SUMMER

Angkar: Wet season. Precipitation is common during the late afternoon and evening hours. Vegetation grows significantly during the summer, but flooding is a danger due to the monsoons that ravage the country. The rainforest sees evenly distributed rainfall throughout the season.

Ashoka: Desert: Extremely hot and dry. Violent, heavy downpours following long dryspells. Jungle: Hot and humid with frequent, violent rainstorms.

Morrim: Relatively hot and dry, but with a chance of thunderstorms from time to time. The heat may cause forest fires.

Soto: Hot and humid, tree cover is dense while ground growth is restricted. Thunderstorms see the most amount of rainfall during the season, and it can be very windy. On occasion, there are flash floods that can destroy homes and farms built on flood plains.

ANNOUNCEMENTS

March 30th, 2018 As you might have noticed, Elenlond has changed hands and is now under new management! If you have any questions, please direct them to DaringRaven! As for the rest of the announcements, including a season change, you can find them over here at the following link!

January 16, 2018 As you might have noticed, Elenlond has a new skin, all thanks to Mel! Don't forget to check out the new OTMs as well!

December 2, 2017 Winter has settled on Elenlond, bringing sleep for some and new life for others.

September 26, 2017 With the belated arrival of autumn come some interesting developments: new OTMs, a Town Crier and the release of the Elly Awards winners!

July 14, 2017 After a bit of forum clean-up, Elly Awards season has arrived! Head on over to make your nominations!

May 31, 2017 Summer has arrived and so has activity check! That's not all though – we also have some new OTMs for you and some staff changes!


WHAT IS ELENLOND?

Elenlond is an original free-form medieval fantasy RPG set on the continent of Soare and the Scattered Isles, which are located to the south in the Sea of Diverging Waters. The four chief nations of the western side of the world—Ashoka in northern Soare, Soto in western Soare, Morrim in eastern Soare, and Angkar, the largest of the Scattered Isles—continue to experience growth and prosperity since the fall of the Mianorite gods, although power struggles within the countries—or outside of them—continue to ensue.


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    Angkar: To honour the reinvigoration of the ancient city of Mondrágon, the majestic Queen Eulalia has permitted the opening of a Coliseum where people from around the world and all walks of life can test their combat skills against one another. Many have already done battle in search of honour, glory, prizes and money.

    Ashoka: In an otherwise peaceful times, Ashokans are beset with the relatively minor inconveniences of wandering undead and occasionally-aggressive giant rock worms. There has also been some controversy over the recent re-legalisation of human sacrifice.

    Morrim: Rumour has it that Emperor Leofric de Hollemark is mustering forces for a war. Though the threat from Soto’s forests has passed, the forces previously employed in watching the forest now linger at the border. Rumours also circulate of a small group that has been dispatched to make contact with the tribes of the Do’suul Mountains.

    Soto: The Sotoans have defeated the fey and liberated themselves from Méadaigh’s oppression! Preliminary efforts have been made at rebuilding the city of Madrid, which had been captured at the beginning of the war. However, the Sotoans are hindered from recovery famine. Méadaigh’s magic caused summer to persist in the Erth’netora Forest through the winter. Her power has been withdrawn and the plants die as if preparing for winter – even though it is now summer. The Sotoans must sustain off what food they can get, what creatures they can kill and what can be imported into the city from Morrim and Angkar.

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    Ōmagatoki; the hour of meeting evil spirits -- open
    Topic Started: Nov 16 2016, 03:47 PM (146 Views)
    Sara
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    ~Hail, Mysteria -- I shield my eyes...~

    The sun had gone down, but its light had not yet faded from the world. On the edge of the old mossy forest, the sky could still be seen, painted masterfully in pinks and purples and fading reds. It was dusk -- the in-between hour during the in-between season of late fall; cold, eerie, and foreboding. The trees which had been enchantingly shaped in the daylight now looked twisted and weird like grasping fingers, reaching up from the underworld to pull at and trick travelers. No birds sang, and no animals rummaged around to scavenge what they could before winter really set in. Death had taken the forest into its mantle.

