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Qizu

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  1. THE ELVES OF Y’ELTHYR - THE CONQUEST OF SKJOLDER

     

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    Cursed of the Hatred that Drove them…

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    The Elves of Y'elthyr - The Beginning

    Long ago in the lands of Skjolder, covens had formed alliances and pacts with mortals of the realm. One grouping in particular that had ventured to the lands of Athera, had formed pacts with elves of the realm. These elves thrived in the lands of winter, naming themselves mali’fenn. A sect of these elves had served and worked alongside the witches of Skjolder, however through these many years they had been casted out and mistreated in their service. Strife born from this, leaving a great separation between the two sides. This spawned forth wrath and rage, as vengeance riddled the bones of the mali’fenn who had pledged their very lives to the witches. One sect of these mali fled deep into the world, having been casted out from their societies for their servitude and now from the witches. It was here that they began their long trek, wayward souls upon the world in hopes of a purpose. 

     

    In their travels, the mali’fenn stumbled upon a hidden tomb, buried deep within the frozen earth. It was a place of power, a sanctuary untouched by the passage of time. Within its darkened halls, they uncovered ancient relics of a bygone era – the fabled blades of the weaver warlocks. Only five blades lay within the tomb, each pulsating with an ominous aura that beckoned to those who dared to grasp them. These swords, imbued with the essence of dark magic, whispered promises of strength and vengeance to those who would claim them.

     

    Drawn by the allure of power and fueled by their thirst for retribution, the mali’fenn seized the blades as their own. As they clasped the cursed weapons, they felt a surge of dark energy coursing through their veins, intertwining their fates with the malevolent spirits that had forged the blades long ago. These five elves, now bearing the mantle of leaders among their kin, christened themselves the Elves of Y'elthyr, swearing an oath to reclaim their honor and wreak havoc upon those who had wronged them.

     

    With their newfound power and leadership, the Elves of Y'elthyr became formidable adversaries, their hatred only fueled by forces of the unknown. They rallied their forces, forging alliances with dark creatures of the wilderness and marshaling their strength for the ultimate reckoning.

     

    Their sights set upon the heart of Skjolder, the Elves of Y'elthyr marched forth, their blades gleaming with malevolent energy. They sought not just to conquer, but to annihilate – to tear down the very foundations of the motherland of the witches that had spurned them and reclaim their rightful place as lords of the frozen realm.

     

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    The First Night

    As the moon hung low in the sky, casting a ghostly pallor over the frozen landscape of Skjolder, the witches of the covens huddled together in their sanctuaries, their senses alert to the slightest hint of danger. But on this night, danger came not as a whisper on the wind, but as a tempest of blood and terror unleashed upon them by the hands of the accursed Elves of Y'elthyr.

     

    From the shadows emerged the five figures, each cloaked in darkness and wielding blades that dripped with the essence of death itself. With silent precision, they divided their forces, each leading a battalion of twisted creatures spawned from the depths of nightmare.

     

    The first raid struck like a thunderbolt, as the leader of the Elves of Y'elthyr descended upon the heart of a coven, his blade slicing through the air with a deadly grace. With ruthless efficiency, he sought out the mother of the coven, her screams echoing through the night as her lifeblood stained the snow below. 

     

    Meanwhile, his companions followed suit, their blades flashing in the moonlight as they set upon their targets with savage glee. The second coven fell beneath their onslaught, its defenders overwhelmed by the sheer ferocity of the attack. One by one, the young witches were cut down, their bodies torn asunder by the cruel steel of their assailants.

     

    The third coven fared no better, as the third elf led his battalion in a relentless assault, his eyes ablaze with the fires of vengeance. With every swing of his blade, he reaped a harvest of blood and agony, leaving nothing but death and despair in his wake. A grave sense of fear filled the hearts of the witches in the land as terror sifted through coven’s one by one.

     

    And so it went, as the night wore on, each of the five elves carving a swath of destruction through the land, their laughter mingling with the screams of the dying. By the time the dawn broke, Skjolder lay bathed in the ashes of its defenders, a grim testament to the horrors unleashed by the Elves of Y'elthyr.

