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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    Time to Roll the Dice; - Open -
    Topic Started: Aug 7 2014, 02:33 PM (302 Views)
    Nyhm
    Member Avatar
    A helix turning in an opposite perpendicular direction to its counterpart.

    "Hey."
    Nyhm pursed her lips against the sour taste of vomit and the slow and steady pressure on the underside of her tongue that insisted she was going to throw up all over the pair she now confronted. It had still been dark when she woke up, so that either meant she'd not been out too long, or she'd been out so long that entire days had passed. Which wouldn't be so good. But the men were still here and that was fine, because they took her damned helm while she was flat on her back with a mouthful of regurgitated steak and kidney pie, made with questionable steak.
    A constant drumming in the back of her skull reminded her that there was no such thing as drinking in bad company and she should have another to ease the incessant din, but first she wanted her skullcage back.

    It had started out well, a round on the house from a shady type she decided to studiously ignore in his corner. Don't get affiliated with those types, it's all under the cloak stuff and people who want to be left alone probably should. Probably. Unless your name was Nyhm Tyragaarde and your crooked nose that was always out of join just had to go inching into someone else's business.
    She'd not drunk that much with him, honestly. Well, she couldn't remember drinking that much, which said that in that case she probably had, unless it was spiked. She could recall laughter, and faces that quickly dissolved after a couple of rounds, and someone hit her with a chair at some point and she introduced them to the art of defenestration but nothing serious.
    Next thing she was staggering outside to find the nearest accessible tree and then nothing. Apparently she'd puked at some point because it was all she could taste and her hair was plastered stickily to her head on the left side, shot almost vertical on the right. Someone had been trying to undo her armor judging by several loose straps, and her drinking buddies sat comfortably at the top of the suspect list. They sat now with backs to her, slowly swiveling to view the unimpressed changeling with hands on her hips, glowering with her one eye. The helm sat on the bar between them, leering threateningly.

    "I b'lieve ya got sommat that b'longs to me fellas."
    "I dunno Fingers, whacha think?"
    Fingers shrugged noncommittally, deliberately not looking at the purloined item behind them, while trying to inch away from the pissed-off she-bear.
    "Not my business, Dave."
    Nyhm flexed her jaw slowly, then eased her head to the side and spat thickly.
    "That's mine an' I'll be havin' it back, else I'm gonna have to deck ya. Right here, and right now." After a moments checking, she sighed. "And my coin an' all. Fork it over ya thievin' liddle shits."
    Dave opened his mouth to retort and the hunter shoved her face against his, breathing rank air through her teeth in a hiss.
    "I ain't in the mood to play silly buggers with ya. Now fork it over or I'll make a point o' makin' it your business." She rolled her eyes back thoughtfully, then added, "And a drink on top o' that for my troubles."
    It still shocked her that hunters didn't drink for free. Here it was coin or nothing, same for food and beds. Bugger that you might stove in a fire-breathing lizard's head at any second, until you proved it they didn't give half a damn.

    Her fist clenched, bicep bunching to painful tautness as she waited, fully expecting to lay the pair of thrifters out when the innkeep bustled up between them, slowly sliding a collection of mugs onto the bar. Just as well, really, Dave was sweating buckets and her ferocious scowl was replaced by bemusement. Fingers slid from his stool, made to slide away and the hunter casually kicked it out from behind him, the legs clipping the back of his knees as it went over and carried him with it. A roar of laughter rippled around the taproom, and she folded her arms, looming imposingly over the pair and the proprietor.
    "Please, we'll 'ave none o' that 'er-"
    A fist bunched in the stout man's apron, hoisting him a couple of inches off the floor. A cudgel appeared in his hand miraculously, and she caught it, wrestling it from him with some difficulty and placing it on the bar.
    "Please don't break my furniture."
    The mousy voice and pathetic demeanor stalled her, and for a moment it looked like she was going to punch him. Instead she bellowed a brash laugh, replaced him on floor level and dusted him down with a pat on the back hard enough to make the man stagger.
    "I wanna pay my tab, soon as I get my coin back."
    Nyhm reached around the paralyzed thief, and scraped her helm across the bar towards herself, hooking it from her belt and planting on fist on her narrow waist. "So where is it? Sat? Speak up I'm a liddle bit deaf in this ear!"
    "Gambled it.."
    "WHAT. I HAD TO SMASH AN ENTIRE NEST O' BLACK RECLUSE FOR THAT PAYLOAD. HOW DO I FEED MY DOG NOW?!"
    The Hunter didn't much care that she had the man by the shoulders and was shaking him violently, teeth clacking and rendering him unable to reply. All she could think of was the slavering great warg that she'd left behind the stable after terrifying all the horses, and how he'd probably eat her to fill his belly next for losing their money.
    "I..I.."
    "What the hell am I gonna do now? You...you TIT!"
    Dave was the second person to go through a window in two hours, and she left him there, rolling in the glass outside as she turned her attention to the other one, now slithering conspicuously across the floor.
    "YOU. You're the gambler! You're gonna help me win my money back! Who'd ya lose it to?!" She grabbed him by the collar, hauling him unceremoniously to his feet and dragging him about until his wavering finger settled on a patron.
    "OI. Fancy a rematch with skinny balinki here?"
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    Waxworks
    Member Avatar
    I told the witchdoctor I was in love with you...

