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Arvellon I The Watchers of Autumn
Mewliet posted a topic in The Seeds of Nevaehlen─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─ ⤞The Arvellon Seed⤝ [Arvellon sigil drawn by ClassyNewt] ─━─━─━─━「₪」━─━─━─━─ “To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people simply exist, and that is all. Spread laughter and chaos wherever you go. Let no one ever come to you without leaving happier. Suddenly they will realize life wasn’t about surviving. It was about living.” -Carsul’il ─━─━─━─━「₪」━─━─━─━─ [The Firefly Grove by Mathias Zamęcki] ⤞The Autumnal Lore⤝ The Arvellon seed was one of the smaller and lesser-known tribes amongst the first migration of Mali’ame. While most adorned themselves in unique and colorful markings and apparel, the Autumnal watchers were identifiable by their shared physical traits and their name, yet even this left them confused with their seedless kin. For many centuries, they did not mind this and even enjoyed the ease in which they could meld within the rest of 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 adoption of worshiping Kwakwani, the Trickster Raven. Though they adapted to the new ways and melded them with that of Felixii’s, creating a unique and unknown culture that they are in the modern age. During the times of Malin and the nomadic Mali’ame, the Arvellon were led by a man called Carsul’il. Known amongst his kin as the Laughing Lynx for his hearty attitude and his peculiar style in hair. The Lynx was the first to take on the name of Arvellon, and was the founder of their ame’lie. A grove considered to only be a 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. Trees soon to be called the Taliame’miruel, meaning Eternal Autumn. Many thought the grove was a legend, as very few knew of its name. Much less of its existence. These trees produce a dense fog that the Arvellon used to their advantage, living within it to hide themselves. Many believe this is where they received their moniker, the Autumnal Watchers. 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. The Autumnal Chieftain 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, as 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. A boy that 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 possessed and set off into the realm, leaving a supportive but deeply saddened mother behind. Years passed and the young Arvellon found himself in what was known to be the Dominion of Malin. It was in the Dominion that Miklaeil decided to first attempt at 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 war cries 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 the letters to his mother were more filled with his grim and dark experiences rather than with their usual joy and wonder. It was around this time that Merriel Arvellon passed, caught in an accident with farm equipment. Years passed and Miklaeil gradually fell back into the old ways of his grandfather. His constant grin and cheeky quips became his trademark along with his vigilant and cat-like eyes that were always watching with a certain mischievous glint. Long after the Dominion collapsed, he became a Lord upon the council of Aegrothond, and it wasn’t long after that he met the lovely Empyreal Princess of Alderyn, Layla Le’Cai. It didn’t take him long to notice the same playful glint in her eyes and he fell in love and fully returned to the ways of Carsul’il. Between the two of them, the Arvellon seed’s history and culture were reborn into something new and old. After several decades passed, the Arvellon grew 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 to be exact 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 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 Miklaeil to delve into the realm’s deep wilds where they found solace. After the departure of Miklaeil and Layla, things soon fell to ruin. The misfortunate acts of a handful of Arvellon led to their dismemberment from the seed and forced them to move away from their Autumnal kin. The seed fell stagnant not long after as Eretria followed in her brother’s footsteps, overwhelmed with the circumstances of her kin, and fled to the wilds to find solace for some time. Seeking hope and guidance during her absence. When the Chieftess returned to their hall in Siramenor, she was one of the first to welcome a new Arvellon into the seed. A joyous occasion yet she still felt lost and needed answers; ones her people could not give her no matter how hard they tried. The Arvellon were small and despite their best efforts, they could not seem to restore the seed to its former prestige. She remained for some time, guiding others and trying to repair the state of their seed alongside Nerrin, even in Elvenesse, before she once more fled to the wilds. Nerrin would join her not long after, once more causing the seed to fall stagnant. After time had passed, Eretria decided it was time to stop running and return to her people. She found herself amongst the small group of people of Nevaehlen during its early days of discovery and reclamation. Time was spent in the small mali’ame village before she decided this is where she wanted to establish a home for her Autumnal kin again. In recent days, this is where the Arvellon reside. Living in a village rich with the culture and ways of the mali’ame people, where they thrive together and live within their hall marked by the Taliame’miruel trees. Eretria is the sole Chieftess of the Arvellon, and she continues to welcome new members into the seed with a warm embrace. ⤞Overview⤝ ─━─━─━─━「₪」━─━─━─━─ “Given a wink from the Wildcat and a grin from the Raven, Carsul’il set off into the woods.” ─━─━─━─━「₪」━─━─━─━─ The ways of the Autumnal Watchers are deeply rooted in Aspectism and the Mani Pantheon, their various styles and values based upon the old ‘ame teachings. Their patron Mani are Felixii the Elusive Wildcat, and Kwakwani the Trickster Raven. Most of their values are derived from each Mani and each one is an inspiration for their love for fun, and their ability to keep secrets. The Arvellon are a close-knit group who are known to have a lust for life, often being the source of a harmless prank and the cause of a good laugh. They are a cheerful and chaotic bunch of people, making it their goal to keep things light-hearted in nature amongst the many evils and stress-bringers of the realm. [The Smell of Dead Leaves by Anato Finnstark] ⤞Religion and Seed Values⤝ ─━─━─━─━「₪」━─━─━─━─ "One life. That is all we get. Just one. Why aren't we running like we are on fire towards our wildest dreams? We need that chaos in our soul.” - Eretria Arvellon ─━─━─━─━「₪」━─━─━─━─ Religion Aspectism and the Mani pantheon are both well-cherished parts of the Arvellon culture, most everything about them being derived from these practices. However, like most other Seeds, the Arvellon worship a select few Mani in particular. Those being Felixi the Elusive Wildcat, and Kwakwani the Trickster Raven. 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 Autumnal followers 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, worshiping the Raven in the act alone. As per the teachings of their ancestors, Aspectism is a large part of the Arvellon Seed’s beliefs. They are taught to help uphold the balance and to protect nature. To not over hunt but to make sure there is not too much growth spreading about. Along with being Aspectists, the Arvellon are taught to involve themselves with the Wild Faith; a collection of their ancestral cultural ways of worshipping the Mani and the Aspects, as well as teaching and learning to keep their faith alive. 