Nozgoth

The remnants of something old stirred, but what were they now? Just fragments of a bygone era, swept up by the wind. The Prophet was no-longer, but the antiquities of his work still were.

Been there done that, except with alchemy, after writing a multitude of pieces (over the span of 1.5 years) and conducting unique and intriguing alchemy rp for months. It's almost as if the ST is anti-effort, or anti-creativity. The truth is, the server won't appreciate your work and effort, and it definitely won't be flexible enough to accept it, as that would strip power from the ST. Everybody sits on their high horse and preaches about quality and lore but that's one of the reasons everything is so bad these days.

I hate this server. Babylon falls and babylon rises. Why why why why why why why

"Not a tear left the eyes of Saevel, for the black ballad was over now. The whispers of the water would soon drown out even the march of war and all but the crow's calling. And in the deepest recesses of the mortal mind there slept soundly a weeping, broken thing... yet he was no-longer present, how could this be? Saevel did not understand, nobody did."

“Trapped. Stretched thin as I vye to escape the shadow which beckons.” Saevel’s Delusion The world as it was had not yet been disturbed, nor stirred from its slumber. For every bird’s chirp, there was a dormant heart, beating-still. For every footstep, it sounded. For each rustle of leaves, it was there. And it did not relent. This monotonous operation existed too in the minds of men, and there it persisted especially. For perhaps the mind acted as a conduit; a gateway of sorts into what etheric avenues lay just beyond the reach of one’s eye. And if one were to answer the ever-thumping heart, they might just find what they were in search of. Or maybe they wouldn’t - maybe it was all just an illusion, a construct of the mind itself. Perhaps there was nothing beyond. Perhaps there were no eldritch truths beyond the veil, nor in the stars, nor the symbols and signs which the world was wrought of. Regardless, there would be no whole truth in the perspective of one man; for no one man could realize what took one-million minds to create. And thus spawned the delusion. Enlightenment is a fickle thing, a thing no mortal can possess so-long as they are even semi-unconscious of themselves. It is true realization; the ascension beyond oneself so that they are a man no longer. And yet one mind possessed it, or at least he had convinced himself of it, and as such, convinced the world’s beating heart of it. Such that men gathered under the moon’s shine and watched as miracles were made, systems were broken, and true magic was unintentionally performed. The true magic would not be realized until later, for it was only in his delusion that he birthed it, and the combined delusion of many who fueled it. The world would be deluded under false promises and systems which did not truly exist. What alchemy? What magic? What eldritch truths were there? Had it all been a dream? The heart was sick. It skipped a beat. It throbbed and hobbled until it could thump nevermore. The veil was then lifted. It all just was. It all just is. It is the All, and the Nothing. The veil is lifted. But even here we experience the delusion. One can never claim to be free of it, lest they get sucked back in within an instant. It is a paradox. A construct which my sick and twisted mind fabricated. A gruesome machination. I claim to be deceived and yet I deceive myself! But why? It puts a pit in my stomach! The question is why? I pry at the bars, but they only grow thicker. I cry to the stars, but they only snicker! Why has my own mind ensnared me? Why does it suffocate me in its all-encompassing odium? Please, oh please! Free me from this eternal torment! I don't know how much longer I can run. Signed, Levaes

The Reverie Heed his words of ill intent, For though we all are heaven-sent, We still wish for more. In a world of truths bent, Lives unspent, And paradise dreamt, I cannot hope to see a better fate forevermore. But through my eyes I see, For they are the doors. Is all just not what it seems? Do we live in hopeless reverie? I can sense the walls cracking, Cracking, at their seams. But who would build such a thing? Surely not you, or me! Unless it was, and it is a dream. Perhaps it’s just a reverie, Alive until whenever he, Awakens.

