blackhand7

Did you get accepted?

Constable Harold reads the report, frowning. "This is curious." he says. "Perplexing too."

"Huzzah!" says Constable Leopold

Shade shadowblade laughs at the orphan. "Hah! He has no parents!"

MC Name:

         blackhand7

Character's Name:

         Sorrow

Character's Age:

Character's Original Race (N/A if not applicable):

         N/A

Transformed form:

         Sorvian

Creator's MC Name:

         BonesOfTheEarth

Creator's RP Name:

         Lefkos

Briefly explain the lore behind this construct or creature:

Sorvians are made from clay, and a porcelain mask. A sculptor pours soul essence into a husk (clay hewn in the shape of a man), binds it with a mask, and then brings their creation to life. From then on, the mask may not be removed from the Sorvian's body without killing it. 

The newly awakened being is made of flesh and bone, and appears much like a normal descendant, apart from, of course, its mask, which is an inseparable part of it. They may only be killed in two ways: if their chest is punctured, or their mask is shattered/removed. After a Sorvian's chest is pierced, it takes 5 emotes before enough essence leaks out of it for it to perish. It takes 3 strong hits to shatter a Sorvian's mask, though it is the only part of a Sorvian that may heal on its own.

Death, however, is not necessarily an obstacle to Sorvians. Their creator may choose to revive them at any time should they recover their creation's mask. Additionally, sculptors may heal any wounds or blemishes their creations have, though the process is not quick. While Sorvians, in the company of their creators, can be far more regenerative than the average person, the opposite is true when they are alone. Sorvians cannot heal themselves, and, as such, any blemishes, or damage they take, however slight or significant, will not fade until it is repaired by a sculptor. 

Sorvians are created as a blank slate, and, as such, feel an immediate and substantial debt to their creator, and act in accordance to their wishes. This is not to say that they have no say over their fates, just a heavy compulsion in one direction, in addition to being unable to refuse their maker's commands or harm them. Sorvian's also bond with an ideology (commonly derived from their maker), which, once accepted, forms the code they will follow for the rest of their lives, barring severe circumstance. 

Sorvians do not age, and they have a high tolerance for pain, albeit not a infinite one. They are ambidextrous, and their limbs are easier to cut through than a descendants. 

If this construct or creature has some form of aesthetic choice, can you describe how they look? 

A lithe, 5'11" Sorvian, wearing a combination of mail and leather armor beneath a green cloak. Small bells are affixed to his clothes, which jingle as he walks, typically with a spring in his step. In contrast to his cheery apparel, his pure-white mask has a large frown etched into it, and small carved teardrops run down its left side. 

Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it:

         no

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

         Yes

Are you aware that if this creature is shelved, your character may be given the option to revert or be indefinitely shelved?

         Yes

Memey RP or using this CA for subpar villain/bandit RP can lead to your app being denied, even after acceptance. Please put "I understand" as your response once you have read this part and understand the consequences.

         I understand

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

         No

Can't believe this clown was allowed into staff! The sheer audacity to ban Allblades even after he solved the Israeli-Palestinian crisis with an empassioned speech last Wednesday! What has he ever done, apart from brutally murder 6 teenage girls in 1997?

#ZACHOSNACHOISOVERPARTY

+1. When my mother had cancer, the doctor's said she couldn't be saved, and that she would soon die of it. But Allblades saved her life, and also became like a father to me in the process. To keep this paragon of virtue banned is an atrocity. Is it not clear how deeply and spiritually he cares for the server? Not just the server too, but all of us? 

+1, an absolute vital player in the community. Without him, I don't know where I would be today. I can definitely attest for his leadership and integrity, as I once saw him save 35 baby oprhans from perishing in a fire.

+1. A pillar of the community whose integrity I can personally vouch for, on account of my many experiences with him. He saved my infant daughter's life by pulling her from a burning building once.

[!] The letter's script would start off neat and organized, but, as it progressed, it would begin to become more sloppy, hinting at the fervor with which the words were written. 

