My eyes opened and gazed into the world with a bit of wonder. Whispering in my ears were the magicks of the forest, it's energies flowing in my veins and a strange pull in my mind made me aware of a presence much higher then my own. I had been questioning my existance for some time, wondering what sort of turn the world would take that the creations of the world could somehow be forgotten in two thirds of the known world.
Long I studied the old books of my ancient race. My old, ancient race born of trees and forest, its green magick adding to our power. The elves. A lost race. As I read, I boiled with a slow, burning rage - kindled by my kind being buried from 2 sides by races of heathens and barbaric atrocities. My graceful people are far older then these young races, yet their power still confuses me. Their beliefs brewed purely from self passion and blood MUST burn, or my race will eventually die out... That thought stuck a dark cord in my heart, and it was then that the Godess Scathach began to whisper my future into my very soul.
And then, all around me, the races born into our beautiful land of Hibernia took on a new light, and the Goddess Scathach burned into my heart the faith and anger needed to do what must be done. It wasn't the sort of rage where I felt like running and killing everything at once, no. It was the sort of controlled anger which makes brilliant murderers feared, and I felt blessed. Blessed with a controlled and calculated rage that surged the power of my people into me, and made me realize that from the shadows I would brutally murder every last heathen, if he could not swear his undying oath to serve the old gods, the true gods. If they cannot respect our creation, there is no room for them in this world, or any other.
It is in this state that I come to you, The Pantheon, for I understand that you gather to strike the same mission into the hearts of all that surround us, and I intend to make our name feared among those that wish to smite us from the planes where we live and find home. I humbly approach and declare the Goddess which blessed me so kindly with my passion. Scathach, the Lady of Shadows. May my anger provide a terrible hidden dagger for the might of The Pantheon, for the backs of the unknowing slime that grows around our borders.
It is my understanding that I must meet with the Judge, I will attend this immediately. Think of this as my official declaration of self and purpose for this Guild.
*Signed in blood with a celtic sigal of war stamped in red wax*
Lokibo Obikol, Elven Nightshade