11 AR

Angkar: Dry season. Often sunny, but precipitation is rare. Humidity is low, some bodies of water may have dried up, and bushfires can occur. The rainforest sees evenly distributed rainfall throughout the season.

Ashoka: Desert: Cooler temperatures, although still relatively hot. Violent, heavy downpours following long dryspells. Jungle: Hot and humid with frequent, violent rainstorms.

Morrim: Cool, wet, and windy, rain is common, although snow is, on the whole, infrequent (there may, however, be some seemingly random snow storms) in the interior, and any snow that accumulates along the coast quickly disappears. Early in the season it is very stormy, wet, and windy, while the end of the season is characterized by less wind, less precipitation, and lower temperatures. Towards the mountains heavy snowfall is quite frequent and the temperatures drop significantly.

Soto: Covered in anywhere from a foot to four or five feet of snow, Soto is very cold. Windchills are common and can severely drop the temperature at times. Deciduous trees have no leaves while coniferous trees continue to bear needles. Slow or still bodies of water have frozen over.

ANNOUNCEMENTS

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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    Life On The Road; Shaking off the rust and dust
    Topic Started: Jan 8 2018, 12:16 AM (105 Views)
    Gouka


    Lashing branches, tangling, tripping vines, leaves slapping at his face- the whole forest seems to be out for his blood. Cut here, knick there, scraping, branches like a claw aching for more, running, still running. Fear response, pure fear, no fight just flight, had to get away from the slithering, the hissing- never fast enough, never quick enough, muscles screaming, burning, tearing to pieces, keep pushing, pushing, going-

    I CAN WAIT UNTIL THE END OF TIME FOR MY REVENGE

    Stumbled, fallen, tripped, hungry root snatching at feet, tumbling, head cracked onto a hard rock, bleeding, voice too powerful, like a mountain in his head, lead lost, slithering getting closer, hissing hungry, triumphant, rising- silence. Only silence. Tomb, crypt, grave, a cavern that has never, in a millennia, seen so much as a fallen pebble's worth of sound. He uncurls from the fetal position he'd instinctively taken. Forest gone. Trees gone. Blank emptiness. Silence. No- faint. A whisper's whisper. A cry of rage. Hunter denied their prey. But for how long?

    Look up, instinct, raw instinct cried out at him. Indistinct, shadowy, man-sized, not the snake, but somehow worse, far, far worse. Cold, ice, void, impersonal, nothing, meant absolutely nothing. Worse than simply death, opposite, antonym, antithesis of life. Fear froze him, but blind, stupid curiosity compelled him- What are you?

    Tired, so very, very tired, the voice that called from the void.

    I am what came before.


    Gouka's eyes popped open. Before them, the night sky, once pitch black, was rapidly brightening to navy blue streaked with lines of gold and lurid pink, as the sun began its laborious ascent through a thin, sparse cover of clouds. He sat up, shaking the plain's grass he'd used to camouflage himself off, stretching with a ponderous yawn. It would have seems a curious display to anyone who'd known he'd just awoken from such a vivid nightmare- but then, Gouka had been dealing with nightmares for most of his life. Strangely, however terrible they'd gotten, he'd always awoken well rested.

    He did, however, muse on the figure that had appeared at the end, as he gathered up his bedroll and shook the grass out of it, promptly attached it to his travel pack (a bulky bundle consisting of a few basic travel supplies, and achingly, a small, ten pound portable anvil). His nightmares had been fairly consistent over the years, so the addition of something new in play with the serpent, came as something of a surprise. Equally surprising was the way that, whatever the entity was, it seemed to be at outright odds with the Serpent- not to say he'd at all gotten the impression it was friendly. Curiouser and curiouser.

    He shrugged, and filed the matter to the back of his head. Whatever would come of the nightmares, would come, and he'd hardly do anything about it just standing around. He dug out his weapons from another grass pile, hooking them to his belt- the long, plain bastard sword and short, equally plain swordbreaker- before standing up, hefting the travel pack onto his back. He'd camped a little distance from the dusty, well worn road, in a small dip in the ground he'd found and piled with soft plains grass. Ample enough camouflage for a sleeping traveler, provided the wind didn't kick too hard. He had open road behind him, and open road before him- miles beckoning to be traveled and traversed.

    He couldn't have been more content.

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    Kist
    Member Avatar
    Gaudeamus igitur, luvenes dum sumus!

    Through the stifling velvet of pre-dawn darkness travelled a little light, a tiny floating firefly moon. Behind the light clattered a small cart, drawn by a donkey under the direction of a creature with a human frame but a completely inhuman appearance. His slitted eyes shone red in that enchanted light and his whole body was covered in a coarse, dark fur. His face was triangular and feline, his head topped by long, tufted ears, and he had a tail lying behind him, twitching from time to time like a snake. He rode along in utter silence, turning once in a while to check on his mistress, who slept in the cart next to a large, ornate trunk.