Dear Void Walker,

Progress. Progress is why I wish to learn of the void's secrets. I know little of this other realm, but I know two things for certain. First, that it is dangerous. Second, that it is one of the greatest sources of energy in the world. But what has been done with this, I ask you? What great works have been wrought, what unending might has been unleashed? There are exceptions, but they are few and far between. I wish to change that. I wish to end the plague of paltry mages that tap into a realm whose power eclipses gods and are content with mere parlor tricks! 

We must not settle for the fruit that falls to ground, bruised and eaten by pests. We must reach, reach into the highest boughs of the tree and seize the ripest oranges for ourselves. Is this not the only way forward? I realize that I am likely blinded by youth and ignorance, but is it not better to perish in failure than live in mediocrity? Better to be the boy who flew too close to the sun than the boy who never flew. I promise you this, Void Walker, take me as your pupil and I will not stray from this sacred duty. I will not stray from the work that all magi must do, from the great future that they must build. It is waiting for us.

Much love,

Celebrimbor Venleth

To the Celian Academy, 

Salutations. My name is Celebrimbor Venleth, and I would like to apply for the Mystic and Diplomatic courses. I do not have much experience with the mystic arts, but I have seen much of the world, and believe that gives me a unique perspective. I currently live within the capitol.

Best Regards,

Celebrimbor Venleth

MagicTurtle#9888

[!] At the bottom of the missive outside the woods of Celia'nor, one would find a torn piece of dirty cloth tied around the paper. Written on it, with what would appear to be the blood of some poor creature, would be the following message, scrawled in uneven, large, almost unintelligible script: 

"The prophet is lost, but his path is true. The prophet is lost, but his path is true. The prophet's path must be followed. The Prophet is los" 

At this point, whatever wrote the message ran out of cloth. 

Wonks: Apostic Disciples of Saw Kon the Devourer, Honorific Deity of the Darkness Within Sapient Mind-Wielding Entities

Origins of the Servants of the Great Darkness:

At the exordium of reality, a great slithering darkness bestirred. It had no name, for this malignant entity existed before even the preconceptions of normative nomenclature had begun to ferment within the thought-makers of genitalia carrying beings. The hombre in the darkness was soon not unaccompanied by other thought-creating entities. These thinkers were not like the besterring slithering darkness, however. They were different, having already bestirred from the slumber and suffocation of the darkness and beginning to originate those concepts that would soon become commonplace to almost all. It was from them, these creators, that the bestirrer would receive its epithetic appellative cognomen: Saw Kon the devourer. 

As their nomenclature might suggest to the inquisitive ponderer of thought, the think-makers were not benignant in their impressional notions of the horrific moniker-bearer that they shared a perceptive discernment of reality with. Thus, bereft of means to expunge the consumer from their sapient reality, the personages accompanying Saw Kon in existence decided that he should be sent into involuntary unwilling autonomy-lacking exile, so that his slithering besteridness need not interrupt their fabrications. He was cast out from their ranks, his careful devouring in opposition to their forceful inserting a gap too vast to surmount. But the substantially eminante apostate of true darkness was not yet left without hope.

From its substance it inaugurated a new race of creation, a figmentation of beings bereft from the divine which the besterring great slithering darkness engendered hatred against. Their pigment was unlike any seen; more akin to that of topiary life than anything else. Yet, these befoulments of creation were not stationary, as the sad existence that their topiary siblings had been relegated towards. These horrors, these monstrosities of the foulest creation possible possessed both arm and limb, eye and mouth, tooth and appendix. Their construct was such that they could both consume and digest, produce excrement and navigate the terraces of their material reality. Saw Kon the devourer looked upon his work and the muscles in his darkness-shroud being received electrical stimuli which ran from his brain such that it would create a slight crease around his mouth in the upward direction. All Saw Kon the devourer had to do, in his little time before his arch nemesis the inserters banished him to the darkness from whence he originated was assign a pejorative nomenclature based verbal pattern so that his creation might be identified on a broad scale. After scant slips of the timestream that binds all life, Saw-Kon had decided upon a pejorative nomenclature based verbal pattern for the beings he bereft as servants into material reality-based existence: they shall be knownst as: Wonks.

