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Creative Wizard
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About Qizu

  • Birthday 02/23/2003

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  1. CLAN RENSHIN OF GUSHIKEN Originating from the island of Gushiken, Clan Renshin, though not historically prominent, carries with it a legacy deeply rooted in the principles of respect, diligence, and honor. In a land where the rigid class system of Clan Shimazu overshadowed many, the Renshin family sought to rise above their humble beginnings and make a name for themselves through unwavering commitment to the Samurai way. Though years of devoted work and training, Clan Renshin lacked the the representation to advacne further in the lands of Gushiken. Their strongest warriors were often equated to the weakest of Samurai among the island. Fueled by a desire to escape the confines of the Gushiken class system and to prove their worth, Clan Renshin made a courageous decision to relocate to the distant lands of Aaun. In Aaun, they saw an opportunity to start anew and create a name for themselves based on the virtues they held dear. Though this move is not to be forsaken for abandonment of their beliefs, loyalty and culture. Members of Clan Renshin often return to the lands of Gushiken for festivals, events, and gathering among the family. FAMILY COLORS AND CREST The family colors of Clan Renshin were jade green and light gray. These colors symbolized their connection to the land of Gushiken, where lush green landscapes and the subtle shades of gray in the architecture were ever-present. It represented their roots and their determination to honor their homeland even as they aspired for greater recognition. These colors are often worn as ribbons upon the clothing of clan member - though often these colors are used in day to day clothing of the clan. The emblem of Clan Renshin, the Three Cranes Crest, carries profound symbolism and a rich history that reflects the values and aspirations of the family. Passed down through generations, this crest is a source of great pride and reverence among the clan members. Each crane stands for the three values the clan desires to represent themselves with; respect, diligence, and honor. Often the cranes are used as medals during training to form what the family calls the Kurēntorofī. This is a circular medallion that is broken into three parts, each part being the shape of a crane. Once all three medallions are collected by proving that a clan member upholds the three values of the clan, it forms the symbol of the three crane's crest. APPEARANCE Members of Clan Renshin have a distinctive appearance that reflects their heritage and values. They possess light-toned skin, a subtle fairness harkening back to their roots in Gushiken, though not strikingly pale. Black hair is common among them, often straight and neatly trimmed, symbolizing discipline and practicality. Their most striking feature is their hazel eyes, a mesmerizing blend of brown and green, symbolizing the fusion of their Gushiken heritage with their new experiences in Aaun, highlighting their adaptability. Clan Renshin members tend to be taller than the average population in Aaun, representing their determination to make a lasting impression and command respect. In terms of physique, Clan Renshin possesses an average body type, prioritizing functionality over extreme athleticism. This reflects their commitment to balance and harmony in life. They prefer simple and practical clothing for comfort and ease of movement, adapting to local customs in Aaun while preserving their Gushiken heritage. Modest jewelry is cherished by Clan Renshin, often passed down through generations, reflecting their deep respect for tradition and humility. In summary, Clan Renshin's appearance mirrors their commitment to simplicity, respect for heritage, and adaptability to new environments, telling a story of their journey from Gushiken to Aaun and their unwavering determination to uphold honor and diligence in their new homeland. SAMURAI Draped in green and black samurai armor, the warriors of Clan Renshin embody the spirit of protectors and guardians. Their attire, represented with deep green and obsidian black, is a symbol of their unyielding commitment to safeguarding their family's people and values. With the lush green representing the fertile landscapes of their ancestral Gushiken and the black signifying their inner strength and determination, they stand as living embodiments of their heritage. These samurai are not just warriors; they are the living embodiment of Clan Renshin's core principles: honor, respect, and diligence. Their duty extends beyond the battlefield, encompassing the very essence of their family's existence. Samurai of this clan are sworn to eternally protect the honor and respect that is being built upon the name of Clan Renshin. Resolute discipline defines their way of life. They adhere to a strict code of conduct that demands respect for their superiors and peers, unwavering diligence in their responsibilities, and an unshakeable commitment to honor, even in the face of adversity. This discipline extends to their daily rituals and practices, forging them into