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

`*•° Ohowaki’s Journey °•*` ✯¸.•´*¨`*•°✾°•*`¨*`•.¸✯ If Fal’leon could choose anywhere to wake up after a wild drug trip, a giant birds nest lofted hundreds of feet in the air, with the smoldering desert sun beaming down, would be last on his list. And yet, that’s exactly where he finds himself. The sound of hoofbeats drumming in the distance is what properly stirs him to wakefulness, groggy and unfocused. His eyes slowly open, heavy from the concoction his Priest had given him prior to the journey. Despite them opening, light barely makes its way to his pupils, filtered heavily by a fabric… A blindfold, it seems. His lips part and a groan escapes him, remarkably displeased with the circumstances he finds himself in. In doing so, the taste of warm straw fills his mouth. Ho w peculiar. Heavy arms reach behind his head, and he fumbles with the knot that ties it tightly. Eventually, he unloops the ends and slides the blindfold off of him, immediately squinting as the unburdened rays of the harsh desert sun fill his senses. Able to see now, his head swivels, met with the desolate landscape of sand and dunes, broken up only by the occasional cactus or spiering plataus. The smell he’d been overwhelmed with, in looking downwards now, appears to be the next of a giant bird. The bones of various victims surround him, and a couple of large eggs sit neatly within some smaller straw nests. Bones… Giant eggs… Startled with the realization of- which took him longer than normal thanks to still coming off that high- this being the nest of a giant carnivorous bird, Fal’leon begins to hastily clamor towards the plateau's ridged side and out… It’s only as he’s nearly thrown himself out, he remembers… He’s a druid. Animals don’t attack druids. Flushing in embarrassment at his own panic, the half drugged elf more calmly slips out of the giant nest. His thinking is only returning in a slow trickle, but he knows for certain his final trial is to navigate back to Amathine. The desert, at least, gives him a very easy start on figuring out where he is. Somewhere near Krugmar, presumably, meaning his target location must be south west. Navigating the places he’s already explored sure beats being a bird in a strange forest… He’d be telling his Priest about that one for sure. At least it wasn’t a bad trip? Fal’leon begins to slowly descend the steep cliff-face, fingers wrapping around the ridges to support his weight. His stomach churns as he looks down towards the desert sand below, wobbling slightly in his still drugged state. Hastily, the druid turns away and faces into the plateau, a few ragged breaths escaping him as he attempts to calm his racing heart. Typically, this task would be nothing to him, but with a foggy mind every action ends up feeling as if he’s moving through thick sludge, his body responding slower than what he needs. Each few meters of descent involve a break to calm himself. Fal’leon’s body has already become sweat drenched, his robes and pants sticking to him uncomfortable. The accursed sun is unrelenting, mocking him in a cloudless sky. And yet, finally, the man’s feet reach the desert’s floor. Sand shifts under his weight and already begins to fill his shoes, much to his dismay. He’s never been fond of sand. But, at least there was no more almost slipping to his peril. Now, it’s simply to walk towards Amathine. The druid lifts a hand and rests it against his browbone, shielding his eyes from the harsh rays, trying to figure out which way East and West might be. Of course, entirely inconveniently, it appears to be right around noon, the sun lofted nearly directly above him by now. He groans, agitated by the difficulty, and simply begins walking in a direction. Surely, eventually, he’ll come to something to signify his location, regardless of if it’s a bit further away than ideal. ✯¸.•´*¨`*•°✾°•*`¨*`•.¸✯ Fal’leon trudges along through the desolate landscape slowly, wobbling with every other step with the uneven footing of the loose sand. Even through the soles of his shoes, the sand burns against his feet, making the travel that much more difficult. Finally, after what felt absurdly long, his eyes are brought with solace. Just passed the hill he’s been walking over, he can see tracks from carts, horses, and footsteps; the main road, worn down and distinct. The man breaks out into a sprint, nearly slipping and landing face first into the grains below him. As his steps become firm under the compacted path, he slows his pace. The druid bends and rests his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath, each inhale of air causing his throat to grow drier and drier. Maybe running was a mistake? Whatever, he doesn’t care, he’s found something solid to go off of. A path is good. Better yet, with the