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 together to ensure safety and prosperity despite the hardships that the Descendant 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. ⤞ Survival is often seen as the willingness to do what is necessary. Most Mali’ame are taught how to survive in the forests at a young age, though the Arvellon are also taught how to survive in many other ways such as hunting to provide for their kin, combat to protect them, and even something as simple as how to keep a secret. These traits are taught so each Arvellon can be fully equipped to help protect their kin in any way necessary. ⤞Appearance⤝ ─━─━─━─━「₪」━─━─━─━─ “Touched by the season of Autumn in body as well as mind.” ─━─━─━─━「₪」━─━─━─━─ [Art of Eretria and a Karin by Mikki] Arvellon born elves typically share the same set of physical traits, depending on the circumstances of their birth. A true born Arvellon would carry the traits of one, bronze or tan in skin tone, usually a warm hue of some sort. Their hair tends to be curly or unruly while varying in 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 one could find most any elf with any mix of traits donning the Autumn paints of an Arvellon. They are often seen dressed in apparel, dyed to mirror the warm shades of Autumn - red, gold, yellow, and orange in various hues. Said to acknowledge the natural cycle and symbolize the changing and colorful personalities of the Arvellon. ⤞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. [Tattoos designed and drawn by the wonderful Numirya] ⤞ Ilmyumier is an important rite to becoming an Arvellon, the marking itself thought up and designed by Layla. The ilmyumier implements three of the most prevalent parts of the unique culture of the Arvellon, headed by that of a Wildcat and donning the wings and feathers of a Raven, and the colors and symbols of their beloved Autumnal season. Along with the primary ilmyumier that is found on the dominant arm, an Arvellon is known to wear a stripe of paint across their eyes to act as a sign of luck to attract good fortune for them and their kin, 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 the Arvellon, has been passed down to the seed to reintroduce the tree into the world. The Miruel’ame releases an ever-present fog that surrounds its immediate vicinity and is considered to be the reason the Arvellon remained wrapped within a mystery in the early eras of the world. ⤞ Maya’meracahe was put in place in the ancient times of the Arvellon, when they lived in the depths of the Harvest Wood. Where their homes were safely hidden from the turmoil beyond. This ‘redeeming balance’ was put into motion by Carsul’il after a near disastrous confrontation within the seed between two brothers living in separate nations from one another. The Laughing Lynx 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. “To be an Arvellon is to have only half a heart and soul. Their partner has the rest.” ⤞ Mallir'hiylun - Love is a sacred and precious thing to the Autumnal elves. 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 and unbreakable bond through both body, mind, and spirit. While not used until later in the seed’s existence, there is a binding ritual performed to cement this connection between two elves. Before an altar of Felixii and Kwakwani, the two would arrive during the height of a Harvest Moon in secret. Both would wield a ceremonial aurum blade to slice the other’s 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 is said that the mates develop a true and absolute bond. While it is 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. ⤞ Birth has always been celebrated within the elven culture; a precious and sacred event for all of elven kind to be taken seriously. When a new child is born, or when one comes of age, a ritual is held in the child’s honor by the Chieftain. During the ritual the babe will be bathed in the waters surrounding the Father Tree, or in fresh springwater. The child’s forehead will then be painted with an eye to resemble the Wildcat, and outstretched wings on either side to represent the Raven. A prayer will then be recited to both patron Mani. Asking each of them to bless the new elf with an observant gaze and a sly nature - just as Felixii, and requesting for them to be granted the creativity and playfulness of the Trickster Raven - Kwakwani. ⤞ Death is not something that is normally celebrated, however the Arvellon honor death in a rather unique way. The corpse of their loved one is carried out to the Taliame’miruel Forest to be buried, where their souls are said to become the eternal watchers of Autumn. In spirit, just as they were in body. A prayer is then said while a stone is constructed atop the gravesite, acting as a headstone. This marker is referred to as Lareh’puerith, or Stone of Memories. Their loved ones will gather around the stone with buckets of paint and carving tools to create an exquisite and intricate mural telling of the Arvellon’s life. Flowers are then planted around the burial site, so that they may be fertilized and the Arvellon may live on through nature. ⤞Trials of Initiation⤝ ⤞ The Trial of Escapade: The prospective Arvellon is to show they are capable of joining the others in their Lust for Life. Their task during this trial is to conjure up a harmless trick on any one of their choosing, and to carry out the prank without getting caught. Additionally, they are to ask an Arvellon who has earned their markings to accompany them and to deem it worthy. ⤞ The Trial of the Artisan: The creativity of the prospective Arvellon will be challenged during The Artisan’s Trial, as they are tasked to create in the name of their patron Mani. They will be shown examples of crafts they could make, crafted by the current members of the seed, to aid them in brainstorming. Their task at hand is to create either one piece in honor of both the Wildcat and the Raven, or alternatively create something to solely honor Kwakwani, as the Raven is known to be the one of fine arts. The crafted piece will then be placed in the Arvellon hall to be displayed with the others. ⤞ The Trial of the Observer: The observant eye and mind of the prospective Arvellon will be challenged during this trial shaped around their patron Felixii. The Autumnal Watchers are known to be protectors of secrets, just as the Wildcat themself. They listen, and observe, and gather what secrets they can to be offered to Felixii for protection. There are many ways the prospect could go about completing this trial, which will be explained by the Chieftain. The intent is to gather at least three secrets from whoever they can and record them on a piece of parchment - without a name being etched with it to protect the secret teller. That piece of parchment will either be placed in the hidden library in the hall, dedicated to and blessed by the Observant Wildcat, where it will go unread and eternally protected. Alternatively, the piece of parchment will be offered to a shrine of Felixii and tossed into the flames, where it becomes nothing but a whisper in the wind guarded by the Wildcat. ⤞ The Harvest Moon Hunt is the final, unofficial trial for the budding Arvellon. Every year during the Harvest Moon, when the night is bathed strongly in amber hued light, the prospective member will be asked to dress in the colors of the Autumnal seed and tasked with leading the rest of their kin on a ceremonial hunt beneath the height of a harvest moon. Prior to the hunt, their face will be marked by the Chieftain to resemble the rest of their clan while treading through the realm to find their prey. [An adult, large sized karin drawn by Ben] ⤞ The Rite of the Karin is not recognized as a trial, but instead as a warm welcome into the clan. When an Arvellon comes of a certain age, or is adopted into the seed, they are allowed the gift of a feline companion. A twin-tailed, crystal antlered colorful Karin, that they will raise from a kitten to a full-grown adult. This companion will be their forever friend and will offer comfort and playfulness where they know it is needed. ─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─
