AdmiralLB

Now I am become Valstrax, dragon of SPEED

Skin Name - Golden Dragon Bid - 55$ Discord Name - GrandDadmiral

Skin Name - Claymore Bid - 37$ Discord Name - GrandDadmiral

Skin Name - Golden Dragon Bid - 42$ Discord Name - GrandDadmiral

Roleplay Post Of burning Rock and Ashen Lands or One more Journey “Work to be done.“ Zodd hums an ancient melody, sung to him as a child, after setting out on what was likely to be the last journey of his life. His trip through the ashen landscapes was unlike many other the well-travelled man had undertaken before, for his goal was unclear. “Object of great importance, left to my judgement, not at all vague.” He muses as he climbed over rock and stone, the lack of his right arm raising the difficulty significantly. He had expected the lack of his primary hand, alongside the limb it was attached to, to be a hinderance, like it had been when it was initially ripped away from his body by that lightning-wielding Troll all those years ago. Yet, despite him training and preparing himself, the resistance that the land itself was showing to his efforts was staggering. Soot-stained, dead stones, ash-filled air, molten rock, and flames covered the surroundings as far as the eye could see. Although Zodd’s upbringing had made him somewhat accustomed to extreme temperatures both hot and cold, even his resistance had met its match here. “How long has it been since I came here? Truth be told, I think I’ve lost count.” The first words spoken since he’d set out a week ago betrayed his lack of direction. Until now, he’d been doing relatively well, trekking through the ashlands with slightly less difficulty than before, the trip although remaining arduous. Occasionally, he’d come down to meditate, hoping that through disciplined concentration he might catch a glimpse of understanding, to know what he was looking for here. Yet so far, all he saw when he closed his eye to search was darkness, an emptiness inside that matched the emptiness around him. “Some days I wonder why I accepted Thalon’s offer. My life could have been quite a bit easier had I not.” It had been two months since he last spoke, and Zodd was caked in soot and ash, the grumbling coming from his mouth joined by that from his stomach. Food and water were as rare as hen’s teeth here, so he’d resorted to subsisting on the few insects that occasionally crossed his path. “Then again, I’ve always had a talent for getting myself into trouble, so who know, before short or long, I might’ve been up to the neck in shit regardless.” He chuckles to himself, before biting down on an unlucky bug that had chosen to burrow its way out from underneath his feet. “THERE’S NOTHING HERE! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FIND ANYTHING IN A PLACE LIKE THIS?” The howling cry echoed across the hills as Zodd vented his frustrations to the heavens. He sinks to his knees, slumping over as he weakly hits the ground with his balled fist. And yet, nothing happened. Why would it be different? There was nobody here. None could hear his lament, and nobody would come. Not that it’d have mattered, he’d have thought them to be mere illusions, and sent them away. By now, it’d been seven months since he set out, and he looked it. Covered in soot, his clothing torn and singed, even the already-fading colours of his prized headband were being drowned out by the thick ash that had settled upon it. He had lost weight, the last thing he’d eaten being a stray bird that had somehow lost its way and ended up plummeting to the earth here two days ago. Zodd crawled along on his knees, to weak to stand. Then, his powers fail him, and he drops to the ground. With his face buried in the dirt, he begins lightly sobbing. Crying about all he’d lost over the course of his life. Love, family, friends. He’d known them and lost them all the same. By now, all he had were regs to cover his body, and loneliness as his travelling companion. “Where did I go wrong?” But nobody heard him. He remained alone, a full year after the start of his journey. Then, blackness overtakes him. A full week later, a small mountain of ash begins to stir, falling apart as a humanoid figure rises from it. Zodd slowly gets up on his feet, looking about himself. The land remained unchanged, and he sighs. “No use crying about it, really. I’ve had it, and I lost it. Such is life.” Futilely dusting himself off, which earned him a slight chuckle from himself, Zodd marches onward, fuelled by spite and determination alone. He crests a hill, and finds himself in a familiar place, despite it appearing just like the rest of the ashlands. Zodd could see the entrance to the Azdrazi lair, and he ignored it. It wasn’t yet his time to return, for he’d found nothing. Instead, he marches off, sometime later finding a lone, dead tree that stood above the land, and sits down beneath its empty branches, falling into a deep sleep beneath it. The next day, after awaking, Zodd gives the tree a closer look. “No offense, but I don’t think you’re what I’m looking for. Sure, the fact that anything could grow here is impressive, but not quite groundbreaking.” He then pauses, his brows furrowing. “Why am I even talking to you in the first place? You’re a tree, for goodness’ sake.” A deep sigh escapes the man. “I’ve really lost it, haven’t I?” It’s at this moment that he spots something sticking out between the dull roots of his conversational partner. Moving closer, Zodd grasps it and carefully pulls the object from its resting place. It was covered in ash and dust, revealing itself as an old blacksmith’s hammer after shaking its coverings off. Thoroughly unremarkable, save for one small detail. Engraved into the side of the simple iron head was a mark, the sight of which awakens memories older than some kingdoms within Zodd. The engraving shows a single eye, formed of a wide ovaloid shape, pierced by a downward-pointing arrow that also forms its pupil. “Father” That’s all Zodd says, holding the hammer close to his heart as tears fall from his eyes, carving tracks through the ash upon it. Grasping the tool firmly, Zodd makes his way back, many days and nights after he had left.

So far, which one of your characters did you enjoy playing the most, and why?

Since i'm not 100% sure that i wasn't partially at fault for this, i'm gonna take this moment to apologize for every bit of grief i may have caused you. That aside, my interactions with you have been some of the most pleasant and inspiring that i've had in the three-ish years that i've been on this server. If there's ever something you need, reach out, will ya? May the odds be ever in your favour, my friend.

Zodd casually reads through the Knight's Atlas, his gaze stopping at his own entry "A hermit, i see. Seems i'll need to have a word with my dear grandson."

Zodd casually rips the letter appart and throws it into a nearby fire.

"Huh, wonder if i'll run into them at some point. They seem like they'd make for an interesting conversation" murmurs a certain one-eyed blacksmith in the frigid north.

"I ******* TOLD YOU, REV. I. *******. TOLD. YOU." yells a certain cyclops in the north, in the midst of packing his things for a lenghty excursion.

[IC] I, Zodd Calliban pledge my weapon of craft to be used within the tournament of Almaris. I represent the nation of Norland. My blood is that of a Callibanite Elf and my weapon shall represent as such. I will not issue any punishment or harm to Sir Reginald Persepolis Montgomery the Fourth if such an incident arises at the tournament. I bequeath my tournament weapon to be under his jurisdiction if dismantled or broken during the processions. If any bodily harm comes to my form, or happens in response to my weapon. I shall ignore such incidents and allow for this tournament to continue. I shall promise to not use the devious acts of the arcane to influence my weapon or the tournament myself, for doing so shall have myself removed from the contest or recycled into different bodily fluids. Signed, Zodd Calliban

Zodd looks over the sizeable amount of wargear he captured from the Orenians, Ferrymen and Blackvale Soldiers. He scratches his chin, taking a swig of spiced rum. "Yep, i saw it form afar. Tin armor and glorified butterknives. No wonder we drove those dogs back."

"Eat it, wig-bearing scum" yells an increasingly-drunk elf somewhere in the north

"Huh, look at that, me becoming a heretic to these people didn't even make the news" says a certain High Elf in Norland