passage of time, the sun now hangs lower in the sky and clearly denotes his direction. He squints upwards for a moment, his mind beginning to clear ever so slowly. Not entirely, not at all, but enough that he can process the cardinal directions. Fal’leon follows the path south east as it meanders across the landscape, and soon enough the desolate landscape begins to show signs of life. Lush ferns droop over the path, which has begun to shift from sands into worn down dirt. The cacti of the desert are replaced with jungle trees that reach up to the clouds, and birds of countless colours flurry out from the canopy of leaves they create. He sucks in a breath of the humid air, familiar humidity. The sounds of the rain forest’s life, both the druidic song and the audible, fill his ears comfortably. Cicadas drone on, birds singing their songs, the large rivers rapids flow. If he wasn’t drenched in sweat, it might be lovely. Going from here is of ease to the druid, the simple task of heading south towards the jungle beaches. Occasionally, someone on horseback rides the opposite direction of him, sparing a passing glance. Fal’s clothes stick to him, the sweat and humidity only worsening the further south he travels. His thirst is monumental, and temptation to drink from the river flowing to his right grows with every moment. That, combined with the still lingering drugs in his system, makes the walking more unbearable. To his left, the path splits off, and a wooden sign stands proudly, with the word he’s been looking for etched into it: AMATHINE. Fal’leon turns towards it, sauntering along the path. He’s so thirsty. His journey takes him past the new settlement along the road, and he grimaces in disgust. Such an unfortunate thing, ruining the landscape and silencing nature's song. If he had any less of his better judgment, he’d have gone in and began to overgrow the plantlife. Thankfully, the drugging has all but worn off by now. Even still, he, as always, takes the long way around the settlement, casting it glares every so often. Soon enough, Fal’leon is greeted with the sight of the mali’ame kingdom, and his pace hastens. His muscles burn with the demand to rest, but, that can wait for one of the beds in his seedhall. He stumbles through the kingdom, through the glade, and into his home. He beelines for the bucket of clean water he keeps and dunks his head in, gulping it down hastily. Once contently quenched, Fal makes his way towards the beds and slumps onto one, letting himself doze off… He’ll find his Priest tomorrow and hand it in, for now, rest.

The Seed of The Owl Maehr'Uhier Formed 13th of Malin's Welcome, 113 SA Present Chief: Fal'leon Maehr'uhier “Ohowaki maehran, Ellaurir ay’Ibaran. lyun ito heya’leh orrarnan, kaenan’leh ortilrun nae illerae Kaean’leh Sirame aynae’leh lye myumierae Oh Ohowaki ormaehr, ehya leyuan, nae’leh ahern kae illera.” The Owl of Knowledge and Wisdom reaps the skies with silent wing beats. Those who follow under her masterful guidance pride themselves upon their dedication to both learning and teaching; the scholars of the world. It is with the Maehr’uhier that such scholars may find a home, a commune to foster their knowledge and bring unto them new heights. Titles Sohae’maehr - Chief Mar’maehr - Elder Maehr’onn - Member Fi’maehr - Seeker _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Values of The Owl Knowledge Wisdom Teaching Patience Curiosity Growth _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Trials of Initiation Trial of Knowledge The Fi’maehr must locate and return with a piece of knowledge not yet stored in the Maehr’uhier collection. If they’re unsure what is collected, they are encouraged to both ask and read away. The resulting piece may come in any form, from a history book to a bardic tale, however it must be documented in some fashion to be returned to in another instance. Trial of Sight The Fi’maehr is to find and speak to a minimum of 4 people with varying gifts or religions. They are to ask what they are, how long they’ve pursued this path, why they chose it, and (most importantly) how has it affected their world views and philosophies. Gifts may include: Voidal mages, druids, paladins, shaman, dark mages, alchemists, canonists, and any others one may find Trial of Understanding The Fi’maehr must find a person who they disagree with strongly in any capacity, due to personal reasons or morals, and come to a mutual agreement on something together. This cannot be something surface level like a favourite food, but rather on something deeper and meaningful. The purpose of such is to learn from those whom you do not see eye to eye, and realize value in all perspectives. Trial of Independence For one year, or an elven week, the Fi’maehr must make themselves home within the wilderness. In this time, they