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Call to the Lost


TheWhiteWolf
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In the moonlit skies of Aevos, a flock of phantasmal ravens would be let loose from a hidden menagerie to deliver unto the Descendants a message and a warning. All over the continent would these spectral ravens be seen, small specs of ethereal light dancing amidst the starlit skies above as if they were but small shooting stars themselves. Tattered parchments would find themselves scattered onto the roads that circumnavigated the outer edges of Descendant Kingdoms, in the vain hope that it found those who travelled in search of knowledge and enlightenment.

Should one find themselves to stumble upon such a parchment, the words upon that tattered page would unfurl before the reader and bestow upon them the fated message.

 

“We are Astark. This name will likely rouse suspicion and hate from many in this prison of a realm we all call home however we would ask of you dear reader to put aside your hate, anger or suspicion and find within you the will to heed this message, be that spurred on by curiosity to learn more or something else, it matters not.”

The image of a woman, shrouded by a veil with hands splayed outwards and head bowed is seen to be marked at the top of the parchment, a tree of silver behind her.

“Notions such as ‘Good’ and ‘Evil’, ‘Light’ and ‘Dark’ are terms coined by those who would deem themselves Gods, our unrefuted masters. These are terms meant to divide Descendant Kind, between those who know the truth and those caught up in the tapestry of lies so carefully weaved by these deceivers. We are a people divided, caught up in wars of conquest and hate, subjecting ourselves to death and suffering over material goods and perceived insults of honour. A game is being played behind this thinly veiled web of deception with our bodies as the pawns and our souls as the currency.”

A phrase is enlarged beneath this text, the words surrounded by closed eyes.

“Open your eyes”

 

“We have tried to burgeon the flame within the Descendant Soul, the one that yearns for freedom from this game, this cycle of suffering. But, we have ultimately failed.. those who were once loyal to our cause have fled in fear of the retribution that our actions might bring, others have died fighting to cast free the shackles placed upon us. And now we stand alone, accompanied by a few loyal hands who have suffered greatly to achieve the ultimate goal of freedom.”

“We have stood face to face with these so called Gods and survived, stood at the precipice of Aeriels domain faced her wrath and lived. If we can provoke the so called divine and survive their attempts to wipe us from existence then there is still yet hope. We have found the means to traverse the bounds of the Cosmos and in our travels we have come to know the knowledge of this great game they play, we understand the rules they bide by.. there is a chance to free us yet.”


The image of a solitary specter lingers here, surrounded by vague images of people hand in hand.

 

“We beckon to the lost, those who think themselves without a place in the world. Seek us out and we shall offer you purpose. We beckon to the curious, those who seek to find greater understanding. Seek us out and we shall offer you enlightenment. We beckon to the Warrior, those who call themselves protector and guardian. Seek us out and we shall lead you to a flock worthy of protection. We beckon to the healer, those who seek to mend the wounds of the sick and dying. Seek us out and we shall grant you the power to save those who suffer.”

“We offer Salvation to all. Should you wish to have your eyes opened to the truth, simply seek out a tree of silver in the desert and leave at its base a statuette of a woman marked in ash. We shall be watching.”

 

As your eyes glaze over the final words of the parchment, you feel a chill run down your spine that causes you to look around. In those fleeting moments you catch the brief sight of a spectral orange cat, how curious.

 

Spoiler

Hello all! It's been a while since i've been around, last few months i've been focusing on IRL and getting to where i need to be. In my absence and through speaking to a lot of players in the community i've noted that a significant portion of the Mystic community has gone inactive and a majority of the Community leaders have left the server, ultimately leaving the magic in a somewhat dire state at the moment. As one of the only semi-active Wights i'm looking to inject a bunch of new blood into the magic and ultimately pass the story on to the next generation of Mystics. This post is to basically serve the purpose of letting people know i'm looking for people who are not interested in personal gain, but are interested in using Mysticism to its full potential and expanding on the Servers Story. These days i only have so much time to dedicate to the server, but i'd like to at least give Mysticism the bump it needs to survive on its own two feet again.

With that said, if anyone is interested in playing a Mystic feel free to read the post above and leave the appropriate reply below, or better yet visit the location in game and then post below. 

Thanks for your time everyone <3

 

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Odrin would read the parchment, he raised an eyebrow in intrigue at the rhetoric of the missive. "Hmm... I wonder." He stowed the paper away, and put on his the hood of his cloak.