Royal Peasant posted a topic in Trials and TasksFather Circle Trial Beginning The trial, much like the last one, began with all possessions being left behind. Though this time I wasn’t blind, and it wasn’t just a trial of survival. But a trial of a hunt against another entity that was stronger than myself. Something to truly test me. Deciding to take a bit of a trip with the previous trials in mind he stepped into the woods and just…walked. Walked until he felt there was something I had found that needed to be hunted, or something that challenged me themselves. Stepping over the bridge and walking back into the deep woods and walking. Ruins that were being reclaimed by nature took hold of sight on the horizon, the sound of thriving nature, of bird song and critters echoed out from all around. The soft touch of grass and soil brushed against bare toes as the sound of nature slowly dimmed, growing quieter due to the unfamiliar predator that was stalking the woods. The grounds soon gave way to a thicker, heavier mud and a gathering of berry bushes. Along with a half buried branch that seems to have fallen and pierced into the ground. I gathered up the branch from the ground and gave it a few testing swings to see if it was balanced at first. And then some jagged stones and a larger, rounder stone as I moved to take a seat and slowly began to grind them, and sharpen them in the hidden shade of a tree. Grinding stone. It echoed out and danced through the air as the feeling of curiosity flowed from the tree line. Soon revealing a squirrel that skittered closer. Observing. A smile traded before a rustle in the leaves has it fleeing into the bushes. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. With the smooth stone, the pointed edges of the sharpened stone pierced into the branch. A crude, stone axe was born. A flash of orange appeared after the axe had been made and the squirrel had fled. But I took a moment to gather up some of the berries. Crushing them with the mood to make it even more sticky while grabbing some fallen leaves. Filling a ‘nest’ of leaves with the sticky residue and thorns before curling it up and sealing it. Effectively making two projectiles before I moved to investigate what the bloom of orange was. Caution bled through the music. In the voice. A fox. Blood soaking its jaws and looking up to the predator that looked upon it. No interest was shown to the beast, but it noticed him. It dragged the carcass. The rabbit. Before abandoning it and fleeing out of sight and view. Leaving its bleeding remains. The rabbit had some potential to be used as bait so I took it and hooked it on my belt. Though in the end I never got a chance to use it as nothing more than a meal as it wasn’t long after this that I discovered something that was…luring me, attempting to have me drop my guard by flashing its horned antlers. A flash of black slinking out of sight drawing attention and drawing me further and further away from the path I was on. Its form slowly revealed itself with a soothing, calming song. A black, sleek and large stallion of a horse. With a beautiful mane flowing and hanging down its form. Walking towards a small lake before looking back with obsidian eyes. The song beckoned…guiding towards the edge of a hill. Beckoning. Then…the horse stepped upon the waters. And realisation shot through like a wave of ice chilling the spine. Realising just what this creature was, and what it was attempting to lure me into doing, tension had risen. One of the balls was grasped in my hand that I had created. Not planning to become the prey like I had seen another be to one of these creatures before. And then, it was launched. The sticky mud and thorns impacted against its head and blinded one of its eyes as the thorns sank in and caused it to bleed. Right as the battle truly began. Something new. Shocking. Came from the creature as a blade of water rose up and whipped through the air. Pain spiked while a body tumbled down the hill closer to the waters that it had made its den. More waves, heavy, bruising, battering waters descended. The old tactic. Duck, roll. Evade. Rinse and repeat. A second orb hurled. Blocked. Defended. Inching closer. Caught! And hammered, locked against a hill being battered again and again by the heavy waters. Being battered, attacked, bruised and beaten, a free hand of mine grasped one of the sugar canes and broke it, leaving a jagged tip at the bottom while ducking behind the canes for some cover. The fae horse was enraged, sending water everywhere after losing sight of me as I climbed up the hill. Making sure I stayed low and patiently waiting for the prime time to send the makeshift javelin of sugar fly through the air. Successfully piercing it into the neck of the beast. But it barely seemed phased at the moment. And the battle raged on. Stone axe in hand and round stone in the other. Weapons diminishing. Intatitive couldn’t be lost. Rushing feet hammered over the shoreline and the axe swung. It rose up, evading, defending. Standing upon the surface of the water itself as the axe sank deep into its front leg. And with a surge of water the predator that was fighting the other predator was pulled into the waters and began to be dragged down. Only a firm grip on the axe, and the searing heat of retained breath kept darkness from claiming the man under its hooves. I was unable to get the arm strength to get the axe out of the limb while the waters raged, battered, and attempted to drag me into the depths as hooves moved to hammer down upon me. Especially as it was the only anchor I had to the surface. Reducing me to using my stone to try and hammer the javelin deeper into its neck. Almost losing my hand to those sharp canines of razor fangs before the pain had the beast whip its head back as the javelin was knocked deeper within. But…a price was paid for the exchange. Crunk. The hand that was working to anchor him was caught, and crumbled under the heavy impact of the hoof. Pain of both beasts echoed through the air. An intake of water, seizing and choking the lungs. Falling back to primal instinct another ape swing of a stone was bashed down. Rooting the cane that was soaked in black ichor that was starting to taint the water. And piercing it through. Pain, rage, gleams of predators' emotions shined in both of their eyes. And waters surged. Propelling its form directly at me using its powers to enhance the roll its entire being crashed, and crushed my chest as I was flung from the water to the shoreline. By the crack and shortness of breath I was sure some of my ribs had been crushed in that act. No doubt getting even worse as the fae horse came crashing down upon my own, crushing me under its weight as I was pinned against its frame. For several moments the legs kicked, and the jaw moved with the creatures intent to keep fighting. Even as the black ichor poured from its neck, soaking my form underneath it…and then. We locked eyes. Pain echoed through the song. Horrid, deep pain. Obsidian eyes met Aqua, emotionless, but glistening as if they were ready to shed tears. A song of respect, and an echo of the land of fae, of eternal flowed back as words in prayer began to be spoken as a soothing hand moved to brush through the thick, matted hair of the beast. Attempting to sooth in the final moments…The eyes closely closed before his own. And down came the stone, a firm, final strike. Giving it the sweet release of pain and the gentle melody of silence once more. I gave my prayers. And with a tortuous moment I lingered under the crushing weight before wiggling free like a worm. The next part was tricky, with only my non-dominant hand working, no tools, no containers. I had to skin, feast, and gather the remains of the kill. Thankfully I had the rabbit and bones. Along with the sharp stones that came from the makeshift axe when it was broken to do the cutting. Blood was gathered. The hide, recovered as best as it could be. Flesh gathered for the long journey home. What couldn't be reclaimed returned to nature. And with that…the hunt was complete. Covered head to two in black, and purple bruises. Three ribs broken, but thankfully not puncturing my lungs. A hand crumpled beyond use. Exhausted from the hunt, and head ringing from being battered around like a toy by the waters for so long. But a successful hunt, it was. And those antlers turned out to be nothing more than branches tangled to the mane.
