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"Well that just happened." Said Takemura.

“Ka-Ka-Ka!” cackles an old Templar beneath a Sakura. “Two tyrants collide … Machiman invokes Victor’s Justice. Kimari da; let us see if the upstart can shake the heavens.” ((Can’t spoiler yet on phone but if you’re quipping on a rare Malch post you’re contributing to the death of the MA and it’s culture

A Templar awakened, before making his way to the mountains between Urguan and the Vale, and stared at the setting of the sun. He disagreed that this was a duel of the Courageous - for Ruin and Order clashed, both in declaring itself for the servitude for all of Man. One within the Sunlit Path; the other within Azdromoth's plans and schemes. The man began to observe the ocean. Both parties had broken oaths; both parties had broken bonds; both parties had broken the Dogma of Courage. He'd breath a moment, beginning to form a white, pulsating light into his left palm - and made his decision. One way or another, the world would be changed. It was within this change that the Descendants' and the Archaengul, Malchediael, would reign in supremacy - else the Heavens would remain derisive to Man and their brilliance.

Caliene awakes in a cold sweat in her bedroom, sat up in a blind panic. . . then there was nothing wrong. It was just her bedroom. The window was open, letting cool dawn's breeze in. Seeing as it was evident enough to let the paladins and the dragon-spawn continue on their usual ways, the Templar laid back down and tried to get some sleep. "That seems like something to handle later. . ."

Ser Adrielle rolled over in bed and looked out her window after wakening from the dream. She squinted seeing that dawn was just barely breaking and she simply sighed as she lied back down and threw the pillow over her head. "Too early for this shit." She'd say before falling back asleep.

"OWYN WAS A FARFOLK," shouted the black swordsman when he woke up, seeing his ancestor in the vision.

A templar clad in brazen armor was overwhelmed by this sight; it was not her usual vision bestowed by her blessing. No, it was different. She beheld from afar the fight, standing upright as the heavens clashed and shed blood. While she wasn't a needless preacher of violence, unlike the paladins she so despised, witnessing such a war was quite a surprising sight. She enjoyed fighting. Alas, it would not be her turn to join the combat. Nevertheless, shes ombrely sighed at the sight of the dead machines. Perhaps this was the only glimpse of victims she didn't like to see of this war, as she cared little about either side. The war-machines were innocents of its own. "Xan must perish. Azdromoth must pay. However, I will only continue to protect my home and my people." Stated the palid templar upon the ending of the vision, waking up with a swift jerk of her head, beyond focused and perturbed. She exhaled a raspy breath before moving away to find her templar comrade in Amathine. There was much to discuss.

Thank you so much "Amateurs think of strategy" -+- "Masters think of Logistics" You have done a great thing. Much respect.

Two Templars of the same line born a hundred years apart shudder, bracing themselves against their nearby surroundings as they wake from the vision in a cold sweat. Both are unsure of what to make of it.

If any of the Lector Templars looked really closely, they would see Securo-Stor Mk.86 corpses amongst the destroyed machines. The Hyper-War rages on. . .

"Last toimeh oi checked, oi donnaeh listehn taeh visions er common senseh." Said Sigrun as he knocked back some breakfast after waking up - some ale and a day-old slab of pork.

Peter shot out of bed, sweating up a storm- he looked down at his body, his ticking machine-limbs still present as he quickly touched his appendages, even his maw of metal. He sighed in relief, before a thought emerged; "So . . . Do they want us to let the Paladins and Dragons duke it out? O-k." Thus, Peter drifted back to sleep.