may not speak, write, or communicate with any words to anyone. The Fi’maehr may be around others, but asking for help is prohibited. Like Ohowaki, they will be silent. Proof of such endeavors will be a record of things they see and hear during this time, all observations of descendants and nature they deem interesting enough to note. Trial of Wisdom To conclude the trials of the Maehr’uhier, the Fi’maehr must come to learn of the Mani in which they will study under. Return with an apt description of Ohowaki, her teachings, how to pray to her, and so forth. This final act will tie in to the following celebration of your acceptance. Continually, recitement of her primary prayer must be accomplished successfully. It is advised that items of worship are collected during this time, as they will be needed further on. _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Rites of Passage Rite of The Flesh Ilmyumier has been adopted as part of the Maehr’uhier tradition at the time of forging and so forth. The markings are distinct in both pattern and colour, and must remain consistent. White tattoos are to be worn onto their flesh before the rest of the seed, presenting themselves to the world with the markings of Ohowaki. However, the Maehr’onn may choose the location of their markings, it is common practice to get them on the chest or dominant arm. Continually, those who come to be bequeathed the title of Chief are to dawn similar white tattoos across their eyes and the bridge of their nose, coming to a point to resemble the beak of an owl. Others may bare facial marks as well, however they must not resemble the chiefly tattoos while maintaining the pattern and colours. Rite of The Talon While combative ability is hardly revered as something sought out, the ability to navigate combat with cunning and wit is something that is encouraged within the Maehr’uhier seed. Because of such, the secondary rite of passage into the seed is to bear a custom forged blade designed by the Fledgling Maehr’onn, forged by themselves or a chosen smith. Typically, the blade is to bear the image of an owl in some form, via feathers, an owl head, or another viable option. Rite of The Binding An important rite of community and devotion to seedmates. Wrapping one's wrists and forearms in bandages that have been dipped in herbs of healing, this rite is dedicated not to oneself but those around them. The Maehr’onn wears these bandages to protect their most vital veins upon their wrists, they’re to be worn at all times, however may be changed and rewrapped in private. To remove such bandaging is an action of incredible importance, and is only encouraged to be done exclusively when aiding another who’s in dire need of the healing herbs that aid in recovery. _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________ A Fledgling Maehr'onn When a Fi’maehr, those who commit to taking the trials of the Maehr’uhier, complete their tasks and are fully accepted into the Seed, a celebration is to be held in honour of their accomplishments. A show of gratitude too for the new knowledge they may offer. Prayer The celebration shall begin with an offering of thanks to Ohowaki for granting a new scholar to the Seed. Each Maehr’onn and above will gather together in silence bearing an item of offering in their hands. The ceremony is to be led by the Fledgling with the aid of the Seeds Sohae’maehr, location subject to change based on how the Fledgling wishes to orient their ceremony. Practice Following the ceremony, the Seed may reconvene in another location or remain in that of their prayer. In either resulting setting, the newly graduated Maehr’onn is to share the results of their trials with the Seed so that they may provide knowledge and teach others what they have learned, displaying one of the Seeds Rites Party To conclude the celebrations, the formal endeavors may break into a party. The Seed may do so in any way seen fit or preferred by the Fledgling, however the aspect in which a new Maehr’uhier is celebrated for their accomplishment is pertinent. _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Orrar’parmayilu When a wedding is to occur between a Seed member and another of any origin, they may opt to take part in the Maehr’uhier tradition of an orrar’parmayilu, or in common tongue, a bridal hunt. Brought from Bwadi culture into ‘ame, the hunt is to not only act as a premarital celebration, but to build upon existing friendships between both the bride and groom’s companions and further unify the pairs' lives. Both teams are to be in matching disguises, their appearances hidden from the opposition. Participants may be same or opposite sex, in the result of a homosexual couple, they must agree on who is given which role. Mal’mayilu The side of the groom is effectively in the dark, made