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.


QUICK TIDBITS

  • We accept any member who wants to RP here;
  • We are an intermediate-level RPG;
  • We have been open since June 2004;
  • Elly's layouts work best in Chrome, Firefox, Safari, and Opera. It is not optimized for IE.

  • CURRENT EVENTS

    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.

    For a fuller description of our most recent events, check out our most recent edition of The Town Crier!

    daringraven
    Administrator
    Qayin Graves
    SHADOW
    Supporting Admin.

    Kestrel Sumner (Shadow)
    Kindle Blackheath
    Orion de Lacey
    Sinadryn Arsydian
    Welcome to our home, a world in which anything can happen. From sprawling deserts and vast forests to massive volcanoes and luscious hot springs, Soare and the Scattered Isles are beautiful places just waiting to be explored. For the brave and the bold or the cautious and the wary, creatures of all kinds roam the earth, looking for adventure or for a place to call their own. Species of all kinds - the well-known and the unknown - thrive here, though not always in harmony.

    Elenlond is an original medieval fantasy RPG with a world that's as broad as it is unique. Calling on characters of all kinds, the sky's the limit in a world where boundaries are blurred and the imagination runs rampant. Restrictions are limited and members are encouraged to embrace their creativity, to see where they can go and what they can do. It's no longer just text on a page - it becomes real.

    Enter Our World

    Username:   Password:
    One Harebrained Mistake; Open!
    Topic Started: Feb 9 2016, 03:34 PM (199 Views)
    Glede
    Member Avatar
    And with his sword my breast he cleft, / My quaking heart thereout he reft, / And in the yawning of my breast / A coal of living fire he pressed.

    I cannot touch it.

    Oh, no. No, no, no. This is madness.


    There was nothing about this situation which was not to be abhorred. Worse than attempting to slay the shifting, skittering, cracking skin-changer in the desert, more embarrassing than being taken in by city guards in Madrid, more limiting and deeply unpleasant than sloshing rainwater and mud after a Morrimian storm – this was more wretched than all of those things and more. Glede wanted to scream, but he was frozen to his spot, unable to bear moving or speaking. He was staring at an arc of runes carved into the ground a few paces from him, white with chalk and dark with blood.

    A circle was etched around him – meticulous and neat – with a circumference of around five meters. The bodies of two dead chickens lay neatly to one side of it.

    Tragedy of tragedies, he thought numbly. I have trapped myself in my own ring of bindings.

    That morning he had begun his journey by the first light of the rising sun, striking out a path east through the foothills to address local rumors of a haunted ruin. He had found the ruin in good time: little teeth of broken rock sticking up from hardy mountain shrubs and disheveled grasses, hills swallowing whole pillars so that only a crumbling fragment of a pediment stuck up from the dirt. A little stream ran down from the mountains, slipping between the rocks and opening in a pond at the ruin’s center. It was just beside this pond, not thirty yards from the worn path that had brought him here from the town, that he had set up his equipment. A few steps away, his bag still slumped complacently against the few mossy bricks that remained of a broken wall, pockets full of herbs and medical equipment and extra chalk and a sheathed knife.

    Perhaps most importantly, there was an open stone hatch just beside the pond and, in it, a flight of stone stairs circling downwards. Glede had been informed that the place had served as a barrow once, a magnificent tomb for some obscure, mad pre-Daelynid king and his servants: he had been informed that a local had seen hungry revenants pour out one night in search of blood. There was evidence for it, too – the village elder’s daughter, Marin, along with a young man of no particular repute, had been attacked by one while… considerably engaged, having brought themselves to this somewhat remote locale for obvious reasons.

    Marin had survived. The young man had not, and his body – which the elders had permitted Glede to examine – showed the tell-tale signs of having been ravaged by such an undead wretch.

    It was now nearing sunset. It had been Glede’s intention to create a trap around the stairs to the tomb – the only opening Glede could find – and see what came out that night. Instead, in his frustrated attempts to wind the binding runes of his trap around a particularly lumpy bit of ground, he had gotten turned around and placed himself within the circumference of the trap.

    The rules were thus: a Dead soul could not enter or leave the circle. Ordinarily the circle might be broken with a stick, if the runes were destroyed in the correct order and with the correct rites; many banishers would do this with their hands, but Glede was always sure to keep a branch around, or else use the scabbard of Arukah. But there were no such branches within the circle and Arukah lay just beside his bag instead of at his belt, nestled between cloth and grass.

    And he could have screamed with the indignity of it.