     

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    The Summit of Covens

    As the sun rose over the desolate landscape of Skjolder, the surviving witches found themselves scattered and broken, some of the mightiest covens reduced to little more than whispers in the wind.  Some covens fled into the icy depths of the mountains, seeking refuge amidst the howling winds and treacherous peaks. Here, they hunkered down in the darkness, their magic veiled in shadows as they plotted their revenge. 

     

    In the depths of the mountains, amidst the swirling mists and icy winds, the witches convened a somber summit, their faces drawn and weary with the weight of their losses. Gathered around a flickering bonfire, they spoke in hushed tones, their voices laden with desperation and determination.

     

    Amidst the council, voices rose in dissent, arguing for different courses of action. Some advocated for retreat, urging their brethren to flee deeper into the mountains and forsake their ancestral lands in the face of overwhelming odds. Others, however, stood firm, their eyes flashing with defiance as they vowed to stand their ground and fight to the last.

     

    It was then that the eldest of the witches, her voice a whispering echo of ancient power, rose to address the assembly. With a steely gaze, she reminded her sisters of the sacred bond that bound them together – the oath sworn to protect their motherland, no matter the cost.

     

    And so, with grim resolve, the witches cast aside their differences and forged a pact of unity, vowing to stand as one against the encroaching darkness. From that moment forth, they would forbid any who sought to flee their motherland, forcing them to face their assailants head-on and defend their way of life with all the strength and cunning at their disposal.

     

     

     

    xD32_cPgOxENQoTYk87FM8oMsf7FJjpKHQ9yEi9qTqoSxq3h5mUCQKBwkDZyz5PwOHS6k1U7ZjsyVw8MdbdCLPA2T59_7KoERu87PHhmxCSJ7ysHYRCpeoWcmr5bl7VZXTrMD1u55Ext579vTRK9PPg

    “The night descended, cloaking our coven in a blanket of darkness as the chilling sound of metal on stone reverberated through our frozen halls. My heart pounded in my chest as I heard the unmistakable cries of agony echoing from the depths below – the voice of our mother, the heart of our coven, under siege by unseen assailants. Dread gripped my soul as I realized that the Elves of Y'elthyr had come for us, their blades hungry for blood and vengeance.” - Stelthera of the Descloux Coven

     

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    The War of Eternal Winter

    The Elves of Y'elthyr were not content to let their prey slip through their fingers so easily. With the taste of victory fresh upon their lips, they hunted their quarry relentlessly, scouring the frozen wastelands in search of any who dared to defy them.

     

    And so, a deadly game of cat and mouse began, as the witches struck from the shadows with cunning and guile, their spells weaving a web of illusion and deceit to confound their enemies. Each skirmish was a desperate battle for survival, as blood and magic clashed amidst the frozen wilderness.

     

    But even as the witches fought tooth and nail to defend their way of life, they knew that the tide of war was turning against them. With each passing day, their numbers dwindled and their resources grew thin, while the Elves of Y'elthyr seemed only to grow stronger with each victory.

     

    Yet still, they clung to hope, for they knew that as long as even a single ember of defiance burned within their hearts, they would never truly be defeated. And so they bided their time, waiting for the moment when they could rise from the ashes and reclaim their rightful place as the masters of Skjolder.

     

     

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    “As the first tremors of war shook the lands of Skjolder, the witches of the Coven of Devana found themselves thrust into a maelstrom of chaos and uncertainty. Descended from the Seers of the North, who had served the legendary witch Brunhylde, our coven had long stood as guardians of prophecy, keeping a vigilant watch over the ever-shifting currents of fate from our hidden sanctuary deep within the chasms of the ice.

     

    For generations, we had foreseen the signs of a brewing conflict, our visions painting a grim tapestry of bloodshed and despair that lurked on the horizon. Yet, like a cruel twist of fate, the eruption of war caught us unprepared, our senses overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught of the mali'fenn. A sickness gnawed at our souls as our mirrors and gateways of sight revealed the atrocities that would soon engulf our homeland.