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[!] AN AURUM DOLL SITS NESTLED BETWEEN THE ROOTS OF THE TREE. HER FACE IS SMUDGED WITH ASH. SHE STANDS WITH HER ARMS SPREAD AS IF CRUCIFIED, OFFERING A FROZEN EMBRACE TO THE WORLD. AT HER CENTER IS AN EMPTY CAVITY WHERE HER INSIDES ONCE WERE. NOW, IT CONTAINS A NOTE. 

 

──────

 

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I seek no magic from you. I have faced my own trials at the hands of M––– and proven myself a devoted student.

 

I do not trust you. I have known your flock to do little harm, and little good. But the halls of my own are as empty as yours, and sing of treachery.

 

If nothing else, I would that we met.

 

Find me where the river runs, and the maps are made.

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──────

 

[!] Upon closer inspection, the doll reveals itself to be made of Alchemical clockwork. When a miniature key at the back of her neck is twisted, the doll lets out an ear-piercing shriek.

 

──────────────────────────────────────────

 

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On one of his infrequent vists to the urban sprall of humanity, Jorich finds and reads the parchment. "'Is could be waht ae need, ai...." he murmurs to himself. Gripping the parchement, he went about preparing for a trip outside the Crothstad woods. 

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“Astark, it has been far too long,” murmured an elf, who in her domestic life had almost forgotten what it meant to strive for a greater cause. She intended to meet with her mentor again, as soon as her sky god returns from holiday.

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Branches coiled in dark leaves rustled in the heavy breeze; a large stone platform resting in the center of the brush. A figure sat upon it, their fingers snapping to a rhythmic melody; a small parchment flittered in their other hand as Hoid continued to gaze upon its contents.

 

A small flash of orange- somewhat feline in shape- flittered upon the branches above, the figure managing to get a brief glimpse before it vanished.

 

Perhaps it was some omen, perhaps it was some bizarre occurrence. Yet Hoid's gaze flickered back down to the paper- the tempo of his fingersnaps slowing to a halt. "Perhaps..." the soft word filled the grove; the man slowly rising from the andesite tablet. 

 

And so the man began to walk. He walked on and on, until the forest slowly withdrew unto a vast desert. And such his search begun- a search that would soon meet a closure; Hoid had found his target. Withdrawing a small piece of a bleached wood and a small knife, he began to whittle. And whittle he did, on and on until the mere block of wood slowly chipped unto a new form. The sun set over the horizon, the man only working with the mere figments of moonlight in the freezing night- yet he continued to carve on and on.

 

They were finished- a figure, carved of pale wood, of a woman, parts of it tinged with ash. Within its torso, a hinge was carved- for the man took out a pen, scribbled a small note down, and slid it within, closing it up for the future. And so Hoid oncemore walked; oh, how he continued to walk, until he found himself a drink.

 

 

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A doll made of ash porcelain, the bone ash used to make it still coating it's surface, is left on the bark. The doll depicts a woman with the head of a wolf, laying in eternal rest upon the branches. The creator leaving no other hints of their identity before they left, except the enormous paw prints in the sand.

 

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TFW no sign edit access

 

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On 11/30/2023 at 1:08 PM, _NotChris said:

On one of his infrequent vists to the urban sprall of humanity, Jorich finds and reads the parchment. "'Is could be waht ae need, ai...." he murmurs to himself. Gripping the parchement, he went about preparing for a trip outside the Crothstad woods. 

 

Jorich out of breath and tired, his small arms and legs having diffcultly traversing the steep retrain, taking out a makeshift doll from his satchel. Created from pine branches and tattered cloth, wood ash scaterred amid the pine needles, the doll crudely resembles a woman's figure. Bending down, he briefly scans the area to see if anyone is in fact watching before he places the doll at the tree's base. After he quickly departs, making his way back to the Crothsad woods. 

 

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Black Shadow of the scary man. Art print and card. Horror Watercolor  Painting, creepy man with glowing eyes. Gothic Home decor. Dark Fantasy  creature Stock Illustration | Adobe Stock

In the dark of night.. and the light of day..

They would come.. one by one..

The lost.. the curious.. the damned..

With their own hands would they carve their intent upon those feminine statuettes..

And with each ashen mark would they seal their fate..