    Now sunset approached steadily, not two, three hours away. The presence of the mountains made the shadows thicken earlier, and the approaching winter’s icy cleaver was already beginning to lop the edges off of the days. Glede could not feel the cold, but he was conscious of the pressing darkness. He did not know why he had not stayed in Ashoka. There were plenty of haunted attics in Ashoka. This would be – better, had it happened in Ashoka. This would be less…

    The snap of a twig and the stretch of a shadow up the path broke his feverish train of thought. “Hello?” he called. The deep, evil grate of his voice echoed off the pillars, split the air. Oh dear. He knew how this would look. “Hel-lo,” he called again, more firmly. “Whoever you are, f-fear – fear not! I-I am in need of help!
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Temetra


    Temetra had been walking for days, ever since leaving Ashoka heading south she had been plagued by weather she didn't even know existed. Windy, humid, she had even had to crouch in a cave at one point to avoid some bit of cold white stuff that had fallen from the sky, desert take this mountain range. She had just been considering turning back when she came across a small hamlet of a few souls nestled quietly in a clearing. Thanking whatever gods that had decided to take pity on her she approached the buildings with a happy grin plastered across her face. It seemed she was in luck, one of the men had fallen and fractured his ankle, Temetra made quick work of the injury, mending the bone and relieving his pain.

    They invited her to take an early meal with them as thanks for her aid, sitting around the table she listened to their idle chatter while sipping at the thin broth of her meal. It seemed that there was some kind of disturbance to the west, a village was being plagued during the night by undead that would spill forth from a crypt or some such. Temetra resolved to head that way to see if she could help, after all if the undead where malevolent they would need to be stopped and put to rest. After finishing the meal she would resume her trek, taking a western path that would hopefully intersect the village in need.


    Temetra had walked for a few more hours, her daylight slowly creeping away as winter claimed it's due and the mountain's cast their long shadows on the paths she followed. She began to have an eerie feeling, one she associated with the presence of magic. She continued her trek, a bit more cautious of what may lay ahead, before her foot came down square on a dried twig. "Real cautious Temetra, great job." She muttered to herself, jumping when a voice echoed from down the path, a small 'eep' escaping her.

    She would approach slowly, her Scythe leveled, before noticing the predicament he was in and gasping a bit. "Oh you really do need help don't you." She would walk over to him, looking at the symbols on the ground. "I'm not familiar with this runic formation, could you dispel it from inside?" She would ask genuinely concerned, glancing around a bit. "Or tell me what to do?"
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Glede
    Member Avatar
    And with his sword my breast he cleft, / My quaking heart thereout he reft, / And in the yawning of my breast / A coal of living fire he pressed.

    Glede tensed as she approached, gaze fixed on the wicked shape of the scythe. What manner of traveler carried something like that? Something in her dress put him in mind of the nomads from his homeland: the worn, simple cloth; the many dangling things, beads and symbols, bits and bobs, curious because he recognized a few but not the majority of the runes. Was she a shaman? Why here, in rainy, cold Morrim?

    A moment later, he relaxed. She had seemed wary, and he had not known whether it would turn to hostility -- but it seemed that was not to be so. The good-natured concern in her voice -- as well as that unmistakable accent! -- flooded him with relief. Nonetheless it was strange. He had spent many months with the nomads and had found them to be a superstitious folk, though often for good reason; in the desert, to "help" such a creature as one found floundering in the middle of a trap intended for the harmful Dead was death. Especially one that hulked and stood nearly to seven feet, speaking like knives on a whetstone.

    He inclined his head with a rustle of chain, studying her. For all the menace of the scythe she carried, she was younger than he had guessed. He would have been surprised if she had passed her twentieth year, if that. Perhaps she was inexperienced. Well, she was fortunate it was merely him and not some skin-stealer, some ghul. He would have to scold her later.

    “Of course, of course,” replied Glede, addressing her in Ashokan. He lowered himself to sit on a nearby rock with a great deal of creaking metal, still quite within the circumference of his trap. Leaning forward, he propped the chin of his mask on one great fist and regarded her through impassive brass. “Thank you, stranger – blessings of Nailah upon you. You see, ah… do not be alarmed, but the runes are meant to trap the undead. I had come here with the intention of exorcising revenants from the tomb, but somehow found myself on this side of the trap.” He drummed the fingers of his free hand on his knee. “So you see now – I cannot affect any change in it from the inside. I myself am… undead, so I cannot touch the bindings from this side.”

    After a moment, he leaned forward and drew one of the runes in a patch of dirt with the sharp finger of his gauntlet. Then, across it – slowly and where the nomad could see – he drew another symbol, a swirl that completed and overwrote the first. It was complex, but not terribly so.