[This vision is granted to all MA holders of Malchadiael’s Templarism. This will be either received in a dream or in-game when you view this post. This is not visible by any other prophecy seeing entity and/or magic] The drifting weight of sleep lingers upon your form as your eyes remain smothered in the darkness of the world. Your skin feels the prickling chill of the wind, and your nostrils flare with the scents of battle. The metallic taste of blood coats your tongue as the lump in your throat slowly cascades down into your gullet. Flashes of light surge across your vision as your body lurches into a sudden dash, your mind merely a passenger in the vessel it inhabits. The bitter cold of the abyssal darkness is interrupted by a gleaming light bursting forth from a gargantuan, golden blade. A melody of incomprehensible sounds follows the movement, an almost alien gargle emerging into the silence as flames of light tear through reality. The never-ending darkness ensues as your body twists and turns, striking viscerally against something beyond your understanding. The bulging form of tentacles warps into a plethora of hands and into limbs that curdle at the edges of darkness, snaking behind the most vile. This was all, yet this was nothing, for the sickening understanding of what was material did not exist here. The flare and fervour of battle broke through the questions of what it was or what it was doing; you simply knew to kill. Your own mind then slipped from the grasp of the abyssal, a descent where its own form shuddered and twisted before being launched into another. The infernal ruins of the jagged landscape lay intertwined with machines emitting red smog, their putrid breath bellowing to the heavens. The alchemical smog plagued the lands, where the red haze became a blanket for the horrors within. The skies were carved with the sigils of the Nether; the clouds and heavens were a tapestry, marking the blight of the invading forces. Your body shifts as you slowly trudge through the landscape, turning your helmet to look at your two companions. Their armour consists of blackened sheets of metal intertwined with copper plating, stained by alchemical oils seeping from the polluted landscape. Imps and various other beasts scatter across the fetid hells, while the constructs of the Great Machine lie scrapped and stripped in the remnants of this former stronghold. Fatigue weighs on you as you slowly trudge through the dust and dirt, climbing over rubble and the husks of robotic constructs. A volley of cannon fire echoes in the distance as barrages of large explosives begin to litter the battlefield near you. The howling of distant death haunts the area as the ground erupts in a violent geyser of debris. The whistles of horror continue as you charge through, your armour ripped apart by the sudden, sharp pain that launches your consciousness from your mind. Ejected like a stone from a catapult, your imagination shifts within your mind. A weird, dull chime echoes in the back of your mind as you lose any feeling of a body or vessel. A singular, lifting presence lingers over the darkness. A sight that continues onwards, where nothing comes forth—except the dull chime. It continues to ring, and when you feel the darkness of your mind slip into nothingness, it is brought back by the lingering resonance. It stops, then starts, then stops, then starts. Familiarity. A hushed voice carries itself upon the sounds, where no light or darkness rests; only the absence of all follows. “The Heavens Clash, may their honourable fight stand tall without interference.” Again, the chime rings out. The soothing voice of Seraphim feels like one that knows wisdom and truth; every word and sound is coated with it. Your existence slowly fades within this chime; your consciousness continues as you feel this strange state. The normal chaos of the shrill whispers in your mind has subsided. No rage, no hatred, no terror—simply tranquilly. As your eyes glance over, you see a simple knight wearing black armour kneeling next to you. Another warrior, another claimant, calmed by the ever-guiding voice that dwells in the darkness. The entity looks familiar in some way—another that felt the calls of the Seraphim in their life. Not akin to Malchadiael’s utterances, but another. Another who dealt with a darkness within, and one who would overcome it all. The challenges of the heavens: who are we to stop the valiant duel of two? Why would we incur divine fate? Why would we interrupt courage? With that, you are awake. Was this a blessed vision or a frantic omen? The heavens stirred with the fate of the descension of the lion to clash against the mortal planes. If this was a destined battle, what came next?

The Captain began to sharpen his blade with murderous intent. No one bullies the burnt elf besides him.

A putrid eye flicks up towards the North. The flames spread over Aevos. The dwarven kin shall know fear in the days to come.

MC Name: eamwonderland Discord: Bethinwonderland Image: Description of Image: An art piece drawn rply of Ornella Roa Dimensions: 1x1

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Orin looked at the missive and sighed "I am not pleased with this." He said before contemplating on it

Maybe dictate reactability based on armor grade. If you have anything higher than halfplate, you cant block and attack in the same turn a speed debuff of sorts Encumberment should certainly be a thing, and efforts to dodge bodily blows while wearing full-plate should significantly reduce stamina. Think of it as wearing a weighted vest, not too much mobility in those either.

Hey, so, I sometimes get my shit turned upside down because people don't know how to lock things or how certain plugins any player has access to works. I made this a while ago and shared it among friends, they have been using it pretty well so far and creating some fun stuff and have kind of been using it as a general guide for plugin stuff on the server. so, enjoy as I am not pasting the thing in from google docs and then have to fix the whole damn format. https://docs.google.com/document/d/15geYqTGEf25-7WfrBr1RVjHOIoXfeMcHsrpxqfC7nOU/edit?usp=sharing If I am missing anything, do reach out over discord, I'll add it into the doc :)