Ode of the Blind
Royal Peasant posted a topic in Trials and TasksFather Circle Trial Summer guided the sightless Through the biting chill of night Only darkness greeted the directed Sound, scent, soul. All that was felt in the newfound world A world untouched. Untamed senses outstretched. Hindering, humbling, and heavy. Suns Sightless Summer. It was a strange experience, to be blind; to have the eternal night brushing one’s senses. Where not even the outline of structure in the night can guide one's hand or steps forward, reliant on the hands and guidance of a mentor to mount a steed for the ahead while the only senses that he found was sound, rippling through the dark like a droplet on a river. Trot, Trot, Trot. Ruffle of fabric. Dance of leaves and a tickle of cold on the skin. “Are we in the north?” His voice felt consuming. “No. We are not.” Her voice felt distant. They arrived, and with an unsure step he carefully brought his feet down upon the unseen ground. Grass was felt, banishing the idea that they were in the north. As his mentor's voice danced in the air and he turned, trying to keep focus on the sound as insects buzzed loudly within his ears. Final words were given, the earth feeling coarse, and dry. He didn’t know this land. The ruffle of feathers echoed in his ears and the sound of the retreating trots of a horse grew distant. He was alone. Dry earth. Ticklish grass. Caution driving the man on all fours like a beast. Pushing forward, he crawled. Like an ape. Drawn deeper. It was getting…warmer? But wasn’t it already the day? It began to burn on pale skin. Scorching. Hot. Darkness revealed naught. The heat of the night had hidden the truth from his senses, making him believe that night was day, and day was night. Something that he became painfully aware of as the travel he made bared the heat on his skin as night began to turn to day. Not able to find shelter the heat bared down, suffocating his senses. Drawn by the sound of insects he found bark, wood. A tree. Grasping blindly. Insects grasped and crunched between jaws. Nourishment. Nectar. Refreshing in the burning drought. The sun scorched blindly on flesh. Fingers dug between roots. Digging out a hole. A burrow. Hiding from the heat. For several days hiding within that burrow when the air began to grow hot, and scavenging insects from the tree, clamouring up the branches and swinging upon them while being lured in by the sounds of fluttering wings, buzzing, and the feeling of carapace against skin. Yet it couldn’t last. The insects began to learn. Growing distant. Retreating from the tree he had made a burrow under. He needed to keep moving. Food is scarce. Hunger gripped and thirst clung. Braving the heat again. Only to slip. What was thought to be even ground revealed a slope. Gravity claimed away and tumbled the vessel down. Impacting against earth, ground, and then scorching sands. He stumbled down the side of what could have only been a cliff, a hill, perhaps even the side of a mountain. He could not know in the darkness. Earth and stone scratched and bruised flesh as he fell down, slipping further and further down the slope while protecting his head until the soft, but scorching heat of sand greeted him. And the sound of splashing waves - the shoreside? The heat bore down and the need for shelter had him pushing to the waterside, dipping in the salt and cooling off from the scorching rays. Salt surrounded the sense of smell. Waves echoed in the ears, drawing out all. Warm waters cooled and protected from the scorching heat. A moment of reprieve followed by the sting of a claw. Crabs are cruel demons, he decided then, when one latched upon his toe and soon became his dinner. Cracked under fist and bone then eaten raw. It was delightful compared to the crunch of insects he had been reduced to eating for the last few days. The shell of the crab had been kept and tucked into his pants for use later as thirst tugged on his dry lips and tongue. The juices of his prey could only sustain him so far. But what was that…smell? Flowery aroma. He knew that smell. Or something similar. Drawn to it, the touch of an oily petal touched his fingers. Then the texture of a fruit. Plucked. Feasted. Thirst quenched. The world swam. Diddyfunkle. While the fruit were refreshing, and likely saved him the aftereffects, it cost the time he needed to train his senses to stretch even further. He began to hear sounds where there wasn’t any, the scorching sun felt strange and tingly on his skin. Everything was different, soothing. He was hallucinating. No colours to see, only the world began to swim and dance all around. Passing out and awakening, unsure of where he was. Only feeling the scorching itch, and burn of blistered flesh from the sun he had laid within under the effect of the diddyfunkle. Pain spiked with every movement. Shaking the limbs. Aching the flesh. But he needed to.To move. Lost, lonely, light headed. Wings followed. He was starting to notice that the sound of wings seemed to circle him ever since he arrived here. The weight that birds were likely waiting for him to perish so that they could scavenge his corpse filled his mind in that moment. Doubt almost consumed his mind before he focused, calmed himself with a moment of meditation in a form that screamed with scorched flesh. And then the buzzing sound of insects returned. And he found an edge to a mountain side. Though If it was the same or another he had no clue. Fingers dug, scraped, and grasped at soil and stone. Tugging, biting painfully at an already abused form. Pushing through limits. Away from sands. Stone. Fingers finding grass, earth. Shade of a tree sheltering flesh. It was a different tree he had found this time, and he could only assume that he had found a different mountain. Or a hill that he had scaled on all fours. The leaf span of this tree was able to cover him, reducing the need for him to dig under the roots, so he instead pulled himself into a nook within the trees and began to rest. Taking a solid day of rest just to recover before his senses stretched out. Insects surrounded him from all around, but also…birds, and what sounded like a trickle of water? Water on a mountain. A lake? An oasis? Movement fled him as he moved to the edge. Finding nectar of sweet, cool waters. Flowing waters through a current. For the first time in what felt like weeks, he had fully tamed his thirst and had coverage from the sun of the scorching day. The scent of flowers, of flora, filled his breath and the crisp cool water. Life was around him. And if there was a lake? That meant one thing. Fish. He pushed into the water and attempted to catch fish as he felt the ripples of their movements against his skin. It took time. Practice. Eating the flora like a herbivore and drinking from the water until finally his fingers clenched around the scaled body of a fish. It was delicious. All was consumed. Head, eye, flesh, guts. It all went down. Nourishment. Sharp fangs tearing into flesh. A fish a day kept the hunger away. Time passed like this uncounted, the shift from scorching heat to warm summer being his only clue