    Though the night was cold, she slept without a blanket. Skith's flesh felt no cold and produced no warmth; it was already as white as death. So she laid awash in her heavy black skirts, her black shawl thrown to the side by a sleeping hand – such dire clothing for one who looked so young. Yet, despite the youthful smoothness of her face, which carried the inexplicable beauty that accompanies young things, no matter their appearance, she seemed too old for her age, and her sleep was troubled.

    Her brow furrowed and she mumbled something: "If you wanna die though, just stand here. Got it?"

    An exhortation.

    The other person in the dream, the one she had been warning, faded soon after that. Skith had sunk into the water and watched fire scatter its blossoms above, scattering soot like pollen. With it came the charred palm fronds, the still-burning chunks of wood and, yes, that little embellishment that was always present in these dreams but hadn't been in reality: the bodies of animals, some still alive, missing limbs and some completely unrecognisable. Camels, fennecs, cats, dogs and the constant patter of dead birds and lizards, falling like nonpareils on icing.

    In the waking world, Skith moaned in distress, causing the cart-driver to glance over his shoulder at her. These animals had been her friends! They had looked upon her with such adoring eyes, had sat in her hair and had blindly trusted her the entire time she had rigged up the explosives all around the oasis. What an evil being she was – how could she had done this?

    In the water there floated a right angle, a right angle with a fringe of fingers. A human arm. Ah, yes, the human arm. The arm of one of the men who had been hunting her, who had chased her across the continent with the intent of killing her to snatch up the spirit that had forced itself inside her tiny body.

    Yes, it was their fault that she'd had to do this! They had driven her to such depths of desperation, they had wrecked the natural order of her life and had turned it into a living hell!

    Kist had felt bad when she saw (or thought she saw) the human arm. But Skith, who, in that moment, had first detached from Kist and dropped like a seed into the depths of her soul, recoiled with rage. She was small yet, still unaware that she had a separate existence. She was hidden in the shadow of two boulders: Kist's spirit and the remnants of the Provider's spirit. Still, she had a voice, and she spoke her first words, gnashing little mouth that she was:

    "Hah! You really showed 'em! That's what they get for chasing you up and down this continent! Come on, be proud!"

    Down there, under all that water, Skith grew hungry. Or rather, she had been hungry this whole time. For months there had not been enough to eat because of the soldiers who chased her and the animals who followed her wherever she went. There was only one thing to be done, though she hated to–

    Skith rose to the surface like a shark. Before her, a fennec fox struggled, lacking its front legs but still trying to swim. Skith's mouth opened, her hands grasped wet fur. Too hungry to know right from wrong, she bit down and tasted blood.



    The donkey cart hit a bump in the road and jolted Skith awake. Immediately she sat up and stared around with wild eyes. The first glow of dawn was cast across the eastern sky, dimly illuminating the sparse shapes that populated this plain: a tree, drystone walls cutting up the slight hills, a farmhouse with no light in the windows. Knowing now where she was, Skith laid back with a groan, only to convulse a moment later with a painfully dry-sounding cough. Sitting up again, she spit over the side of the cart, cockroaches and woodlice shooting from her lips into the road.

    "Ugh," she said, watching them scurry away through the dirt. She turned to the figure driving the cart. "Skölli," she croaked at him, "Where's the water?"

    By way of response he threw the waterskin over his shoulder. It landed neatly in her lap. Once she'd had her fill, she said, "Stop the cart. I'll drive."

    When the cart clattered to a stop, Skölli looked over at her with an inquisitive eye. "I'm fine," she grunted, to which Skölli only tilted his head, as if to respond with Well, if you say so.

    "I'm fine!" protested Skith, "Don't worry about it."

    Skölli merely blinked slowly. He turned around, crawling towards the back of the cart. As he crawled, he shrank, his body losing all humanity and becoming more cat-like. He leapt onto his mistresses shoulders, wrapping about her like a stole.

    So, with Skölli filling her right ear with a raspy purr, Skith directed the cart on its way, watching daylight climb up into the sky and thinking, as much as she wished she was thinking less. Her mind kept moving in a series of messy loops, cycling on subjects such as the dream and the cockroaches that had come out of her afterwards, the village she had just left and where she planned to go next and what she would eventually do and what she would do to Kist's stupid face when she finally found her – stuff like that, repeating and intersecting, like a tangle of wet noodles.

    They had been traveling on a road leading from a village, a village which they had left in the dead of night, as criminals and scandalous men often do. It had taken them that long to get to the main road, so remote was the village they had visited. Now, as morning settled into the sky, accompanied by the first persistent songs of chilly starlings, the main road was in sight.

    "Skölli," murmured Skith turning her cheek against his bristly fur, "You should hide. I don't want anyone to see you."

    Skölli stretched and reluctantly hid himself in the pack that laid next to the trunk. Skith had been right to warn him away for, as soon as the cart turned onto the main road, she found herself going the same way as another traveller: a young man, dark-haired, with a few weapons on his back.

