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[Art By Topseoung (탑승)] [!] A missive of carefully lettered cursive was posted across all of Aevos. In the wake of an ever-burning eclipse of crimson. Do you feel it? Divinity made manifest from one created by the children of the Creator. Seraphic blood supped upon by one carved from stone. Not from God, but from one of His. Do you feel it? The winds that now change to our whims. Do the children of God feel the wind? Those perfidious servants, slaves of their machinations must hear the cockcrow of change. The evenfall of time, do they feel it? The chill left in the wake of the Sun’s demise. The cold, lifeless dawn that rises on us. Surely, when all was made by God, merciful and august He be. That He saw to imprint onto us the means of our own safeguarding and security. When He too feels the chill of the Sun. – The ache of cold on archaic bones. Does He fear his own creations? Or does He sit in the Skies, smile on his face as He knows? Saints and Martyrs died for this. Died for the vindication we have witnessed. The Saints and Martyrs must smile upon us as we realize what destiny is now. Let it be up to us now and His faithful to continue to make those that came before in His word proud. Exalted Horen and God's word lead us to divinity and paradise. To a Skies all too out of reach to all of God’s faithful. Let us lead the Crusade as God’s faithful to our own self reliance and to open the gates to the Skies for all.

Adalfriede drew the smoke deep into her lungs. Head tipped back, it flowed from her nostrils in twin silver spirals, some of her tension dissipating with it into the hazy air. You do not partake? Adelmar had once asked her when she had waved away the packed pipe. The one he had made with his own two hands and gifted to her, a band of intricate Reinmaren runes spelling out a word, a name. Hexenwald. No. She liked to keep her eyes open, mind sharp, un-addled by smoke or drink or other earthly distractions. Usually. After the events in the Ferdenwald... Another stream of smoke escaped her, this time from parted lips. From her high window, she watched those trees sway, eternal moonlight silvering the distant needles. Beneath the boughs of those trees mere hours ago, the nameless assailant had launched his potion and the world had exploded into screams and smoke and viscera. The Palatine, dead. That Ruthern cupbearer, broken and bleeding. The King, looking so small in that hulking orc's arms, carried out to the waiting carriage, the Barclay eagle painted on its side. She would have spoken to him at the feast. Woman to man. Vandalore to King. Woven some words to ease any tensions wrought from an exchange of letters while they broke bread and ate of the venison they had hunted together. Two families. Two crowns. They all bled crimson. Written words mattered so very little when that blood was so easily spilled. Adalfriede dashed the charred tobacco from her pipe. The cupbearer couldn't be older than her own children. The thought of any of them stepping to her side, taking the full concussive force of whatever had been inside that bottle, had something grey and oily slithering through her gut. Pawns, bargaining chips, a net of safety against anyone who would remove her from the throne at Leon's side—that was what her children had been, when they were infants. Now she would rather end herself and condemn her mortal soul than ever see any of them as that brave, loyal, foolish little cupbearer. Small and pale on a clinic bed in a land that was not her own, clinging to life with desperate fingers. "Have you any further need of me, mein Fürstin?" "Go home to your family, Isolde." As her hirdwoman nodded and left her to her smoke-filled chambers, a small, seething thing in Adalfriede's chest clattered and roared to be let out. It knew that if Isolde died protecting her—something she had sworn on her blood to do—a part of Adalfriede would die, too. These Reinmaren have made you weak. In the face of these accursed feelings, she was helpless. As vulnerable as that young cupbearer, lying broken on the bed.

