Erwin in his ventures, which proved fruitful as he later became a Duke and Lord Marshal to set the tone for many generations to come. Soon after Wilheim’s passing, Marcella’s life began to slow, taken by an alcohol and smoking addiction, she retired from being an Alderman to spend the next decade with Wilheim until his death. At this point she moved to improve her health to spend as much of her time as she could with her son and his children, Manfred and Brandt. It has been up to this point that Marcella was able to meet her life goal, a happy family that is successful. It has been at this point that Marcella spent her final moments in Oren with Mayan… After she decided to pay a last visit with her, the journey proved to be too much as not long after she had a heart attack. Her final breaths were in Mayan’s home after a long day. With Mayan she left her final will and testament for her family and close friends. Belongings will be distributed upon arrival of the vault supplies of Arcas. Marcella passed at 1736 on the 13th of Sun’s Smile at the age of 114. Marcella’s Final letter: To my dearest children, I am sad that I have not been able to see either of you in my final moments, but I cannot say how proud I am in the two of you. Take your time and enjoy life, it is not for forever. I will be waiting for you up in Godan’s skies so enjoy life while you have it. I will wait with your father until you are ready. To Manfred, I wish to leave you my staff. It was acquired by my father long ago and has served me well over the years. Take good care of it sweetheart, for it contains the soul of another and you may learn how best to speak with him. He brought much joy to your father in hitting people with it, and I hope you are able to keep it in the family for the foreseeable future. To Brandt, I wish to leave you my Karin, Idred. She can be a bit of a grump, but she has been a wonderful companion since Wilheim passed. If you ever have any questions on caring for her reach out to Mayan. She can provide guidance better than any. To Luisa, Dear, I wish I could have spent more time with you and your brothers but you have grown up well and have a family of your own. Cherish them. To you I leave my wedding rings. They were made by Hekkaes Goldhand for Wilheim and I. They were once magic with a blood bond though it has long since faded. Keep them close because even the smallest things in life can matter most. To the Barclay Family, It has been truly a dream of mine to have such a wonderful family. Thank you all for the laughs and smiles over the years and I hope I was able to give you just as many as you gave me. I love you all dearly. Finally, Mayan, I can’t express how much you mean to me, haleun. I know soon I will visit and it likely will be my last, but I know you gave me nothing but the best. I wish I could have done more for you over my life and we had our issues. If nothing else, I hope I was able to bring pride to you. Look after my grandchildren please. I know my passing will be hard on them but more so on you. You can talk to them, I know they would want to and see you just as much as family as I do. I love you so very much and don’t ever forget that. With love, Marcella Avern-Barclay [OOC] It has been wonderful rping with everyone on this persona and I’ve taken up her grandchild Marie so things won’t come to a halt regarding that. Thank you all so much for being part of Marcy and her legacy.
  22. Gemini

    An ancient letter

    [!] Dust seems to decorate the ancient parchment. The corners of the paper have but crumbled. It is clear this letter is old, at least a couple centuries, perhaps even more. To the beloved daughter, It was a beautiful day. Choirs consisting of different birds, all singing in tune. The sun and the moon facing each other, how magical it felt. It was right then when Gwynaeth took a look at me, her face filling with joy as you were delivered into this world. Nuala, we decided to call you. For the never ending respect for Gwynaeth’s beloved llir. A child, born under the darkening sun. You are meant for greatness. Your life will be filled with ups and downs, however Uradir blood runs through your veins; that purity shall always guide you forward. Nothing and no one can ever deny your birthright. If it is ever that we may not meet again, never forget that your haelun and maln loves you, Nuala of Uradir. Signed, Moederai Uradir, a proud father
  23. OOC: This Tome is a collection of poetry written by Silas Astasel, located with an irp book. Often, these entries will involve some background as he writes it, which onlookers/those reasonably around may emote in response to within this post. If you wish to do this, simply begin a reply, select the entry and hit "quote selection," then add your response emote. Direct confrontation between characters should be avoided most times, as to not metagame or make the post a confusing web. This being said, the contents written within this tome are located behind closed pages, and should not be metagamed unless Silas shows you IRP the content within. I will reply to this post as I edit it to provide an area to respond. Enjoy! Entry 1: Entry 2: Entry 3: Entry 4: Entry 5: Entry 6: Entry 7: Entry 7: Entry 8: Entry 9: Entry 10:
  24. The Arvellon Seed Watchers in the Autumn Woods _________________________________________ “From our trees of red, gold, and orange do we watch.” The Autumnal Lore _________________________________________ The Arvellon Seed is one of the smaller and lesser known tribes amongst the first migration of Mali’ame. Whilst others adorned themselves in unique and colorful markings and apparel, the Wood Elves of the Arvellon were only identifiable by their shared physical traits and their name. Yet even this left them confused with the seedless brothers and sisters. However the Mali’ame of the Arvellon did not mind this for centuries to come. They enjoyed the ease in which they could meld within the rest of their tribal society, watching and listening as the Wildcats of Felixii do. Little is known concerning their worship of the Wildcat Princess, as is most things with the feline mani. Similarly shrouded is the seed’s later adoption of worship to Kwakwani, the Trickster Raven. Though they took to these new ways and meshed them with that of Felixii’s, creating the unique and unknown culture that they are in the modern age. In the times of Malin and the nomadic Mali’ame, the Arvellon were led by a man known as Carsul’il. Known among his kin as the Laughing Lynx for his hearty attitude and his peculiar style in hair. Carsul’il was the first to take on the name of Arvellon, and the founder of their ame’lie, a grove considered to be only myth and named the Harvest Wood for some said it was a place of perpetual autumn that was always bathed in a copper and gold light from the rays of sun shining through the canopy. Many thought the grove was a legend for rare few knew of its name, much less of its existence. While most of the tales sprung from this age, and of Carsul’il specifically, are considered myth and the true events that happened are lost to the winds of time, the more modern era of the Arvellon is easier to recollect if similarly unknown to anyone but the Arvellon. Carsul’il eventually disappeared into the wilds as most ancient mali’ame do, leaving behind his ways for his second child, Merriel Arvellon. Unlike her father, Merriel did not have many daring adventures. She preferred the quiet and watchful side of their ways, living her life upon a simple farmstead with her mate and listening to the breeze for all manner of news and secrets until the day she had her first and only child, Miklaeil. Miklaeil was bound to take after his grandfather from the day he began to walk, always grinning and dashing about from one adventure to the next with the clever wit of a cat. Only his mother could truly tame his lust for the thrill and unknown, until the day he came of age for manhood. Miklaeil gathered what few things he owned and set off into the world, leaving a supportive but deeply saddened Merriel behind. Years passed and the young Arvellon found himself in what was known as the Dominion of Malin. It was here that Miklaeil decided to first attempt securing a steady life after thirty or so years of travel, though doing so cost him the identity of his ancestors within him. He donned bronze and silver platemail, shouted cries of war in the name of various princes and princesses, and even took on the name and beliefs of another seed entirely in his patriotic vigor. He began to look less and less like that of Carsul’il, and his letters to his mother grew less and less filled with wonder and joy but instead with grim and dark experiences. It was about this time that Merriel Arvellon died, caught in an accident with farm equipment. Years passed and Miklaeil gradually fell back into the old ways of his grandfather, Carsul’il. His constant grin and cheeky quips became his trademark, and his vigilant and cat-like eyes always watched with a certain mischievous glint. Twas long after the Dominion collapsed when he became a Lord upon the council of Aegrothond, then yet more until he met the lovely Empyreal Princess of Alderyn, Layla Le’Cai. It was not long after noticing the same playful glint in her eyes that he fell in love and returned fully to the ways of Carsul’il. Between the two of them, the Arvellon seed’s history and culture were reborn into something both new and old. Several decades pass and the Arvellon are now grown and changed beyond what they were upon Miklaeil’s reclamation. It was around this time that the seed was begrudgingly convinced to join the fledgling Forest Realm of Irrinor. The reluctance of the seed’s chieftains to take such a step proved correct when the Aspectist nation fell to infighting, leaving the Arvellon to flee back to the Talus Grove. Disillusioned with the politics of greater elven nations following the fall of Irrinor, Miklaeil declared the rite of Maya’meracahe to prevent more misfortune befalling the Arvellon. Several families were born and brought into the seed’s warm embrace following its departure from Irrinor, allowing the group to spread out and diversify amongst themselves as they chose according to the rite of Maya’meracahe. Despite this rebound, Layla and Miklaeil were left tired and in need of a respite from the civilized places of the world. A moot of the seed was held in the Talus Grove where Eretria and Nerrin were chosen to be the next chieftains, allowing Layla and Mikaeil to delve into the deep wilds of the world for the next decade. Beliefs and Values _________________________________________ The ways of the Arvellon are deeply rooted in Aspectism and the Mani pantheon, basing most all their various styles and values upon that of the old ‘ame teachings. Religion _________________ “Given a wink from the Wildcat and a grin from the Raven, Carsul’il set off into the wood.” Aspectism and the Mani pantheon are both well-cherished parts of the Arvellon culture, most everything about them being divined from these practices. However, like most other Seeds, the Arvellon worship a select few Mani in particular. Those being Felixii, Princess of Wildcats, and Kwakwani, Princess of Ravens. Both of which heavily influence the day-to-day lives of the Arvellon, making for Elves with an odd mixture of secretive yet colorful personalities, flitting back and forth with words and actions like a cat or bird at play. Oftentimes these Elves make offerings to both Mani in the form of tricks and pranks upon those deserving of it, or merely for the fun of it. With regards to Felixii, the Wildcat is seen as the head of a lesser pantheon of her own that includes the other feline Mani gods. The Lion, Tiger, and Panther Mani all fall into this grouping though are not quite so revered as the Wildcat herself. Many decide to incorporate the teachings of these individual Mani princes into their worship of Felixii. Those Arvellon particularly devout to Felixii tend to tread through life with care put toward their own actions, yet are not afraid of the spontaneous. Witty, clever, and watchful are the best descriptions for an Arvellon Wildcat follower. It is taught that a proper Wildcat follower should remain ever vigilant for what knowledge they can collect or what whispers they may hear. This is usually referred to in regards to one’s own pursuits or craft, meant to encourage learning and growth in the mind. The Trickster Raven teaches her followers in the Arvellon the ways of artistry, beauty, and fun-loving attitudes. Those devout to Kwakwani are often the most playful of the seed prone to pranking their family and friends when it is least expected, or developing skill with their hands in the way of arts and craft. Many Arvellon take up trades in things such as painting, jewelry, writing, or even blacksmithing and woodworking. Their work is done with the intention of creating beauty with their very own hands, worshipping the Raven in the act alone. Appearance _________________ “Touched by the season of Autumn in body as well as mind.” Elves born of the Arvellon typically share the same set of physical traits, depending on the circumstances of their birth. An Elf carrying the traits of the Arvellon would be bronzed or tan in skin tone, usually a warm hue of some sort. Their hair tends to be curly or unruly in varying shades of red and brown. This coupled with brown or green eyes make them quite suitable for their favorite season, Autumn. Although, not every Arvellon is born from the autumnal bloodline. The modern generation of the seed is a wide variety of adopted members and members who married into the seed with the proper rites taken. This means that one could find most any Elf of any mix of traits donning the autumn paints of an Arvellon. Their apparel tends to reflect the colors of Autumn- Red, gold, yellow, and orange in various shades- to symbolize the changing and colorful personalities of the Arvellon and to acknowledge the natural cycle. Values _________________ “Live your life to the fullest, my child. Raise your boy, love your family, and see them flourish as I have.” - Carsul’il to his daughter, Merriel Arvellon When the Arvellon realized that the world is much too dangerous to face alone, they began to stick closer and closer together to ensure safety and prosperity despite the ordeals that the Descesdent world is prone to endure. Thus their ideology grew over time to incorporate values based upon the creation and protection of family. Family is treasured above all else to Arvellon. To protect and provide for one’s family is the highest priority and one that each Arvellon is expected to see done. Providing for the family also includes having children with which to fill it and continue the legacy. Due to the elven curse of infertility, adoption is not unheard of amongst the seed and is even considered honorable. With family comes Love. It is a sacred emotion connected to the very soul of a person that shapes them as it grows and evolves over time’s passage. An Arvellon couple is accepted as an eternal bond and a testament of passion and loyalty for such long-lived people as the elves. To break off that bond is a break of trust that many consider to be deserving of no less than a shun or, if the cause of division is so revolting, death. Love does not extend only to romance either. An Arvellon finds love in anything that they wish to look for it in. Some pursue trades and crafts to pour their passions into. Trust is built through experience and time together. An Arvellon without the trust of their kin is an Arvellon surrounded by the hounds of darkness, bound for an early rise of elven madness. Along the same vein of thought, Unity within the seed is expected by all its members to uphold fervently. According to the rite of Maya’meracahe, the Arvellon should never allow the frivolous squabbles of greater elvenkind and the Descendent world as a whole to divide