    The witchdoctor smiled.

    The boisterous brute of a woman had been making him do that since she stormed into the bar a few hours before. She'd made enough of a scene with that hound of hers in the stables. Janjak had thought Ulshavaras had taken a liking to one of the Stalions again, before he'd seen the green haired woman being shooed out of there leading the shaggy slavering beast behind her. The massive thing had reminded him all too much of Modeste Bellamy's oaf of a dog and left him to wonder if the two had shared a sire in an Orthos or Cerberus.

    Something about her had seemed familiar, and not just the striking similarity she bore to an ogress with which he was acquainted. From the moment she'd entered the tavern the whole place had been made more interesting than the usual night, and Janjak had kept watch out of the corner of his eye, while staying out of the way of the bar room current that her kind of charisma tended to have. He was also keeping his dark eyes on “Fingers” because the clock was ticking on the thief's deadline, and Janjak expected to collect one way or another.

    The events that followed unfolded in the manner such things usually did. Many boisterous and engaging stories were shared by Nyhm, as she called herself, about slaying beasts that boggled the minds of the unimaginative or uneducated. The tale of how she walloped a Lonairian Legmaw was his particular favorite as he was rather familiar with the beasts, and could visualize someone choking one with its own tail quite vividly much to his amusement. All the while “Fingers” was pouring more drinks into her and failing horribly to lift her purse due to nigh but poor timing and his guest's tendency to wave her arms about as she boasted. Eventually one tale was a story too far, someone said something besmirching of another's mother, and as these things tend to go, fists and chairs were set swinging until someone went out a window and the barkeep threatened to cut them all off.

    The night had quieted down and Fingers apparent acomplace had been busy fiddling with the large woman's armor while Fingers made his last desperate attempt to settle up before the deadline by using her coin as wager in a friendly game of cards. Hoping to win enough from Janjak and other patrons in time to pay the skull painted voodoo master back before time ran out. He'd nearly done it, he'd had enough to settle his debts and have a little left over. The smart move would have been to pay off Janjak and get out of the area before the she-giant woke. Fingers had never been a smart man, some could say that was why he became a thief. Emboldened by a brief tide of luck, and temporary wealth, he pushed the game onward hoping to force the half-fae to put his debt into the pot so he could escape free of fear and full of coin. His luck had quickly slipped the opposite direction, and soon he'd not only lost his winnings but his original bid and continued to try to wager things to win some of it back.

    When Dave had clumsily begun trying to undo the woman's armor to little avail, Janjak had been the one to suggest that he let Fingers use who would lay with her first, as a wager. Begrudgingly he'd agreed for the sake of his all too desperate associate. The witchdoctor had known he would win, and thus save either the unconscious beastwoman or whoever was fool enough to try to lay with her, having no intention of doing so himself; but rather using the bet to ensure she was disturbed no further.

    When Fingers had tried to wager the helmet, Janjak had refused, but let a different arrangement pass for the final bid. It had been the last bid, because after that the clock had rung, alerting the thief to his fate. It was time for him to pay up. He had nothing, and pleaded for an extension, to which Janjak refused, he continued to plead and so the witch doctor, having noticed a stirring in the large woman's form, agreed a reprieve of one last drink before he would collect.