examples of self-mastery and fortitude. These samurai serve as the guardians of tradition, entrusted with passing down the wisdom of their ancestors to the next generation. They preserve the values of respect, diligence, and honor, ensuring that these principles remain not just words, but living truths within the clan's culture. Their journey to becoming a Samurai of Clan Renshin is one of tireless training and self-improvement. For years, they undergo arduous physical and mental preparation to refine their combat skills, discipline their minds, and cultivate unwavering character. Each day is a testament to their commitment to becoming not only skilled warriors but also paragons of virtue. Yet, beneath the armor and behind the disciplined facade lies a profound loyalty. Loyalty to their family, their values, and their way of life. It is this loyalty that binds them together, creating an unbreakable bond among the clan's warriors. They are not just comrades; they are family, ready to stand side by side in the face of any challenge. Within the Renshin Samurai, individuals are more than just accomplished warriors; they embody the pinnacle of mental, physical, and spiritual prowess. They command profound respect from every member of the clan, bearing the solemn duty of safeguarding the clan's reputation and thwarting those who seek to tarnish its legacy. In adherence to the cherished traditions of Oyashima, each Renshin clan member attaining the status of Samurai is bestowed with the revered Katana or Nodachi, alongside a shorter Wakizashi. These twin blades serve not only as instruments of combat but also as symbols of their exalted status, signifying their significance not only within the clan but throughout society at large. Consequently, anyone who carries these sacred blades yet fails to bear the honor and responsibility of the Samurai title is perceived as a direct affront to the very essence of the clan's identity. In the end, the Samurai of Clan Renshin are the living embodiment of a legacy. They see themselves as stewards of traditions passed down through the ages. They understand the significance of leaving behind a reputation of honor, respect, and diligence for their descendants to inherit. Their every action, their every decision, is a testament to the enduring legacy they strive to create, one that will inspire generations to come. TRADITIONS The Ceremony of Ancestry One of the most cherished traditions of Clan Renshin is the Ceremony of Ancestry. Held annually, this solemn ceremony serves as a profound expression of respect for their forebears. The clan gathers at a sacred shrine adorned with lanterns and offerings that represents the trials and history of the Renshin who came before them. Each member, from the youngest child to the most seasoned warrior, takes a turn to offer their gratitude and prayers to their ancestors. It is a moment when the past and present merge, connecting the living with those who came before, and reaffirming their commitment to upholding the family's values. The Walk of Diligence A rite of passage for Clan Renshin's youth is the Walk of Diligence. As they reach adolescence, young clan members embark on a journey to a distant and challenging location in the wilderness. There, they are tasked with surviving for a set period, relying solely on their wits, skills, and determination. It is a test of self-sufficiency, a lesson in resilience, and an opportunity for the young to discover their inner strength. Upon returning, they are welcomed as adults into the clan, having proven their ability to face adversity with unwavering diligence. The Vigil of Honor The Vigil of Honor is a tradition observed during times of crisis or decision-making. Clan Renshin's leaders and elders gather in solemn reflection. Each participant takes a turn to speak their thoughts, guided by the principles of respect, diligence, and honor. It is a collective meditation, a time to weigh the consequences of their actions, and a commitment to make choices that align with their values. Once a consensus is reached, the clan moves forward with unity and purpose, secure in the knowledge that their decisions are rooted in honor. Credits - Azayagaryu, Qizu Gushiken - https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/230151-oyashima-gushiken-具志堅/?tab=comments#comment-2004165 We are Recruiting - https://discord.gg/PBceTvYe2s
  2. A smoldering letter would find itself falling through the air before the man, upon it a short passage. You seek the mysteries of asioth and her people? All who wish to seek enlightenment are welcome, though not all prosper from it's teachings. Come to the far north and try your hand if you will.
  3. looking for people to join oyashiman family

  4. The Evil Morur’ei strikes again. . .
  5. where is the option to remove nameplates completely : ) ((As in nobody see's nameplates during rp, not optionally turning them off))
  6. A pale dragon would creep upon the missive, hiding behind the walls of flesh that concealed his true monstrosities. "It is truly a shame that An-Gho got all the credit, even more of a shame that they don't know the history of their own people." spoke the creature to his student before moving further down the path.