them. Cheer and light-heartedness are seen as desirable traits among the Arvellon. Being a fun-loving people, they seek it out with a Lust for Life that goes unheard of among many other elven cultures and even in the mali’ame themselves. Adventure, pranks, good fun amongst their kin, all this and much more are the deep thoroughfare to an Arvellon’s heart. Traditions _________________________________________ Tradition in the Arvellon seed is developed over the course of time and experience, its members learning new ways to adapt to their environment and adding to their ways to fit. Ilmyumier _________________ Tattoos designed and drawn by the wonderful Numirya A recent and modern addition to the rites of the Arvellon is the ilmyumier, thought up and designed by Layla. The tattoo implements three of the most prevalent parts of the Arvellon’s unique culture with the head of a Wildcat, the wings and feathers of a Raven, and the colors and symbols of their beloved season Autumn. Along with the primary ilmyumier that is found on the dominant arm, Arvellon of this age are known to wear a stripe of paint across their eyes as a sign of luck to attract good fortune for them and their families, or during times of war and unrest in the world as a whole. Miruel’ame _________________ The “Red Trees” of the Arvellon forests that once served as the living, subtle guardians to their ancestral ame’lie known as the Harvest Wood. The cultivation of these trees, once a closely guarded secret held by the main bloodline of Arvellon, has since been passed down to the seed to reintroduce the tree into the world. The tree releases an ever present fog that surrounds its immediate vicinity and is considered to be the reason the Arvellon remained wrapped in mystery in the early eras of the world. Maya’meracahe _________________ “The bonds of family wave no flags.” In the ancient times of the Arvellon, when they lived in the depths of the Harvest Wood with their homes safely hidden from the turmoil beyond, the autumnal elves practiced what they called Maya’meracahe. This ‘redeeming balance’ was put into place by Carsul’il after a near disastrous confrontation within the seed between two brothers living in separate nations from each other. Carsul’il decided that the Arvellon seed would not serve as a political entity among the rest of Elvenkind, though it would not limit its individual members from taking part in what nations they chose to reside in. Mallir'hiylun _________________ “To be an Arvellon man is to have only half a mind. His wife has the rest.” Love is sacred and precious to the autumn Elves of the Arvellon, an emotion and act held dearly since the days of Carsul’il and the Harvest Wood. Making such a declaration toward another Elf is a grand and life changing event for the Arvellon. To them, there is only one such person to be found in their lives and it is an irreversible, unbreakable bond through both mind, body, and spirit. While not used until later in the seed’s existence, there is a binding ritual used to cement this connection between two Elves. Before an altar of Felixii and Kwakwani, the two would arrive in secret during the height of a Harvest Moon. Both would wield ceremonial aurum blades to cut the others palms. After the blood flows from both hands on either lover, the bloodied blades are laid crossed upon the altar before the two clasped hands to mix the blood of their palms and in doing so, intertwining the essence of their bodies and spirit. Once the ritual is complete, it’s said that the mates develop a true and absolute bond. While it’s not known whether this is merely firm belief, or if something truly binds the souls of the lovers, it works. These Arvellon lovers remain together until death, and even then it is said that their spirits pass on as one. Hunt of the Harvest Moon _________________ Every year during the Harvest Moon, when the night is bathed in strong orange light, the Arvellon host a ceremonial hunt that begins at moonrise and ends at sunrise of the next day. While the setting is an ominous and foreboding one, filled with shadows cast by the Harvest Moon’s light, the Elves who partake in it are filled with a playful vigor in their hunt. Typically, they will hunt until they find the largest game that they’re able to fell and bring it back to wherever the others are camped. There they wait until all the other hunters return with their prizes, to which a grand feast is held in honor of the peculiar phase of the moon. Rite of the Karin _________________ When an Arvellon comes of a certain age, or is adopted into the seed, they are allowed the gift of a twin-tailed, crystal antlered Karin cat. All Arvellon have one of these friendly cats as companions, given as mere kittens before they eventually grow to their full size of about a cougar. Due to the lifespans of these cats being much shorter than that of the average Elf, an Arvellon may have multiple different karin companions over the course of their life. Typically each new companion is a descendent of the previous, making for different bloodlines of Karin amongst the Arvellon. Interested in joining? _________________ PM DrinkPesticide#3970, Mewliet#6297, Numirya#5929, or ThumperJack#1536 on Discord if you’re looking to join the seed! They’ll explain how it’s done and what may work for you!
