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Royalsleepy joined the community -
You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.” ((How do you respond?)) Example: I look at her with confusion, many thoughts fill my head, how does she know me?, who is she?, is this a trap?, ultimately deciding that its better for me to just tell her instead of trying to fight the unknown. "I am just a simple man, is what i would say but it seems you know me." looking at her face to confirm if she does "Seems i was right, well then ill keep it short. I have been exploring the world, searching for my childhood friend Farlianne, she is somebody very very dear to me. She left one day to explore the world, it had always been her dream, and i always denied her that dream out of worriedness for her safety." notices how i managed to sadden the atmosphere "ahem, yes, She left to explore the world so i explored the world in the my journey to find her, i traveled many continents, witnessed new ideals, technology and many other things not known to my home continent, but that did not matter to me since she was my goal. in the end i sadly didn't find her but did confirm she's alive and well, found out she's going to return home eventually so i decided to return first and prepare for her here." I look at her, silence filling the room, before finally asking: “So, how do you know me?”
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You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.” ((How do you respond?)) Gwyllan nods at the woman, but she does not sit down. Instead, she walks to the cushion, and stands just behind it, looking up briefly at the candles suspended in the air. Bringing her gaze back towards the hag, she grins, “Expected me, have ye? Well, whatever it is ye’ve heard, may it all be good, at least!” The only response is the wind outside, and the crackle of candle-flame. Gwyll swallows, and to fill the silence, considers, for a moment, telling the hag her story. But what is her story? She knows the gist of it, the beats to hit, the rhythm to follow. So practiced and edited to appeal to all the world’s audiences, that it had grown a mythology of its own. Such, she supposes, was the lot of the bard. “Well, fair maiden,” she begins, winking at the hag, “if I tell ye mine, will ye tell me yours? ‘A man and a woman walk into a bar. They smack their heads on it at the exact same time, and both exclaim in pain, and, wouldn’t ye know it! It’s love at first sight! They marry, they travel, they give birth to me, and we three all live happy, happy lives of great prosperity.” She goes on, regaling the woman with a history of travel and music lessons, and songs learned from all kinds of travellers: a Dwarvish funeral dirge, an Elvish shanty, a Farfolk ballad. She tells a story of success. Of audiences with coinpurses so full they left trails of gold behind. She does not know whose story she tells, all she knows is that it doesn’t matter as long as it sounds good. She pauses. Some pang of hunger ripples through her stomach, and she thinks of emptying the stale crumbs in her pocket onto the ground and licking them up. She scans the room for anything that glimmers, and her fingers itch. “Aye, lady, that’s my tale. But if ye want the truth, you’ll have to pay.”
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FrankenBird joined the community
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MyNameIsB joined the community
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So I nerfed it slightly, 2 times per combat, cannot move in the same turn as casting it to block something. Also, unrelated to this but I made it so the specializations are redlined to be unenchantable. So one mage doesnt run around with all three spells, defeating the purpose of specialization. No, it's been gone long enough. Besides, I'm gonna pick two people from two different areas to teach it to their respective nations/settlements. I haven't decided who yet. Third one will be my mage though, who just roams. I'll teach anyone so it'll get around don't worry. L, I guess
- Today
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xDusty joined the community -
You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.” ((How do you respond?)) I study the old hag, shadows casting over her face and a ragged hood blockading my view of her features. I cannot trust this woman, especially if she was expecting me. I remain silent, looking at the cushion, before shaking my head. "I would prefer to stand, however I appreciate the offer," I said, maintaining a rather basic respectfulness. I was not going to get comfortable in this place. I thought back, to before I had even reached adulthood. Was it wise to share such a tale? I asked myself, before quickly coming to the conclusion. "Long ago, before I had come of age," I began, "I had set off to explore this world. I had reached lands I had never once seen before, and encountered strange people. Many of them were plagued by more brutish ideals and craved to fight battles that even I, as young as I was, considered foolish. Despite this, there were two humans whom I had met, with natural disdain at first, but they too felt as though they were watching childs-play with these other people flailing about. Valuable allies, they were, secluding ourselves from the main populace of these people. I attended few events, people in power adoring me for my simple yet unobtrusive nature and entrusting me with gifts of flowers and swords." I then paused for a moment. These people, I thought, were those who taught me that being above others is to not stoop to their level with such needless hatred... I cleared my throat upon noticing the impatient shifting of the old hag and continued. "Alas, such times came to an end. I remember not what happened, other than buildings destroyed and animals slaughtered. It was then that I knew that it was time to go, to return home to my family and dearest friend, Elion. Many years have passed since then, and I have come across quite some interesting folk. That, is where my tale must end. Now, I too, have a request from you." I stared down the hag, more closely analyzing her movements and demeanor. After all, if I give, I will not be merely taken from. "Tell me how you know me."