This might seem abrupt but I guess I’m known for doing erratic stuff by now. I didn’t initially plan on writing a leaving post, I thought that quietly disappearing would be much more ideal. As it turns out, I think that writing a proper post will prevent me from ever coming back. “I feel I need a holiday, a very long holiday, as I have told you before. Probably a permanent holiday: I don’t expect I shall return. In fact, I don’t mean to, and I have made all arrangements… I feel all thin, sort of stretched, if you know what I mean: like butter that has been scraped over too much bread. That can’t be right. I need a change, or something.” - Bilbo I’ve been thinking about leaving for a long time now. LOTC has become a burden and the little amount of fun I have on it is not worth all the implications of remaining on this server. The storyline I’ve been doing was meant to serve as a conclusion for me; a final piece of art before I leave - but unfortunately (and ironically) I haven’t even the willpower to properly finish it (it’s been cut short, evidently, though I made a final post for it). "It is easy to kill a man, it is difficult to kill an idea" I can’t really describe why, but I just feel like I have to leave. I’m proud of the work I’ve done on this server, the friendships I’ve created, and though I don’t like to admit it, LOTC has helped me grow a lot. It was good meeting you all and telling a story, but at some point the bad levels out with the good and it’s better just to leave. I’ll also be leaving all discord servers, but if you want to keep in touch my discord is Nozoa#5616. Don’t try to tempt me back though, please. I hope at least some people found enjoyment in my writing and my stories and characters. So long, LOTC.

DISILLUSIONED Recall Saevel, the young elf raised within Haelun’or, and all his wonder and curiosity of the world, his prosperity in the scholarly fields as he grew older, and ascension among the ranks of the Illumiran guild of magic. All the ambition in the world was fostered in his heart, but in those days it lay primarily dormant, like an heir waiting for power to travel down the line of succession. And in those long days, as he became more adept in his scholarly workings and crafts, the ambition called out to him. Sleep was lost, morals were questioned and circumvented, and the elf became distant from all, even himself. An elegant and pompous visage was created to hide the festering darkness which usurped his mind. Evil things stole him away and kept him as a slave for his brilliance, but even then he would come to rise above in the end (yet not untainted). Years were spent, here and there, and the darkness continued to creep. His eloquence turned to ravings, and the knowledge which he sought and attained he knew not what to do with. This was until it possessed him; the realization of himself and the happenings around him. The goal of ascending and bringing purity upon the world. The goal which he would later refine to be “The Filius Philosophorum”; his magnum opus. And all the things in The World would not stop him. The spiraling descent accelerated rapidly until there was no further place which he could descend to. But in the end, it was ironic, for the things of his own doing and his own creation would be the ones to drive him beyond the brink of madness. Each moment was like torture, looking into his own twisted face as if he stared into a mirror, and some how he had convinced many others to follow him to the damnable path which he walked. “The Spirit” he thought, and thought only about. There were many nights where he preached and raved about the occult teachings of truth, and many nights where he sought things unobtainable - to little avail but the progression of his own delirium. Recall Saevel… he was now nothing but a symbol of iniquity, an ode to the sin of man and The World; a parable. And though many never found out what the wondrous truths of his miracles were, his work had been done. His purpose was served, so he ventured off to someplace far, or perhaps finally found the enlightenment which he claimed - none know where he went off to, for he abandoned without a trace, leaving all things behind as they were. Saevel was disillusioned. Some letters were sent off, items left behind, but most importantly of all, in the deepest recesses there lay certain scrolls, destined to exist and be passed along. The First The Second The Third OOC: This character truly has been a wonder to play, and the story I’ve created is something I’m proud of. Thanks to everyone who has contributed to the character and the stuff I’ve done with him. It’s time to move on now.