    The veil between worlds was at its thinnest, and Sara had arrived in Morrim just in time to see through something she had been planning to do for a while. A while being just over a month -- but she had obsessed over it while she had packed and prepared for travel, and it had consumed her thoughts and her sleep to the point where it felt like she had been planning it her whole life. Not for the fear of it, but for the excitement. Now, though, her heart hammered, unsure which emotion it preferred at the moment. She unshouldered the wicker pack Ylsa had given her -- given, and filled with various odds and ends -- and knelt down, procuring what she would need right away: the lantern, and a generous handful of joss sticks.

    Ylsa had pushed her out of Soto while there was still time to get out. Sara hadn't wanted to leave, as she was just beginning to settle into her friend's place and was seriously considering moving in, war with nature be damned, and becoming an official apprentice onmyoji. But Ylsa had been more preoccupied with danger.

    The mystic's decision had astonished Sara, as thus far Ylsa had been very sternly avoiding direct involvement with the war that waged between humans and non, boldly refusing to choose sides when approached by either. It seemed, though, that the harm of the thing had gone on long enough: almost overnight she made the decision to go to battle against the wicked dryad of the Erth'netora, though her visage had been unusually grim upon their parting. Sara didn't know that Ylsa was expecting death any time now, and had figured the mystic to simply be unhappy with the fact that, at last, she had to pick a side and thereby condemn the other. It wasn't a decision either of them were comfortable making.

    It had meant, though, that no one would be around to protect Sara should the forest awaken to the fact that its resident onmyoji had turned traitor. With worried misgivings and seeming as though she thought she might never see Sara again, Ylsa filled her own wicker pack with countless materials -- a veritable Junior Shaman Starter Kit -- and all but forced her out of the country, even traveling with her to the border of Nature's grasp to make sure she got back to Morrim safely. Then, with a hug and a blessing, the mystic was gone and Sara was once again on the road, alone with her cat beneath the stars.

    She had made her camp a ways away from the forest, and left Bughunter there: cats and ghosts tended not to mix. Now, she was well and truly alone, but the memory of Ylsa's voice kept her company while she lit the lamp and the incense. The smell of sandalwood soon hung in heavy smokey tendrils in the air.

    Wandering souls are everywhere, but so few living souls care how they feel. To acknowledge their existence is to provide them with an anchor until they are able to move on.

    She hooked the lamp to the pack, and it provided enough light for her to avoid tripping over roots and stones. With her heart still beating a little harder than she liked to admit, she took a deep breath, her lungs filling with cold twilight air and smoke, and closed her eyes.

    Perhaps if you are not alone it is less frightening, but it's good to face the fears in your mind. Talk to them. They may not understand your language, but they will understand your heart.

    "I call out to any wandering souls or lost spirits," She spoke, barely above a whisper. "If you do not wish to hear me, please let me pass unharmed -- if you wish to hear me, come with me. Follow my lamp, partake of my gift, and I will be your shepherd."

    She opened her eyes and entered the forest proper, the trees becoming more numerous and confusing, but she had made a path for herself earlier: there was a specific spot she had in mind, and she knew that trying to navigate through here would be folly without markers. It was even colder within the trees, and the darkness quickly became oppressive. It was difficult to tell if certain eerie feelings were the result of supernatural influence or simply that of a wooded area at night when one was all by themselves. It quickly began to feel as though something (or several somethings) were watching her as she passed by.

    Spirits are like people. There are good ones and bad ones. They have their virtues and vices, and they have their dignity. If you see or hear or feel anything, don't intellectualize: give them their dignity. Don't deny their existence, even if you feel it's only your imagination.

    About an hour passed wherein Sara's emotions fought for control. When she felt too fearful, she remembered her pity for the lost dead, and it strengthened her resolve. After a while, her resolve would dry up, and she would become a little frightened again, and repeat the cycle, but not once did she clam up, or stop or speed up, nor did she begin shaking at any point. She couldn't help but notice her newfound courage, and made a note to feel proud of herself for it later.

