Community [2024 Worlds,Non-Combat,High Tier] Idol Chatter

[Novama]

Mentions: Faynorae
OOC: I took some liberties with the opening narration. Rp will run on a 3 day schedule, so post at least once in the 72 hours. Rounds may go faster if we post faster. Keep in mind advanced rules. Failure to post will be treated the same as a failure to deal with the situation at hand. Ask any questions that need asking, but I can only answer those appropriate to answer during worlds.
Time: N/A
Weather: N/A
TLDR: diplomacy parties between east and fae meet to discuss end of war terms. east empire being particularly rigid in their stance. Situation needs something to ease talks and get them past current challenge.
Post Listening:

Ardent Sanctum

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Beneath the shimmering canopy of an ancient, forgotten ruin, the delegates of the Fae See arrived like a procession of twilight shadows, their ethereal forms almost blending with the dusk that cloaked the world in its soft, fading light. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and the distant hum of magic, a relic of an era long past, now revived to witness this fragile moment of diplomacy.

At the entrance, where the stone archway still bore the worn symbols of forgotten gods, the guardians of the ruin stood solemnly, their eyes glinting with an impassive wisdom. Without a word, they extended their hands, palm up, and each delegate, in turn, relinquished their weapons and catalysts—tokens of power laid down in a silent vow of peace. The guardians gathered the items with a ritualistic grace, their movements slow and deliberate, as if to remind all present of the gravity of this encounter.

As the last of the Fae handed over their artifacts, the idol entered, her presence a delicate contrast to the ancient, unyielding stones. The ruin seemed to respond to her arrival, the air around her shimmering ever so faintly. Yet, even as her presence filled the space with an almost tangible aura of enchantment, her hands, too, were emptied of any catalyst—a gesture of trust in a time and place where trust was a rare and precious thing.

Opposite them, the delegates of the West Empire stood with an air of quiet defiance. Their attire was austere, yet each bore subtle signs of preparation: charms and enchanted trinkets glinted under the muted light, warding against the unseen and the unnatural. These were men and women who had steeled themselves against manipulation, their gazes sharp and unyielding as they took in their surroundings with a wariness that spoke of battles fought in places far less forgiving.

The ruin, ancient and indifferent, stood as the silent arbiter, its weathered stones now the stage for the coming battle of words and intentions. And so, in the stillness that followed, the two sides faced each other, separated by more than just the stone between them, as the first murmurs of the negotiation began to stir in the air, each word a ripple in the fragile calm.

The first obstacle immediately reared its head. The Empire delegation were unwilling to hear out any requests from the Fae in relation to keeping taken lands or the return of Fae lands seized by the empire. The empire were adamant the war began when they were aggressed first and so have no reason to let go of their current or former holdings. How would the idol aid in the situation? [B grade challenge]

 

[Novama]

Mentions: Faynorae
OOC: Unfortunate way to end a world's rp. Best not to sign up for world's and then no show without word.
Time: N/A
Weather: N/A
TLDR: fae had to make heavy concessions to bring about peace. the outcome of the worlds rps will dictate just how much was given up. Ophenia has perished.
Post Listening:

Ardent Sanctum

The air hung heavy in the Ardent Sanctum, thick with the scent of old stone and ancient regrets. As the final murmurs of the negotiation died away, the weight of the moment pressed down on the delegates like the last fading light of dusk. The Fae music idol, whose voice once filled the hall with delicate notes of hope and promise, now stood silent. Her performance, which had sought to weave together the fragile threads of peace, had faltered. And in that falter, something unseen but deeply felt had been set into motion.

The Empire delegates, their charms gleaming faintly under the twilight, exchanged glances that carried the gravity of unspoken triumph. The Fae See, delicate and ethereal as they were, would bend, forced to offer concessions that once seemed unimaginable. The signing of the treatise, once a beacon of possibility, now loomed as a bitter compromise, a treaty not borne of mutual understanding, but of weary defeat. The West Empire, their ambitions veiled in politeness, knew well what they had gained, though the ink was not yet dry.

But the idol, whose very presence had been a symbol of the Fae’s hope, would not live to see that treaty sealed.

It was on the eve of the treaty’s signing, as the stars shimmered above the ruin’s crumbling towers, that the mystery unfolded. Her body was found not far from the great hall, beneath the ancient trees that had whispered their secrets for centuries. There were no marks of violence upon her—no wound to tell the tale of her final moments. Her skin, pale as moonlight, seemed untouched by any human hand. And yet, her life had been stolen as if carried away by a breeze too soft to be noticed.

Some whispered of a curse, a shadow that had followed her ever since she entered the sanctum, unseen but always present. Others, more practical in their judgments, muttered of poison—an invisible hand, sent from the Empire’s unseen forces, to ensure her failure would be complete. But no answer came from the stones or the trees, and the truth of her death sank into the silence of the night, leaving only questions and the faint echo of her last song.

In the days that followed, the Fae See, hollowed by grief and burdened by their weakened position, conceded more than they had ever imagined. The Empire’s hand was felt in every line of the treaty, their demands subtle but unyielding, like a shadow growing in the dawn. And while the parchment bore the signatures of peace, it was a peace that trembled on the edge of collapse, fragile as the moment it was forged.

As the Fae departed the sanctum, their wings heavy with the weight of their losses, the Empire prepared for the final stage of the war. Much now depended on the outcome of the hive neutralization, where even the land itself seemed to bend to the West Empire’s will. Should they succeed, the scales would tip irrevocably in their favor, and the Fae See—once proud, once untouchable—would find themselves at the mercy of an empire.