    The large woman had been out for all these events, so had no idea what state Fingers was in as he pointed to the dark skinned half-fae with skull face paint, and a foreign hat atop his head, currently leaning his chair back on two legs with both feet propped up on the table, smoking a cigar which emitted eerie purple smoke.

    Fingers was hoping against hope that she'd kill the witchdoctor for her money and make his life that much easier. Somehow, even he knew that the improbable success of this ill-fated scheme would do nothing to spare him what was to come.

    This was why the witchdoctor smiled.

    He said nothing in immediate response to her question, save a ring of purple smoke being loosed into the air. ”Perhaps ya should have a drink firs' ta calm ya head, frien'.” he finally stated calmly, before withdrawing a strange black bottle from beneath his chair and uncorking it. The embers on his cigar flared brighter from proximity to the opened bottle which was labeled with three skulls all bearing different expressions, and no more. Something clear was poured into two wooden cups, and one of these cups was slid across the table by his ivory walking stick embellished with a skull at its top.

    The bartender protested ”I thought I told you not to bring that stuff in here!”

    ”If ya sol' sometin half as stron aye'd listen! Ya gon ta complain, cause aye could ask ta collect now!” The witchdoctor retorted without bothering to even look at the bartender, who shut his mouth and busied himself with the counter.

    Whether she took the drink or not, he tossed back his letting the foul liquid burn its way down his throat and caused a flame to ignite on the end of his cigar when he brought it back to his lips. ”Dats da stuff, frien'.” he grinned, wide mischievous smirk displaying all his crooked teeth.

    With that moment of supposed hospitality out of the way, the voodoo man presumed the woman might be less prone to swinging fists at the first sound of bad news so he felt moderately safe to proceed. ”no girl, ah won play wit him again. Him already owe meh more dan him can saey an him ain no fun ta challenge cause him always loose. Fingahs ain allowed ta gamble again besides, not against ol' Janjak at least. His last bet was dat anytin he evah won at gamblin would belong ta me. A deal I don expect ta see much profit from.”

    Fingers cringed at this news, face in a cold sweat, not sure which hammer would strike first. The payment he owed the calm and devious little man before him, or the fist of the woman who currently held on to him. He broke out into a panicked, desperate cry. ”Just kill him! Cave his skull in and take your money back! Its the only way! You'll do us both a favor! I'll even put your tab on mine!”

    Whether Nyhm shut him up or let him speak until the panciked wind left his sails, in either case Janjak simply watched her with interest. When the commotion had passed, as long as his debtor was still alive, he proceeded to talk, calmly. Having shifted from his reclining position to sitting in his chair while resting both elbows on the table and both his cheeks in his palms. ”Dat's certianleh an option, tho I feel it be a might unfair one. It ain' ol Janjak's fault Fingahs was gamblin wit money dat wasn't his.” Janjak took a drag from his cigar and sorely hoped she was not so simple as to take that literal, as he had a very limited exit strategy and would not be able to collect from Fingers for quite some time if ever, once he vacated the establishment. ”The othah options aye see are eitha ya make a trade wit me.... or,” the sound of the r elongated while he rummaged in his pocket and procured a handful bone-carved dice which he let tumble across the table, their skull motifs leering up from the wooden surface. ”Ya can play a game, an try ta win it from me.”

    The witchdoctor then steepled his fingers, and tilted his head forward, peering up at the towering woman from beneath the brim and grinning, though not as widely as when this all began. Defying her to try to win back what she'd lost on his terms. In the back of his mind, reason pleaded that he take the money and run before she throttled him for being too smug. However his theatrical ego could not let it go, and the odds were too sweet, and too exciting to pass over. This was the kind of gamble he truly enjoyed. The witchdoctor only hoped at the end of it he had a debtor or a friend as opposed to yet another dangerous individual who sorely wanted him dead.
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Nyhm
    Member Avatar
    A helix turning in an opposite perpendicular direction to its counterpart.

    Her violet gaze settled grudgingly on the all too relaxed man with his brightly coloured, patchy clothes. It wasn't that she didn't like him, not that, it was just..there was something distinctly unsettling there, a low electrical undercurrent that drew her interest to lock on his dark eyes. She didn't care much for the exotic tube in his mouth, puffing smoke like any really pissed off wyvern did, but the whole attire and the face paint drew her to the rather simple-minded, and straightforward conclusion, that he was some kind of shaman.
    Therefore he should be treated with respect, even if he was in the middle of a bar with a bunch of ale-soaked patrons who could barely stand on their own two stumps.

