Sho’thar is the embodiment of the dark, Inil is the embodiment of light. Neither are evil or bad. So here’s the question: Why is it that when we reference “evil,” we equate it with “darkness?” (Thought it would be fun to have this in character debat.)

Kordruk Steelborn sits in the tavern drinking and watching the form of Ro'an in the corner. The man that he has been told had a hand in so much evil that night, but seems to have broken in the after math. "What is it like to have voices in your head?" The dwarf says to the air and takes another drink from his cup. "Why, are so many hearing voices? I understand that some of the Grehloks hear the Drow, but why not all of them and why do some hear it more than others? Does Ebrahim hear the same voice he once did or has it changed? Is there a way to stop the voices?" "I miss the good old days when I could work and create and not have to fear for my soul at all times. Simpler times, when the weight of the world had not yet been revealed to me. When the Lords of the Golden Halls watched over me and my people, but now I live with people that follow the Eldest and fight amongst themselves constantly." Muttering to the air. After a moment of thought the Dwarf would rise and approach Ro'an. Setting the cup next to the Grehlok. "Here, you need to drink, and try and find balance again. This town is not going to be safe for the broken or those that hide in the corners. We pissed off the Drow again and they will be coming for us." With that Kordruk will walk back to the table he was watching over the form or Ro'an pulling out a flask and resuming his watch. "Besides, I want something stronger." Then taking a drink from the flask.