reliant on their cunning and problem solving skills to endure the event. The Mal’mayilu meet in an enclosed location of their choosing to drink and plan their course of action, while awaiting the end of the prehunt time. Following the beginning of the hunt, the Mal’mayilu bear a single task; find the bride. However, doing so comes with challenges to be faced. Members of the Lari’mayilu may be found running about the hunt location, and can be halted by Mal’mayilu to be interrogated. The option of a riddle is presented to the hunter, however engaging in combat may also be chosen should it be wished. If either engagement is successful, the Mal’mayilu is to be given another riddle that pertains to the location of the bride. If the Mal’mayilu are successful in locating the bride, they must return her to the husband In the instance that they are successful in doing so, the Orrar’parmayilu will be completed and further celebrations such as drinking may ensue. Lari’mayilu The side of the bride is that of misdirection, one must utilize skills in outwitting others to keep hidden. Prior to the hunt beginning, the Lari’mayilu are to hide the bride away in a secret location, to which they must comprise a series of hints to provide given they are beaten by the mal’mayilu. The bride herself is permitted to leave this location and join the hunt, disguised as another member of the Lari’mayilu, however must return at certain points to maintain function of the hints. The Lari’mayilu are each given a riddle to tell if they are caught by an opposing Mal’mayilu, however are noted to be prepared for combat. In the instances in which they are beaten in either scenario, they must both give a hint to their combattant, as well as unmask themselves so that opposing Mal’maiylu don’t pursue them a second time. If the bride is found by members of the Mal’maiylu that are not the groom himself, the Lari’maiylu are tasked with hindering their attempts at transporting the bride via combat or other forms of misdirective trickery! If they fail to do so, the Orrar’parmayilu will be completed and further celebrations such as drinking may ensue.

A new beginning “The call of the forest” My name is Kyalah Folen’lif and I am here to call all the Mali’ame that are lost, to return to their true path. For way too long we had to travel in nomadic tribes held only by the names of the ancient seeds. For way too long most mali’ame had no place of their own, Nevaehlen lately failing as a safe space for Mali’ame after the war we are now scattered. Some found the Under-grotto being a temporary safe place, some still searching for a home or never found one and with it, lost their path of nature. failing the gods themselves they have forgotten the ways of the old and that is why I, Kyalah am here, sent by the great mother to unite us all by word, history and faith. I will guide all the lost children of the wild faith back to the right path, our path. I am no druid yet I know of their connection, I am no chieftain but I seek to care and guide for those who lost their ways, or haven't found them yet. I will be your mentor, mother, sister. as the forest connects each tree. I shall be the roots that connects you all. “The forest calls you mal’oon, it needs you lari’oon” “Turning a new leaf” In my travels across Almeris and now Aevos I have seen and met too many lost mali’ame. Much like my own journey, these lost ones were ignorant of their connection to nature, their spirits tainted by the influence of Valah's ways. Many wandered aimlessly, oblivious to the ancient wisdom that coursed through their veins. Moved by compassion and a deep-seated desire to guide my kin back to the righteous path, I extended my care to these lost souls. Through patient guidance and care, I witnessed their transformation as they discovered seeds of respect or found a place to call home among our people. In the embrace of our culture, they rekindled their connection with nature and rediscovered the essence of being Mali’ame. The turning point in my journey occurred amidst the haunting ruins of Nevaehlen, where I found a fellow Mali’ame eager for enlightenment. Guiding them through the ancient temples dedicated to our mother, Cerridwen, I revealed the purpose she holds for us and how, through worship, we return to her embrace. It was within this sacred space that the gods spoke to me in a vision, their voices resonating through the rustling leaves and the murmurs of the wind. In this sacred communion, I discovered my true path and underwent a profound transformation. Shedding my old identity, I relinquished the name Folen’lif, embracing a new one that resonated with divine purpose – Uheirtal’ame. “Planting a new seed” “Unity, nature, family and worship.” Those are the principles the mother and father bestowed upon us as Mali’ame. These