    At the end of the hour she had found her way to her destination: a large, boggy pond fed by a stream which ran through the forest from the Do'suul mountains. Water was a conductor for supernatural energies -- so she had chosen this spot to set up her very first shrine. She chose a reasonably flat stone and upon it set four candles and a bowl, into which she stood another bundle of joss sticks. It was a very simple homage, perfect for the spirits who wandered the forest.

    While the sandalwood and candles burned, Sara sat with her hands together and eyes closed in prayer. There wasn't anything specific -- mostly well-wishes and meditation, hopes that the lost ones could find their way, warm sympathy and concern. For a few minutes, the forest was eerily silent.

    Then the sounds began: the subtle snapping of twigs, anomalous splashes in the pond and stream, voice-like chirrups that the pilgrim couldn't place. At one point, there was a quick succession of squishing noises as though something small had run past nearby. You will hear them around you: you will hear them playing, investigating. Being curious. In some senses, they can be like children. There will not be a harm if you don't anticipate it: they will just be around you.

    Sara was not even fearful enough to open her eyes and do her own investigating, as she would have done this time last year. instead, she merely smiled. "Hey there." Came her friendly greeting before she resumed her prayer.

    Next came sensations, mostly frisson in isolated pockets on her head and arms, and one that cruised up and down her back. She felt individual strands of her hair move beneath the bound sheaf, strands which shouldn't have been able to move. At one point she got a sudden whiff of earl grey tea.

    It had started as a prayer, but Sara soon lost track of time and some of her thoughts, and became swept up in the whirl of activity, enjoying their company and games without ever opening her eyes. At some points she became nervous, wondering if the activity would ever stop, or if she had crossed over into some un-escapable dimension, or if it would escalate into violence. It was a mark of her newfound self-control that none of these thoughts overpowered her or crippled her, and she kept all of her doubts carefully contained. When the three-hour mark had passed and the activity died down, Sara opened her eyes, packed up, and left, leaving her tiny, modest shrine behind with the rest of the joss sticks burning down. She took her time, walking slowly, unhurried by her baseline nervousness. It took her almost another hour to leave the forest, and when she got back to her camp and tickled the snoozing Bughunter's ears, she was all smiles.

    She had won the battle against her fear of the dark and the unknown, which was more than others could say. Sure, she was still scared shitless of the living, but she now had one up on a lot of other people -- most importantly, though, she now had one up on herself. Eager to make an entire evening of it, Sara built up a small fire, filled her pipe with devil-grass, and sat with her guitar beside her cat, the horse dozing contentedly nearby. Her wandering, plucking fingers soon found a soothing melody, and the young pilgrim smiled up at the stars.

    "Good job," She said to herself, feeling the pleasant haze of the grass take effect. "Happy birthday, Sara."
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    Ilazki
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    There was only silence on her path. Silence and cold. As the dying rays of the sun crashed against the canopy of the tree. No breeze nor the sound of nature dispelled the unnatural that had settled within the forest. The dryad could hear the soft panting of her breathing, as her nostrils took in the chilly air and her lips expelled a barely visible foggy cloud that faded as quickly as it came. She stopped at the sight of trees, seemingly twisted under the shade, to some an ill omen, but for her felt as welcoming as a forbidden section of a library.

    Death had come, the echoes of wandering souls told her this much. And soon winter would settle into the forest and the rest of the continent. Her hand would trail over the bark, feeling the moss that had attached itself unto the trunk as she attempted to gather what had caused such stillness. Not that she really felt to be a solution to any curse that had fallen in the area. However the foliage offered no answer of the silence, no tale to tell to a willing audience. Had they glimpsed unto her essence? Would this secret be kept from her due her own tainted nature?

    Utter nonsense. The dryad thought. A thousand ideas flowed from the deep recesses of her mind. A curse, the war, a beast that roamed around sucking the blood of animals. All these possibilities hung in the air awaiting to be proved right or wrong. She crouched and seized the soil. The dirt escaping through her fingers. It hadn't rained, at least not recently. The dryness of the coming winter had seeped into the soil making it rather loose. This would help indeed.

    With the sun light fading, she carefully carved a circle on the forest soil and runes within it. Intersecting lines crossed the figure as she admired her work, deeming it as sufficient. She tapped the center of the diagram with the tip of her staff. A green glow began to emerge from the lines along with a soft hum. She took a deep breath and stared unto the sky.