  7. Primordial Descent Add/Replace: Wings can be used to glide during this spell’s activation. Complex aerial maneuvers are not able to be performed, and Nephilim are able to glide in a straight line. Trying to glide in enclosed spaces or places with no constant source of airflow will result in them falling for the entire height, resulting in major injuries depending on how far they've fallen. Wings can also be used to amplify a jump/leap to a maximum of 3 blocks, coming straight down on the same emote. If their wings are heavily damaged during flight such as their joints being shot, or if the skin between wings is destroyed, they will fall for the entire height,resulting in major injuries depending on how far they've fallen. The gliding ability allows them to travel 3 blocks forwards and 5 blocks downwards per emote. Nephilim may only use this ability to get to places they can access mechanically. Nephilim are able to land upon groups of individuals during this ability, but as stated before they can only travel in a straight line that will need to be properly described in their gliding emote. Nephilim are not able to carry individuals or heavy objects using this ability, alongside that if a large object lands upon them during flight they will fall. Out of combat, Nephilim are able to perform this ability to passively roam the world as a dragon. This requires 2 units to activate this ability, but does not have an upkeep cost. Upon entering combat it would immediately transform the Nephilim back into their normal form. In their passive mode the Nephilim are still able to use their ability to manipulate fire, however it cannot be used in combat whatsoever. Draconic Fallalery Add/Replace: Battered wings Redlines - Wings do not enable flight and are purely aesthetic, being colored the same color as the Nephilim’s skin. Only receivable upon tier three. Each wing can grow outwards of four feet, however they will have tears and battering - making them incapable of flight as they are a mirage of the true draconic race. As stated in the redlines of this ability, all objects of Draconic Fallalery are incapable to be used in combat and are purely aesthetic. Should someone swing upon the back of a Nephilim it would easily tear through the wings, they are too weak to be used to block hits or move things away. Credits Gamma & Qizu
  8. Roleplay Post The Misadventures of Lyari Sylwynn Or The Boy and the Firelands The first day of his quest, but not of his trials. A normal day in the city of Fi’Andria, the young Mali’aheral known as Lyari laid under the shade of an old tree that seemed to reach halfway to the heavens themselves. One socket was covered by an eyepatch, an empty chasm hidden underneath. The other was light blue. A familiar hand reached for dishwater blond hair, twisted and scaled, yet white in color. It grasps them in a firm death grip to snap the boy from his daydreams. “You’re delaying, Lyari.” The nephilim reminded him. “But mentor! The sky is so lovely today.” The young ‘aheral admonished in response, the sun itself barely visible in the east, only a few golden rays reaching across the heavens. “Looks the same as every other day.” They retorted, retracting the hand and leaving. Lyari’s hands wrapped even tighter around the small object he’d been clutching. A perfect sphere made of metal. Those familiar with metal could identify it as steel, though how it had been formed in such a way was a mystery to Lyari. He was not a smith, he was not much of anything, truly. A happy soul in an abyssal world that would soon be dark. He’d dreamt as much, though he had never truly seen the light or much of his surroundings. A peaceful day. He’d muse wistfully as he finally clambered up from where he’d been and returned to the manor. Spent packing. The thought sombered him as darkened shadows flickered just at the edges of his vision. He tensed, stopping every few feet to glance around. “Godani was good to let me see.” He’d whisper to himself, a reminder he’d often utter when the shadows crept too close, left hand reaching to grasp the cross of Lorraine that hung around his neck, concealed by his robes. “Godani is good.” He’d echo again once in his room, signing the Lorraine, knelt before the cross that hung on his wall. He’d then rise and begin to pack. Food, water, the scripture. A book of asioth laid on his bedside table. He contemplated it. “Mentor doesn’t seem to like it…or my riddles.” He’d murmur to himself. “But maybe it’s just for show, he wants me to think he doesn’t so I don’t feel obliged.” A small smile formed on his lips, nodding excessively. “I won’t let you down, mentor.” The book of Aurelics was added to the bag he planned to bring. It was heavy, he stumbled and then he laughed. “Mentor would think I am very weak.” He’d muse fondly, aloud despite the empty manor. With a fond wave, he’d tell the books on his shelf to not get too dusty while he was gone and shut the door. His journey had begun. The walk from Fi’Andria to the Fireland was long, but quiet. He stopped several times, shaken by the battlefields along the Norlandic road. The long abandoned corpses with eyes wide and mouths agape. At