principles, deeply rooted in the ancient ways of our people, serve as the guiding light for those who, like me, are committed to raising the banner of Uheirtal’ame, those who seek the forest. The banner, woven with threads of unity and nature, welcomes all Mali’ame who yearn to return to their roots, embracing them with open arms and a spirit unburdened by questions of past deeds and lives. and those same principles are those I will guide towards when raising the banner of the new seed ,those who seek the knowledge of the old ways, the spiritualists amongst us and those who wish to connect to the wild path. This seed is a ‘sanctuary’ for those who hear the call of the old ways, for the spiritualists amongst us who seek communion with the divine forces that have guided our people for generations, that gave us history. It is a haven for those who wish to tread the wild path, connecting deeply with the untamed essence of nature and the energies that course through the veins of our world. As the gods spoke to me, their divine words resonate through the heart of Uheirtal’ame, giving purpose to the creation of a new seed. This seed, bearing the weight of intention and purpose, sprouts to form the foundation of a new chapter in our cultural legacy. Named with profound meaning, Uheirtal’ame stands tall as another branch on the great tree of our history, a testament to the resilience and continuity of our people. Within the embrace of this sacred seed, individuals will find a home. It is a refuge for those who seek the path, a place where the teachings of the Cerridwen and Cernunnos are preserved and from the ichor way to the sanguine fire. All will pass down through the generations. It is a seed of knowledge, a repository of ancient wisdom and spirituality of nature that will fuel the thirst for understanding among the children of the mother and father, we may not have the legacy of the other seeds but i assure you, we will go down in the mali'ame history as one and will make an impact. So come and be part of Uheirtal’ame! Become a true mali’ame.

Looking for the Roots The Search for the Aureons [!] A Red-Tailed Hawk would deliver scrolls containing the following information to the Aureons living in the woodlands around the realm “Brothers and sisters, sons and daughters of the Ikurnamon, I seek your wisdom. I wish to know more about my roots. I carry the name and blood of my father but I know not of what it means to be an Aureon. I wish to bring honor to our seed and respect the traditions of our forefathers. If you are out there I wish to invite you to the Vale of Nevaehlen. I wish to present you with the opportunity of setting down roots, bringing our seed to a new home, a home where we will grow strong. As strong as the Ironwood whose secrets were mastered by our ancestors. It would be my honor to learn The Way of a true Aureon. I pray to Cernunnos this message will find you and bring you to our new home. -Thordir Aureon” OOC:

[[! Crudely written as if one had never even picked up a quill much less written his much. ]] I've been a-chasin' after a dream that keeps playin' hide-and-seek, like winter reachin' out to catch that runaway sun before it gives in to meltin'. A pipe dream wrapped in silk and sweet laughter I'm akin to a tune that lost its melody too quickly, and me? I'm the part you can recall, but the next verse slips away like morning mist. Three hundred years have passed, but I still keep hopin', even though I know it won't come back. I've been waitin' for the day Olly, my girl, comes back. Waitin' to hold my love and hear my buddies say everythin's fine. But I'm in a world that don't know my heart. They don't get why I do things, just quick to judge. They don't see the secrets we both carry, like twists in a tale we share. A fortune i can not tell is my own. The wheel is turning, its is always turning. And I am much very tired of waiting. So, here I am, like a songbird on a sunlit morn, all set to twirl and spin my tale. Gonna sing with a touch more oomph, put a dash of magic on the chorus your always forget—oh, it'll cling like starlight on a summer night. Here's to hopin' you birdies are tuned in, ready to dance to the rhythm of this whimsical heart! Daub your cheeks with colors, gently close them peepers, summon a tempest of tunes, for I, Devika, the Wandering Songbird of the Bloodless, am fixin' to tuck my wings and settle down in a snug little nook. I'll be a lullaby for moonlit eves and cracklin' campfires, a tale-whisperer in the twilight of years. Cause it's only the songbird who's next in line, the elder among the melodies, that can trill a tune, stitch a memory, and craft its very own lullaby. So come, wander over to me and thread your tale. Let these ears of mine savor your verse, like an aged goblet savors the finest of wines.