    The words had hardly begun to grate in her throat when she hesitated as that thought came crashing into the rest of her consciousness, dragging them to a slow halt.
    "I think I done drunk plenny enou-"
    Not exactly sober, and working her swollen tongue in her mouth to lose some of the dryness, the Hunter swallowed with an audible click, wrinkled her wonky nose and thrust the thief down into the seat beside the proffered cup.
    Far be it from her to turn down hospitality, even if it was from a midget with fire coming out of his mouth. Normally that was an open invitation to fun, and a distinct lack of care, because reasons were for chumps. But right now all she wanted was her money, a barrel of cool water to dunk her head in for a while, and a good sleep.
    In truth it all amounted to being wound up like a bear just prodded out of hibernation after having all its teeth pulled, the temper only shortly curbed because said midget was a shaman of some sort. Probably. If he wasn't she'd just have to concede that she'd have to slap more than one liddle bitch tonight.

    Her backside thunked into the seat and she closed rough fingers around the cup, eyeing the beverage with some dubiousness. From the brief exchange with the bar keep it sounded like it wasn't legal either. A wry smile caught the edge of her mouth, drawing it into a scarred leer as she knocked it back, then immediately wished she bloody well hadn't. Felt like the back of her damned throat caught fire, drinking liquid acid, eating her breathpipe. Nyhm might have cursed if she had the thought to do so, but simply sat mute, eyes watering, trying to keep her face from turning inside out.

    Well..this stank worse than sun-dried, week old wyvern crap. So the liddle ass had lost all her money, and his, racked up a huge debt, and now wasn't even allowed to gamble to win it back. The table groaned in protest as her grip on the edge tightened, swiveling to fix her single eye on him, cold anger blazing.
    "What d'ya think I am, some kind o' brigand? I ain't like yous so shut ya trap skinny."
    Nyhm rested her elbows against the table, massaging her temples and squeezing her eye shut, muttering; "Gods favor us, smash in a shaman's head...are ya fuckin crazy? Ya know the amount o' bad luck that'd bring?"

    Slowly she leaned back, blew warm air through her lips that made her already unkempt thatch rustle like some sentient overgrowth on her head. After a moment she scowled, pulled a length of cloth from her belt and scrubbed at the side of her face, dried vomit coming away in flakes. The woman grunted in disgust, threw the cloth at Fingers, eliciting a piteous whimper, and drummed her digits on the table.
    "What kinda trade, little man? I ain't agreein' to nothin' til I know what I'm gettin' into."
    She canted her head, flicking a fingertip against one of the dice and making them roll. Then experimentally picked them up, turning them in her palm, and cast them. Two skulls stared up at her, judging, as if the weight of their silent accusation was real and not just inside her fat head.

    Shouldn'ta got so pissed, let em nick everythin' and lose it all again. Ya great big dolt...s'yer own fault really, shouldn'ta been so naive, lettin em get away with it.

    "These loaded?"
    It went without saying what might happen if she found out he was cheating her in some fashion. Still it would be so much bad luck to lay a hand on a shaman...years and years of it...
    Nyhm growled, cleared her throat and rested her chin on one knobbly fist, fixing Janjak with her single eye. If she didn't at least clear her tab and get food for the warg that didn't require her hunting it, she'd be here for the rest of the season chopping wood and hauling water. Of course she could just walk away but it just wouldn't be right. Would it?
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Waxworks
    Member Avatar
    I told the witchdoctor I was in love with you...

    Janjak was impressed with either the inner confidence, or lack of sense that drove the woman to try the offered drink. Mischievious amusement danced in his eyes, while the witchdoctor fought it away from the rest of his face as the hapless victim suffered the consequences. She held it better than most, her eyes watering, and her face convulsing and contorting oddly for a moment as she fought for control. This girl was tougher than she looked, which was saying something considering her appearance.

    She hadn’t wretched, at least not yet, or spit it out in shock and horror. It would be amusing to see what happened over time, and to find out why she kept her composure so well. The half-fae knew that most humans, and even dwarves, were not so dull to the effects of alcohol and other substances as he. He would not be surprised, if he learned she had some fae blood in her heritage.

