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  1. The Red Diet of Karosgrad was probably my favorite experience as a player. It was a great combination of character development and player freedom. Speaking of freedom, I might try LARPing again. See if I've gotten too old for that.
  2. I had been doing church RP for a long time, but on coming back this time, I finally got my first actual priest and my first spook (as she got used by the Synod after she died). This would be priestess Ileana.
  3. The mod team is a team not just because of workload, but because we need differing viewpoints to make sure things are handled fairly and correctly. I'm glad we quarreled as mods on occasion; it made the team consider decisions more carefully. I'm a 10.5 US. Yes, my reign of terror has ended.
  4. Overseeing my first warclaim. It was amazing to watch the sides go at it, to prep the map, and just help enable some of the most fun people have on LOTC.
  5. Yup, I'm out for a bit. My interest in the server has been waning for a bit now and so I'm taking a break. I hold no illusion that I'm quitting for good; I know I'll be back. So, this is me hanging up my mod manager hat and doing a little Bye AMA.
  6. Zugha'Gorkil had read the missive, pacing in his hut in Un'Satum as he did so. He continually had to stop mid-paragraph and return to the beginning again, losing his place as his breath got heavier and heavier and his eyes began to see tunnel vision. As he reached the end, the page slipped from his grasp and his palm slammed into his door, cracking the hinges as it swung open. He stalked out and, for a time, there was peace in the hut. Several minutes later, Zugha's shadow crossed the threshold of his hut again. His breath was level as he entered and he moved to a small basin where he washed his hands. That being done, he took a long breath and looked down at his arm, the lines of his muscles marred by a long, thin scar that ran from elbow to wrist. One of many throughout his body, but admittedly his newest. He left the hut again, moving past the stable where the corpses of many a cow now lay, towards the fire pits where several uruk and goblins were sitting. He stood on the cliff above them and shouted. "Sons of Krug, hear me! We have all read the words of San'Velku's Rex. We know what they say! Let me tell you what I say!" Eyes turned toward him. "Like you, I have chosen Un'Satum. I have chosen Un'Satum, for I see, in the eyes of my kin here, honorable souls worthy of the legacy of Krug! I have chosen Un'Satum, for I see those who revere the spirits as much as I do! I have chosen Un'Satum, for I know that those here would fight at my side at a moment's notice, and drink with me in Stargush'Stroh should we fall together!" He reached up and undid the clasps on his breastplate, letting it fall to the ground. Then, he ripped off his shirt, showing the deep scars that lined his chest. "Once, I wandered the lands, homeless. I knew not father or mother. I knew not clan. But I needed more, and I sought those who knew what it was to be urukin. I wandered into San'Velku and I found those who knew me. Understood me. And I did the tests, and I did lay on the altar of Gorkil!" He slammed his fists against his scars. "And I did bleed for my newfound bruddahs! But I could not stay amongst them, for deep within San'Velku, there was a rot, the same rot that they now accuse us of. Honor would not let me stay amongst them, the same honor bestowed to us by Krug and to my clan by Gorkil. Note now how the name Gorkil does not grace the halls of San'Velku and ask yourself why!" He paused for a moment and his next words came out much softer. "I know why..." Then, louder again. "They say they have changed, Sons of Krug. That they have cast out those that welcomed filth and dishonor into their city. Perhaps it is so. Perhaps. But we must show them that we never need be changed, for honor has always filled our every action." He raised his hand, displaying the fresh scar. "Let me tell you the tale of this scar. I strode, once again, into the walls of San'Velku. I struck their war bell. I declared myself there to account for my part in the death of their Elder. And I did leave there with my arm dripping of mine blood, and my sword dripping of blood not my own, with the words of San'Velku's Dominus ringing in my ear. And I repeat them to you this day: 'the spirits are with you, Zugha'Gorkil!' And if we wish to keep it that way, then I say we meet their words with proof. Let us find the alchemist and I will take his arm with this one here, and thrust them both into the fire. And, as our arms burn, we will prove that we are a people of honor. And if one arm does not burn, we will prove our honor by delivering the body attached to that arm to San'Velku. "I say this to you, Sons of Krug! It was a party of Un'Satum urukin that did attack the darkspawn at the gates of San'Velku where the alchemist in our party did throw the fire that killed Skaatchnak'Akaal. Of that, we cannot and should not deny. Nor is it unexpected. We, of all the descendant races, know war the best. We know that death comes in war and bystanders are not always spared. And we know that we do not always get to choose when the battle comes. But when it arrives, we are to meet it head on. No Son of Krug would tell another not to join a fight to help their bruddahs. I would join that fight again in a heartbeat. Draw my club again without a moment's hesitation. Strike against the darkspawn attacking my bruddahs without a falter in my stride. "But I also know that we, Urukin of Un'Satum, do not accept the darkspawn nor the dragonspawn in our walls. And if we have one, we must purge him. And any anger we have towards those in San'Velku who question our honor should not change that. I don't give a shit about what they call us or what they deem us, but we will not let the taint of the foul tarnish our honor. What say you?!"
  7. I am locking this topic as I have had to hide and give warnings for multiple instances of toxicity against OP. OP, there is some really excellent critique here, especially that your lore submission needs some beefing up to make it viable. Don't be discouraged if the first version doesn't get accepted.
  8. I am officially playing a non-blah-speaking orc and I have to say that it's the most fun I've had in a long time. I have to say that I don't think I could play a dark elf. The lore has never interested me, black skin like that is cringe based on RL historical issues, and I just can't get over those.
  9. i got told i could post it on the forums too btw. Its got the all clear from the head office