A wraith stood in the Abyss. The ephemeral gore and ectoplasm of the previous bout of fighting stained her form. If news would have reached her of Xan's demise; she'd sigh. A long, deep inhale, then exhale. What seemed like a lifetime ago snuffed out so easily. But, that was none of her business anymore. As her short respite was over, she'd grab her spear and charge forth. Back into the fray. A Nephilim stood in a temple. Whispers surrounded him, engraving in his brain as he reached a clawed talon to a banner ever-burning. A smile all too terrible and glorious plastered his face. "Divinity, in a moment. Vindication. Oh, he has proven himself." The creature of stygian scales spoke. The claw touched the sparking banner. Yells, Draconic and horrid filled the room as he felt a piece of himself, once again, consumed by the banner. "It is time for the flames to be cast. O'what a glorious flame it will be!"

After receiving news of the attack on his father, Josef made his way to the clinic, happening upon Milena as he inspected the beds, looking for familiar faces. Seeing her in such a state angered him, though he was glad that she had not died. Few people saw the world as they did, and the thought of losing her was unbearable. With a frantic shake of his head, he dismissed those thoughts and set out to drink himself to sleep, just as his father often did. The next morning, he awoke with the all-too-common bags under his eyes and his fingers bruised and bleeding.

REXDOM-LURAK UPON THE OFFICE OF GOVERNMENT With this DECREE the REX Rue’Lur orders the assembly of a new government. ON THE KLAMOR The KLAMOR, or assembly of the CLANS is called to create a new and stronger bureaucracy from which the URUKS will govern REXDOM-LURAQ. The KLAMOR will exist as both advisors and minor administrators of the kingdom. AUTONOMY will be LIMITED by order of the AUTARCH Daahd’Lur. Each WARGOTH deemed fit to lead their clans will be granted land from which they will siphon income generated. Additionally, vassals not of any particular CLAN will be granted different rights and responsibilities. ALL URUKS are allowed to witness the KLAMOR unless an explicit call for a WARGOTH KLAMOR is made, which will be held privately; these are the exception NOT the rule. The KLAMOR may be called at any time but in times of peace usually only occurs once a year or so. ON THE WAHG IN GOVERNMENT A WAHG, or more simply, war, is a special season for the Uruk. During the time of WAHG all functions of government aside from KLAMOR called for by the REX or AUTARCH are put on hold. While the government will still operate in collecting tithe for payments of debts and treasury, the government will shift into something more akin to a DICTATORSHIP. The codes of KRUG will still be followed as normal but will be enforced more harshly. Descent is not tolerated during WAHG. Descent can be any of the following: Secrecy Disloyalty Disrespect of OFFICE Doomering Any action thats disrupts the WAHG in meaning to harm the Government. During the WAHG season, respect, trust, and faith is placed within the REX and AUTARCH. Whilst fraternization with the enemy is allowed and even encouraged so that combat may be carried out with HONOR betrayal of kin and country is an offense worthy of execution and OSTRACIZATION. ON THE RIGHTS OF WARGOTH The WARGOTH functions as a chief of their tribe and kin; they are expected to be able to raise levies, collect taxes, and participate in the structure of government: The KLAMOR. While the KLAMOR is not a democratic institution the opinions of the KLAMOR are highly valued by the REX and taken into account. Voting may be held by the KLAMOR if given the option by the REX. Some reasons for this are as follows: Votes on War Votes on Ostracization Votes on new WARGOTHS Votes on removal of WARGOTHS Votes on establishing new infrastructure (keeps, prisons, wharves, etc.) WARGOTHS reserve the right