The Canopy of Everweald

Nexus Admininstration

Administrator
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Rising from an ancient forest where mist clings to the roots and sunlight filters like gold through hanging willow fronds, the Canopy of Everweald is a vast arboreal domain built not upon the land, but with it. Colossal willow trees and pale-barked giants, white as moonlit birch, streaked with silver and ash; form living towers whose branches stretch for miles. Between them hang bridges of woven vine, carved wood, and living roots, swaying gently above streams and moss-covered glades far below. Ladders, spiral ramps, and hollowed trunks allow passage from the forest floor to the highest boughs, where lantern-light glows like constellations at dusk. This forest is home to many races, but none claim sole dominion. Everweald is a place of shared refuge, bound by ancient pacts older than most written history.

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The Apeling Hearths
The Apelings were among the first to shape the forest into a true settlement. Nimble and clever, they carved homes directly into the willows, shaping bark and branch without killing the trees. Their villages form the connective tissue of Everweald—markets strung along bridges, communal halls grown from fused trunks, and lookout nests perched high above the canopy. Apelings act as messengers, builders, and mediators, their laughter and motion ever-present among the leaves.

The Elven Boughholds
Elves dwell in the higher reaches, where white-barked trees glow softly even at night. Their structures are elegant and minimal, grown rather than built, blending seamlessly into the living wood. Elven song is said to guide the growth of bridges and homes, and many believe the forest itself listens when they sing. They serve as lorekeepers and wardens, maintaining the magical balance that allows so many peoples to coexist without the forest rejecting them.

The Changeling Groves
Hidden among the lower canopy and forest edge are the Changeling enclaves. Their dwellings are difficult to perceive—shifting with light, shadow, and perception. Paths rearrange themselves, and visitors often find they have walked in circles unless guided. Changelings thrive here because Everweald welcomes fluidity; the forest accepts change as naturally as it sheds leaves. They act as spies, diplomats, and watchers, protecting the realm from threats long before they reach the inner woods.

The Wylkea Presence
Though the Wylkea are not native to Everweald, their presence is deeply felt quiet, restrained, and heavy with history. Unlike the fiery caverns and volcanic depths where most Wylkea dwell, those who came to Everweald did so seeking containment, not conquest. Drawn by tales of Taberus and others who wielded similar spiritual energies, a small number of Wylkea established hidden sanctums beneath the forest floor and within the deepest roots of the great trees. These chambers are sealed with runes and spiritual wards, ensuring their immense power does not bleed into the land unchecked. Here, the Wylkea do not wage war. Instead, they meditate, train, and bind their rage beneath layers of discipline learned from both elven wardens and their own ancient monastic traditions. The forest, vast and alive, serves as a reminder of what they once were and what they fear becoming again. It is said that the white-barked trees closest to Wylkea sanctums are tinged faintly with ember-veins beneath the surface, warm to the touch even in winter. No one speaks openly of it, but many believe the forest itself is watching them, testing whether redemption is possible.
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A Living Balance

Everweald is not a city of peace, it is a city of restraint. Old grief, shifting identities, ancient magic, and quiet hope all coexist among its branches. Conflicts are rare but devastating when they occur, for the forest amplifies intent as much as power. To walk its bridges is to feel history beneath your feet and futures unfolding overhead. To live here is to accept that harmony is not the absence of darkness, but the choice to keep it bound. Many who enter Everweald never leave. Not because they are trapped; but because the forest, once it knows you, does not easily let you go.​
 

YatoruSenpai

Administrator
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Current Time
With careful movement, Lucien's black leathered boots found proper perch upon the rope hung bridges of the Apeling Hearths. His right hand gently running across the rope that keeps the bridge elevated high in the Canopy of the everweald, his golden amber eyes staring forth with such indication and resolve. Though it hasn't been long since Lucien has returned to Parros from his yearly journey back to Elysium, but like every year, that expression, the dark circles around his eyes only proves that what ever goes on when he pays his respect to his parents leaves Lucien returning with such a gloomy and broken expression. Like a man walking in silence trapped by the twisting darkness he controls, his mind cascading in the twisted despair fueled emotions and thoughts that during his youth never existed. The contemplation of his possible existence being generalized as a curse itself. Foot step by foot step as the wooden planks creaked and groaned to his weight, his approach upon his adoptive parents barrow, the Ortega family in which before even reaching the doorway carved in the tree's base, Lucien no longer standing on the rope bridge but rather now standing on the wooden platform smacked his face, a simple action to get his mind back on track as his hands slowly rested upon his cheeks, a moment lingering as the stinging sensation slowly fades and numbs his hands fell to his sides, his raven cloak shrouding his figure like a living shadow as his left foot took a step forward, pushing him into the homestead. The warmth of Parros's tropical land was gentle but consistent, add in the smell of his adoptive mothers meals was a sensation he tried his best to distance from since he was Ten.