    Edited by appeal alt dont touch
    1. Burnsider


      I know we hid this in small font at the very bottom of some page that no one who is appealing would ever look at, but:




      Edit for your edit: Admins didn't tell us anything about that. Wonder why? 

  10. The chin is dead.

  11. The Believer's Plea The stroke, as they all do really, came without warning, striking the monk known as Penance while he was clearing cobwebs off the relics in the ossuary beneath the Priory of Bl. Ser Daffyd. For fourteen hours, he lay there, on the cold stone of the floor, surrounded by the bones and relics of old, thinking little in his addled state beyond the fact that he would most likely be joining them all soon, before a postulant found him and carried him to his bed. Over the course of the next month, the prior's health improved only inasmuch as he was able to slowly speak and eat, though he touched little more than water and broth. His strength never returned and he never took a step again. When the postulants brought in a priest to give the prior his last rites, Penance accepted them willingly, only calling afterwards for a scribe. Over the course of the next two days, the scribe patiently recorded these last words of the older man, letting the man rest when he needed to or, as more and more often became the case, when he just no longer had the strength to stay conscious. Finally, on the 8th of Sun's Smile, 1898, Penance, prior of the House of Nicolites and last vowed member of the Faith Militant, left his earthly body for the Skies. Over the course of the next day, his words were copied by multiple scribes and sent on by herald to Valfleur, Minitz, Karosgrad, and Atrus. As my eyes see little more than darkness and I feel the grip of Aeriel begin to bear me hence to the beyond, I must state how I feel the Lord GOD, Creator of the Skies and the Earth, must view the state of the world of Men, for I fear He sees it to be as dark as my eyes currently are. I have seen over a half century of summers and in not one were the Sons of Horen in unity. This does not require unity under a single banner; merely peace between them, so that Man ceases to slay Man's blood upon the field of battle. If we are as sheep, then we must have shepherds. But what have the shepherds among us done as the sheep of their pasture lied dead and bloodied in the mud? Woe, shepherds of Horen who have been feeding themselves! Should the shepherds not feed the flock? You play games with your lands and your fences, while the flock within are killed and scattered. Those who are sickly you have not strengthened, the diseased you have not healed, the broken you have not bound up, the scattered you have not brought back, nor have you searched for the lost; but with force and with violence you have forced them into battle amongst themselves. They scattered for lack of a shepherd, and they became food for every animal of the field. You, elders and shepherds among us, were called to exercise oversight over the flock of God, but you did so not voluntarily, according to the will of GOD, but under compulsion; and not with eagerness but with greed; nor yet as proving to be examples to the flock but by domineering over those assigned to your care. When Aeriel bears you hence, God will cast out the proud from His sight, but welcome with grace the humble. Woe to the shepherds who are causing the sheep of the Creator's pasture to perish and are scattering them! You have driven them to perish and have not been concerned about them. Behold, for the Lord of Creation will call you to account for the evil of your deeds. Then God himself will gather the remnant of His flock out of all the countries where he has cast you out, and He will bring them back to their pasture, and they will be fruitful and multiply. He will raise up new shepherds over them and they will tend them; and they will not be afraid any longer, nor be slaughtered, nor will any be missing. Penance, known by many names in his lifetime, was born Gunter Barclay in the last days of Canonist Sutica to Obrecht and Lisa Barclay. He was raised by his cousin, Jurgen Barclay, and spent time in his younger days in both the Brotherhood of Saint Karl and the Sons of Saint Tylos before his survival after the destruction of Savoy sent him to pursue a life for God. He was a soldier in the Supreme Order of Exalted Owyn before it was disbanded and the faith militant remade into the Order of Saint Nicolas the Martyr, where he served as a soldier, then a knight, and finally as Grandmaster of the Order, taking the name David Invitus. With his failure to protect the people of Oren as it self-destructed, he took vows as a monk, living in the lands of Minitz and eventually Petra at the Priory of Bl. Ser Daffyd. Before joining the church, he fathered, through his wife, Matilda, three children.
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