NOTE: This is to read and enjoy out of game (OOG) only, not known outside of her in-character journal in game. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- *writing her next journal entry, she dips her pen in the jar and gives a long sigh, a brief pause and then leaned in to scribe...* "11th month of di 13th day, 3rd year after fire.... I write to you, not sure where my thoughts are going beyond this parchment? Today has been strange, as I find myself pacing seeking some kind of positive affection. I step outside to feel the sun but alas, I cannot feel it. Too cold.... My eldest, I dread the winter, I really do. Our Inil, how much we need you. I find myself perturb with silly notions of wearing some kind of headpiece? A beautiful tiara or some strange extravagant priestess head piece, as if to replace what I lost? My hair. I try not to mope or mourn about it. I try really hard not to cry in front of others about it. It's just hair. It'd grow back. It didn't hurt. The scars will heal. They didn't take your life. Others had it worst. You'd be fine. It's alright. Over and over I repeat the mantra but alas something inside me feels gone. My boiling anger and rage has dissipated? I've returned to a much more sensitive and vulnerable emotions I once had before entering the Exiled Lands? I feel so unsafe all the time...my skin sensitive to the touch. *she pauses to dip her pen, frowning a bit and leaned in to continue her script*.... I do not know if I can call out my Holy Fire again? That immense courage and fire inside my spirit? It's been covered in ashes or water,..something feels wrong. I feel off. I feel out of place. Where did the long hair spirited version of me go? Trapped in that imprisonment, I kept ruminating over and over what was just hours prior, the delightful amber sunset afternoon of having lunch with Theron. We teased, joked and shared even a tiny cheery pie I made.... It was the sweetest afternoon I ever had in a long time, the way Theron looked upon me, we shared an innocent intimate moment of just relaxing before heading to New Haven. He looked so happy.... That amber color of sunlight in his eyes, and his smile...looking upon me. His sweetest attention towards me... And then hours later, I am suddenly ambushed, violently ropped and abused in an enclosed space. I was unconscious after the first few whipblows. there was a mysterious sting of pain on my ribcage. My screaming, the dark enclosure and feeling hot dripping down my chest and legs. My own blood,....am bleeding. My mouth hurts! What did they do to me? I can't move my mouth,.... I knew suddenly what it was, my inked words. My writings. That letter. They saw it. My declarations. Did my little writings really haunt them so? Encouraging them to do such horrible things??? I thought it was all over as I sat there among the screaming, I had no clue what had happened? What was going on everywhere? The sun was gone, and I was completely convinced that all of New Haven was captured and we lost the war. What the hell happen? What went wrong? How did we all get caught? I painfully watch them torment everyone, one by one for information. Forcing greyloks to do biddings, laughing at us choking in pain. They were enjoying it. They found pleasure in our pain.... I couldn't bear looking at them in the eye. I try to block it, but it haunted behind my eyelids. I watched poor Percival bleed before me, I can never forgive myself for not helping him. I remember what the inners of poor Zeerah felt in my hands! I fruitlessly in muffled cries tried to push them back in, it did not help her..... There was growling and shrieking at one end of the prison, one of the Norrats was going Feral in the chaos as they smell blood in the air,...was it Mama Kym? I was terrified of it... I agonized in a corner. To resist breaking down, I told myself that no matter what they did to me, they could not take my sunset afternoon away from me. That sunset was mine....and we had to find a way out..... We had to escape. I tried to comfort those who are hurt byside me.... To give them hope... To show that love has not died... I wanted to see Theron again..... I wanted to be safe with him again.. I was scared he was somewhere else, being beaten down. I had hopeful low thoughts that if we were turned to Greyloks, that at least I can be beside him... What a horrible thought that was, to submit. But every time I saw mysterious things happening among the inmates. The confusion among the guards, I was renewed with great hope. Our people,...fighting back. I just couldn't figure out how. There were daggers being passed around, whispering plans that fell apart easily. A coo breaks up as someone gains a blade only to be struck down once again. They heal us, the greylocks Then break us all over again.... All I thought of was surviving which each blow..... And then the drums, a booming outside of the doors. Never was I so happy to hear drums outside those doors! I knew it was our bards, our people! And right there I see Kannoth, bursting the door and others bursting with blades fighting their way in. My body slumped in relief scampering for escape...... We were saved....but I still feel I left something behind. It's been days, and my wounds are closing. But I feel as if my skin was some how peeled off and a version of me is lost? My trust in so many people has ruptured as I see so many so willing to practice dark arts, blood magic and even helping them consume blood knowing what it causes us. What it did to all of us. Loosing the stone, loosing our home. How it ruins our world with each apathetic acceptance of darkness... I am quietly horrified. I watch others revive the likes of dangerous people? Are we doing the right thing? I did the one thing I knew I could do, entrust information to everyone as I can. We only succeed. We ONLY succeed when we KNOW what we were doing! What a catastrophe it would be if no one understood the objective. Everything lined up one after another at a fast pace....something that happens often. Behind the major ritual, I am skimming from group to group on what is the objective, who is doing what, what are we seeking, and what is not known. Everyone doing their part... And even then, things didn't go as planned? Us ritualists could not break the Wards! As we brought one down, someone else brought them back up from the enemy lines! I was mortified. And when I saw the Blood Stone gone, I assumed the worst. I assumed a drow took it away and ran off and we lost the battle. We had no reason to be there anymore and we told the masses we had to leave.... I am still very shocked at Percival declaring that if we lost our objective than we continue to fight and die there. Never, did I think Percival was one for Matyrlism? But there it was, and I will now take that to account, his mentality lends more to warrior than a healer. I for one, always seek the path of having everyone survive so we can ALL return again and fight once more. A battle can be lost, but never a war. We are both so different.... But as it turned out, either by luck or some kind of mysterious ways, the very fact myself and the ritualists were targeted for putting down the ward on the left flank (a total mishap!) was actually the lucky opportunity for Thornir to do what he had to do.... We unintentionally were the decoy to let him succeed unnoticed. Could a moment be anymore amazing in luck? Destinies are such mysterious ways. And it came to everyone's knowledge then, that it was actually Thornirr who ran off with the stone! With puzzled faces, myself and others declared we had to leave immediately! I am haunted by the image of a discarded Ro'an, left in the ward of the Drow. I could not save him. Everyone ran, breath caught in our throats, everyone knew what to do in the panic. Plans fell together in a messy beeline to a tent and before we knew it, everyone had the stones gathered together in a massive chanting to banish the blood fae. I am in shock how it came together so quickly! By the skin of our teeth! And then,....she was gone. Leaving a gap of nightmares behind her, but gone. We stare in disbelief and have a short victory of embraces. It's not quiet over though. The stones still need to be send away safety. To be sent to the original guardians of the Fae Stones, the Watchers. These white masked individuals, with red bleeding eyes, have been long gone, but I did not forget them. They will be the new keepers of the stones once we successfully pass it to them. Although many not know who they are, I learn now that my only key moment was to assure they were not an enemy. They, three years ago lead us on issues related to the Liche, Lala and the original Forest Fae, until they disappeared when Zu did. I hope they don't go about picking a new 'Watcher'.... So where am I now? I do not know. I've given so much attention to Theron, fearing where his mind would go in dangerous risks that even he can't control. My heart aches and it hurts so much to see himself dismiss his own safety and value of life during that strange ritual with Ro'an. I feel there's a part of him I cannot trust? Do I not matter to him?....does he not want to stay alive and be with us?.....with me? I am scared. And days later, he finally breaks down. Weeping in my arms in loud sobs until he fell asleep. The fear of failure, the feeling of approaching death. It came crashing on him suddenly. I wept with him....giving him all the love I knew I could give. After many days resting, he decided to find some recess on his own, to put himself together again....pleading to have faith in him. I hope he'd be alright... Meanwhile, I too decided to recess myself. In quiet ruminations wondering how do I properly heal myself? The nightmares fade but a miasma left behind. Could a pretty headdress for a priestess help me find what I lost inside, or at least help the healing? My pride in those white long locks, I didn't realize how meaningful it was to me now that it's gone. I shall ruminate what exactly did I loose in those locks? what I lost that night.... I look in the mirror now and very slowly I am accepting the new visage. The compliments do help alot, and the softening of the locks helped by Dr Arthur. It is pretty.... But instead, what I see is Elijah, my paladin brother. This hair is identical to his.... I wonder, if he's doing alright?....Where could he be? What would he say if he knew of what I endured? My eldest, I feel so lost. I tremor at large fights, I'm so apprehensive, the trauma of being captured again loud in my ears,... How others call me a disappearing 'white bunny'....even rumors that I turn in to one has circled around. I feel terrible, where did my fighting courage go? I'm I just being more realistic? Is this really myself understanding how weak I really am? And in the past, the long hair fiery cleric, was she just foolishly rampaging in to front lines attacking? Was I really being rash and naive in those moments? Or did I loose something inside of me? Was I better before hand? Or am I better now being more cautious? What's wrong with me my eldest? I will always push against the darkness, never submit to the dark elves, and be there when I can.... But, Inil, where did my fiery light go? Was it wrong to have it? Was I suppose to be more demure? More careful? Is this a hidden blessing or a terror I must face? I want to be a your priestess of your light... Please teach me, show me your way.... Please heal what I've lost? So that I can teach others who lost something too... I am but just your humble light, kneeling before you,.... I am nothing without you. please...help me. Aleena Cloudlily *She frowns reading what she wrote,...and gently leans back to let the ink dry up, putting her penset away*