     

    Gathered around our sacred altar, we beheld the grim fate of our fellow covens, witnessing their valiant struggle against the forces that sought to annihilate them. But as their numbers dwindled and desperation mounted, it became painfully clear that victory was beyond their grasp. And so, as our brethren rallied together to face the oncoming storm, the witches of Devana made a fateful decision.

     

    With heavy hearts and resigned spirits, we knew that our only chance lay in retreat. Against the sheer unexpectedness and ferocity of our assailants, we stood little chance of holding them at bay. And so, with the weight of centuries of tradition bearing down upon us, we turned our gaze towards the only sanctuary we knew beyond the icy reaches of Skjolder.

     

    For too long had our gazing eyes fixated upon the distant shores where the witches of Aevos dwelled, a flickering beacon of hope amidst the encroaching darkness. Now, as the tempest of war raged around us, perhaps it was time to seek them out, to forge a new alliance born from the ashes of our shattered homeland. And so, with determination burning in our hearts, we set forth on a journey into the unknown, our destinies entwined with those of our distant kin across the frozen wastes.” - Lada of Devana

     

    k5wqCLHoY0qektHDwl9xHAktxt-KI3_AO_ndm5MbALfPzozlzbH1zHsBR0JxjYto67qsZArueN0qZLO_FGssbtaBcLFfkXioFKAQBj8QKW6GrkqySTTqjhY70xn5MTztyVf4o8symZV6tMlhBOjTDAU

     

    Spoiler


    This post describes current events upon Skjoldier, the Frost Witch Motherland. The above information only available to those who had viewed the Altar upon the Glacier, or received it via word of mouth.
     

     

     

     

  2. 11 hours ago, Youngie5500 said:

    +1

     

    Very nice, but sometimes explicitedly stating "Ordained Herald" and othertimes not, even though it is a MA ability, is confusing. I wish it was immediately clear if it is a Feat/Herald or MA/Ordained-Herald ability.


    Hey! Thanks for the reply, I only noticed that being misplaced once. I've gone ahead and fixed it but let me know if you see any others!
     

  3. 2 minutes ago, alexmagus said:

    I may be missing something horribly but is the way to see if it is castable by ordained/feat heralds the different in the light red text below the spell saying 'herald' or 'ordained herald'.


    Hey! It's mentioned in a few places that only feat level heralds can use inscriptions, ordained heralds can use shouts and rituals. Let me add it to the General Redlines below them!


  4.  

    The Bloodied Keep

    Bithe’Vah Nears Us

     

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    The Raid
    On a warm summer night all was quiet among the mountainside of Urguan. Wind blew through the valley as it echoed upon the stone faces of the dwarven kingdom. On top of one of these great cliffs, a small force of samurai, accompanied by two elders of their kind, had begun to scale downwards. Scales and fire licked the insides of their armors as they approached the target before them - The Paladin Keep.

     

    Maneuvering their way in they had been caught amidst the doors by a small force of paladins. One of them fled upon the sight of the grouping, whilst two of them continued onwards to pursue their invaders. Through pure luck the draconic invaders had maneuvered their way inside, capturing an elf within whilst the paladins had become trapped in the hall of doors. 

     

    A battle had broken out as spells were rendered to nothingness whilst flame beat down upon the ivory walls of the keep. Alchemic concoctions overwhelmed the trapped knights of Xan. Pushed all the way into the very corners of their own home - it was here that dragon’s flame became the last sight of the night. One had been captured, the other’s left for dead.

     

    Their mortal lives soon to return to the very world that entertained their beliefs and thoughts. Born from the ashes only to return as them. 

     

    ((The above is knowledge only known to those who witnessed such.))

     


     

    [!] A scroll was left among the ashes.
     

    “Twice have your walls been blackened with the ashes of my order. Your initiates exchanging keys to your lands with the mere exchange of knowledge. Knowledge of the dark and its creations and recipes - how far has the Order Fallen? How many more times will your lands be infiltrated by my banners?

     

    A challenge is bestowed, one of great proportions. A duel is to take place, for I challenge a Keeper who bares the weaponry known as Lux. Seek me out at your will, however my raids will persist until this occurs.”

     

    - Ut’torvioth, The Serpent.

     

     


     

  5.  