Wonks:

Wonks most closely resemble talking, walking frog-people, and are servants of Saw-Kon the devourer, being of eternal darkness. As his servants, and through channeling his dark powers, they gain access to many supernatural abilities, which only improve as they grow older and grow more indebted to his dark power. As with all dark pacts to malignant entities, it comes with no negative side effects whatsoever, and tons of cool powers! Wonks, in a practice known to none but them, seek to bring the return of Saw-Kon the devourer, so that he might destroy their enemies. The Wonks, however, have not yet figured out how to do this. As Wonks grow older, they progress through 3 tiers. These tiers are outlined below. 

Tier One: Baby Wonk

At this tier, the wonk is in a state of infancy, and just beginning to harness the dark energies of Saw Kon. They look like a baby frog person in this state, and have no hair, just like they continue to do in all other stages of development. This stage lasts for 2 [OOC] weeks. Due to their connection to Saw Kon, they have access to the following rudimentary abilities:

Orc Strength - [T1] [N] [C]

Baby Wonks have strength equivalent to that of an adult male orc.

Disguise Self - [T1] [N]

Baby Wonks may use illusory magic, from Saw Kon the devourer, to disguise their appearance.
 

Tier two:  Adolescent Wonk

At this tier, the wonk is in a state of adolescence, and has gained some mastery of the dark energies of Saw Kon. They look like a teenage frog person in this state, and have no hair, just like they continue to do in all other stages of development. This stage lasts for 4 [OOC] weeks. Due to their growing connection to Saw Kon, they have access to all abilities available to Baby Wonks and the following abilities:

Fireball - [T2] [C]

The adolescent Wonk may tap into the energies of Saw Kon to hurl an explosive fireball at their opponents.

Mechanics: 

• After charging for 3 emotes, a wonk may hurl a combustive fireball at their enemy. 

• This fireball explodes with the force of an M67 Fragmentation Grenade. 

Soul Katana - [T2] [C] [N]

Wonks may externalize their soul from their body, sharpening it into a really cool katana. This katana is unbreakable, and may cut through any object, as long as the Wonk feels no conflict about doing so. The katana is an extension of the wonk’s soul, and, if they are strong enough mentally, is thus as strong as they are.

Tier Three: Adult Wonk

Adult Wonks have finally reached adulthood. They are in the prime of their life,  and may thus engage in the wonk production ritual, to allow more new wonks to be made. This stage lasts for an unlimited amount of [OOC] weeks.

Wonk Creation Ritual - [T3] [NC]

When two Wonks love eachother very much, something magical may happen. The ritual of Wonk Creation, also called “coital interaction,” is what happens when two Wonks decide to create a new wonk. The ritual is long and arduous, and, unless something catastrophic happens, will result in the creation of a new baby wonk. Sometimes, Wonk couples will engage in the ritual without the intent to create a child, and solely for the pleasure it provides, but this is frowned upon by the wonk community at large. 

Mechanics:

• The Ritual begins with the female wonk channeling the power of saw-kon and creating a magical orb, containing a small piece of her soul, and projecting it from her body. 

• The male wonk then utilizes his own magical powers, projecting thaumic pellets from his finger towards the orb. Typically, the wonks are quite close when this ritual is performed, to maximize the accuracy of the pellets, but the ritual may be conducted successfully provided the distance between the two is no greater than 10 feet (and the male is accurate)

• The male and female wonk’s energies combine, and, after a period of great exultation for both of them, the female’s magic orb and the male’s thaumic pellets coagulate into a slowly forming baby wonk. If the male and female wish to maintain the exultation given to them by saw-kon during the rite, but without the hassle of taking care of a newborn wonk, the male may purposely miss the orb with his thaumic pellets, or wear a metal glove, which will prevent them from exiting the vicinity near his hand.

• After 1 irl week, this infused orb will hatch into a new baby wonk!

Redlines:

• ST supervision is required for this ritual to be sure that rp quality is maintained. The ST must ensure that the thaumic pellets make contact with the magical orb, or else no new wonk may be created.