Ro’an wakes to the sounds of screams for the second morning in a row. “Noooooooooo” he shouts, tears stream down his face. Images from the Drow prison race through his mind. His head throbs like the pounding of a raging river against a boulder. Bleary eyed, and shaking Ro’an looks around taking in his surroundings. Pulling his black cloak in tighter around him like a security blanket. He finds himself waking in a dark corner of the deserted high town Tavern....again. Huddled against the two walls was the only place he felt safe. The only place he felt he could sleep after his experience in the Drow prison. He did not feel safe in his bed. However, no matter where he tried to sleep when he closed his eyes all he’d see was what he was made to do there, Or the ritual that people, he thought were his friends, forced on him. Ro’an sat there huddled against the walls of the tavern conflicted. The whole time he was imprisoned the Grehlok guards kept asking him, “Why was he in New Haven?”, “What was he doing there?”, “Had he run away from his Mistress?”. Then later during the ritual the Archon kept saying, “see how they treat you, Ro’an?!” “These people do not care about you. In Drow society you are valued; we would not treat you this way.” Yet only hours later he found himself in front of the Archon themselves. Not entirely sure how he got there. Being told he would assist the Drow in a ritual by being a sacrifice. He knew better than to question the will of the Archon or the other Drow gathered. He had never seen so many Drow in one place. It made his head hurt more thinking about it. Ro’an felt so confused. He had no idea how he had gotten to this point in his life. He began to cry again. The emptyness in the pit of his chest grew more. The sounds of the early morning birds were so much louder now, he could hear things much father away than before. He swore he could hear the various buildings of New Haven creaking, the wind blowing the sand, the water lapping at the wood of the dock in the harbor. The silence in his head was almost worse than whatever was there previously. He felt so alone, so lost, so lonely. He missed his brothers and sisters, his mother and father. If they saw him now what would they think? This did not help Ro’an‘s tumultuous thoughts. They continued to crash into his mind like waves in a raging hurricane. The Drow had abandoned him. New Haven tortured him with the excuse of helping Ro’an. Who are his friends? His family? He questioned. These thoughts mixed and frothed about with images replaying through his mind of the horrible things he was made to do to his “friends” in Drow prison. Or the pain he was made to feel yet again as Alaniel performed their ritual on him; his whole body feeling like it was on fire before blacking out. This only turned his tears into wrenching sobs. Ro’an begins to cough violently through his tears as blood ejects from his mouth onto the tavern floor. All Ro’an can think is, “what is wrong with me?” as he rocks back and forth sobbing, wiping more blood from his mouth.

So much has gone on in the near past. to be captured while out mapping the land and to be dragged into the torture room. A humans instincts was lost in that place. All the background for why you need to talk and how to interact with other had been locked away deep in the back of the mind turning Drivek into a primal beast with the form of a human. Others tried to help heal him only for Drivek to be left by the war party. before Drivek fully died the drow decided to change him into a Grehlok. Now What is Drivek but a mess of conflicts between three separate instincts and ideals. Drivek would enter town confused. constantly touching his one good ear. It had been changed. HE had been changed. What should he do? no one really liked what he had become. And not enough understood what he was originally. lost as any other would be we could do no more then gather materials and plants and find places to sit out of the way and watch. Not human...... not any more, he lost how to interact socially with others and how to put on a face. more close then ever before to snapping at someone and biting them or growling before swinging was more natural to him then using words and having others understand. And now a Grehlok. all Drivek ever heard on Grehlok's have been bad. though from a few he had run into didn't seem all that horrible. it was frowned upon for Grehloks to be around. Drivek felt even further away from actually having a place to stay then he ever was. who would understand Drivek? who would put up with Drivek? worse yet who would hire Drivek? So in his spare time when not on out hunting food. Drivek would sit cross legged and inspecting plants learning what he could from these