of the passing time. Soon followed by him getting used to the shifting sound of nature around him. The insects were quiet during what he felt was the ‘day’, yet the fish were louder, splashing and feeding. At night the song of the insects grew more vibrant, making it easier for them to be hunted. And so he existed for a while, catching fish, hunting insects, occasionally eating a flower when a day of hunting was sparse. Until one day he made a strange discovery on the lake…a boat. Tied up and bound at the bottom of it with a stone. Perplexed. Confused. Bamboozled. A boat in the middle of nowhere? It made no sense. Was there descendant life nearby? Here!? Confusion leads to curiosity. To blind exploration. Fingers searching the surroundings and seeing what they could find. No words were given, for he did not desire to meet anyone. Just understand more of where he was. And understand he soon did. Finding what felt like marks in the earth…of a battle. Old. Ancient. Abandoned camp with a blanket so worn with holes and full of insects that it must have been left here for a very long time. Further exploration found a hot spring that he took a moment to bath within. And felt the presence of other animals joining him in the waters. Soothing the aches and pains that lingered. And finally…what felt like an altar, damaged, destroyed. And a pedestal where a tome should have rested, stripped clean. A cult of some faith lived here. Had lived here. But something dealt with them. In fighting? Rivals? But they were gone. Long gone. Ruins reclaimed by nature. It was a strange relief knowing he was the only ‘descendant’ within the land. Tension he didn’t know had built up eased, and the continued path of survival reclaimed his form. Dead flesh from the scorching heat peeled off and washed away in the flowing hot spring, giving way to flesh that seemed to be able to handle the heat better. Able to bear and adapt to the flame of the land's fury. Time passed, his habit of checking the moon turning to counting the shift of temperature to mark the time that continued on. Until the day the rain came. The rain was heavy. Hammering the land and loosening the soil. The lake grew wild, the currents stronger. It gripped upon him and washed him away through the current. Direction less, breathe lost. Water filled his lungs. Impacting an unknown shore and hacking the current out. He hadn’t been prepared for that. The rhythmic repetition that he was slowly growing used to with his sense of touch, hearing and scent, washed away by the storm of rain and water. He didn’t know how long the waters had pulled him, how far away he was from where he originally was. But he felt he went down, flowing away from the mountain. And once again he was battered and bruised from the descent of the mountain. The rain made it difficult to tell left, to right, or hint in which direction to go as everything echoed its song. He could only rely on his touch. Digging into the ground and pulling forward to find shelter. Sand and earthy grass mixed under touch. The prickle of a cactus stung. Biting skin and clinging. Repulsed and a new direction found. Clear water found upon fingertips, a rocky growth giving shelter. A new nest was found. Rest and slumber came swift. The rain lasted slightly longer than expected, and the thorns from a plant that grew on the rocky walls burned as it cut and dug into flesh. Several pointy plants had wounded his hands now that they were starting to twitch from them. Or perhaps it had been the venom of the plants themselves that were making his hands tremble and twitch. It took a day for the sensation of touch to return to them where he nibbled on the moss that had grown near the water and drank of its source. The shell of the crab finally proved its worth as he scraped the moss from the stone to eat it. Recovered, thankfully no breaks from the slip down the water slide. Then..a cluck. A cluck of a chicken echoed out. Body froze. Stomach rumbled. The blind stalked the sound…waited. Pounced. Neck snapped in jaws. Crimson soaked skin. He went feral for a moment. Or was he just returning to how he was in his youth? He stalked the chicken; or at least he assumed it was a chicken, by its sounds. Lowered his form to be less noticeable, waiting for it to draw close before he launched at it. Sharpened canines biting down a thin neck before he jerked, felt a snap. And the body grew still within his jaws. He ate well that day. The feathers felt pleasant on his skin. He didn’t know where he had ended up but he could feel that the grass here was…softer, cooler. More vibrant in its life. And he couldn’t feel any sand around as the echo of crashing waves filled his senses from the left of him. Waves echoed in his ears. Cool grass under toes and knuckles. Insects were scarce, he couldn’t hear them anymore. But animal sounds tugged his senses. No trees to be found, only brush, green, and animals. An open plain by the sea. He had gotten utterly lost in the darkness and the rain. The origin he had been left at felt so distant, yet it could have been at his back for all he knew. Or even just ahead of him. But with a lack of insects around he began to regress to a..primal, natural state. Hiding in the bush and pouncing upon shifting and moving prey. Finding rabbits caught within jaws, chickens snapped and plucked. Bones and feathers began to decorate his hair and tattered fabrics around his waist as crimson clung and stained his skin until he washed it on the coast side. Berries found by following the trials animals had left with his fingers allowed him to quench his thirst. His mind regressed. Settling on basic needs. Food. Thirst. Shelter. The food cried and fell still under my jaws. Fruits and berries fed nourishment. The sun still burned. But shelter in trees eased the heat. Strangely the wings of the stalking bird still echoed above… The predator he had become was tempted to climb and hunt the bird that he caught circling above him so many times now, the flap of the wings, the ruffle of feathers. Even the cry of a hawk's call. Which increased when he caught the sound of swooping wings as a rabbit, or mouse he had been hunting became the prey of this bird instead of himself. It almost became a competition. Who could catch the prey first, the land bound beast, or the avain in the skies? It soothed a loneliness he didn’t realise he was feeling to humour the idea that it was the same bird each time, despite how unlikely that was. A grunt, a squeal. Something was rushing towards him. He dove out of the way. The feel of something sharp. Cut his flank. A heavy trotted foot. A huff of breath. A boar. He listened for the charge. Waiting. Ducking. Rolling. Evading. Landing kicks to its flank. A leg snapped. The boar tumbled. He pounced. Boar tusks added to the decorations of blood soaked feathers, rabbit toes and scrapes of pelt he hadn’t eaten upon his garb. It was too much to eat alone, eating his full and then trusting on nature to take their own filling. Listening, and agreeing with his senses as he felt wings descend upon the boar, and the brush rustle as other creatures