Hyphae You find a journal locked by a green ribbon. It's edges are worn, yet it is still firmly kept together. A crow and a rose are engraved onto its dark leathery face. Entry I My dear mother. Once a respected druid, now a sickly woman on her death bed. All because I ignored the underlying stress she bared. It had all started when I ventured off into the woods again like any normal day. I had failed once again to heed the worry of my mother, who had now fallen ill to an incurable disease. Not even all the doctors of our Seed - nor herself - could cure the wretched fevers, coughs, ill pale skin, or freckling chills that felt like needles to the back that she felt every time she woke up. How could I, her only son, be so ignorant. Now she lies there every day, as if waiting for her last breath. Now my graceful father works harder until he could work no longer. Now I sit here writing, as if writing my woes could ever cure my mother. That is until I prayed to the gods. Cerridwen and Cennunos, Mother and Father of the nature that is gifted to us. Even after every moon and sun did I wait and prayed for an answer. Patience grows thin, and and so did my inpatient mind thinned until it could no more. I have packed my bags up for a journey far away, into the deeper areas of Almaris. There, I can find some sort of cure, or at least hope to help my family. Entry II In my extensive knowledge I have gain from travelling around Almaris, I would have not known I would gain a sister, or well adopt one. As I was looking for some sort of person with a medical background, I had met the young prodigy Delilah coincidentally along the way to Vortice. She had kindly greeted me and swooned me over with her childish nature. How dearly I love her. As we grew closer the following month together, she was immediately under my wing. Through her, I had learned more about the people in the East, and even settled down at Elysium to understand the herbs around there. From Bat's bulb to Jailer's Moss, I studied hard to get to her level. I wished for my parents to meet her. They always ways wanted a daughter. Entry III The peaceful life of Elysium had taken a turn for the worse. Krugmar, the warring nation up the road from Elysium. War has stepped into our lives as they threaten us with raids and kidnapping our people. Delilah resides in Fenn for her studies; where it is safer. On the other hand, I have decided to stand my ground and stay at Elysium, in hopes that our kingdom is strong enough to keep the Orcs at bay. I watch over the walls, always anticipating death at our gates. Entry IV Uruks. Crude in nature and powerful in battle. They had somehow gotten into Elysium while I was away gathering more herbs. They side with Krugmar. What crazy racists they show to be. I used the citizen tunnels to quietly get in, spying on them as they lurk the streets of our home. Seven in total I have seen. How could a handful of them get in when we had guards on every post? I have heard their prideful yells of how we are cowards, how the guards ran away, and how they would not let anyone in; mostly because they did not have the key. They vilely spill alcohol down their throats, celebrating their success. I hope this ungodly hour ends before Delilah returns home. (Entries will be added continuously in the later future)

The sun was falling and the stars would start to appear as the darkness spread over the sky. The moonlight lit up the beach for the two figures to stroll through the cold sand, following the timeless tides. A 'ker and an 'ame that have known each other for some decades, known by her name, Farren Orchaedia, and his, Anessén Ka'uhane. The exhausted and scared 'ame would try his best to hold a warm smile for her, she still was the love of his life, even though the last few days in their paths were not one of togetherness anymore. In these daring times, Anessén chose not to wear his armor but instead his known green robes, the feathers tucked over his hair would sway gently with the caress of the kind wind. The ‘ker, unlike her usual demeanor, was less energetic but still found a way to walk by her love. Her hair all tied up and her clothes being the usual white silk dress which gave off a sort of glow as the moon shone down onto her sad form. As they let their feet slowly step around, they would laugh while enjoying stories they shared. Their gazes wander through the sky or the ocean, every now and then landing on each other. A lovely night for them, a night they have not shared for a long time. Anessén would turn to her "you know…i cant get you out of my head...i try to walk away and yet i find myself with you again...i scream over my lungs and still i want to forgive you…" he will say melodically, almost as if reciting a poem. Stopping while his gaze was now on her and letting his feet dig into the sand. Farren turned to him, her eyes wide as always when her heart felt touched or she was surprised, and this was one of the rare few times it meant both. She reached out and took his hands, bringing them up to her lips to kiss