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The ibarellan marched before the altar of the grand cathedral--stained in the blood of those who called her family, stained in the filth and gore of the unholy in such sacred ground. She paced the halls to stand before the altar, the blood of her nephew stained upon her hands as her tired, sullen gaze stared out--gold against gold as but the darkness of her scared stared back at her in the reflection of her mechanical palm. She had let it happen again, another she so swore to be safe under her watch, the lineage she promised upon her life to maintain. And at the hands of such cruel agents to have done the deed. Betrayal--anger--visceral hatred encompassed her as her mechanical fingers clenched hard together into a fist. Silent anger resonating over empty halls before her visage peered to the gore laid bare on the floor, droplets of vile blood having stained a portrait of her 'sister', Ivarielle the Great, the prophet. The Valkyrie stared at the painting as she spoke "Sister--Dearest. Founder, mentor, guide yet so mysterious. I failed you before, I failed you today. You've given me family, and I have once more not protected it." She languished to the painting, her mechanical hand unbaling, as she rested against the monument, speaking "What've I given to be worthy to you, I've not yet found." She lowered her gaze, sitting in silence before she looked upon the final point in which the demon towered over her nephew, before she stood tall. "But yet have I wavered my dedication. To your legacy, I will uphold. To your line, I will avenge in fashion only you would do--sister, dearest. Your children and theirs will have their peace." She declared firmly, as she collected her sword from her hip--this fight would not be over, for at the ends of the earth she would find them. The hunt was on.
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"It was almost too good to be true, a retirement without a hitch." Valindra Nullivari, Blade of the Royarch had pondered to herself initially after receiving word of a successor announced but weeks prior. So often had she and the Prince conversed of his reign, and his wishes against rising to the throne, the hopes of living out his days in peace dashed by a prophecy of doom. She had always assured him he would reach retirement and she would be the sword that struck down the Ibarellen's foretelling of his own demise. Even when she herself could not and would not set foot in elcihicelia, she would find a way to ensure his safety, though she often mourned... No matter how safe he was, how much he achieved, he always seemed struck down by some form of sorrow, or a want to simply do more. To him, it was not enough, it would never be enough. Valindra felt much like a mentor to Illthrak, though often she found herself being taught by the royarch inversely. It was a humbling experience. Word of his death would initially reach Valindra who stood in the depths of a library, a note handed to her by a spectral servant who was promptly and coldly dismissed. The warped, star-speckled gaze of the 'aheral widened. So often had she walled herself off to emotions, an nigh impenetrable fortress within her mind she'd sought to erect, yet in that moment, it all came crashing down in a moment of uncharacteristic vulnerability. He had been a friend, though all of her shortcomings, failures, attacks and outbursts, he knew of secrets she daren't share with even her family and still, he accepted her, understood her loyalty and what she had initially forsaken to ensure she could support him. Tears laced with fel, ectoplasmic mists rolled down her cheeks, and from them, the likeness of a spectral hand came to clasp over her mouth, forbidding her from sobbing. A discussion shared within the depths of her soul sealed the encounter. The eyes Valindra, glossed over, shifting to that of a hollow, empty stare, even the stars iris within her irises seemed to dim.. For a moment, she appeared as naught but a husk, though that spectral hand previously commanding silence, shifted to rest upon her shoulder before merging with her form anew. "S l e e p, little spellblade.." A voice echoed out in her mind, cold, deep and yet a soothing stoicism amidst the barrage of emotions breaking down her very being. It commanded, and she obeyed. Sleep, she did and in that slumber did she find the peace of absence. ------------------------------------------------- Minutes later, Barrowlord Fornotos was seen floating around the Synod, deep in thought.. With one of their selves shackled and suppressed, they sought to repair the imbalance they'd self-imposed in the place of experiencing the anguish of loss. ------------------------------------------------- OOC
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human rpers who have never step foot outside of their nation are like GUNS PLEASEE!!! ITS REALISTIC!!!!