  25. The Sentinels of Elvenesse. In it’s reformation the elves of Almenor and the woodland realm join forces. Their purpose, to maintain a level of peace and prosperity for the homeland of Elvenesse. As the two cultures joined into one city, so too did the elven warriors of each land. A new golden age, men and women of Elvenesse prepared to maintain peace and justice by any means necessary. These Sentinels of the elven realm duly sworn by oath, to maintain tranquility in this new age. An oath crafted in brotherhood against the invading Inferi, to be sworn before the oathtaker’s god or gods of choice. “In solidarity I do swear to defend the innocent. By my honor I will defend the realm of Elvenesse. By virtuous right, I will protect all of Malin’s descendants. With vigilance, I will repel those who stand against us. And with unity, I will stand with my brothers and sisters in arms.” Upon these spoken words, the fledgling is considered a Sentinel. Sealing their bond to the Realm of Elvenesse and the Crown of Storms in perpetuity. These vows are meant to be taken for life. The only way they could be rescinded is in death, or by word of the High Prince. The Sentinels are divided into three separate sects. The Sect of Guidance: Chief Commandant: A title belonging to the High Prince himself. Without need of introduction, the High Prince reigns as the highest authority in the Realm of Elvenesse. And thus garners the highest authority over the Sentinels. In full control and ability to make arbitrary decisions unilaterally. Commander: Given to the worthiest of elven warriors. This position boasts the highest authority amongst the Sentinels, second only to the High Prince. A position granted only by the High Prince himself. Given to the most worthy amongst the Sentinels. This position is in full command of the Sentinels infantry as well as aquatic units. The only military action a Commander may not decide on their own is in declaration of war or annexation of lands. Which will require the approval of the High Prince. The High Prince may at any time after deliberation with their council, remove a current and select a successor for the Commander’s title. So long as a removal is warranted under the Codex of Laws under the Realm of Elvenesse. Lord Commander of the Maehr’evar: As the name refers, a position given to the Maehr’evar’s Lord Commander only during times of active and open conflict. While the Maehr’evar order maintains it’s solidarity in peacetime, during official and open conflict the Lord Commander will hold a level of command over the Sentinels. While the Lord Commander’s orders are to be carried out, they should never directly or indirectly conflict with the orders of higher ranked officials. The Sect of Vigilance: Warden: The official officer rank within the Sentinels. Only given to a maximum of two individuals at one time. Serving as a mid level officer rank, this dual office is handed to only the two most capable of the Sentinels. The rank is offered as an opt-in position, meaning a Sentinel can choose to refuse the promotion. The two positions are filled after deliberation amongst the Sect of Guidance. However, a Warden can be removed by any one of the Sect of Guidance. Afterwhich, the position may only be filled by aforementioned means. The Wardens of the Sentinels are meant to be the most competent. Meaning they should never falter or hesitate in the heat of combat. Able to lead smaller parties of troops should they be separated from the main force. A Warden also holds the ability to command a full garrison of troops, should one be installed. Zealot: Comprising of the most elite Sentinels. Promoted by a Warden after displaying acts of valor or courage in battle. Zealots are select Sentinels that prove to be outstanding in battle. While not officially the rank of an officer, they do still hold more weight than that, of an average Sentinel. The promotion to Zealot gains those the ability to lead small fireteams of four to five Sentinels. However, only after approval from a Warden or above. Should a Zealot find themselves the highest ranked Sentinel among a group larger than four to five, their standing orders are to return that group to the Realm of Elvenesse. While there is no limit on a maximum number of Zealots, it is not a rank meant to be oversaturated. The Sect of Honor: Sentinel: The main body of enlisted military personnel, for the Realm of Elvenesse. A large and overwhelming force, able to mobilize at a moment’s notice. This rank belongs to the vast majority of enlisted elves within the Sentinels. Attained after a Recruit recites their vows before their deity of choice. A symbolic ceremony to show their devotion and resolve. As such, any elf who wishes to call themself a Sentinel of Elvenesse must prove not only to those around them, but to themselves. For a Sentinel should look even upon impossible odds, with a smile on their face and steadfastness in their hearts. Recruits: The rank issued upon conscription into the Sentinels of Elvenesse. An initial training phase of the Sentinels, officers will evaluate the competence of each Recruit in a variety of combat scenarios. Once an Elf is conscripted into the Sentinels, they shall begin as a Recruit. During this time, their ability and decision making skills will be evaluated by a higher ranking official. Recruits are promoted or evaluated at varying times from one another. A Recruit could find themselves promoted and reciting their vows mere days after enlistment, all the way to years down the line. There are no prerequisites to become a Recruit. However, in order to be promoted to the rank of Sentinel, a Recruit must show a certain level of competence and confidence in varying combat environments. Once an officer can verify and “vouch” for a Recruit, they may be given the opportunity to recite their vows.
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