From a place unseen would that entity watch..

As one by one the mound of statues grew beneath that tree of luminous silver..

Beneath the tree of the False Maiden..

The dolls served as an oath and a warning.. the entity knew the Maiden was watching..

As one by one those dolls were placed, the ranks of the entity grew..

And the Maiden could do naught but watch..


 

Spoiler

Thanks to those who have reached out already, i've got a busy week ahead of me but will be doing my utmost to reach out to you all <3 Appreciate the patience.

 

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The Green Skinned Uruk had this missive land in front of her camp in the firelands. She picked it up, reading it she looked to the sky. "Draaghzur. Iz thiz where lat guidez me?" She said softly, packing up her camp she began the trek. "mi am lozt, the Horde would nevuh get et agh they nevuh will." She huffed, hunting animals on her trek she began to fashion a doll made of the bones. Utilizing the hair from a rabbit pet she had skinned she would rest it on the dolls head for its 'hair'. She clipped the makeshift doll to her belt for the rest of her travels. The snowy mountains of the north, the hillsides of the west till she made it to the deserts of the south, she spent the next few days traveling and searching for the silver tree in the missive. After days of searching she had found it, the silver tree adorned with more than a single doll she nodded. "it peepz that more than mi are seeking the silver tree." she said, placing the doll of bone and hide on the tree, covering its head in ash as she looked down from the mountain. "the lozt can still be found.." she said to herself before making her way to a new spot, setting up camp for the evening eating the remnants of a hyena she had hunted. 



 

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The one that had no recognizable name squinted at the parchment, eyes intense. "The promise of purpose is a powerful one to be made. I wonder if it will hold to truth." They murmured to themself.

 

Making the trek to the desert, they stood before the silver tree, and withdrew the roughly hewn wooden statue, charred and anointed with grey ash. The figure turned on its heel, giving a final glance to the tree. "I do not seek any boons or gifts. All I ask is a word with you, to better know the cause and the promise. Perhaps I can sympathize with it."

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After days of wandering, climbing, and searching, a mourning warrior bestows his eyes and precense upon the silver tree. The nearly perfect atmosphere now disturbed by the sound of metal boots crunching onto sand and dry grass. The air- now familiar with the smell of horse and cigarettes from the ancient knight. A neatly wrapped statuette now sits, along with others, at the base of the quaint tree. 
 

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"Just like mother taught us, Ken. Out of the fossils of every story- new history is written with the ash of fires and the  blood of soldiers." 

The ancient knight stands, and preaches out to noone- or anyone that was listening. 

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A half elfess placed another statue amongst the multitude of dolls.

"You've peaked my interest.  I'm sure we will not agree on everything, but I too hate the "gods" who cause damnation, and feel immense pity for the damned."

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Edited by High_On_Math
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A Dark Elf had pondered the tree before eventually mustering the courage.

 

So forth did he walk, placing a wooden, ashen doll crudely shaped to the form of a woman. It rested upon a root of the tree, slouching slightly once placed. He did not make an attempt to fix it.

 

"Will this truly be the answer?" He said, clearly thinking out loud.

 

He lingered a moment at the base of that tree, pondering if this was the clear path he should take.

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Amongst the small gathering of dolls nestled at the root system of the silver tree, a new one is placed, yet to face the battering of desert winds. Smelling of smoke and pinesap, the figure bears little scratches and chips as if it were nestled in the bottom of someone's bag for quite some time. Perhaps this late addition was borne of equivocation.

 

The wooden maiden is hewn of rough, dark coniferous wood, her figure carved out with careful hands, standing sentry with her arms crossed at her chest. Her head is that of a raven's, turned to the side, fixing the world with a watchful eye. A few lines of finger-drawn ash trail down the raven's face and down the bridge of her beak. Hempen twine, blackened with soot, wraps around her body in a lashing knot, forming a crosshatched, diagonal pattern. Another length of twine is tied around her crown, attaching two thin branches, barely the length of a finger, encircling the head.

 

There is barely a ceremony from the one that left her here. A hope, or perhaps a wish, is muttered, and the doll's maker turns away. A wanderer might claim they are never lost, but that does little to assuage the fact they search in the first place.

 

———═══════════════ + ═══════════════———

 

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Spoiler

i'm aware it's been some time since this post was first made, but i hope i'm still able to contribute!

 

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