to enforce KRUG’S LAW on their territories unless intervened upon by the REX or AUTARCH in matters of importance, but will be left to their own devices unless there is an explicit exception. WARGOTHS reserve the right to enlist soldiers into their LEVY at any time. WAR MATERIAL will only be provided however for training and during times of WAHG, unless petitioned for by the WARGOTH to the REX or AUTRARCH. WARGOTHS act as representatives of their CLAN at large. Actions taken by the WARGOTH are actions taken by the CLAN. This means that victories attributed to the WARGOTH are attributed to the CLAN, but blunders are attributed as well. WARGOTHS do NOT serve as representatives of the REXDOM LURAK. Any action taken by the WARGOTH which cause diplomatic incident will be punished unless those actions were ordered by the REX or AUTARCH. WARGOTHS who fail to meet expectations will be subsequently removed from their station. ON THE RIGHTS OF TARGOTH TARGOTH serves as a military commander of REXDOM-LURAK. While in the past only one TARGOTH served the REX, there is now a demand for greater leadership within the HOST. The TARGOTH is given command over CENTRAL URUK warriors at all times, and during times of WAHG command over ALL URUK warriors including the WARGOTH LEVY. A TARGOTH is granted a place in the KLAMOR regardless of whether they are WARGOTH, however, their opinion upon matters of state is regarded less and their opinions on matters of WAHG more. Additionally, it is possible to be WARGOTH and TARGOTH at once. A TARGOTH is the deliverer of justice. If KRUG’S LAW is broken by any within the REXDOM LURAK the TARGOTH is required to deliver swift justice to the one breaking the law. A TARGOTH however is overruled only when a WARGOTH whose land the law was broken upon intercedes as to deliver the punishment themselves; this may be however halted should the TARGOTH petition the REX or AUTARCH to allow them to deliver the punishment instead. A TARGOTH is granted the right to freely demote and promote soldiers of the CENTRAL URUK FORCE at any given time. To punish or reward as they deem fit. ALL OTHER FUNCTIONS AND RIGHTS OF THE TARGOTH ARE RELAYED VIA THE DECREE OF THE MILITARY. ON THE RIGHTS OF THE AUTARCH The AUTARCH is an office only granted to URUK with exceptional ability; usually a previous WARGOTH or TARGOTH who has resigned in favor of being the primary advisor to the REX. AUTARCH serves as minister for DIPLOMACY, WAR, and TREASURY when not overruled by the REX. The only force from which the AUTARCH is required to answer to is that of KRUG’S LAW and REX. The AUTARCH is granted ABSOLUTE POWER when the REX is not present to deliver their will. The AUTARCH is granted the right to approve of new infrastructure and the demolition of old. Along with this AUTARCH might evict citizens of the REXDOM-LURAK at will with the exception of WARGOTHS from which they must consult first the REX upon their removal. (This only applies for non-CLAN-owned properties, as CLAN-owned properties must follow prior DECREE or will be freely removed at will by the AUTARCH.) The AUTARCH reserves the right to freely enter into diplomacy with all nations. As head diplomat and advisor of the REX the AUTARCH is effectively given the function of the REX when they are not present during diplomatic meetings. The AUTARCH reserves the right to call and lead the KLAMOR should the REX not be available. The AUTARCH reserves the right to take control over the HOST and all LEVY during times of WAHG when not in the presence of the REX. ON THE RIGHTS OF REX The greatest title a Uruk can hold is REX, it is absolute. It is respected. When speaking with a REX absolute respect is required of citizens of LURAK. During KLAMOR disagreement with the REX is allowed but only if no insult is given. The REX is POWER, the REX is STATE, and the REX is LURAK. The REX holds absolute control, bowing only to KRUG’S LAW.