The torch light causing his pupils to constrict before adjusting he slowly spoke with a calm, almost emotionless tone,​
"I have returned..."
A simple phrase to indicate his return as he stood at the doorway, not expecting anything but a warm welcome and possibly a prank by his younger adoptive brother Cairo... None the less his raven locks rested its pony tail against the base of his necks nape to mid shoulder blades, covering the spinal region. His hands concealed by the raven feathered cloak he stood his eyes shadowed over by some bangs that loosened free from his tied hair.
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CairoSaja

Prince Of Saiyans
Staff member
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View attachment Calm Obasi.mp3

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Far off in the distance, just over in the next area of the Everweald Canopy; Obasi rested high within the boughs of an ancient Parros oak, his weight distributed so precisely that not a single leaf betrays him. His posture is relaxed but deliberate, one leg bent against the trunk while the other hangs loosely in the air. The fabric of his outfit is layered and functional, dark linen and leather arranged to break his silhouette rather than adorn it. Gold-trimmed motifs run faintly along his wrappings, dulled by travel and soot rather than polished for ceremony. His cloak drapes downward like a shadow caught mid-fall, pinned just enough to keep it from fluttering in the forest air. Between the fingers of his right hand, a coin turns lazily, flashing once as it catches a shard of filtered sunlight. The metal is old, its surface worn smooth by countless flips, its markings nearly erased by time and repetition. He sends it rolling across his knuckles, then arrests it between thumb and forefinger without looking. He thought about old text written about the different areas of the world, ans he just needed to know he was in the right place; As such, he thought about the way his mother use to describe the words in the book regarding a magical forest village on Parros, The Elven Boughholds. His gaze flicks occasionally to different parts of the forest as he remebers her words, matching the descriptions to the living terrain below. The Parros forests breathe around him, unaware they are being measured against ink and memory. He commits details to mind with the same care others reserve for prayer. Knowledge, like judgment, must be complete to be just.

The branches around him form a natural alcove, leaves overlapping in a way that breaks his outline from every angle. Sunlight dapples his skin in muted golds and greens, softening the severity of his features without diminishing them. His expression remains calm, almost distant, but not empty. There is focus there, the kind that listens for meaning beneath sound rather than reacting to it. Even at rest, Obasi’s presence feels deliberate, as if the forest itself has permitted him to sit there. Birds pass close without alarm, sensing no hunger or panic in him. Below him, movement of three figures navigating a lesser-used trail, elven by gait and posture. Their conversation drifts upward in pieces, incomplete and unimportant on the surface. Though, Obasi listens anyway, because meaning rarely announces itself clearly. One name repeats, spoken with irritation rather than fear, which he finds notable. He commits it to memory without reaction. The khaaran man is not mentioned, but the absence feels deliberate. Silence, when shared, is often instruction. Obasi flips the coin again, catching it softly, acknowledging the pattern. He shifts his position slightly, rotating around the trunk. From this new angle, he spots crude markings carved low into the roots of a nearby grove. His thoughts drift briefly to the khaaran man himself, though not yet as a person. For now, the target exists only as weight—actions stacked atop rumors, rumors atop consequence. Obasi refuses to imagine the face, because faces invite bias. He has judged beautiful people guilty and monsters innocent before. The scales care nothing for appearance, and neither does he. Still, a tension settles quietly in his chest, familiar and unwelcome. Each new contract carries the risk of revelation, and revelation always cuts both ways. He accepts this without complaint, because fear is not reason to abandon duty.

His gaze sweeps the Parros canopy one final time from this perch, committing it to memory. This place was never meant to be the end, only the beginning. He has not yet decided whether he will pass judgment here, or deeper within the forest’s heart. That decision will come when the scales are full. For now, Obasi remains still, watching, as the forest unknowingly holds its breath.

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Post Order: Obasi Story
Location: The Canopy Of Everweald (The Elven Boughholds)
 

YatoruSenpai

Administrator
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Standing at the doorway where no answer to his return was given left Lucien feeling a subtle perplexity, had they all gone out while he was away? And though the answers eluded him he turned away from the homestead, walking across the suspended rope bridged, each stride with a purpose as if no one was there to welcome his return, he'd need to find a way to accumulate funds for his ambition. With the war between Strahk and Parros still on going, he needed the necessary tools, income and level of strength and magic to overcome his largest hurdle, High King Desmond who has been said to be able to clear out armies with a single spell of his Creation Magic archetype Black Ice. With the rest of the information still in the blue, Lucien had the ideal moment of thought process to gather the necessary allies and information to oppose Highking desmond and bring this endless conflict to an end as to avoid anymore death and despair to befall those of Elysium. Though unbeknownst to Lucien somewhere in this small tree built village resided one who shared his blood through the enigmatic man who was or rather is his father. Though the Daemon blood coursing through his veins stirred it wasn't enough to pin point or alert Lucien of this factor. As such as he walked across the various rope bridges, approaching the Elven settlement of the Everweald, it was here that Lucien caught sight of various missing person posters being put up, most if not all regarding to missing women in the Purple sea village on Parros.

His gold colored iris staring at the posters, along with noticing the reward for finding these missing people being around the accumulated sum of One hundred and Fifty gold, a large sum in comparison to hunting quests around the Everweald. Like a swift shadow, Luciens body moved across the platform towards the poster board, his visage like that of a moving clump of darkness with scattering raven feathers moving about until halting infront of the board. His eyes scanning each missing person, the accumulative sum of 50 missing women was shocking, even more that the Emperor of Parros has done nothing about it. Though this was to be expected with his priorities focused on the 15 years on going war with Strahk, it only caused Luciens resolve to become more steadfast. The first step to his growth of funds and strength was clearly this hurdle. Taking mental notes of the faces sketched on each poster Lucien resolved to be the one to complete this bounty.
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Post Order: Obasi → Lucien → Story
Location: The Canopy Of Everweald (The Elven Boughholds)​
 
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