*A large scroll hangs on both hightown and lowtown tavern inner walls to read* A better world. That should be our highest priority in everything we do. From caring nature, to bringing joy, comforting the hurt or trying to defend others. We should always strive to hold back the madness that dwells us or others in to darker mindsets. Such a chain of events that causes the chaos we are currently entrenched in. I speak not from a high pillar but from a low bench to rest my tired feet. For I am much older than I look as I am very close to hitting my centennial year at 94 summers of age.... I am but a humble priestess writing to you all my thoughts, like a small lantern hung giving a glow in hopes to inspire some kind of positive change in our world. Sometimes I get very upset and have my fall-ups...as we witness the many horrors of these lands. We have, in recent events have lost many lives, including Baph, who heroically sacrificed himself in order to undermine the undead terror that has plagued our town and each other for nearly three years. I do not know what is the status of his life, and if …he is truly entirely gone? I wish and hope for a proper goodbye that he deserves…. He was mad but it was the right kind of righteous madness needed to defeat someone like Alabastor, my heart aches knowing he is gone. I am honored to have known him. But we also faced another kind of cultist madness, one that has been brewing under our feet and in our home for a very long time. One who did more damage in our community than they care to admit, possibly worst than the Drow for he betrayed our very own community and placed a rapture of distrust. You know who I speak of, Ebraheim. Despite the fact this ‘doctor’ strive to save our lives, he was internally wishing our demise. Such counter intuitive actions is proof of the lowest form of madness, a darkness that has ruminated and churn in his soul for far too long. And although I can see the explanation of his insanity it does not justify it. There are many who have lived worst lives and never did the damage what he has done... His desire to ‘punish’ New Haven due to past mistakes is not only a cultist and tyrannical mentality but should also be observed as a behavior not tolerated among us, whether in low town or high town or anywhere. I say this now, with calmness and much more sound soul after some recess. For I was infuriated by such betrayal ... I have heard that Ebraheim blames ‘Voices of his mind’ or Noktal for his behavior which is incredibly sacrilegious by any priest or cleric. Never, EVER, should a priest of any kind blame their elder for their detestable and abhorrent actions. We are responsible for everything we do and clerics of such nature should always hold the Six Elders in the highest esteem, holy and unreachable. Should we befallen due to poor judgement or poor interpretation of our eldest, it is we, their servants who have failed our Elder. Never the other way around. But failing and to admit failure takes great inner strength, one that many lack. I was told that he has blamed his own father and his teachings, again, blaming others instead of himself. His narcissism and emotional manipulation has no bounds and should not be tolerated. It is extremely cowardly by my upbringing to blame our parents for our actions, men of men would do no such things. And women of great women should be ashamed to mar their own mother. And to anything aside these genders, even among creatures, but as people, should such behavior not exist. Morality knows no gender, age or race... Brave ones, are at their bravest when they accept their mistakes and correct it! I speak of an old voice, no longer with us who inspired me. Rholin. Former lead of House Bellena, always projected the most wholesome ideal of correcting our mistakes, brush off our dirty knees, and get to work! A halfling motto that should be encouraged. Mistakes will always happen, it's how we fix them that sets us apart and become better people! See it not as a failure but an opportunity to show what you are made of! But Ebraheim instead chose to punish us for mistakes in the shadows and in secret instead of confronting them, he choose cowardice. He fed his inner dark desire to hurt and give pain, instead of confronting the issue at hand. He had the chance to be a great doctor, but all I see now is a broken and lost spirit who has shun the light in favor of darkness. He has my deepest pity to live a life without Inil in his heart. We are all fallible, imperfect and come from hundreds of distinctive cultures and experiences. Mistakes will ALWAYS happen, and for him to individually punish others of some ‘self-given authority’ and egotistical behavior should be condoned. I ask, to the public to please consider that should one confront him in the living, that we should withhold from sudden violence and death and give Ebraheim a combined High-Town, Low-Town and Valorian trail if possible, best after the Drow battlement. A first of it’s kind as we were ALL affected by his atrocities. Any who choose to revive him should know you are placing a high liability upon us all. Ebraheim is an individual who not only is more distrusting than a Greylock, but spiritually unsound. This volatile individual may not be much of a threat in person but allowing him to pass on his conspiracy theories and fill others with hate, malice, vindictiveness and bitterness is more damaging that one can imagine. Separate everyone in to distrusting groups….when we should be working together. We should be capable of seeing our mistakes but also help repair them. Any who silently whispers criticism is not helping. Roll up a sleeve and help! Ebraheim dared to attack his own community, one he took for granted. He has sent a troll against us at our most darkest and weakest hour, a betrayal unlike anything done before. He poisoned others at the risk of other innocent lives, tortured individuals before the blood fae and even practiced dark magics for the sake of hurting our own! Yet, despite his mal contentious behavior, he was stilled healed, cared for and behind our walls and shields. He has lost that privilege, he is a criminal. To live in New Haven is a luxury we fraught hard for. For many of us who have lived to see what the world is like out there with no shelter, no food or water, you know what I speak of. It is constant sacrificial fight for your lives at every waking hour. There is no sleep, there is no path and there is no wall to live behind. In the unchartered woods, there is no rest for the shadows in the paths outside of New Haven. If one lives here, one should feel relief and please to have a home. And at the very least feel responsible to either defend it, protect it, nurture it or at least stay out of the way when one tries to. Any who turns against us I feel looses that privilege to live here. But I also wish this to be done properly, not with malice or aggressiveness but with law and order. I do not care if others already condemned him personally, he needs to pay for actions publicly for all to see with morality, respect and dignity. Otherwise, we become the very horrors that are the Dark Elves. I do not wish to see such malice come to life because of one bad apple. Also, I am not one to create order, nor write laws neither. I am not a figure of authority nor do I want it. As a humble priestess of light, these are all suggestions. But I do support it to those who wish a better sound life of peace. To those who wish unity and stand together, elbow to elbow to condemn poor behavior and to encourage positive ones. I hope and pray that you too would want a world better once we have removed the tyrannical order that is the Dark Elves, the drow. They have made us clean up their ridiculous dark-magic mess for years with blood sweat and tears. Enslaved our people in to greylocks and egotistically only think of themselves. In the eyes of all races, the drow are nothing more than spoiled selfish children. They are incapable of caring for their own land and themselves, forcing us, as their ‘mommy and daddy’ to clean up after their selfish dark magic mess. Their sophisticated behavior is a farce. Their lands had their water already poisoned before the first ship arrived, they practically are killing themselves! As far as I am concerned, the Drow are INCAPABLE of owning their own land! It is time they pay for their infuriating actions and allow us to take over. Others made a test run of 'peace' to see what they were capable of, to test the waters of a possible respectful neutrality. I was strongly against it but many pushed to make it happen. And as expected the Drow failed. They failed this test miserably. We should not regret this effort regardless, it's water under the bridge. It was a theory that many wanted to test and the Drow discarded it with trickery as they saw it as an opportunity to undermine us, take from us, rob us and rule over us! The lands are plagued by blood cultists, blood faes, enslavement, greylocks and now obelisks draining our world in our own town! This is not their dumping ground! We are not their Slaves!! This is our land! Our L’amrún! Your home! And they need to get the hell off our Land!! All of it! They should start digging the biggest deepest hole under the earth and find their OWN continent underground or we shall put them in it! Their darkness will not be tolerated anymore! Our community can fail one battle, maybe two. But the war is not over! Not til they are done! We will always fight back. We will always push through. We will always find another way and we will NEVER give up! I look forward to fighting and healing by your sides with every fiber in me with blood, sweat and tears as we fight back for our world.. For my heart burns for every single one of you for the dreams and goals of our guilds, family, loveones and our future!... Let us not allow future generations to suffer what we had, and set down a firm mark in our lives that we will not be go quietly in to the dark! May the eldest of Hope, Love and Courage; our wonder of Light, I'nil, be with you all with great passion! For that is her true real power. Blaze powerfully. Priestess of Inil, Aleena Cloudlily