Ratibor Radovanic had spent the 'nights' following that sudden attack, if one could differentiate night from day these days beyond the help of time-keepers, at the side of a slain Ivo Radovanic. He was still, and ghostly pale, as they who had given up the ghost tended, but the young Radovanic thought it a better respect to allow him to lay in rest for a time before he saw a pyre's flickering tongue consume him. He recalled the sudden visitor's words, his shaking bottle; he recalled how he had barked out an order, for he recognised what it would precede. And yet... he had hesitated, when his spear could have struck the man from his horse, and stopped aught from occurring. He had only needed to act faster, to act with conviction. It was one stroke of his blade and all could have been cut short. Yet he hesitated. Hesitation, or some farcical mercy? Fear, of killing others? Of killing the enemy? He'd never managed to abandon that fear. Perhaps he was naive. Now, Ivo was dead, and slain. He and Milena had done what had to be done while Ratibor had merely pretended. "Jan. The boy..." His hands shook violently, as he sat in the silence of the room aside him. Jan, his father. How could he tell his father? His uniform's furred mantle rest aside upon a chair, stained a deep, dark crimson from his vain efforts to save his uncle. Killed by his inaction. Ratibor had spent many hours following in some meagre effort at making up for his mistake. The King he had sworn to serve, injured by his inaction, and Milena too, harmed by his inaction. What was the point of all his training, and all he had sworn, if he were simply going to choke up at first notice? As soon as something difficult arose, would he always fail so terribly? His teeth were grit so tight they had begun to gnash, and he pressed his palms tightly together. The deathly silence was interrupted only by the occasional pop or crackle of burning firewood from the next room. The hearth had burnt through its logs once again. It needed stoking.

THE CUPBEARER Hunting had never been something Milena vas Ruthern was fond of. Most outdoor excursions or activities held very little of her interest, despite her father's constant lecturing about their house's natural inclination to more martial pursuits. Fortunately, her wardship beneath King Ivan of Haense had been the thing to save her from such a fate...though in truth, it often felt more like a punishment. Day in and day out, she trailed after he and his wife, the imperious Queen Nataliya, with goblets and bottle at the ready. In truth, she considered them no better than drunkards as of late, but some sympathy had been found for the couple since the passing of their only daughter, Princess Anastasya. Despite her diligence, she had grown to feel like more of an indentured servant than a pupil to be educated. The thought crossed her mind of how she might be a noblewoman to be made example of, to order about in an effort to embarrass her titled sister. "Ruthern," The Queen huffed in her direction. In the midst of their hunt, they had taken respite in a clearing of the Ferdenwald. Prince Leon of Reinmar and his wife, Princess Adalfriede, had invited the royal house of Barbanov on a hunt to which Milena had been summoned as royal cupbearer to attend. Their party had just felled a great stag, kinsmen of the princely Barclay stringing it to one of their saddles. However, it seemed the mission of her own monarchs to imbibe until they fell into a stupor. As often she had, the young noblewoman had begun filling those bottles she bore with springwater halfway, to keep them both from seeming entirely disoriented. However, with only a small pause did she protest and filled for Nataliya a cup of the Haeseni liquor. In doing so, she was distracted from the current happenings, a helmed man addressing the royal hunting part and speaking to Ivan himself. What stirred her and grasped her attention was the insults that followed. "******* King of Haense," This anonymous outlander spat at the dirt, recognizing the Barbovic monarch. All eyes fell upon him, some more insulted than others. King Ivan himself seemed unamused. Milena could've sworn she saw a glimpse of amusement cross the face of the now-former Palatine, Ivo Radovanic. A reminder of her growing hatred for the commoner, raised too high above his station in life. She contented herself always with the fact that she might one day return him to those humble beginnings, for all the insults and dismissal he had paid her. Amidst her imaginings of plots and schemes and the future, she felt the shove of the Queen's goblet against her chest. The Ruthern scoffed beneath her breath. This woman had often taken Milena into her confidence, speaking at length about secrets no others knew. But now, in view of these Reinmaren allies, she was treated no better than a handmaid. Her eyes, dark blue and stormy in shade, only follow that goblet dully as it slipped down her dress and landed in the muddied dirt below. She heard the ongoing exchange