    “I would be grateful if you could undo the bindings around the circle with that process. I-If you are, ah, among the living yourself, the circle will give you no trouble. Indeed, you could dance back and forth across it and it would do nothing. The magic only affects creatures like myself – and like the creatures I suspect to be in the tomb below us.” He paused, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Young lady, are you in the habit of helping every trapped abomination you come across? That is ill-advised. What if I meant you harm?”
    Edited by Glede, Feb 16 2016, 09:53 AM.
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Tamber


    Winter had not quite gotten its full grasp upon the pond. The water shimmered vaguely with the last fading vestiges of light. Surface tension bubbling up before breaking in an inaudible pop as a serpent like head breached. Large luminous eyes scanned the area near the pond, stilling his head upon seeing the large hulking humanoid form of Glede. Still enough to be mistaken for a piece of wood floating upon the water or a rock; convincing enough that a small bird stopped to perch upon his head and snap up bugs from the water’s surface. Equine-like ears flicked and perked at the snapping of the twig and the call from the large being. Tamber hadn’t decided whether it was human or some other creature just yet, the armor hindered such perceptions. Not to mention there seemed something off about them.

    With the appearance of the girl and the man’s (for now he assumed man) attention drawn in a direction away from the pond, the Kelpie silently glided to the shore. The displaced bird nothing more than fluttering wings in the approaching darkness. The change in language made it a little harder for him to understand what was being said, but he got the gist of it. The Kelpie knew the languages of the world, but when less people from one part of the world seeked aid from his kind it was harder to keep that language well exercised. What he did gather was that the armored male was some sort of undead out trying to take care of other undead but had gotten caught in his own trap; how very unfortunate.

    Then again those were by his words, it could very well be a lie. Maybe he could already get out on his own and this ploy was just a way to lure in unsuspecting youths like the girl. It was not so farfetched an idea; Tamber’s own father had used such ruses from time to time. The kelpie crouched on the short and shifted from his dragon form into the far less threatening guise of a human boy. “Do you mean her harm?” pipped up the young kelpie moving from the pond towards where the other two were. His hands smoothed along the strap holding his bag from his shoulder. The sound of his footfalls making little squelching sounds from the water in his boots. “For all she knows you’re not really trapped and just wanted her to get closer so you could gobble her up. Classic storybook style.”
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Temetra


    Temetra smiled happily when he began speaking her native tongue, the common language was nice and all but she always felt distinctly foreign when speaking it. As he explained himself she nodded, the smile not leaving her face, even the revelation of his status as undead had no effect on her outlook, if anything she brightened to him a bit more.

    She looked at the symbol he drew intently, committing it to memory, before turning her gaze directly to Glede. "I may look young and inexperienced, but if you know our language then you know of the Nomad people. We are rarely helpless." She would speak as if distributing something that should be common knowledge. "As for helping you, well I came to help the undead in this area. You seem quite trustworthy and you're hardly an abomination, you seem more the noble warrior." Her voice fairly dripped with her honesty, and maybe a bit of fascination. "Now, shall we get started on your bindings?"

    She would look at the symbols for a moment longer before deciding on a start point and moving to apply the base of her scythe to begin drawing the counter symbols. That is before she heard a voice, once again out of nowhere, and spun on her heel. Bringing the scythe up into, what she would refer to as, a basic reaping stance, ready to cleave through someone. She looked at the boy in front of her, realizing that he looked slightly younger then she was, and brought the scythe down out of the combat stance, looking slightly embarrassed.

    "I really don't think he means me any harm. I don't recognize the runes specifically but I do recognize an activated binding circle, he is fairly stuck." She would turn again, choosing her start point once more and actually apply her scythe to the runes, carving out the counter symbols required of her. While her form was not perfect it would suffice for dispelling the circle. She would work until finished, or interrupted.
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Glede
    Member Avatar
    And with his sword my breast he cleft, / My quaking heart thereout he reft, / And in the yawning of my breast / A coal of living fire he pressed.

    The nomad was studying the swoop and swirl he’d drawn with an admirable seriousness. He had little to say when she spoke again. She was correct, and indeed he could not argue; he had never met a helpless or foolish nomad. Her language – the careful terminology, how she had said that it was her intention to help the undead rather than vanquish them – spoke of the nomads’ singular respect for the dead and for ritual, and so perhaps her attitude was not unwarranted. His gaze was level and his posture still; for a few moments, he might have been a statue.

    He did not care much for the way that she had said he seemed a noble warrior. Briefly he glanced down at himself, all too aware – as ever – of his monstrous body. A warrior, perhaps, but not a noble one – his master had not forged this body to be a noble warrior. But perhaps she had some ability that was, as were many things, beyond his imagination, capable of judging men’s souls beneath their twisted forms. If Ylsa could do it, then why not this young lady?

    Squelch, squelch, squelch… And then she had whirled round, scythe at the ready, only to drop from her fighting stance in a manner most abashed.