~Arthur stared at his clothing trunk and drew in a deep breath. His nerves had settled considerably over the past couple weeks. His research had allowed for a welcome distraction, however the hangover brought on by the accompanying wine was a wake-up call for him. The citizens of these lands were at odds with each other, even when allegedly allied. He was told he would find many willing to take advantage of his nature and skills, and yet that is not what he found when he finally set foot in the Exiled Lands. ~ He had found community in chaos, in need of order and compassion. The trials of this new land had turned the citizens of New Haven, Ever Dusk and so on into paranoid and selfish creatures in their most dire moments. Arthur had worn his training clothes during his first few days in the Exiled Lands hoping to learn more of the people before allowing his true nature to be shown. With a heavy sigh Arthur opened his trunk and peered inside. ~ A bit of candlelight fell upon a piece of silver and twinkled like a small star against the deep purple of the cloth inside. Unlike the vibrant fuchsia of his training hood and vest, this garment was deep hue of the purple found in the depths of both the sea and the storms it produced. Pulling out the garment Arthur smiled as it unfolded in his hands. The captains coat was long and lightweight, bedecked with near two dozen silver buttons bearing different nautical and alchemical symbols. The coat had been a gift from his mother, the pirate captain Anne Read, when he liberated his first ship and truly become a captain. He had named the ship Ordin’s Mercy, a nod to his studies and desire to use science and medicine to help those in need. “Gotta look like royalty if you want to be treated that way” his mother had said. Arthur swallowed as a single tear escaped his eyes, he had not forgotten his true purpose in the Exiled Lands. Arthur stood and wiped his face, turning to hang the coat by his bed. ~ Sitting down Arthur picked up his notes and skimmed them once more. He had many theories about the Blood Fae, Immortals, Noraht and so many more. If only he had the confidence or authority to share these ideas. His position as Deputy of Ever Dusk afforded him little to know authority even when Torrin was absent. The town had a plan to attack the Drow soon…a counter strike against something the Drow called Nightfall. Perhaps it was time to learn a new recipe in preparation for the upcoming war. ~ Glancing at the sunset Arthur smiled once again, knowing that while each day brought confrontation closer, it also brought him something that brought him piece. Morgan, his husband, was on the way to the Exiled Lands. With that man beside him Arthur felt he could take on the Drow near singlehanded. The image of Morgan’s amused and kind smile brought a deep sigh of content to Arthur, offering a moment of relief he cherished. ~ The wind kicked up and blew out Arthurs candles with chilling quickness. Shivering slightly Arthur relit the candles and shut the window. Digging deeper into his trunk he pulled out what looked to be a hand woven blanket. Purples, pinks, blues and corals streaked across the fabric like a sunset, a deep silver lining holding it all together. Shaking it out a small hood plopped into place, revealing the garment to be a heavy cloak. Wrapping it around himself Arthur inhaled the smell of incense from the cloak and thought of home. His grandmother, Marion, had made it for him as a congratulatory gift for finishing his surgeon studies. She had made one for Arthur’s father, Bartholomew, when he completed his studies as well. “I simply must do my part to keep my little men warm and loved mustn’t I?” she had clucked at him as she affixed it to him the first time. The memory of her doting made him laugh a little. ~ Stepping out of the cabin and into the crisp autumn air Arthur looked out across the town. He knew he had to aide them all in the coming battle. He just didn’t know how. Perhaps he should speak to Torrin or someone else. Then again, perhaps he should consider making some new alliances. Before he could become lost in thought Arthur’s stomach growled loudly. Wincing at his body’s admonishment Arthur gathered his cloak to him and headed towards the tavern. Thinking on an empty stomach was never a good idea.