grew near. The carcass was going to be plucked clean. But the wound on his side wasn’t going to deal with itself. The bite of salt water splashed and washed the wound. Leaves were cleansed and laid over the cut, and the vines of a king were bound tight around to apply pressure. The wound burned. Stung. And itched all at the same time. The leaves were packed tight. Nature’s bindings. And he laid still. Feeling the flow of crimson still. But he felt light headed. Tired. Sleep came soon. He, luckily, didn’t bleed out. The binding was tight enough to stall the blood flow. Even luckier that it didn’t get infected without clear, boiled water to cleanse the wound. But as he was healing. he went over his senses through the darkness. He was used to the sense of sound now, enough to catch the movement of beasts to avoid attacks, the sound of movement in the wind. The sense of smell gave him an idea of what was nearby, of what he was stalking, from the scent of pelts, to the markings left in surroundings, and even the aroma of flora. His skin had hardened under the trial and rough treatment. Yet he had honed his sense of touch, to the point where he could trust himself to move through branches within the trees without risking falling. He had returned…to nature. Sightless, Soundless, Boundless. He grew in the flames. Hardened against stones. Held by the grasp of rootes. Scent, Sound, Sensations. Honed, practised and grown. The lack of vision. Of colour. Have a way to a new world. A beauty in the ripple. The pulse of shadow. A canvas of the night. An Ode to the Blind.
Tale of the Thresher Maw
Royal Peasant posted a topic in Anecdotes of the PeopleTale of the Thresher Maw It was sighted shored upon the deep, burning sands of the south, when throats had thirsted for the sweet taste of firewater upon their lips. The ship had been enticing: battered and worn with age, but standing strong and hearty. Cautiously did the travellers approach, their investigations spurred on by respite and desire. They found no life aboard, yet signs of its activity filled the ship: skulls adorned every corner, every corridor, heads in various states of damage and decay decorating the captain's quarters. Should the owners themselves return... these travellers were not willing to risk an ambush, and so they left, taking nothing to not give away their presence. One man, however, looked upon this vessel with a different eye, taking a certain bottle by his own hand; the seeds of ambition had taken root. Time passed. The man who had finally acquired his sweet waters began to plan, and for many months did this plan simmer, as the ship never seemed to leave or raise anchor. Further scouting was performed, trusted allies spoken to, and those that would join the heist recruited. Having gathered a band of men, women, and a daft child that followed after them despite the dangers and warnings, they made for the ship to claim it for themselves. Alas, despite all of their scouting, they had missed an important truth; one soon found out as the first of his men began to creep upon it... They were pirates, pirates of undeath! Alarms were rung and cannons were armed with coconuts to fire down upon the advancing band! A monkey of a man with a patchwork of dead fur swung from the rafters and sent a hail of ammunition descending towards them. But as swift as the rain fell, the men continued to advance, fiery passion and cries of battle roaring as armour clanged and clamoured, the twang of bows echoing in the air as they dove into the water and climbed onto the vessel! The fight was fierce, the deck collapsing from each heavy blow, sending several men plummeting into the depths of the ship with the undead pirates. Their captain revealed himself, throwing the man that had organised the operation through a window in the process... an abomination of a shark with black ichor pouring from its sickly maw! The trusted ally, Taal, almost fell to the brutal assault of the captain, but quick-thinking Tally-bones saved the life of this dearest and cherished friend of many. The head of the beast was severed, the undead brought low. Only the monkey escaped, but their hat was stolen by an Uruk named after a fish of the abyssal deep. And so the Thresher Maw was claimed, and the highlander who began this operation, this theft of ships, became a captain with a straw hat resting comfortably upon his crown. —--------------- Repairs were made, the sails turned to red and green, mirroring a festive theme. With it restored to its full lustre and form, cannons shined and cannon balls forged, the ship was ready for an expedition! And so began the first of many voyages out into the deep unknown. There were voyages without danger, that brought warmth to the hearts of those that looked out across the ocean. Whales that rose up to greet the travellers as they explored the seas, an awe-inspiring sight to the crew that might have rested upon the deck in those hours. Dolphins that ran alongside the ships, diving amongst schools and colours of sea life dancing through the crystal clear waters. Bardic spirits were well-sated by these feasts of inspiration. But the sea wasn’t always so kind. It was a day of foreshadowing; rot and butchered beasts floated within the waves, spreading a foul scent over the winds that basked the hull of the ship and wreaked sickness among the crew. The captain guided the ship closer to investigate the unnatural waters, to find the source. Yet - it was a trap, a trap by a cunning creature that had left prey wasting away to lure in something larger. Meatier. It slammed into the side of the ship and sent it rocking, almost flinging many of the crew into the waters themselves as the call to arms was bellowed! The iridescent-scaled serpent of the sea slowly revealed itself as it reared its horrific head from the waters. Blind, but a maw filled with razor sharp teeth that hungered for all that it could sense as its thrashings hammered against the deck. And so the battle began. It was a grievous assault. Men were almost devoured, pierced through by its fangs that seemed to cut the very air, only to be saved by the rest of the crew. Cannon fire cracked scales and bloodied the beast. Arrows could only spark against them, a natural armour as hard as platemail, yet found flesh in the cracks that the cannons caused. Flames caught within the maw of the beast as a man shrouded in a blindfold sacrificed themselves, igniting a potion as the creature bit down upon them. The crew, and the ship, just managed to survive. The beast fell dead, laid to rest over the deck of the ship itself. Bone, flesh, scales and fangs were claimed as trophies, brought back to be cooked - a feast for their people after a successful hunt. —--------------- Pirates, undead, and monsters from the sea itself joined together in unison to attack and scorch the land, alongside the ships and their people who dared to venture out into the waters. Their homes burned, their ships sank. Ruin and death ravaged the domain, the ruthless and insane pirates of death finding no solace even as their numbers dwindled, abyssal abominations falling