    "Nik agindutako..." Her voice began as a small whisper, echoing against the trees. "..arima alderrai..." she continued as the sound of her voice began to repeat itself as a whisper, transforming and degrading in equal measures as it grew graver or to a lower pitch. " amore nire..." Ilazki felt the resistance, as spirits in her vicinity resisted the pull of her spell. All in futility as she gave a wry smile for herself. They always fought, it was rather quaint that they would struggled. "nahiaren!"

    The rough echoes continued as the spirits and wisps continued their struggle, slowly yielding into her will. However, something was different. Something was wrong. Her incantation was a simple one, as simple as soul manipulation for necromancy could be. But it had always been effective. The echoes slowly faded and the glow began to dim as the invisible tethering of will had snapped. And the souls and wisps that had struggled escaped. All but one. And it was green.

    "...This doesn't bother me..." She said in a hiss as she leered unto the floating wisp that awaited for command. "This doesn't bother me... this doesn't bother me..." She repeated as anger for failure flared within her. The dryad huffed at the failure as the mantra failed rather spectacularly. "This bothers me..." her eyes of molten focused on the green mot of light that floated before her. "You bother me a lot... Zurekin..." She said dispelling the floating wisp.

    She took a deep breath, considering what had gone wrong. Her incantations were the appropriate ones. The very same she had reiterated time and time again in practice. Was the stillness of this forest the problem? However the distant scent of smoke caught her attention. Her gaze shifted towards vague direction from where it came. Had an unwilling interloper be the cause of this? Had just their presence be enough to disrupt their spell? Slowly she resumed her gait. This time on the direction from where the scent of smoke had come.
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    Sara
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    ~Hail, Mysteria -- I shield my eyes...~

    Shortly after she began playing, Bughunter looked up suddenly and sharply towards the forest, though she had been in a full sleep only moments earlier. Sara watched her little ears prick forward, eyes large, head up. Full alert. She chalked it up to the spirits, at first, and resumed playing, but stopped again a moment later when she too had a strange feeling. Her blood suddenly ran cold, and her eyes scanned the edge of the night-cloaked woods. Last time she had had a feeling like this, in a place like this, around this time of year…

    …she glanced around for mosquitoes and found none.

    “Thank Raya.” She whispered.

    But the feeling didn’t fade. Perhaps something Bad had followed her after all during one of those momentary lapses in vigilance during the ritual. Her hand drifted from the guitar strings to the black mala around her neck. The stuff in the wicker pack had been for her new work, but the mala had been her birthday gift from Ylsa, who had made it herself.

    It should protect you from evil intentions and curses, She had said, But it is still critical to be cautious. Remember: there is always a Stronger. Our powers are no more absolute than theirs.

    She remembered. The ghosts of the mystic’s words gave her new strength, and she let her hand fall easily to the strings once more, plucking a new, cheerful melody. It wouldn’t do to be afraid of whatever was out there. If she became afraid, she would Miss, and it was too important in this kind of place to hit your target, whatever it may have been. Bughunter, though, decided to skulk away slowly and low to the ground into the security of her bag. She clearly wasn’t taking any chances either. Sara shifted her position to a less laid-back one, ready to seize her bow and the exorcism arrows from Owen’s old hideout, and as she did so she saw beyond the smoke of her fire: someone was walking their way.

    Well. That was that then.

    It had to be a solid Person and not a spook, because Sara simply did not see spooks. At least, not the corporeal kind. There were plenty of human spooks in the world too, and speak of the devil, the closer the shape drew the more Sara could see that perhaps something Bad had followed her after all, and worse, it was still solid.

    “Who is that?” She inquired of them while they were still a safe distance away. The guitar was laid down beside her, replaced with the brushing of her fingers against her bow and arrows. She leaned forward, and her sharp sight began picking out features.

    Those eyes.