[!] A golden scroll would find itself everywhere, delivered by men in cloaks. The Filius Philosophorum The World exists and has always in curious ways, linked to the mind so that only the most observant can witness. The World serves as a direct conduit to access the greater power which too many are oblivious of, for reality as it seems is simply a projection of one’s mind. It is through The Mind’s Eye that we perceive, and it is through The Mind’s Eye that our thoughts course. Locked away, behind The Four Shackles lies The Spirit. The Filius Philosophorum is the key. And The Spirit is the only goal. This is the MAGNUM OPUS. The mind is without a doubt the most important thing in one’s life, or even the greater extensions of descendent existence as a whole, due to it leading towards The Spirit. The Spirit is the magickal body and form of thought, the ultimate goal which even the greater powers of this world struggle to possess. It is impervious to nigh everything, and with it, one is capable of shaping reality as they please. Tales of The Spirit date back to before men could even write, and were passed along by word of mouth down generations, before eventually being scrawled upon walls in ancient times, and then written in tablets and scrolls of utmost holiness. The Spirit is the pinnacle thing, the purest form that once was before all. And as many were told, and still believe, The World, and all that is, originates from one source. Some call it GOD, others call it the Demiurge, the Philosopher’s Stone, and some even find it to be the equivalent of The Seven Skies, or Heaven. It is transcendence, and enlightenment; insight to a time when all was one and whole, and sin had not yet been thought. It is through the esoteric processes of the mind, enacted in tandem with THE material philosophy, that one can reach The Spirit. There are four shackles which have four locks, each with a different key. And behind every door, there are immeasurable truths and vast swathes of gold, but with such in one’s hand, it would be to great detriment that they act impetuously. The four shackles are TRACTUS, ALBENTES, CITRINITAS, and RUBENTIS. I. TRACTUS For TRACTUS to begin, matter must be subjected to calcination, putrefaction, or decomposition. TRACTUS is the blackening; the trial by fire before the purity (distillation). Done so by the fire of alchemists, and in turn, the fire of The Spirit, one’s soul itself may be calcined. It is the first step towards reaching The Whole. By fire we are purged. When the material alchemist works HIS craft, they find themselves repeating the same process, over and over, endlessly, for each reagent they process, and for each concoction made. This is because, as all things do, ALCHEMY follows a sacred code of laws which were set in place when GOD created all. And they cannot be broken. Even subconsciously, one may experience the path towards The Spirit, and many see this simply as the fluctuation of their life. But it is not - it is The Spirit telling them that something must change, and so it disrupts life as it was, throws it into disorderly pandemonium and reduces it to blackened ash. Such is TRACTUS. When the material alchemist performs the burning, grinding, and destruction of herbs, they are enacting TRACTUS, unknowingly or not. It is eternal, as is The Spirit. So in order for an alchemist to move on, they must be destroyed, their mind must be pushed beyond its limit, and their life must be reduced to ash. And then in that gaping abyss, there should only be acceptance. One who resorts back to the same old comforts and addictions will never find their way past this point. Let the ashes settle for there to be purification, and the separation between sin and symbol. II. ALBENTES Once one’s sin has been primed for cleansing in the blazing fire of the alchemist, the ashes will turn black. But then, in ALBENTES, the soul will be purified, removed of sin and foreign corruption - so once more, the ashes would fade to white. This is the settling purification, the distilled soul vying to remain pure and untouched from taint. ALBENTES (the whitening) is the first proper sign of progress toward The Whole, for as everything does, it too abides by the natural laws. In ashes we are released. The ashes of distilled and calcined matter will inevitably be stricken white after some matter of time has passed, for such is the natural cleansing of the soul within alchemy. When one goes through ALBENTES, they mustn’t stagnate, and instead open themselves up for communication with The Spirit. They must return to how they once were before the first influence, they must seek thought beyond the material concepts which bind them and define who they are. This is the reformation of things after the intense chaos which is TRACTUS. All sin would be cleansed in ALBENTES, removed from the blackened ash and tar that plagued them. And in the shining brilliance they might begin to see glimpses of the greater truths, of The Whole, of The Spirit and how it is all connected with the material realm. Then one must look even further beyond this, and continue to pursue permanence in this state because anything else would lead on a downward spiral back into sin and oblivion. Find peace in constant cleansing, but prepare for greater ascension when the soul has been righted. III. CITRINITAS CITRINITAS is the separation of the soul between mortal and immortal, peasant and king. One cannot enter HIS kingdom dressed in rags; the gates are hidden to those who have not elevated themselves to the height which is The Spirit. This is the enlightenment, and ascension beyond what we can see, and feel, and hear. CITRINITAS is the act of adorning the holy halo, in all its opulence. It is the yellowing. Through enlightenment we are wizened. At this point in the alchemist’s journey, they will find themselves being overcome by the most intense of emotions until there are none more to be felt. It is paramount that they pay great attention to each subtle thing that happens, for it is The Spirit convening with the soul. They will begin to notice peculiar things, left and right and all throughout their day, and then the sense of dreadful knowing will approach. The sense that something in The World is amiss. Perhaps it would be the corruption of society, or the sins which men, and elves, and dwarves alike all find themselves bound to. It is pivotal that during this stage, one takes the time to teach others of the profound revelation which is ALCHEMY, and The Filius Philosophorum - lest they wish for sacred knowledge to fall short and be lost once more within the textbooks of yore. For this is the phase which the wizened hermit finds themself falling into, and the only way to progress is to teach, and spread the wisdom in good will with the hope of curing The World. Of course, The World and its people may not be cured at all but on their own accords. The alchemist would find themselves plagued with the knowing of The World and its truest functions and systems. They would become intimate with its intricacies. Many at this point fall stagnant, or choose to worship The World falsely. Fear the false gods. IV. RUBENTIS RUBENTIS is the Philosopher’s Stone. It is the act of becoming WHOLE; one with the SINGULARITY, one with THE SPIRIT. RUBENTIS is the final stage, where dirt is made gold, and all is made one. This is the reddening, the result of the magnum opus where as matter is brought back to The Spirit, so too is the soul made whole again, like fitting pieces to a puzzle. From silver we are made gold. The final step of the material alchemist’s process would be to take the pure, cleansed product and add it to a base, before mixing it. The base is The Spirit, the singularity, whereas, the pure product is the soul. And ALL must undergo this procedure and be made into the simplest form which there is. For GOD existed before everything, and was whole and pure, but that purity was diluted and then buried when The World and everything else was created. RUBENTIS is the act of transcending the mortal shackles and joining The Spirit, but it is a process which would go unspoken. Through word and symbolic sacrament, the final steps may be taken to ascend to this level. The Soul leaves the body, for it is not the body which defines a person, but rather their soul, or the greater version of it which is The Spirit. And once ALL is said and done, only a peaceful purity would remain, and GOD would be made once more. This is The Philosopher’s Stone, the act of reddening, the magnum opus, or the great work, enlightenment, heaven; it is all which the mortal people of this world seek to attain, and it is the result of The Filius Philosophorum. The Law I. He who speaks the vaunted tongue must not do so in vain. II. He who practices the vaunted art must not do so in vain. III. He who teaches the vaunted art must not do so in vain. IV. The World is not to be worshipped. V. The Void is not to be worshipped. VI. Creation must not be worshipped. This is the MAGNUM OPUS.