one by one as everything turned to ash. Yet surprisingly, when everything was said and done - when all the ships had plunged into the depths to finally sleep - the Thresher Maw was the only one that still stood. Waiting proudly within the waters for future ventures. —--------------- The actions of the pirates were not something to be taken lightly. They rebuilt, recovered, the lands restored and information gathered to find just where this enemy was residing. Allyship was born with men of faith and bearded folks, and so they came to retaliate as one. The Thresher Maw, unfortunately, was not brought back to avenge its fallen this time. Instead, the crew boarded a new vessel, a gift from these men of faith, with which they led their armada bow-first into violent fray. The pirates' ships burned, their people cut down, and even their sea beast, a monstrosity with tendrils upon tendrils to bear against such righteous onslaught, found itself unable to halt the tides. Yet, this battle bore its own costs. The ship of the faithful sank, lost to cannonfire like many of the pirates' own. From this wilderness of wooden corpses, the crew managed to salvage a single rowboat, joining the Thresher Maw as it rested in its home waters, ready for the next expedition. Which wasn’t long away… —--------------- As the location of the base, the island which the pirates called their own, was discovered. The guardians of the glade stepped upon the ship, an operation of stealth, surveyance and sabotage to be held as they set sail. As they neared, a fog crept in, and with it, a siren's call; Perhaps only a few, perhaps a great chorus, a sultry but morbid melody that also heralded the arrival of monstrous fishmen. One of the crew was captivated, and lured to their death. They gleaned what information they could bit by bit as they avoided the unnatural glow of a lighthouse. Eventually, the light died out, as if it had stopped its search. The eagerness of the crew did not heed caution and rushed to the lighthouse to investigate. A crystal of blood was found upon the top of the tower - but suddenly, an unnatural presence slammed and locked the door behind them. A great explosion burst the top of the tower and alerted the rest of the island to their existence. Retreat was the only option. Arrows flew through the air and cut through the sails as the crew fled a veritable army of pirates, rabid faces ignited in fury and desire to lay claim to their lives. But they escaped! Information in hand. Successful through the flames. —--------------- The final voyage of the once-pirate ship Thresher Maw came in the last expedition out to attack the pirate island. Unfortunately it was not with a familiar crew; only the strawhat captain guided the ship out with Uruk allies singing shanties and arming themselves for combat. The Uruks did not even wait for the ship to reach the shores before they dove off and swam fervently to begin their raid. Rejoining his allies, the captain of straw found himself in battle on land, when a vessel twice the Thresher Maw's own size pulled itself out of the fog and fired upon the ship. There was no way to defend, to fight back. Cannons fell, wood splintered, water rushed in through the gaps. Once a pirate ship, sunk by its own blood. The end of the Thresher Maw was an ironic fate. Captain no more, the man who favoured his hat of straw, teeth, and scale searches once more for a vessel to call his own.
[Nevaehlen] Villager Task Board
SoulReapingWolf posted a topic in Task BoardsVillager Task Board [!] Pinned to the Village Board the villagers of Nevaehlen would find different tasks & chores. A small message would be etched on the board by Thordir. “Villagers of Nevaehlen, every member of our community has a role to play in making sure our village remains strong and ready for anything. The tasks bellow will allow you to contribute to our cause. - Thordir” First Task: “A singular of wild boars has settled to the west of the Vale, having no natural predators they’ve began breaking the balance in nature around us. Hunt a couple of them, enough to bring back balance. Make sure nothing goes to waste, WE ARE NOT VALAH! - Yae’vel ” Craft five (5) Boar Tusk Spears and deliver them to the forge in the father circle. The task is due in 18 elven days. ((20th of October)) Second Task: “Our leather supplies are running low, it seems like this stupid sky water has made it so we waste more than expected. Go out there and hunt responsibly. Bring back the leather, AND DON’T GET KILLED! - Nenar ” Hunt and skin different animals around the Vale, bring back their pelts to the forge in the father circle grove. ((Bring as much leather as you can!)) The task is due in 18 elven days. ((20th of October)) Third Task: "sEvErAL E Ll VEN MONTHs aGo i taUg HT a FErwe O F YOu HOW to woR k ILkUR'AmOLnn, tHE SAcred WOD USed BY Our acaNeSTnors” [!] The former would be crossed out. A similar, though more coherent message below. “Several elven months ago I taught a few of you how to work Ikurn’Amonn, the sacred wood used by our Ancestors to defend themselves and settle down. The Vale is in need of quality weapons for its Rangers, prove you can work the wood. REMEMBER YOU NEED TO SING TO IT! - written by Medli, spoken by Miven” Craft five (5) Ironwood spears worthy of a Ranger of the Vale. Bring back the spears to the forge in the father circle grove. The task is due in 18 elven days. ((20th of October)) Fourth Task: “The Vale is growing, and with that so is the need for new journals so newcomers can do their trials. I trust there are capable people among you able to procure said journals for me. - Laedrad ” Procure 7 research Journals and bring them to the library. The task is due in 18 elven days. ((20th of October))
The Caerme'onn Seed
WestCarolina posted a topic in The Seeds of NevaehlenSigil by Twilight “The ink upon my skin, the fire within my spirit, the deeds of my faith, these are which bind me to my ancestors.” Caerme’onn is one of the oldest known seeds of the mali’ame, dating back to the early days of the Princedom of Laureh’lin and is built upon the beliefs and qualities of hunters, protectors, and leaders. Caerme’onn is devoted to defend and uphold the mali’ame culture. Compared to any other seed, the Caerme’onn are vastly skilled and knowledgeable people of the forest with strong connections to nature. Many of the members of Caerme’onn have taken up roles of leadership and/or have been notable within the mali’ame culture weather that be under the titles of Archdruii, Princes, Chieftains or community role models. Throughout the years, the Caerme’onns have developed advanced techniques of tracking and hunting, making them excel both at hunting large game, or tracking smaller game. Along with these advancements they have also been known to hone their survival skills, as it may be required to spend days in the wild while upon a hunt. The seed originated in the ancient era of the nomadic seeds, out of a marriage between a seed whose name is lost to time, and a clan of elves from far away. In their union, they took the name “Caerme’onn”, meaning ‘born of destiny’. The