• Any ST supervising the Wonk creation ritual must give the participating wonks a signed magical orb, stating within its description whether or not the thaumic pellets were accurate, and thus created the beginnings of a new baby wonk.

• This is the only way new wonks may be made; No non-wonk creation ritual involving CAs may be made. 

• The Magical Orb, and the baby wonk growing within it, may be harmed by normal weaponry, thus killing the baby wonk before it has the chance to hatch from the magic orb in which it was raised. 

Wonk Immortality [T3] [P] [C] [NC]

Wonk adults do not age further. While they may be killed, they are immune to the scourges of time.

General Redlines:

• In order to ensure RP quality, you may not become a wonk if I (blackhand7) oocly dislike you. I (blackhand7) may also revoke anyone’s wonk CA at any time, because I am awesome. This is backed up by the lore.

Purpose:

When considering the advantages of a venture into the sublime, one often stops to wonder whether it is the literary word, or the imaginative odysseys it creates, that draw a reader like a moth to a flame to the enumerating post-modernist nature of the modern square-structured electronic entertainment plaything. I have concluded the opposite: that it is only through a realization of the integral fabric that ties man and mind together through which true enlightenment, albeit in a purely primitive apriori sense, and despite the lectures of Chauvinist empiricists, through which realization of the greater nature of the universal constant may be symbolically obtained. Therefore, I think it is cool to be able to shoot fireballs and have a katana while being a frog person, and I want to do it cuz it would be awesome. Also, I saw that my main rival got denied, so I figured I had a good chance. In conclusion, it is only through the thaumaturgical node that the inner demonic influences of the genetically based eldritch entity may be observed, and only through the aquatic and land-based amphibial mean that these shackles may be broken. 

"WAGGGGGHHHHHHHH" a small goblin screamed!

"Diz hummie iz stoopid! No respect GOD, and great Bub'Mog!" a smal goblin would say, tearing the announcement into many tiny pieces and proceeding to take great pleasure in slowly destroying each one of them.

Frog funny > all else

The Faceless Man

It all started with the rats. Wilhelm had always had a strange affinity with them. Being a Jailor’s assistant was not the most glamorous job, and they were often the only living things he’d see throughout his day. They scampered about his feet as he waded through the darkness of the lower dungeons, lantern in one hand and trough of slop in the other. Should he have leftovers after feeding the many silent cells, he’d give them a piece, sitting on the cold stone floor as he ate the remainder. The rats were good listeners too, and as more learned of Wilhelm’s generosity they made an attentive audience for his many thoughts, which were often the only sounds in the long dark tunnels. At night, he’d finally be allowed to return to the surface, retreating to the warmth of his mother’s cottage with what little pay he had been given. 

Such was Wilhelm’s life, and he settled into the drudgery of routine without complaint, albeit occasionally to the rats. But as time went on, less and less of them came. They stopped flocking to his voice like they used to, and those few that did come were starved and terrified, taking Wilhelm’s gifts and then fleeing into the dark. He would still pass them in the tunnels, but the moment he would say anything, be it humming to himself or calling out to them, they would flee, scampering off down the corridors at breakneck speed. Eventually, none came when Wilhelm ended his rounds of the cells, leaving him alone in the black void with his thoughts. Sometimes, he’d swear he could hear his own voice softly echoing through the tunnels, but he brushed off this obvious paranoia. He did spend quite a while talking to rats, after all; he knew he wasn’t entirely sane. 

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Wilhelm continued his rounds, which now either ended with him talking to himself or merely listening; the faint whispers of his voice were now as constant as the darkness itself. Then he began to hear his mother’s voice. It started off much like his own, a mere whisper, but it grew in pitch and volume sharply as Wilhelm made his rounds. By the time he had fed the first row of the silent cells, he knew it was no mere hallucination. It was real, it was his mother, and she was in danger. “Help me Will, help!” the voice cried out in pain, calling him by the name she’d called him since he was a child. He had no choice but to follow it. He left his bucket of slop behind, grabbed his lantern, and began to follow the voice in the darkness. At first, the screams brought him over familiar ground, and he moved quickly. But before long he was passing cells he had never seen, turns he had never made, and stairs he had never descended. Still, he pushed deeper and deeper, into the boughs of the castle. The dungeons here were truly ancient, catacombs of stone and dust. Yet Wilhelm was drawing closer, and with every step his mother’s voice grew louder and louder.