ahead of her, but cared not for what was being said. Another peasant, to complain about how life had given them favor whilst it had reduced him to irrelevance. Typical. But suddenly, the outlander's phrase shifted...a threat. "I will see you bleed, as the rest of us do!" A bottle was produced, shaken before any could raise any alarm or attempt to stop him. A liquid violently whirled within, before it and the glass shell that enclosed it was flung forth. An assassin, come to claim the head of her guardian and monarch. In that moment, it felt like time slowed. Her eyes lifted, from the cup to the King to the outlander. Her mind, quickened since birth, attempted to think of some plan. A way to stop the regicide that seemed entirely unstoppable. In that moment, all she could conjure was the thought of Josef, the King's second son. Her closest companion. A boy of age with her, whom she shared an ancient gift with. Her affection for him had changed, now that they were older, but it was something she would never admit to anyone. Something she knew he did not even notice. He bid of her to respect his mother and father, for she was oft one to grumble about their differing treatment of her. She would die for him, if he needed. Not just for love of him...but because he was the only person in the world who understood her completely. A kindred spirit. Two souls, bound together by the threads of fate. Her legs moved before she knew what was happening. The bottle of carrion she bore slipped from her hand, forgotten. She mustered her courage, of which she had in spades but rarely put into use, and thrust herself against the King's side. She heard the curses of Nataliya behind her, feeling the consort's fingertips graze her sleeve in an effort to pull her from the impact. A dour figure appeared out of the corner of her eye, likewise acting as shield for the King. Good, she thought. I will not die alone, atleast. The blast was quick, but it felt as if someone had ridden their horse straight into her. Her whole body bent and contorted, feeling her feet leave the ground. A rush of wind, howling and whistling, filled her ears before she felt a sharpened pain. She had collided with something hard and unmoving, sending her blurred vision to the soil below. Her limbs were tangled around the roots of a tree, but she felt not the lingering energy to remark on it. For the first time in her life, she could give no opinion or remark of distaste for her current state. He will have his papej, atleast. And then she saw nothing but darkness. A warmth enclosed itself around her, stirring her to awaken. But she knew it was not real. In her life, the curse of the Barrowborn had rendered her dreams lucid, always conscious to what was going on around her. Many times, it was the spirits of those who lingered, conjuring visions of the past or vague symbols to warn her of the future. Those darkened circles beneath her eyes were the evidence of such prophetic nightmares. But this one felt different. It was not eerie, but a sensation she had not often felt. Tranquility. She was standing within the feast hall of Castle Morteskvan, her family's fortress and home. Music played, light and airy, and the great tables were laden with rich dishes and roasted game. She saw her siblings: Svetlana making jests at Mikhail whilst Belisar and Sigmar spoke of some recent excursion to combat bandits in the wilds. Even Stefaniya, sickly and abed, was sat amongst them. Her features were healthy, as if she had never known ailment in her life. Milena's eyes drifted foreward, to see her eldest sister Tatiyana. She looked regal in crimson, neck dotted with onyx and citrine. Milena envied her, for her beauty and birthright, but admired her all the same. Beside her stood Lorcan, her besotted intended, an easy smile upon his lips. He had always been so kind to his beloved's youngest sister, never one to judge her for her differences. But Milena paused, noticing small figures skirting about that blissful pair. Children, black and blonde of hair, giggling and cheering. "Milena..." A voice sounded from behind her. It filled the Ruthern with both awe and dread. She turned to meet the face of Mikhaila vas Ruthern--her departed mother. At her side, vigilant and stoic, was Ser Rickard, Milena's father. Their union had been one of great controversy, a common-born knight wed to the heir of that ancient house. But her mother had been stubborn, love winning out over the snobbery of the Haeseni nobility. Milena had often thought she inherited the trait from the late-Baroness. "I have lingered here for some time, my littlest one." Her mother's features looked upon her youngest with confusion. "And now finally vy come...to join mea. The last essence of mea life that I gave to the world." Milena's brows knit into a line. She did not understand. "We shall be together. Look, at all that awaits vy." Mikhaila paid a nod towards her kin, the merriment having continued on without her notice. It was all she could do, not to run towards