first he would say a prayer for the groups, close as many eyes as he could and sign the Lorraine for them. It was constant, and the sun was half way set already. Yet he remained consistent and the sun had fully set by the time he’d finished. He took shelter in a small cave, cold as it was but protected from the elements outside. Dreams of an eye opening behind rock and stone, of the sky falling to the earth caused him to toss and turn. He was fitful and somber, stirring fully, finally, only an hour after he’d begun to rest. The young elf rose, carrying on in the dark, binding fabric over both eyes. “The shadows can’t reach me now.” He’d remind himself in a soft undertone, exhaling in a cold cloud of air as he passed through Norlandic roads, the Firelands red in their warm splendor in the distance, far beyond where he could see, but the wardren’s whispers to him told him what his eyes could not. Promises of tales and glory, of understanding and memories. His heartbeat quickened. Breathless, he smiled. He set up camp at the peak of one of the mountains. The sun began to rise. The first day began. Day One No birds greeted the morning sun, no dew covered grassy landscapes, and no fog rolled over subtle hills. Only the churning of lava in the distance greeted the young Mali’aheral as he stirred. Only the intense warmth of lava and fire was felt. He rubbed at sleepy eyes and woke slowly that first morning. “Good morning.” He’d exhale, a cheerful smile gracing his features despite the hostile landscape he’d found himself in. Do you think the land hears you? Well, no, I just… You just what? Thought you were being special? Well, I… You’re repeating yourself. Shut up. Unsettled at best as his thoughts waged a war against him, that smile slowly fell. At the edges of his vision danced the shadows, the unfamiliar heat causing sweat to trickle down his brow and back. With a shaky exhale, Lyari set about arranging his camp. Shelter, first, was unpacked and staked into ashy ground, a billowing tent that threatened to collapse on him in the middle of the night, yet it was the only shade on the barren mountainside. Within the tent he set his books, food, and water. The books he carefully kept far from the water, and the food from either. A fly buzzed around his head. He grimaced, then smiled. Around the sack he dug, clawed, and searched until he found the cloth he’d brought along. Binding it over both eyes, he breathed a sigh of relief. The shadows were finally gone again and the world was quiet- save for his mind. You look stupid. Cut out the other eye. It doesn’t do you any good anyways. Why do you care if people think you’re a cripple? They think you’re useless anyways. He’d swallow, hands shaky. “I just…they think I’m useless enough.” He’d say firmly, retrieving the book On Asioth, flipping through the words mindlessly. You think you’ll understand that? You think you’re smart, don’t you? Everyone knows you’re dumb. Stupid. Spineless. The minutes felt like hours. The hours felt like days. The sun set, the warmth did not vanish. Lyari laid in his tent, staring up at a sky he could not see. Day Two The sun rose again without greeting by any bird or commonality the elf had grown familiar with. Only the lava gurgled and ash billowed in its wake, the glow repressed but the brightened landscape mysterious and beautiful in its own way. The elf awoke, lips chapped, stomach growling. He smiled. “Good morning.” He spoke quietly. Again? Again? A singular word echoed through his mind after the word had escaped. His smile faded, his gaze lowered. The sun rose and he ate bread. Onward and upward into the sky it climbed, he drank water. He wandered the mountaintops. Ash flew around his boots, clung to his clothing. A few flowers grew, as though in rebellion to their surroundings. Midday came and passed. The campsite was finally in view again, he collapsed to his knees, exhausted and breathing heavily. The rest of the day was spent in the tent, reading philosophy he did not quite understand, yet had been promised would enlighten him. First Born? White Branches? Golden Fire? Golden bands? His thoughts drifted then, from the pages to his daydreams. Glassy eyed, he studied the land beyond which he could see, as though willing it into existence. There was nothing, save for the imposing wall of darkened abyss. Then, as quiet as a mouse, as sudden as a shooting star, it was there. Within that abyss, two Mali’aheral, a smaller one between them. Laughing, holding the child by either hand protectively. His smile returned, the sun set but nothing changed for Lyari, lost in his daydream. I wonder what it would have been like. The voices were quiet. Day Three The sun rose, the sun climbed, Lyari slept feverishly in the heat of the Firelands. Further into the sky it ascended, nearing midday before he awoke, warden held firmly to his chest. Red marks clung to his skin where the steel ball had been held protectively. A fly buzzed overhead once more. His sleepy hand, outstretched, brushed away just outside of the tent. A small white flower stood upright from beneath. “Good morning.” He greeted it softly. He thinks he’s a druid. They can’t