    INHERITANCE OF THE SERPENT
    The Way of The Serpent

     

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    All comes to an end, the only question is after each ending in our lives, what will come after?

     

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    The world as we know it changes with every day. Cycles observed by all beings of existence, the stray mind attempting to break these cycle’s throughout time - however there is an instance in which a being of true wonders seeks to create a cycle of their own. 

     

    Inheritance, it is often one of the things most sought after in the lands of Man. Monarchy’s who have spanned centuries, new settlements creating their own line of descendants to aspire to their whelping thrones. What is an empire if there is no being to receive its mantle after the next? What is a memory if not passed down to survive against the being of Time? Surely all must be passed down?

     

     



     

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    [!] A missive was passed onto the World. Whether it be scrolls placed amongst tombs, the stray note beneath a pile of books, once found it would reveal the following.

     

    “The world shifts as the heaven’s above begin to prepare for war. My life began in the ages of the Empire when war was waged upon the beings we came to know as Inferi. Nobility and pride ran through my family, becoming leaders of all that we had gazed our eyes upon. However this mortal gaze only took us so far, our greedy minds leading us to the immortal - to the life of blood and power.  Iblees, a being who had been spoken of as a story within taverns or before campfires, grew closer to our minds than we had anticipated. Immortality claiming our very bodies as fangs protruded from our mouths, talons from our fingertips, and rage from our mind. However even this cycle had come to an end, our power lost to the ages of time, our names forgotten every few years aside from the stray descendent of mine who had their name plastered by the Church and its Nations - Sarkozic.”

     

    [!] A second page would be found beneath the first, the missive continued..

     

    “With each ending of a cycle, a new one continues. This time my mortal body embraced a second force, one that served the first in secret just as I had - The Titan Azdromoth. This time however scales crept from my skin and fires from my lips. Knowledge plagued the mind like a storm does in the sea. Greed continued to rampantly control my life, ascending to power in any way that I could. Whether it be at the cost of nations and their reputation, or my very student’s lives. Sin consuming me in every waking moment of my life. Corruption is the true controller of all that I had done, something I sought out many times to embrace the life that I had lost before this one. A cycle that had ended that I was unable to stop. A cycle I sought to recreate, yet failed miserably. 

     

    Morur’ei, a name feared by many, worshiped by none. A failed cycle in the eyes of the god’s who laughed upon it. Ending in misery and flame of the being Vlos, like before it began a new cycle. From it a being born of false-purity and disguise. A being hidden behind pale flesh like walls that swore he had changed. A title bestowed for his efforts - The Serpent. A belief system was created, some figuring that was a disguise of everything he had created before. Has he changed? I preach of the End of times, of the day of Bithe’Vah. Was this a mockery of my failures, or the beginning of a beautiful end that I know will likely not occur. This cycle, the one that I live in now, has brought forth many trials and confusions. However in recent events it has brought me a revelation, that this will be my Last cycle. These words have been scattered upon the lands as a desperate attempt of relevance. A begging in the night to know what will come after this cycle has ended. Perhaps this cycle will end sooner than expected, or perhaps we have years to come.

     

    I seek a being who will inherit all that I have become and created. A being that will wield the relics of my times, a being that will uphold the philosophy crafted at the hands of madness and insanity. Someone who will inherit the disguises we have created as an Order. A being who will inherit the Serpent.”

     

    [!] The words had come to an end. No signature needed upon the ramblings, no guidance as to what one may do with their knowledge. Only those of true inspiration and will are able to make use of the knowledge they had learned upon their readings. 

     

     


  6. Franz Stroheim gazed off towards the winter wastelands before him. He pondered the idea of war as a cold wind embraced his form. "My first war, battle is upon me for the first time. I must make my family proud."

  7.  

    | QIZU SKIN AUCTION |

     

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    Hey All! I decided to finally do a forum auction. Below is a collection of skins I have put together. This is the first wave of 6, with 3 armor and 3 casual skins. Tomorrow I will add 4 more random skins so make sure to check back! Below is a listing of rules for this particular auction!

     

    -This auction will last 72 hours. (Thursday 6:30PM EST)

    -Payments for these will be due this Friday!