her siblings. To embrace that ideal image, the loving family she had longed for since childhood. To hold her mother in her arms and learn from her, to see her face when she one day accomplished all she meant to. But the realization passed over her, that this was an offering of temptation. As the Morovar queen had often advised, spirits were just as like to deceive as they were to advise those with her ability. Milena was being lured into death. And she had spent much of her life thus far contending with that uncaring force. "Niet," She sounded, turning back to her mother, denying herself the luxury of comforts she had never known in the waking world. But she had vanished. As had Ser Rickard. And as Milena turned back to observe the scene she had taken in just earlier, the hall had begun to break apart. The candles flickered out, the howl of cold winter winds rushed all about her and carried away her siblings as screams left their lips. A darkened void loomed over head, leaving her all but a stoney platform to stand atop. A guttural growl emitted from that darkness, something sinister and wicked. For all her courage, this was something she had yet to encounter, sending a shot of ice down her spine. Swelling her breath, her gaze rose higher. As it did, a grotesque figure emerged, wreathed in shadow. A draconic skull, horned and fearsome, sneered down at the small Raevir. Those empty sockets seemed still to bore into her very soul. Above him, that same crimson eye she had dreamt of in seasons past. In an instant, the scene below had shifted. The platform was raised above the Highland Realm, flames and ash licking from beneath her. The City of New Valdev was in ruins, melting like wax into the River Lahy. "SAVE US!" The voices of the living and departed blended together, all trapped within the streets of her homeland's capital. "SAVE US! SAVE US!" But she could not move. Her legs were pained, heavy and without use. Her dreary gaze only watched as her people burned to ash, at the hands of those malevolent creatures. Tears sprouted from her eyes, looking on in horror. This was her purpose. This was her will to live. She would not be Oracle of her kingdom, but her visions would keep them from extinction. And they would keep Josef from harm. The only one she might be selfless for. Her eyes closed and a rush came inward, as if everything and nothing had come to strike her all at once. Dawn crested over Haense that morning...and Milena vas Ruthern's eyes did open.

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Hi there, as you can see your application has unfortunately been denied, check below for the detailed reasons why. Unfortunately, your 48 hour editing period has expired.. However, don’t fret, you are free to reapply immediately, just remember to edit and change all that is listed below. -Your Skin does not match your character’s race you picked! If you need help fixing it, please reach out and I’ll gladly help you! Or please take a look at our skin archive! https://sites.google.com/view/lotc-skinarchive If you need help or have any questions, feel free to message me on Discord @mockingbirdart or the forums @MockingbirdArt I recommend joining LOTC's Discord, here is the link! Discord Go to the New Player's category, and go to help chat. Ping @Community team saying "Hello, I got denied, can someone help me with my new application? I'd like to try again!" Here are some Links to also help you out! WIKI New Player Hub.

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Hi there, as you can see your application has unfortunately been denied, check below for the detailed reasons why. Unfortunately, your 48 hour editing period has expired.. However, don’t fret, you are free to reapply immediately, just remember to edit and change all that is listed below. -Please review our Wiki’s definition of Powergaming. Including an example if you're having a hard time writing something down/or don’t know how else to word it. If you need help, please feel free to reach out. https://wiki.lordofthecraft.net/index.php?title=Metagaming_%26_Powergaming You can also learn more about combat roleplay here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fIJioVePKYo -Please use an unnamed location or a settlement already on the server, you can get more information on the Nations and Settlements wiki page. -Your Skin and Physical Description doesn’t match the race you picked! Please refer to the Racial Hub wiki page and feel to use or take inspiration from our Skin Archive If you need help or have any questions, feel free to message me on Discord @mockingbirdart or the forums @MockingbirdArt I recommend joining LOTC's Discord, here is the link! Discord Go to the New Player's category, and go to help chat. Ping @Community team saying "Hello, I got denied, can someone help me with my new application? I'd like to try again!" Here are some Links to also help you out! WIKI New Player Hub.

RAISE YOUR HANDS IF YOU'RE A SWIV'LUR! RAISE YOUR HANDS IF YOU'RE A SWIV'LUR LOVER!