understand you. Next you’ll eat air because everything has feelings. Maybe you wouldn’t be so fat then. The normally pale and chubby elf had begun to burn under the sun’s relentless rays. White skin was now a light shade of pink. His lips had cracked all the deeper, repetitive licking to moisten them once more proved only to chap them all the worse. He opted to lay in the tent, the water supply half gone, his food barely touched. Sweat beaded on his eyelids beneath the cloth, he batted it away, yet read all the same. A blessing in disguise. Godani is good. He thought to himself, cheerful, thankful. He read until nightfall, the same few lines over and over, wondrous, awestruck. For First-Born, his royal kin climbed the bright heavens, and brought him the sparks of starry grandeur held there. Loving, he lapped up the red waters of their muse, and raised them upon a throne of shining thunder. In turn they filled his vessel with timeless insight, and wrote his name upon the book of Asioth. Up at a sky he could not see, past the limit of his own gaze, he stared. He imagined shooting stars and twinkling rocks dancing across the black abyss above. Lyari thought of a moon, glowing as the sun does, yet cold and somehow more distant. He slept, he dreamt of a dragon, mighty and powerful, climbing the steps to a heaven he’d never known, of them plucking the moon and kneeling before the Father, offering the gift upward in reverence. All cried as one, gathered together, as Azdromoth plucked the gift from hands, sent clawed fingers through the object, the once white moon turning red and dripping crimson. They stood, anointed, shrouded in wisdom not even the books could do justice by. The voices were quiet, only the wardren hummed its soft promises to him and sang songs of draconic origin. Day Four Clouds drifted lazily over the skies, the crackling of thunder in the distance. His tent shuddered and shook, the sun was barely to be found. No greeting was given, the young elf struggled to stake the tent down in sturdier soil, wind whipping around and nearly through him and that which he had brought without thought or care. His efforts were in vain. The downpour came. He struggled against it and tried to cower in the safety of his tent. He sobbed, he pleaded, and he begged the skies to be kinder. There was no reprieve. The crackle of thunder loomed closer, yet the flashes of brilliant lightning were unseen. He stared blankly in the direction of it all, bright blinding light illuminating his face, soaked with rain and tears, jaw trembling in terror, yet he saw nothing beyond that narrow patch a few meters in front of himself. The overwhelming sense of dread, however, was not lost on the cowardly Mali. He packed his books, stored his food and water, and quickly ran from the supposed safety of the tent. Lightning struck where Mali and supplies had once lain, the tent igniting in terrible flame. Muddied boots slipped and slid on the treacherous mountainside. He ran, gasped for air, and ran further in the downpour until he could barely lift his feet. The edge of a tower came into view, the steam from the lava deterring him. He continued to flee. Eventually, the opening of a cave jutted out from the mountainside he had continually slid down. He entered, threw his belongings on the floor, and sobbed in terror and relief. You should have said good morning. You always make these things happen. Failure. Worthless. Either hand shot over his ears as he bawled, rolled around in dismay. He screamed, he begged the world aloud. The thunder drowned out his pleas. The lightning illuminated his suffering. The sun set and the moon rose. The stars danced across the sky. The storm raged on. Day Five Hunger greeted the Mali’aheral, not the sun. A growl of his stomach, pangs that clawed at his ribs. Most of the food had grown moldy and spoiled by the downpour, sped up by the cave’s humid, stale air. Lyari’s eyes did not open, yet he stirred all the same, the world a miraculous thing when seen behind a blindfold. “Godani is good.” He’d murmur to himself, smiling despite it all. “Good morning.” The voices were silent, he was alone in the cave, save for the soft humm of his mud encrusted wardren. Dirt and soot stained arms clung to the steel sphere, his dirtied and torn shirt sagging, reeking grotesquely from the trials of the last near-week. A sniffle, subdued by a yawn, escaped him, the entrance to the cave half covered by mud, a trickle of light just barely peeking through, a reprieve from the heat of the last four days. Cracked and bloody lips parted, an exhale as he crawled towards the sunlight, the wardren’s soft coaxes ever leading him onward. “I’m so tired…but if I don’t stay in the heat…it can’t change me…this’ll all be for nothing.” The words echoed ever so vaguely through the cave’s walls, taunting and yet motivating. Handful by handful, he pulled mud from the entrance until the hole, where scarce a trickle of light had poured earlier, now turned near oven-like. The gurgle of lava bubbled and churned nearby and sweat streaked the mud and soot that clung to hair and face alike. He swatted at the flies at first before ignoring them as