    -All bids start at $10 USD

    -Bid increments must be $2+

    -Every new bid or raise must be a new comment, do not edit please!

     

    Format:

    Skin Name - 

    Bid -
    Discord Name - 

     

     


     

    Golden Dragon

     

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    Wraith Knight

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    Claymore

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    Velvet

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    Trapper

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    Ranger

    OTc38WJsJXgZVQ08qEunCKBQRkDIRdu_-x_YdCjGxGrmycf3JY0WNTy4W3ttyWIipkaTqTQaaBrKBp3S6PUljJZqz5ecoX2bDViI8iOa03QK4LDljKLzIa3YrkT_YBOCdJ01-N1pvZOAzzVEcj-YUwMQb7KewLraEq2bspj141NFRBK2BouGYFdvOpltiCo63JORVfFfDaYTeZm-k5AswaJ9y2W5heTt2ShqR9JtJBT_ZlVgcyrFmohvrDPaGaG5Q6WAubb8LwMoMVJnwklHo_evhzWUfzoeIoU9vBFPKQgn68kfb-BmVEpxWm1ILZdqermZ7AklaB8JpOHjuOXSfUrmvNnjyF4wnsmJgFklENsPx2CYgXWcEZkDnFgSoFZi0in2ZJ6ccKQIoIpq94gV5iRmRH4hNigxw4zIoGg37koJiSvO0ul9Jbd49y44Yx7thjYU8

     


     

    Wrath

    -YSSTkP_cWToaBPjHAhoNr_bMKoF1T29qiFJEkUoCnnwka-612IYyKIfcFv02SwxrnTtR76eQ-Stui3XxcCPyjzYcjMauAc3c2FXAY9nCveUmpc9CP0PBlsqVIsW2q3a-zsuUE9G3OUN6e-hgpv4GwolOoroOlFTSlKTy0XUAkSGNKKrvV08QOFtBJPaAcoiK19Fzxo8qgiznsaauu0wiughJGU8FXZeGJ75ZRaA8ysET1sCXCLb7cyiQhMiwpoZD7CoFjoNGYIZ1VCBTdSkmPg8vNmivE_TyG_uYCMe82okHcgrfMAVBK_77srj63NXu61Tzuv-HGUr4aAy35HAnrq-X2-cPPFeSh4hmVdpqp25i03Us_UBwoC6h2AbR1j-Aio8F3tpAjE6-MZv7LNZk0550Os54OR4EO1E7UafvF0OZ-fuqceMZccatxTA_2upiPsWA

     

     


     

    Loremaster

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    Loyalty

    Wa6GAViq2hJPkhTq1A5HUkLFIHx6ZHtyrqd8s468Eo_GtOI9NjL9RTT26KhnjRmFz3Qil0CUUSxLBSAW36l3H-gTcLM4eyy8KTGaGD6RgB1XQcd6q76hHIrqerYFTcSI3Qun1pSXdWFxF2c_4fT8NZ8ZOONzlaK-JiMYBFQm_btNT0gcWr5CYWOfwasl8Bw0rPjgPAxn01kztQPDO2Sfa984LUIFRZWKy1oMTlF9wR6e4fI4nYkFnaOyPxjhcvXBC5KGbmlC28mKLLX4tvPCSKubok0by0bw3R0nSf28orxVNcErCWVdjtfcOsvW7IlnPrtXyLuF56T7Gj7ofj6jmnSOU2XX8UDAjn0nhRWk2rGfdN-wCC9aeDuMMVUXD2Mmbqe_GvhpAqSnpexHeNHSLNKbA24-o_qjuiO6lsMSILKqGF8aa2F_yHzz8BsB-PesIdsgw

     

     


  8. [!] A letter had been penned to the parties of the Duma

     

    “Erm, where was my invite?” - Ser Tobias de Sarkoz, Eldest Living of the Sarkozic Lineage, Martyr of the Titan, Knight of the Order of Merit, Reverend Father of the Holy Church, The Serpent, Magistrate of New Esbec, etcetera etcetera