    “Ancestors help me,” She whispered, steely-eyed, breaking out of her smoke-induced fog. Something was very wrong.
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    Ilazki
    Member Avatar


    The scent of smoke grew stronger, she was getting closer. But there was something else. A sense of peace that more and more permeated every inch of her skin. Something had been done to cause such serenity in the area. A ritual or a spell had been cast and echoes lingered. Echoes that had reached the location from which he had attempted to bound whatever spirit of soul she had intended to bound and question. The failure of the usually easy spell brought anger. She was going to have answers, and whoever had done the ritual to disrupt her abilities would provide them.

    The Dryad took a deep breath, the serenity of the area causing a deep seethe within her. Suddenly she flicked he staff, sweeping movements taking the space of air as if she were sparring unseeing enemies until with a thud, the butt of relic was buried, leading it to stand. Her hands came in unison together, palms touching each other, fingers extended upright. The hands began to move, the crystal on top of the staff shone an eerily green that in someway sucked whatever light from the stars that shone in the deep cobalt and the sun that died in the horizon.

    Wispy smoke followed the movement of hands as a formation was slowly traced and form in green flames. "Gaizkiaren Itzalak" Her chanting began once more as the circle was completed and the formation of glowing green flames shone anew with her words. "Izango da nire borondatea lotuak" Her voice echoed more and more into the forest. "Deialdira dut!" Her chanting ended as echoes remained deeper and higher than her usual tone.

    The flames contracted and reacted, as the final echoes dispersed, until they died out and wisps smoke remained. The sorceress outstretched arms and fingers, nestling the the smoke into her hands, containing them from dissipating or escaping. She brought them close to her mouth. "Find and bring me who did this... I want the individual unspoiled..." The dryad whispered to the shade before releasing it with a breeze of her breath.

    The wisp blew, growing and dividing, until ethereal constructs remained, tall as her and with a shape reminiscent of a man or an elf. Slowly the glided over the soil, not making a sound as they collided against bark and forking branches of the ancient trees. A wry smile slowly formed from her lips, hoping that the spell would not leave the caster of the ritual, much undamaged.

    Spoiler: click to toggle
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    Sara
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    ~Hail, Mysteria -- I shield my eyes...~

    For a minute or so it seemed as though nothing was happening -- but soon enough the horse began stomping and panicking, and Bughunter darted out from her bag and took off into the night, much to Sara's alarm.

    "Bugs!" She called desperately, but her cat was gone, and when she turned back there were things coming towards her. Immediately, she leaned down and scooped up the white arrows, nocking one and backing up against her tree. All at once the carefully-constructed courage she had been building for the last two months crumbled. Her feet rooted themselves to the spot as her blood ran cold and sweat prickled on her brow and in her newly-trembling hands.

    Whatever they were, they were getting closer and definitely weren't the playful spirits she had shared company with earlier. They moved like blackened waifs through the shadows cast by her fire, unnatural -- when she tried to feel them out, she felt nothing. They weren't spirits at all, and had certainly been sent by the figure which stood not too far off. Her bow-arm twitched, and the black stone mala Ylsa had given her clacked against the bone and wood, reminding her of where she was, and who she was, and what she was supposed to be doing.

    Still seized by fear, but at least able to move, Sara's bow-arm flashed upwards and fired at the closest one; her arrow hit its mark, and the shadow was quickly overrun by white flames even as she shot at another. The second found its mark as well -- but there were others and she wasn't fast enough. Her eyes found the apparent caster as the rest of the shade drifted closer and closer: with a grimace of determination, she raised the bow one more time and fired before whatever it was grabbed her and her vision began to swim.

    The arrow grazed Ilazki's shoulder, but in her anxiety, in the dark, and at such a distance, the pilgrim missed hitting her square, and now struggled as the swamp-dryad's magic scrambled her thoughts: her only grounding reassurance was a single exorcism arrow, clamped tightly in her fist, and the hopeful knowledge that whatever these things were and whoever sent them, they wouldn't be able to touch it.

    "The fuck do you want?!" She demanded of the spectre which had undoubtedly summoned these... things. Her fear was barely masked by her aggressive vulgarity. If nothing else, Her frenzied brain somehow managed to joke, being messed up by a demon is a glorious way to go out.

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