    “Good evening and Nailah’s blessings to you,” remarked Glede with some ill humor, twisting and leaning in his seat with a great deal of shuffling and clanking. He did so in time to see a young man – scarce older than a boy, Glede thought – approaching them from the water, a well-made bag slung over one shoulder and great watery tresses like bundles of seaweed hanging all about him. He lifted his head, peering down and appraising the boy through the hooded, dull eyes of his mask. “I was not aware that my failure would become a spectacle. It is truly kind of you to join us.”

    He listened to the exchange between them, inclining his head. Then, after her neat retort, the nomad turned and set to work about the bindings. Glede felt an odd surge of satisfaction when he saw her carve the first counter-binding; it was by no means perfect, but the scythe’s tip swiveled, turned, and doubled back on itself in all the necessary places. It was a neat echo, a functional response to his own hasty whirls in the dirt.

    A queer disembodied feeling seized him. He was made of those whirls; everything he had ever been was bound up with them. In dark places that even the gods could not see, his master had labored long hours, searing similar – if not identical – marks into his own metal flesh. But – such things did not matter at the moment. His mask turned to regard the strange watery boy, cool and impassive. He flexed one gauntlet over his knee, armor hissing and rattling.

    “And you? Do you mean her harm – or either of us, for that matter? I did not see you approach. I see no reason why she should not be wary of you.” He addressed the boy in Common. When he turned to regard the nomad, he spoke again in Ashokan, but pitched his voice and spoke slowly as to be clear to both of them. “To be fair, the boy is correct. I may be trapped, but you have no guarantee that I trapped myself. You copy those runes with an expert hand – I am pleasantly surprised, but terribly worried. Were I a Dead demon or a vicious construct that some other banisher had sealed within this perimeter, it would be a wretched thing indeed for such a bright young mind to fall to my wickedness.”

    He watched the scythe go through the motions of another counter-binding.

    “I am grateful, though,” he said, with something like a threadbare little laugh.
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    Tamber


    The Kelpie tilted his head a touch as the girl was quick to dismiss him as a threat. It was perhaps a touch insulting, normally it did not faze him but there was a mood in the air that spoiled his usual neutral demeanor and pushed his personality more towards the shade of his father’s. This meant being cynical and more judgmental of a person’s actions; particularly when it came to judgements of mercy and faith. So of course the girl lowering her guard struck him as odd considering what he was and the sudden manner in which he appeared. Then again he appeared quite unarmed and the look of a young teen did not help cut a vicious figure in the fading light. Perhaps for the best, he really wasn’t there to start a fight, though his words on occasion had a habit of doing that all on their own.

    The greeting from the man was received with just a nod of the head. It was one of many the kelpie recognized as being a polite nod towards new acquaintances, or old, or anyone really; it was simply put just a polite phrase. Tamber was certain there was something typically said back in response but there were just too many to keep up with so a nod would have to suffice, not to mention his mood wasn’t having him put up any front to be more sociable than need be. “I have the good fortune of being drawn to the misfortune of others,” commented the young kelpie with a slight rise to his shoulders, barely a shrug.

    Tamber had turned to pace a little towards the stairs, and subsequently closer to the other two present. Squatting down the kelpie’s fingers picked at the ground, in particular he picked at the light-green lichen that grew upon the rocks. Pulling a piece off to inspect putting the lichen close to his face, his eyes shifting to look past the specimen as he was addressed a question. “No, not currently,” he mused as he rubbed the lichen betwixt his fingers causing little flakes to rain back down to the ground, “I have no need for parts at the moment.”

    The man’s commentary on the girl’s skill and mind struck Tamber as queer. In that if it had been spoken by certain other creatures would surely have been a sign that hijinks were afoot. But the kelpie did not get the feelings of hijinks from this pair, and all the better he supposed. There was enough to worry about with the coming of nightfall and the things which dwelled in this place after dark.
    (OFFLINE) PROFILE QUOTE GO TO TOP
     
    1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous)
    ZetaBoards - Free Forum Hosting
    Enjoy forums? Start your own community for free.
    « Previous Topic · Morrim · Next Topic »

    affiliates


    Join us on Facebook!
    Join/follow our deviantArt group!

    Vote for Us and Check Out Our Listings!
    RPGfix Total Drama Website - The Best Role-Play Sites Top RPG Sites Top RP Sites
    RPG-D Seductive Directory
    Nerd Listings

    Affiliates
    'Souls RPG Warden's Vigil: A Dragon Age Roleplaying Community Black & White
    Tales of Illyria Tir Dearthair The Games

    Beyond the Fall
    Edolon

    Word Counter provided by Fission

    Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]