  9. THE EYES OF THE DIVINING
     

    T2VutUNBKnludo-_yPGlWWp6mwA7ngg4-fshC_ha9Q88lJbKZ2BFt6PX22UZuvHOAQrj0DhpQMljsV3UkV__OQgugyeWKbd6-aM9J6Ahzor1c6B1s4Noz3mcfQ6V79gWB8ns1bHWUqww8_qMPXw88xY

    In the far north a pillar of ethereal light ignited the horizon.

    uciCD3pMrMHjQZPTj1TYySEo8vnvuPd50fvmiaUniJabvdOIjiVn0f8lyyrMy_4SMS7yHWLjO5p7qg-hYLhzuiJMHACIXRMuPtjCbNHRhttZCqNJEiSWCZv0N6K4d43rkGljyJFwThXDwGfstFp8Arw

    Act I

    In the far-flung reaches of Aevos' northern expanse, a beacon of luminous white light erupted against the darkened skyline. Its arrival sent shivers through the land, driving wildlife to flee in haste from their forest abodes and sanctuaries. A great howling noise echoed across the mountainous terrain of the northern winters. Those who witnessed this spectacle were transfixed by its eerie aura, yet for a select few, an ominous foreboding crept into their consciousness.

     

    Across the lands of Aevos, the frozen altars of the frost witch covens began to resonate with a pulsating intensity, emanating a primal hum that seemed to embody the very essence of raw power. The ice that encased these sacred sites twisted and darkened, tainted by the sinister touch of the unknown. Peering into the depths of these altars revealed a chilling sight: a singular, darkened eye, piercing the veil between worlds with an unsettling gaze. In the dreams of the frozen witches of the world, this same eye gazed upon them in their slumber. It sent waves of fear into each, however even then it had a certain familiarity. 

     

    The discovery of the Covens of Aevos sent shockwaves through the hidden depths of caverns and trenches where they were concealed, leaving only one lingering question: Who had dared to unearth their ancient secrets?

     

     


     

    Spoiler

    This marks the beginning of the Coven of Devana Eventline! This will take place over the next couple months and is geared towards the current Frost Witch Community. That said, all players are welcome to engage and participate in the events that transpire from this. If a group wishes to seek out the origin of the light please reach out on Discord via “qizu.” to arrange a time. 

     



     

  10. MC Name:

             Qizu

     

    Character's Name:

             Ut'torvioth

     

    Character's Age:

             191

     

    What feat(s) will you be learning?

             Tawkin

     

    Teacher's MC Name:

             exogens

     

    Teacher's RP Name:

             Ezrul'Azzar

     

    Do you agree to keep Story updated on the status of your feat app?:

             Yes

     

    Have you applied for this feat on this character before, and had it denied? If so, link the app:

             Nope!

     

    Are you aware that if this feat is shelved, it will be unavailable to use?

             Yup!

     

  11.  

    WER IDOL DI WER ADULESE
    The Way of The Serpent

     

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    Upon the Holy Day of Bithe’Vah, the skies will blacken with ash while a singular 

    flame stands within the darkness consuming all that gazes upon it.
     

    66s3u98fGSFXoAwKp5BqAelZCVFnEFVor6e8gpdbIIE5YlnnRQFegRzKS30-aYJnqW9qiZos3Sqaq4f42_JNERMlov6Zx9pT6GD8diQM_MLi8az4A9ceFBvW4gPPcp612nqf0-CiCxsJSPudlBOzB0Y


     

    A gathering formed amidst the snowy expanses of the north. Samurai, constructs, and mages all gathered around as a plan was formed. A mission was commanded to them by the General’s of Azdromoth, a mission that would be completed swiftly in the following night. Snow fell down upon their warming skin as each flake melted upon arrival. They rode south through the mountains, their destination an ivory gate upon the hillside of the dwarven lands.
     

    Swiftly they made their way into the ivory fortress. Doors were broken into and initiates scared far from their keep as they fled from the invasion. Entering into the room a large golden bell dangled before them - begging them to take it. Flame tore through the chain that held it before it fell down into the pools of water below. Metal hands grasped its dented sides as some of the lightstones within it shattered from the impact. Slowly the departure began, chests were ransacked and gates tore down as they moved from the lands. Greeting them on the outside, a band of darkspawn began to take their jab at the golden fortress. Gazes were exchanged and whispers guided through the mountainside - the keep fell to siege yet again.