    Knowing that he would inevitably notice her anyways, Skith called out to him and waved. "What ho, fellow traveller!" she said jovially, "Whither are you headed? If you like, you could rest on my cart, or at least set that heavy pack down, so long as we are going the same way."
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    Gouka


    Gouka, deep as he was in the midst of pondering his latest dream- but one in a long series of which had haunted his nights and driven him to mild paranoia since he was ten years old- did not notice neither the cart nor driver until, amidst the rumbling of wagon wheels, he heard a jovial greeting.

    "What ho, fellow traveler! Whither are you headed? If you like, you could rest on my cart, or at least set that heavy pack down, so long as we are going the same way."

    He couldn't help the reflexive tension in his shoulders, hands tightening to the straps of his pack and instinctively balancing on the balls of his feet, ready to bolt. One of the quirks of his perpetual nightmares- though they left him well rested and with little actual fear, ever since they'd first begun, he'd felt a deep seated conviction that said dreams were to be the only warning he'd ever receive, when- certainly not if, but undeniably, when- the serpent finally came for him.

    Still, he affected an easy, friendly grin as he turned to meet eyes with the cart driver- a pale skinned lass, dark of both hair and eye, and quite young looking- younger than Gouka himself, perhaps. Her diminutive stature further compelled such an argument. In the back corner of his mind, where paranoia rested its laurels, a part of him took note that it was unusual to see a cart so far from any village, at such an early hour. But, manners were manners, and he returned the young lass' greeting.

    "Hail sister, I certainly wouldn't mind setting this literal anvil on my back down for a bit." He walked slowly to meet her approaching cart, seeking a nod of approval before hopping up into the back of the cart. It further struck him as odd that, for all the space the cart seemed to have, it was only occupied with a chest and a sack, and the chest did not seem the sort of thing to keep trade goods in. "As for where I be headed, well, I've a traveler's heart in the body of a smith's son, so anywhich direction that gives me leave to put my hammer to work suits me fine."

    He settled his pack down in the cart, taking care not to set it atop any of her belongings, and further avoiding any movement towards his weapons- he had little desire to provoke a misunderstanding. "And as for the blade, well, I do fancy myself a bit of a swordsman, and traveling on your lonesome does necessitate a stout defense if my feet are quick enough for the task." He settled himself at the edge of the cart, both maintaining a respectful distance from the lass and avoiding having his back turned to her. His eyes alighted curiously on the chest once or twice, but he held his tongue on curiosity in favor of introducing himself. "Gouka, son of Acies, the 'smith unbreakable' as he likes to fancy himself. To me, he was a good father, but a bit of a cheapskate." He'd pause for a moment here, to allow his newfound traveling companion to introduce herself in turn. "If you wonder about the oddity of my name, in comparison to mine father, well, the road is long, and it's quite an interesting tale I don't mind sharing."
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    Kist
    Member Avatar
    Gaudeamus igitur, luvenes dum sumus!

    Skith saw his shoulders rise in immediate tension and though when he looked at her his face hesitated its way to a friendly smile. So, he’s suspicious. And who wouldn’t be? Look at me – and at this hour!

    Still, he settled down on the cart, kindly explaining that the sword he carried was not for using on her, with the implication of So long as you’re not dangerous, that is. In an attempt to set him at ease – indicating her humanity, her awareness of the early hour – she made to fake a yawn. Of course, even thinking about yawning made one spring up naturally. She stifled it, thinking that her sleep was perhaps not as restful as she had first thought.

    “Nice to meet you, Gouka, even at such an ungodly hour. I am Miss Pollaia – a travelling tradeswoman. A healer of sorts.” With a slight motion of her head she suggested that the dark-wooded trunk behind her had something to do with this.

    Already he offered to tell her his life story. Skith’s eyes itched with the urge to roll. It was just the way of men – waiting to drop the tale of their existence at the first sign of receptiveness. Just the other day an older man, one old enough to have several children, maybe even grandchildren, had sidled up to her and begun bragging about his exploits in the Second Origa War as he leaned up against the side of a building like he believed he was just the perfect picture of beauty. Well – what did she care! She had asked him if he wanted her cure, and of course he had refused. If he forgot about the war, what would he have to accost random women with?

    Still, maybe this Gouka would be receptive to her help. He offered her his tale with a heaviness that suggested that there was something there for her to exploit. Even if not, maybe there would be some useful information in it. After all, Mr. Old Enough To Be Your Father had given her the idea to travel to the Origa area in search of new traumas to harvest.

    So, with all this passing in a moment through her head, she said, “Nothing like a good story to wile away the hours of a long journey. A journey to the north, I might mention – I am headed to Ashoka, in a roundabout way. I’ll be stopping in every village I can – but you are welcome to share my company and my cart as long as it suits you.”
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