them before looking back at him. Her eyes locked onto his as she spoke. “You have been wounded, beaten, and crushed by so many. You have been pushed to the ground and told to give up but you never did. I love you so much for that.” The ‘ker went up, pulling him to her into a loose hug. Anessén will smirk as her lips pressed over his hand, adding "For some time I lost my path, my reason to keep fighting...but you gave me that Farren. You gave me a home to come back to, children to watch them grow and love to fight for...i love you for being with me always, for being with me when everyone looked at me with disgust…" his arms wrapping around her while he melt into the hug, soon pushing her back so he could see her. "I'm sorry I let our paths divide...I just was going through a rough time…" A soft smile grew on her face. “You were never brought away from our path, merely given an odd road.” All of her pain and sadness left as he held her. All of her guilt and lack of self belief fled as he held her. They were bliss. A couple whose seemingly broken stories ended up in the same, beautiful book. They were the most powerful thing of all. Together. The smirk of the 'ame would grow into a smile as he slides his hands to her cheeks, leaning forward to lay his forehead on hers. His eyes closing while their noses rub together. All his pain and doubt, all his sadness and burden lifted while feeling her touch and listening to her words. “The amount of times I have seen others rush to you saying nothing but hatred and rage is past count. I wouldn’t be able to continue on my own if I received such words every single day.” She looked up to him, her smile at its fullest. “And yet here you are living despite it all.” The ‘ker looked proud. Not of the elf in front of her, but of the elf he had shown her. The one who taught her of the forest and raised children with her. The one who cared and nurtured her as much as she did for him. Farren inhaled taking in the senses and sounds around her. The feeling of his body against her and her feet in the sand. The sound of the water going in and out, the chatting in the city, and the distant noise of the animals in the forest. The smell of his own and the smell of salt. And even the soft glow from her ring, carved to be a mixture of eagle’s feathers and dragon’s scales. All of this as she reached up to kiss him, everything in that moment, that pure moment, made her happy to be alive. Suddenly, the 'ame's ears would flicker just when their lips were about to meet. Leaning back his gaze would dash through the tree line as he gently starts to guide Farren behind him. His jaw tensing and his right hand reaching towards his tomahawk, while guiding her with the left arm. As special as the night was, a figure appeared stalking them. Hidden below the shadows of the trees, the figure would stay unrecognized. But soon the wind would carry the sound of a string being pulled back, followed by the sound of an arrow cutting through the air. Anessén would pull Farren to be behind him as he tosses the tomahawk to the figure. A smirk forming on his face once he hears the yelp after the sound of the blade nailing, the life of the creature ending. But the smirk would soon fade away when he suddenly coughed blood, letting his gaze fall to the feathered end of an arrow, with the arrowhead that was aimed towards Farren, instead pierced into Anessén's chest. Hearing the sound of the arrow, the ‘ker did her best to move away, trying to pull Anessen back with her to no avail. However, once she heard the shriek of pain from the stranger she sighed, yet something felt off as she looked to Anessén. The 'ame would turn for her to see the arrow that was nailed onto his heart. Coughing blood already as he found it hard to keep himself standing. With time, the stain of blood spreaded over his green robes while his skin became pale. His breathing getting shaky and pain would lay on his expression. For a moment, Farren felt as if time had stopped. She saw his smile fade away but thought nothing of it until he started to cough . “Anessén..” The ‘ker took a step forward, gently grabbing his arm and turning him to her, the arrow sticking in the dead center of his chest. “Anessén!” She screamed as she went to him, not sure to leave the arrow in or pull it out knowing it would make his wound worse. As her hands reached his arms, he would fall to his knees. "Ullran…" the 'ame would curse in elvish as he felt the life sliding out of his body with each second "Farren…." he would call her. As calm as he seemed, fear started to storm into his eyes, not being able to stop such emotion as thoughts of their children, of their family and of her flashed through his eyes. Finally, the memories he lost long ago would return to his mind. "Farren…" would repeat as his left hand slided for his fingers to lay around the wound. “Anessén, it’s gonna be okay..I’ll..i’ll..” The ‘ker struggled with what to do, everything she had practiced and remembered seemed to disappear from her head as she tried to help him. “I don’t know what