Still new to the town, Drivek would be still be going form place to place finding secrets about the land that he could use. When the land changed into that of the Drow territory and became dangerous to transverse alone; Drivek would have to call it quite going out by himself. But information is a necessary factor in all things. and Drivek would not be stopped. He can be seen going from person to person who look capable of protecting themselves and still mobile and start asking for partners to explore with. and allow them to share information with any group they need to. "would you like to assist me with this new lands? you see i don't trust anything that i haven't been able to map out yet. and with the creatures of the area one can never be too cautious."

Still tired from the recent events, Ilyas enters the tavern, walking with purpose, but also a slight limp from one of the battles with the Grehlok. He approaches the message board and pins the following notice to it: "Hail friends, I know these have been dark and trying times, and I grieve the losses to our community, as do all of you. I did not know Baph well, nor Ebrahim, nor any of the others, but I came from a world on fire, to New Haven, where I had hoped to find a home, and a hope at least I did find. I am tired of running, of always being outnumbered and overpowered, never being able to make a stand for knowledge that it is a death sentence. I am tired of being powerless, and I wish the same for New Haven. To build our strength, we need trade, commerce. We need to acquire the resources and expertise we will need to fight the Drow to a standstill and buy ourselves breathing room to mourn our dead and turn this town into something more. But to do that we need trade, all great cities started as trading posts, and for trade we need a trade hub. I will be that trade hub, seek me out if you have skills you wish to sell, be they as an alchemist, a doctor, an enchanter, a ritualist, a blacksmith, a warrior or even, let’s call it, a population control specialist. If you also have resources you need for your work, please seek me out as well, others can provide you with raw materials that you can turn into finished products, that they can then use, and so the cycle of trade continues. Find me at the High town tavern or leave a message for me in the convenience shop, and I will ensure your skills and labor are put to use for both yourself and for New Haven. Respectfully, Ilyas Falkir" *OOG, if you want to have a private conversation with Ilyas, just message me on Facebook (David Rennert), that way the conversation isn't broadcast to the entire world*

In the middle of hightown, on a cool overcast day, adorn with a copper cloak was a petite and curvaceous white hair half-elf, with her curly white staff. Crossed armed, her staff seemed to be standing on it's own vigil by her side, as they stood a good safe distance from a black obelisk residing just short of cabin six. She glared at it, the infuriating dark pillar that flickered and thundered with energy. Everything in her body was telling her to smite that thing with everything she had. She fumed and narrowed her eyes at it,... As of late, she's been feeling much more angrier and it took alot to hold it down lately. But this black column, this soul-sucking protrusion, this plundering shaft taking shards! Fornicating their town with darkness was going to receive her holy fire of smite until it cries mercy! But she was holding back.... Crossed arms she waited, she sent notes about town on the few who, for all the sanity in the world, decided to touch this.... nauseating thing! Which she heard was Trixie, Zeerah and three others...? Because if no one clarifies it's purpose aside from draining their souls, she swears upon their eldest of light, that this obelisk will receive over 1000 flying flaming stars until it burst in to flames! (Stealing MORE shards, in my town?! NO WAY. ) she angrily thought... "Not if I can help it! " she grumbled, her staff beside her stumped the ground with's one foot a few times in agreement. The priestess also took the obelisk as some kind of challenge to her own shrine near by, but perhaps she should try not to take it that way. It may not be related. Although she did spot people, strangers, walking rudely around the Inilian Shrine snorting something about 'As if Shothar don't do the same thing!' She wondered if it was related? But she had to be sure this obelisk isn't -keeping- shards inside it or cause more harm if attacked. Should she or others try to destroy it, it may cause more harm than good? They had to be smart about this .. As such, she waited. For answers. The little priestess rubbed her face and prayed for some soon, before many others loose shards. Meanwhile, perhaps some research on her own about the Leylines can be done. She's had history with them before....but she may have to reach out to someone for more guidance. Closing her eyes, she stumped her staff several times, to ring it's chimes. (Relax,...relax,...please relax.) her priestly inner voice tried to insist... (I can barely relax! People are dying! Shards are disappearing like rain on a hot day! ) another side of her inner soul spoke loudly countering it. The last fight with the undead haunted her, she has woken up in sleep several times yelping, and gripping her staff close. "My eldest,....I am but a tiny small priestess, perhaps joo never hear me? Perhaps I am not worthy of it? But please....please be vith us. " she exhaled, as her anger dissipates. Hanging her head, her mood finally submits to something between concern and something that is barely around in these trying times.... Hope.