hey this server isnt meant to be realistic :) its meant to fit a niche. go somewhere else if you want your shitty gun wielding empire rp. theres more players on the server than ur fckin ooc knight order and family line.- Show previous comments 2 more
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QuoteWhat niche is it supposed to fit?
medieval fantasy.
QuoteI want guns solely so that we can see more whiny coping status updates from voidal mages
i hate you.
i think guns are awesome. dont get me wrong. and i dont care about my magic becoming beat. i dont pick up magics for power, i pick them up for rp. i just think having to see the CIA-core haense military debriefs is enough and i know it'll completely switch up the theme of the server
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The Lord Bless You and Keep You, Canondom. In the interest of aengudaemonology, I am requisitioning the abled and entrepreneurial to discover any and all lightstones that may exist in the free-markets of the world. These aengulic artifacts of not only Xannic, but broadly celestial origin, are of increasing interest for the study of heavenly energies. You will identify them by a typically golden color, a quality of absorbing the light around them, and appearing structurally similar to quartz or some similar opaque mineral. You will know with certainty what you've found, if by tapping the stone a little light is shone outwards. To each man who should find themselves successful in this endeavor, my Cardinal Callahan and I have set aside a fund to award 150 mina per stone. Seek me out, by bird or body, and be well rewarded in this exchange. It is by the efforts of the faithful shall we leave these mean times and enter fourth a period of mercy and joy unlike any other. Be blessed, and hunt well! Cardinal Callahan Bishop Alexios
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Laerdya felt herself short of breath after dwelling upon the news, many thoughts ran rampant through her mind, a terrible woe erodes at her, nothing could seem to go right, no matter how desperate her attempts.
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Lothair claps and cheers for the increase in Aevosi diplomacy.
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You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.” ((How do you respond?)) My cloudy eye meets hers as I settle onto the cushion. Clearing my dried throat with a puzzled expression on my face I stare forward. "Sorry, but do I know you..?" I say hesitantly. Feeling as if I should know her, she obviously knows who I am. My eyes scatter across her wrinkled face attempting to scan through any memory I have of the old witch. "You, are a remarkable young soul. You know this, yes?" She mutters under her breath, but the breeze coming out of her breath crawls down my wrists into my yellowed shirt. And down my back, and as I shiver she looks into my eyes once again, I no longer feel as if I can look away.
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From the Shores of Gold, a once-retainer of the Ibarellan Prince spoke a solemn goodbye to commemorate her sleepy llir.
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Tired of being a Nation Leader? Don't have the time for it? Got an heir set up already? Contact the Infernal Hit Squad today and we can begin the long RP process of roping you into Darkspawn RP and then rendering your persona either no longer NL, shelved, or what ever you want.
Just ask our satisfied customer. @Moping
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Whilst the Ibarellan would further in mourn upon the disdainful events that occurred to her cherished son, she would raise a drink in his dutiful respect along the side of the remainder of her somberly family. Their prayers would thenforth be passed unto the stars regarding this travesty, for they had hoped they might guide them amidst this trying time.
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Iryne Ibarellan, the heir and beloved sister of Illthrak mournfully wept as she exited the Celia'nor clinic as moments before shared her last words with her dearest brother before he succumbed to his devastating injuries, as she held onto the ring she recieved from Illthrak the prior day before.
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"A Coma then..." The Warlock Tezellion'uth looked toward the results of his efforts "Sleep well then." He states knowing of the nightmares he cursed upon his being "You will awaken to see everything you love taken from you." the Warlock returns to his ambitions still pleased by the labour of himself and the Odurex.
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Ivan VIII poured out a bit of his Carrion for the elven prince.
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The Infernal Hit Squad departs as soon as they had struck. Leaving woe in their wake as always.
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