to do...” She looked into his eyes, unlike his which were just beginning to be filled with fear, hers seemed to be filled with terror and panic. Part of her even started to shake as he saw her in true pain from seeing him shot. "Farren...it's ayla, it's...ayla" he will whisper as he pulls his hand out of the wound to lay it on hers. His own blood dripping on her fingers while he holds her. His eyes closing briefly before he looked up to her to meet the panic and terror her gaze carried. "I wish I knew the words to make you feel better, but I don't…." he whispers as he smirks, giving her the same words he shared when they first met in the boat. His movements grow weaker as his expression softens, seeming to be exhausted. She began to break down at his words, two months total she had spent caring for him and nursing him back to health. And now, in his final hours of life he remembers everything of her. Over her life Farren had lost friends, family, children, and now her love to her greatest fear and worst enemy, death. Tears began to roll down her face as she did what she could, trying to hold him up and whispering soft nothings hoping to keep him awake. “Please, Anessén, don’t leave me...” A lump formed in her throat as she paused, her eyes now red from the tears. “I’ve lost Kalon, my mother, and Maglure but I cannot lose you as well.” She sounded desperate. Held by her arms as blood seemed to drip even more. His breaths now almost non-existent as he whispers "Death...is a gift Farren, after all the pain...i embrace this, even though my heart breaks to leave you alone…" He would look up to her and smile weakly "My love for you Farren Orchaedia...is as endless as the ocean and as timeless as the tides...i love you" his eyes would close once more and his grip on her hand felt softer. For once, Farren finally felt powerless. Yet strangely enough, part of her somehow knew of this. Gently, she pulled him to her so she could embrace him, her beating heart against his dying one was faster and more frantic. She lifted her head skywards, looking at the stars as her love faded away. “I don’t know who I would be without you, or where I would be if we hadn't met.” She looked back down and cupped his face, bringing him up so she could kiss him. “But thank you for everything, through the good, the bad and the ugly. I am so happy to call you my Mayilun.” With the caress of the wind and the brush of the water over the cold sand, with the countless stars filling the darkness of the sky. With the warmth of Farren's embrace and her rhythmical heartbeat, Anessén would slightly open his lips as they kissed one last time, giving his last breath while the spark of the life that once burned inside him finally died. His hand sliding out of her touch to fall to a side as he becomes one of the silent and sure sentinels that keep watch in the night. Farren looked past his body and to the water ahead. Everything seemed so odd now. It was all the same yet her love was lying dead in her arms. She knew not of when she would see him again, and she knew not of what she would do after this, but part of her took a deep breath in and began to softly speak. "...They said you were the crooked kind...and that you'd never have no worth...but you were always gold to me" She paused and took another breath. Every word piling up like a weight on her chest. “And back when we had met..we swore we knew the future...and our words would take us half way ‘cross the world..But I never left this town, and we never saw the world and we never crossed the sea..” Everything seemed to pause again. The stars lit up everything around them and the wind brushed against her body, yet now she started to sing. Her voice growing louder yet more private than before. “But I am fine, with where I am now..this home is home and all that I need. But for you this place brings shame…and you can blame me when there’s no one left to blame...oh I won’t mind.” On the final note, her voice cracked, like a piano finally stripped of its chords. A dreadful noise yes, but one that was able to convey so much emotion with just a few simple sounds as she pulled him closer. Stars had always been in Farren’s life. Always overhead and always by her side as she went on to take the day. But never did she think they’d be with her the most as Anessén left this world. In a way free, but still she knew his journey didn’t end here, not even close. But that didn’t change things as her breath returned to a normal pace and her eyes finally stopped crying, knowing Anessén was now up within the stars watching and guarding her, ready to guide her through her path. Now the figures were laying over the cold sand, listening to the ocean’s rhyme and feeling the wind caress. The stars over their heads seem to shine brighter and the moon for once, illuminating all that it could reach. The ‘ame came to this world, lived in this world and left this world always by the ocean… https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vqc2uOunPdA

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!