I struggle to put words to the events of recent. Perhaps it is the fog of exhaustion that still tugs at the corners of my mind or perhaps the dull ache in my leg muddying the waters. The few clear thoughts I do pull together are ones driven by emotion and of limited use. Now is the time for reason. Fury must be patient and burn slowly until its smolder can be put to profitable use. However, I would be lying to myself if I did not admit that regret does gnaw at my bones. Regret for not doing a thorough investigation regarding Walid the Traitor when there was time. Not following the faint line of suspicion I first had. I explained it away and will therefore bear some of this awful burden. We have Drow, Undead, and various Fae all contributing to the chaos and present dangers that cocoon New Haven, so when would the proper time have presented itself. Despite all of these dangerous foes, it was one of our own that crushed us. I mourn for those lost, for the grief on the hearts of our people. And I mourn for Ebrahim. For who he could have been. For the hope that was placed in him by others, for how he should have been. Those hopes have turned out to be empty, the expected taste and warmth naught but bitter ash. No matter the depth of my cynicism, people continue to surprise me as to their capacity for evil. Yet, I must hope that we fight for something. That we strive together so that civilization may one day flourish. In a way, it is good that Ebrahim did what he did, because at least we now know that he was evil. Whether he started this way or not doesn’t matter, but it is how he ended. Whatever plans he had laid will be uprooted, whatever good he had sown will spoil and fester as the rot of his memory takes hold. I know I judge harshly. I must. We must. At least, if we want to build something that will last beyond this generation. No one is wholly good or wholly evil, we are creatures that must find the balance within. Reason is our one true navigator lest paranoia or delusion lay a film over our eyes, perverting our gaze and distorting our realm. That is my guess as to what happened to Ebrahim. And while I understand how he could have come to some of his conclusions, it does not excuse them in any way. His actions were evil, they should be remembered as such. I’m not even sure what a fitting punishment would be. Should he lose a soul shard for each one lost? No, that does not feel right. Should he be left with one, a single thread of his essence so that he has one last opportunity to do good? That feels too lenient. This speculation bears no merit as it is not my place or purpose to choose. Katesh, poor creature. So strong and proud. So broken. Like a golden eagle with broken wings. She leans into her pain, her private torment like it is the only friend she’s ever known. I speculate that this pain has become an identity of sorts. Perhaps this is because of the disfigurement that was carried out on her person. But I don’t know. And in recent years she has not been what one would call approachable. Yet she is K’ojin and the fire inside this mountain has been growing hotter and more potent each season. I’ve seen storms in the homelands rip trees out the ground and shear the tops off of mountains. They contain less power and fury than Katesh’s eyes. I wish an Elder were in New Haven, someone to give her counsel in this dark night of her soul. Honestly, she would be a good candidate for Elder, but not in her current state. If she can navigate through the hazard filled wastes she finds herself in, it will only cement the idea further in my mind. Her disfigurement means nothing in regards to her worthiness. We had traditions, we had laws, we had clans, we had our homes. Now, we must become something more, K’ojin united. A people that tells their story together. I don’t know if we will ever regain the things we have lost, certainly not in our own lifetimes. But they are worth fighting for. They are worth dying for. Though my essence is weakened now, part of my soul gone back to the Weaver, I will continue to toil for a New Haven that can one day know peace. It is attainable, but it means that all of us must do good in all the ways we can, in all the places we can, at every opportunity we can. And it means standing firm against the darkness, and when evil rears its head, calling it by name at each and every incarnation. This time its name is Ebrahim Walid.

As the last hours of the Thinnest Veil slip away, and the night finally breaks into dawn, a silhouette in the corner begins to fade. What once could have been seen is now only a soft chill in the air near the shrine to the Eldest. And in the morning, the people of New Haven awaken to the bloodstained sand outside of what was once Ebrahim's cabin and make their way to the tavern for their breakfast, and as they do, the only sign that the lonely building might not have been empty is the hourglass on the shrine to Noktal, its sand falling gently. It continues like that as time goes on, and every ten minutes, the hourglass turns on its own, counting the seconds.

***Dr. Arthur Fleming 💉October Post hype (First LoE Game)*** CW/TW: Alcohol, Themes of death, loss, guilt, blood ~The sun stung Arthur’s sleepless eyes as dawn rose on Sunday. Rubbing away the piercing light he stood and immediately fell face first onto the floor. Groaning he took stock of the bottles of wine that littered the ground near his bed. Two...four...eight...he gave up counting at that point, his stomach grumbling its distate for maths. As gently as he could Arthur moved the detritus of his grieving so that he could stand...or rather sit up. ~Having righted himself Arthur peered around the cabin to assess the extent of his potential embarrassment. Happily he had not woken any of the other occupants with his clumsiness. He had seen them all come in during the night, his candles burning to stubs as he threw himself in research and regret. ~His head spun slightly as he recalled the events from only a few hours prior. His stomach churned from guilt and wine and his hands ached from drunken theories written about blood and manticores and innoculation... Arthur looked at the black notebook and flipped through a few pages until he found what he had written in his haze of self hatred and distraction. The notes were long, rambling things that he had thiugbt about whilst sober but dared not think too hard on. However the ideas were sound. ~Arthur dragged himseld to his feet and with the haste if a slug gathered his toiletries and went about his morning ablutions. His mind slowly winding down from thoughts of transfusions and blood disease cures, Baph’s lifeless face flashed before his eyes. ~The tears finally burst from him silent and swift. Guilt ounched him straight in the gut and brought him to his needs, sobbing softly on the floor of the bathing room. Gods be damned the contest wasn’t meant to end that way. It was supposed to just be a fair duel, not a fight to the death. Baph wasn’t meant to be taken forever. Dammit, Arthur had been in this hellscape for less than a week and he had gotten a friend killed. His soul eaten by Alabaster. Arthur gritted his teeth as shame swung its blade across his forehead. He should have kept his mouth shut, his kid brother the bsrd was the one with the poor choices gene not him. ~Arthur allowed himself to cry until his eyes were empty of tears and his head went cloudy. Wiping his eyes he slowly stood and went back to his cabin. Glancing at his notebook he smiled sadly...Baph had loved his ideas and “blood science” as it was not so jokingly referred to. Perhaps to honor him he would continue his research. Find ways to make everyone their best self in every possible way. His smile grew wide as he lowered himself into bed. He already had a few samples from the townsfolk...only a few more and he could truly begin his experiments and begin making true medical progress. ~Drifting to sleep with these thoughts Arthur dreamt of potions, vials of blood and venom, and myriad other such things. Hours later around sunset, a joyful exclamation ranf across the main square of High Town. Arthur had awoken with a newfound vigor and had found a most promising fact in one of his medical books. Progress was about to be made and in great strides at that! 💉