The Shadow Over Du Loc The hamlet of Du Loc slept soundly, and the moon was triumphant that night, it spoke especially rowdy. And the crows were quiet, the crickets did not cry; all seemingly shied away from the sleeping town in fright. Something was awry. Something lurked above, beneath, and whispers fled fleeting mouths of a promise bequeathed. Holy murmurs resounded throughout the deepest of caverns, in the dark where there was no lantern and the cloaked men danced and sung in praise… of the GOD who did not show its face. And the word spread virulently like a disease, even the wind spoke it through the rustling leaves of trees. The word was deep, with great meaning and purpose, but those who spoke it showed no such service. Many forgot what it was to be man, and as such, the delirium began. There was a shadow over Du Loc, and it was The Word.

just don't make it cancerous to gather a group of people for non-combat purposes

Saevel heaved a sigh of sorrow, but he did not weep.

And so it had to be. Some crazed follower of GOD, thrice-risen, filled with delirium and ire in his heart knew only what it was he had to do. "Ando Alur, opulent, shining with brilliance is nothing but a festering abyss. And it has been purged, purified by rite of GOD!" These were the words of Saevel IV, and in turn, his supposed GOD; a war forever ignited against The World and all its subjects. "The snake slays himself and brings himself to life."

Something ancient, untold for long ages stirred beneath the surface...