Caerme’onn were one of many seeds who fought alongside the Green Dragon Taynei in her war against Garthon, the draoii usurper. Unfortunately, the name faded into obscurity as with many others following that ancient war and the death of traditional mali’ame culture that followed. But, come the 16th century of the Common Era, one Artimec “Camoryn'' traced his lineage back to his ancient tribal roots, and brought his tribe and its customs into the modern era, paving the way for a pan-wood elven cultural revival, with clan Caerme’onn being at the forefront of this. Loyalty Piety Dauntless Strength Determination Ambition Leadership Along with the path of becoming an Aspectist, a Caerme’onn delves into the teachings of the wild animal spirits, the Mani. Of the many worshipped and prayed to, the two established Mani of worship in the seed are the Patron Amaethon and Matron Bolomormaa. Amaethon, The Stag Prince and Sovereign of all Cervidae, is the God of Regality. In times of leading, we pray to Amaethon, the ruler of the herd, who displays dignity and Leadership qualities. The Stag is full of benevolence when bearing protection over his herd and aiding in survival. Additionally, Amaethon resembles that of justice and fatherhood, those who do wrong must meet their punishment and his young follow his lead so that they too can lead their own herds one day. We follow Amaethon for not only his guidance in leadership but also compassion. As a family, we must chief our young to follow our beliefs and values, so that one day they too can lead our kin. Bolomormaa, The Wild Princess of Bears and Bear Mother, is the Goddess of Protection and Guardianship. She does not seek out conflict and she is not aggressive, rather, Bolomormaa is sincere and gentle. If one is to threaten her kin, however, the bear will fight with ferocity. Bolomormaa plays an important role in motherhood, where we may pray to her for her strength and vigour. With leadership comes the duty to protect and guard -- a symbiotic blend between the two Mani. As a seed, we follow Bolomormaa for her guidance in protecting our kin and fellow mali’ame. It is expected of the Caerme’onn people that we are pragmatic, and have a sense of composure when leading our lives. Art by Jaromir Hrivnac The initiate is rigorously taught of the Aspects, what they stand for, and the various ways to worship them. This is done through the various members of the seed, it being encouraged to expand out and learn such from different clans and people collectively. Once the initiate has learned of the Aspects and what they represent, they must give an item of significant value as an offering, while swearing an oath to never hold any deities or powers above them. The initiate is to be instructed and shown the various things that Mali’ame have been raised from, and around. The trial is up to the subject’s interpretation, having to make something that represents an aspect of the culture. Many examples of this would be befriending an animal companion, making a shelter, carving an object from wood, or even making a weapon. This will then be presented to a Chieftain to see if it is worthy. The initiate is to seek out another member of the community and take them on as an apprentice. One key aspect in leading is to have patience. The trial does not have to be explicitly stated as to what the initiate is expected to teach. The Chieftess will deem the trial completed with observations of the relationship between initiate and apprentice, as well as sufficient evidence provided that the individual taken on has successfully learned a lesson. The initiate is to go out on their own, or preferably with fellow Caerme’onn on a hunt for an animal. This is to show capability on how to hunt, track, and most importantly survive by one’s self. The trial will be completed once they have successfully slain an animal, and have utilized the entire body, ensuring nothing goes to waste. The initiate is to show a sign of leadership in their person through a variety of ways. This can be shown by something small, such as leading a small hunt or foraging expedition, or something large, such as a battle against a threat to the Mali’ame. To ensure completion, either a Chieftain or someone chosen by them will accompany the initiate on their hunt to observe their prowess. The initiate is to defeat another member of Caerme’onn, preferably an Elder or Chieftain in one on one combat as their final trial. The requirements for the fight to be fair is that the two must be unarmed to ensure neither have specific advantages. The way that the initiate will pass is by either proving their expertise in battle by knocking their opponent to the ground for an extended period of time, or showing that they are a competent enough fighter to hold their own in a fight. ** All trials are subjective and may change throughout the role-play depending on the initiate. These changes may only be dealt by the Chieftan or Chieftess. Art of Kaelwyn, Miven, Awaiti, Taeral, Lavinia, & Elle'nora by Nikkadonna After one has gone through their trials to join the Caerme’onn, the first rite that one will most likely take part in is the crafting of their personal weapon. This weapon of their choice will solely be theirs, not to be wielded by another. Suggestions can be made as to what they should make, but it is ultimately up to the user as to what they wish to be created, it being required that their weapon be made from Ironwood, decorated at their will. The user will carve their weapon, and then assist in tempering it alongside a member who knows how to do such without fail. Once forged, the Chieftess of the seed will bless the weapon in the blood of a fresh kill. It is highly encouraged that they take this into any fights or hunts they take part in, if not, it being deemed meaningless by the rest of the family. Once every four years a feast will be lead by the Chieftains and members of the Caerme’onn. The day prior to the feast, a large expedition will be held in which the members of the Clan head out to gather food; be it foraging, or by hunting and sacrificing an animal. Such will be brought back to the manor, where as a family they will prepare the food and arrange decor for the following day. The purpose of the feast is to connect with members of the seed, and tell the story of Faeinn. As one successfully completes all six of the initiation trials, they are to be blessed with the rite of marking. The individual decides where they wish to wear their seed tattoos, be it under their eyes, on the chest or along their arms. The member is inked with sanguine dyes before the entire seed. This process is what welcomes them to the seed, and an official means of taking on the name Caerme’onn. Art of Abelas Caerme’onn (Lockages) by DreeaDraws Art of Artanis Caerme'onn (Taufirewarrior) by Val Art of Miven by Nikkadonna Current standing Chieftess: Miven Caerme’onn ( @WestCarolina ) Returning Chieftan: Abelas Caerme’onn ( @Lockages ) [[Any interested in the seed or wishing to join, feel free to interact IRP or PM me on discord! Carol#7747]] Special thanks to @Lockagesfor all the help!