    The voodoo priest was more impressed when she turned down and berated Fingers’ suggestion to abruptly end his existence and forcibly regain their finances. She had moral fiber, or at least a healthy sense of superstition, either one was something he could work with. Janjak felt slightly more at ease now that he was momentarily assured his physical well being was not at risk, and silently thanked the loa, yet again, for his station.

    The large, haggard, woman showed she had brains to compensate her appearance, when she questioned first his offerings of trade, and then his dice. The wicked grin returned to Janjak’s face as one invsible hand took the cigar from his mouth and held it aloft for him, while he intertwined his fingers and rested his elbows on the table, leaning for her as if to get a better look.

    ”Dat depends entirleh on what ya willin ta offah.” Janjak answered, never one to tip his hand first when bartering for favors. If he started the bidding, she’d have a point to work from, if she started the bidding, he might have a better sense of her metaphorical wallet. ”As fah mah dice, ya can roll ‘em as manneh taimes as ya liek, ta see if dem honest enough fa ya. Ah play a clean game, it ain’ in mah natyah ta tampah wit a game o’ chance.” Janjak’s definition of tampering, might have been a little deviated from the norm; but the dice were truly fair. If he wanted to cheat someone, there were other ways, and he preferred to test his luck more than he liked making his own.

    To emphasize his point, in addition to warning the potential competition about what they were entering in to, in either case, his other invisible hand withdrew the coat from his shoulders and let it fall into his chair. Promptly, his wings spread themselves fully and flapped as best they could provided his seating, for a few beats. ”As ya can see, ah got nuttin up mah sleeves.” the shirtless witchdoctor explained, while unclasping his hands and spreading them, palms up, so she could see the truth of this.

    ”So, what’ll it be frien? Ya wan ta work a deal or play a game?”
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Nyhm
    Member Avatar
    A helix turning in an opposite perpendicular direction to its counterpart.

    Nyhm twitched visibly, her eyes scraping to nail the sight of the floating cigar in place. It didn't of course, it just kept bloody moving on its own. She thought to wonder how he was doing it, then decided quite firmly that she didn't want to bloody know. Magic was a sacred thing, not to be used willy nilly. To see someone use such an abuse of it...unless it was trickery, which was no better. How many of their land-bound shaman were nothing but charlatans?

    She was entirely too sober for this. Unless she was dead. That would make sense, she supposed. Her head hurt entirely too much to be natural, but it only heightened the awareness of the fact that if she was dead, she would probably not feel so uncomfortable knowing her hair was going stiff with drying vomit, that her throat was sand and her head was being beaten against an invisible drum for her sins.

    What did she have to offer?

    ..Well not much right now. She was sitting in a craphole of a tavern, hungover and with a temper like a bear with a bad tooth, now penniless thanks to her drinking companions. Only whatever skills she might turn to hand. Which meant mainly muscle, or perhaps some form of culinary expertise. Or hunting. There wasn't much else she was good at to tell the truth. She could skin a seal, store fat and cure hides, cook food and braid rope, throw a harpoon and lift heavy baggage...and kill. But anyone could do that given the right circumstance.

    Her mouth drew down in a grimace, stretching the scars of her face tight and pale.
    "Only thing I can offer is my service. Ya got all my coin already."
    Some people considered the debt of a favor more valuable than the material worth. Perhaps it was. Providing the one who owed you was still walking among the living and giving you the opportunity to claim it back.
    The dice were cool in her palm, and she squinted at them in the low light, cupped in her roughened fingers. Well...what could it hurt? Nobody ever really won or lost anything without taking a chance, and she had next to nothing to lose right now.

    When she finally lifted her eyes it felt like a titanic effort to pull them away from the wings fluttering at his back. It struck a nerve, too close to home, and she felt the annoying stunted appendages at her own back jerk fitfully in their cramped quarters, squashed under her armor.
    No, she'd never got the hang of them. No, they hadn't grown. No, she didn't know how, or why, or what she was supposed to do about it. They were just there, marking her out as something other than what she was supposed to be.

    An outsider.

    "What's the deal, and what's the game? If the deal ain't good, then we play."
    Lavender eyes gleamed with a touch of her usual cynical humor, and the hunter placed the dice carefully between them on the table. No rolls yet. It would be just her luck if they were cursed or something.
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