they landed and flew away, determined to pull himself from the cave. Outward he hoisted himself, panting and shaking from the effort, before collapsing into mud that hadn’t yet turned dusty, though soot and ash fled from ground to the air after the impact. A hand rose, blocking the sun from scorching him further, yet he reveled in the heat and might of it all the same, staring off towards that which he could not see. His brothers hid at the edges of his vision; watching, they each lit their flames with his blazing eyes. His mind wandered to the books he’d brought, now ruined as they were, and he found only the words of Azdromoth and Eresar, made immortal in tomes, lingered in his mind. His left hand clung to the warming sphere that hummed, his right undid the blindfold, shadows dancing at the edges of his vision. “Soon we will be brothers. You will welcome me as my parents never did.” He’d murmur, a smile forming at the thought. Under the sky he laid, blistering and burning until the sun set in sympathy and the moon rose in pity. Day Six Morning found the elf rummaging through what tattered remains of his tent clung to the stakes in the ground. His blanket, by some miracle, had been staked by mistake and so clung to the soil below, ruined and dried with innumerous layers of dirt and ash. Yet- he pulled the wood free from it and pulled it close all the same. “Good morning.” He greeted the blanket, laughing in relief and horror before smiling and setting it down. “Azdromoth is good.” His stomach growled again, he sent a muddied fist to it, stumbling and doubling over. “Quiet you…” he’d whine towards the internal organ. “You’re weak! I’m not weak!” The voices were oddly silent, save for the wardren which hummed in delight. His gaze went to the unearthed flower, somehow grown taller in the few days, unbroken by the storms. The World was a fruitful womb of red earth: a cage. Below, a white-gold seed, First-Born, became himself. Thus a sapling of Asioth emerged unseen. Lively knowledge was as sunlight upon its leaves. Quiet words whispered in his ear, wizened and cunning. He smiled at the small plant, growing tall in a hostile environment. He dug away at some of the mud, creating a barrier for the flower from the wind. He smiled, cupping the leaves in a careful hand. “Azdromoth is good, even flowers can survive in these lands.” His voice was soft, reverence evident. He knelt, forehead pressing into the ash and soot below. He wept, deep and guttural, yet no tears came, too dehydrated from the sun to shed water beyond the sweat that chilled him at night. “I am worthy. I am worthy.” He rose, cupping ash between palms, pressing his bleeding lips to the powder within his fingers. “Praise Azdromoth.” A cry to the heavens. The madness continued, the sun set, the moon rose. Stars shown and meteors danced across the sky in his dreams. Shadows danced at the edges, with reddened eyes and horns that appeared as though crowns. Betwixt fires he danced and cheered, within tomes of knowledge he was lost. On and on his dreamworld shifted and formed and vanished until the night fled and the day arose. Day Seven The final day greeted the blistered, battered, and filthy elf as he laid in the dirt. A lazy hand rose, spreading ash over his torso further. “Reborn…reborn.” He’d murmur in an echoing way, the other arm clinging to the steel sphere as though it was life itself. “I will be reborn.” Cheerful, he’d smile to the sun. Mid day found him still laying amongst the ash and soot, aurelects dancing across his mind, delirious and shaken by the week long exposure to the hostile environment. He laughed, a raspy thing, throat raw and sore. “Have you seen me yet, my soon to be father?” He’d call out, no hatred or disdain to the tone, though it was barely above a whisper, his voice nearly lost in the strain. The wardren hummed terribly, trembled. The elf rose and bowed to the ash and lava. “My books.” He admonished, fleeing from the campsite, wrecked and ruined, back to the cave. Dirtied fingers dug into torn and tattered books, hoisting them up into a loving grasp alongside the sphere. He returned to the campsite, looking for the flower. It lay where it had stood, half broken in the ash. Yet he did not weep, for he understood. “To build it up you must first allow it to be broken down…” With careful hands, the elf set to burying the flower beneath the dust of the Firelands. With loving hands he grasped at the sphere and books, carrying them away. On shaky legs he found his way from the hostile land and laid beside a lake, lapping up chilled water until his belly swished with liquid with every movement. It was then that he returned to society, to his mentor with new found wisdom.
  9. i want tax collector beatings in the alley kidnapping family rp

    1. Poor_Fellow


      the sopranos rp

    2. Laeonathan


      ill come anf beat your family up nw...

  10. IGN : Qizu Discord : Logan.#6052 Category : Skin Title : The End Bringer
  11. Become azdromoths husband
  12. so like, why do you play an azdrazi but larp as an elf princess?? also, what's ur fav interaction with my char
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