    First they traversed through the cliffside as the bell drug behind them. Pelts and cloth wrapped around it to prevent any further damage. Then it was the stone bridge, allowing them to cross into the next continent. Their trek was silent, nothing surrounded them as they fled with their prize. Above however, an eye gleamed down at the relic - something had taken notice. This trek continued nevertheless as they soon met the forests, and then the snow. The metal glided upon the slippery surface as the journey came to an end. 

     

    Whilst the journey of the heist came to an end, the descent of another entity began. Clouds departed as dragon’s flame lay wrath down upon the forests of the north. Ice and snow ceased to exist where it was sprayed, flames claimed the countryside that was the north. Satar’s wrathful gaze grew close to the prize now. Words were exchanged and the bell rang mundanely through the night. As these words came to an end however, his draconic claw wrapped around what was left of the chain that once dangled the relic over the sanctuary that held it. Hoisting it into the sky, the wings of the beast uprooted what snow remained as it filled the air. It chimed through the night sky as it's destiny was forever changed.
     



    Across the vast continent, great, flitting wings cast shadows over the forestry. Ebbs of dragons flame erupt across canopies, marring the soil with burns. 

     

    The bell, now in the hands of Azdromoth, chimes violently as it is carried away by dangling, broken chains. Satar lays a firm grasp around the bell with his bloodied claws, until it arrives safely at the destined apogee of Redmont. 

     

    Unlike before, the bell no longer resonates with that same fear-striking sound once dreaded by the dragonkin. 

     


  12. Old - Enkindling 
    - Each Trial can only be completed weekly. At the end of the week, the Whelping is to show their offerings and merit in whatever they’ve succeeded. If it is insufficient, then the Trial is forfeit and must be redone.

    - One of each type of these trials - therefore three in total - must be carried out. The Whelpling’s wardren glows gradationally for each trial completed.
     

    New - Enkindling 

    - If the whelping was a Herald for 10 weeks prior to beginning their wardren trials,  each trial can only be completed weekly. At the end of the week, the Whelping is to show their offerings and merit in whatever they’ve succeeded. If it is insufficient, then the Trial is forfeit and must be redone. In this case, the whelping must complete three trials total to complete their wardren.

    - If the whelping is a new herald (lass than 10 weeks), or not a herald at all, each trial can only be completed tri-weekly. At the end of the third week, the Whelping is to show their offerings and merit in whatever they’ve succeeded. If it is insufficient, then the Trial is forfeit and must be redone.  In this case, the whelping must complete five trials total to complete their wardren.

     

    Purpose
    Becoming a Nephilim is an end-game situation for a character. It should be something that gives time for trial and error for those pursuing it. This amendment rewards committed individuals that partake in the heraldry process, and ensures that the CA process is not rushed or compromised. As it currently stands a brand new character can be turned into a Nephilim in three weeks. This amendment would require 13 weeks minimum for a brand new character assuming that they become a herald instantly, or 15 weeks assuming they do not become a herald. 
     

  13. As the creature conversed within the bustling market his eyes flickered hues of yellow fire. His expression changed to a smile as he looked towards his brother and student. "We will have a journey to make soon. Father calls" stated Ut'torvioth as he interrupted their conversation. @wooz @Safryie

  14. Freebuild on arcas was such a hassle staff wise to deal with landscars and mega builds never getting finished. There are loads of realms handing out land for merely approaching them with a group and asking, in regard to doing typical culture, noble families, farm lands, etc.
     

    On another note, I hope a system is found to reduce the tiles mega nations own with hardly any RP. 

  15. 1 hour ago, femurlord said:

    "Tell these fools to kick clams!" An undead captain bleated, surveying the now waterlogged and faded newspaper within the depths of the Shuul capital. @Qizu


    The Announcer gazed over the letter alongside his current champion. "I suppose this will suffice. . ." he commented out loud. Soon after he received his apology the Shuul took to his mount. He made way towards the lands of Descendents. Business was to be done!

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