"From the office of the Primas of the Knights Transcendant. To my friends of New Haven, I wish to explain a course of action chosen by myself on behalf of the Knights Transcendant. Recently, the dangerous grehlok named Rothe was taken into custody by people who I will not name out of courtesy. When debating what to do with this prisoner, a trial was proposed. I, as Primas of the KT was asked if I willing to stand in judgement over the trial. After a long and exhaustive study of the matter, I have reached the following decision. In keeping with our efforts to uphold our declaration of neutrality, The Knights Transcendent will not be able to assist in the pursuit of a trial against the Grehlok known as Rothe. In the case of Rothe, it is fundamentally and completely impossible to decipher if his many assaults, deceptions, attacks and murders against the people of New Haven were of his own mind and intentions or that of the intentions Drow or their allies. There is no cure to reverse the affliction of Grehlok, nor a way to remove or inhibit the controlling effects of the mark upon their necks. A cleanse ritual will not remove the mark from the neck, and while it is capable of removing a geas there is no way to prove that a cleanse can remove commands issued by the drow or their allies. A geas cannot compel additional commands when one is already controlled by commands and with a cleanse incapable of removing control there is no means of altering the actions of one being compelled. Rothe is either a tragic unwitting pawn of the drow being forced to hurt people, or he does so intentionally and maliciously. His guilt or innocence are ultimately irrelevant as he is either a psychotic individual seeking to harm New Haven, or an incurable individual who is seeking to harm New Haven. In either case the grehlok Rothe poses a danger against the peoples of New Haven. A trial is not what is at hand, it is the decision of an appropriate sentencing to a threat which persists against the people of New Haven. Primas Volnin Grozny"

It was the session of rains once more in the Lands of the Exiled. The ninth month has become plagued with storms that would last days as harsh winds and rains assaulted the earth. It is said that the rains and floods at times are so bad that even the Drow not leave the strongholds in the dark of the stormy nights. So our scene is set as the High Town tavern becomes crowded with those escaping the downpour. A fire is lit within the harth and a kettle began to boil. A soaked Galatea stands by the fire. Her cloak dripping as it dries on a peg. She sneezes and then comments jokingly, ”Well at least now we know that the blessings of Memnis are enough to deter the Drow.”

A heavily pregnant Galatea waddles around Fort Valsgaurd arranging several packs. In one you can clearly see her clothing, some ritual supplies, and her staff. The other contains small blankets and what appear to be swaddeling rags and tiny gowns. Her movements are limited as she moves around the fort in preparation for departure. Galatea takes a small necklace of shells from a peg at her altar but drops it on the ground. She squats down as best she can, glaring at the necklace that is still outside of her reach.

In the afternoon, Ta'Lina can be seen entering first The Blood Crow Tavern and then The Smoking Boar Tavern. She leaves an invitation on each notice board. On the first Saturday of the ninth month Ta'Lina Saindon will host a tea party at The Smoking Boar at five of the clock in the afternoon. Service will include finger sandwiches, cookies, cakes, and other small treats. All are invited. If you have your own tea cup, please bring it as supplies are limited. Thank you for joining me, Ta'Lina Saindon, Priestess of the Six

Elaria strides purposefully toward the notice boards and tacks up single page. After scanning the boards for any new information, she leaves to continue her business.

(Closed for Joe Wood) It's late in the afternoon, when many cultures have their dinner hour. The pervading heat of day lingers in the air, but it has begun to cool. Signalling the slow approach of Fall and the Summer's decline. Theron can be seen exiting out of the back of the Tavern in the upper part of New Haven. He wears his traditional red and black, belt lined with his book, pens and pouches and a series of charms still dangled off the side bouncing this way and that. His pace is easy as he hops down the last step, carrying two flasks. Circling to the back along where trees are near the back road he finds Doc and tosses one with him. "Even at the ending of the world, we can count on vodka to be in supply with the same urgency as weapons." He quipped as he moves to stand facing his brother. He taps his flask to the other. "Vengeance for Jaina," He says using one of the Order's battle cries as a drinking toast.