Then he saw her. It was through a crevice, in a room that looked more like a cave than a cell, a pile of black tattered rags in the vague shape of a human. It continued to call out, seemingly oblivious of his presence as he approached, his lantern held high. The ground was slippery here, covered with what Wilhelm assumed to be large clumps of moss and pebbles, and a strange stench filled the air. But Wilhelm didn’t care about that. He only cared about his poor, lost mother. He called out her name as he approached, but she gave no answer, only continuing to beg for his aid. He finally reached her, almost tripping on the moss and stones, setting down his lantern by her side as he hurriedly withdrew the black rags that covered her face. 

What stared back at him in the darkness was not the kind, wrinkled face of his mother but an unpainted canvas of flesh. The thing had no eyes, no nose, no hair, no features apart from a horrible mouth filled with far too many long crooked yellowing teeth. Seemingly oblivious to his presence, the creature continued to cry for his aid in his mother’s voice, its mouth contorting in unnatural and disturbing ways. Then it made a clicking sound, and at once her horrible mouth morphed into what only could be described as a smile. Wilhelm retreated back in fear, in his haste tripping on one of the many small objects scattered across the room and falling on his back. The lantern’s light, which emanated from next to the now-rising faceless man, revealed the “balls of pebbles and moss’” true nature: they were rats. Dozens and dozens of rats, all dissected, all strewn about the cave in a horrifying combination of pattern and randomness. Their blood coated the floor, the walls, the ceiling, the same words scrawled over and over and over again: “The Prophet is lost, but his path is true. The Prophet is lost, but his path is true. The Prophet is lost, but his path is true. The Prophet is lost, but his path is true.” The creature now stood at his full terrifying height, towering over Wilhelm and leaning close to him. Her mouth still bore a smile, revealing dark red stains on his far too many jutting teeth. Then it spoke to him in his own voice. 

“Do not be afraid, lonely little puppet. I am here to cut your strings”

The next day a new boy was sent to feed the silent cells. 

MC Name:

         blackhand7

Character's Name:

         The Hand

Character's Age:

Character's Original Race (N/A if not applicable):

         N/A

Transformed form:

         Homunculus

Creator's MC Name:

         Nozoa

Creator's RP Name:

         Saevel

Briefly explain the lore behind this construct or creature:

Homunculi are alchemy’s attempt at creating descendents. Born from foul concoctions coupled with vats of flesh, or merely stitched together, Homunculi can be made into whatever horrible or beautiful approximation of a descendent their maker wishes them to be. Bent, twisted forms, heaps of hair or none at all, beautiful, divine features or those horrific ones that only exist in one’s darkest dreams and more are all tools an Alchemist may use to perfect his creation. In spite of their many corruptions, however, Alchemists are still bound to the rough form of a typical descendent when creating their own. While flesh and blood are completely at the whim of the alchemist, the spirit escapes their grasp almost entirely. Homunculi have no souls, and were born from the material plane, and thus are highly vulnerable to the power of the void, which can humble even the greatest of their number very quickly. Furthermore, while Homunculi may be able to feign emotions, they will never truly be able to experience them, due to how they were created. Lastly, they have a familiarity with the material plane and alchemy, due to them being created there and by it.

If this construct or creature has some form of aesthetic choice, can you describe how they look? 

A tall, twisted creature, this homunculus stands at 7 feet tall, although without its hunchback it would likely be closer to 7 and a half. It possesses a moderate build, along with the limbs and appendages one would find on a regular human. Thanks to its size, and its malformed back, however, the being is not able to move as fast as the average descendent. Its face, too, differs vastly from those upon which it was based. A mouth filled with jagged, yellowing teeth is its only feature, the rest of the creature’s head (apart from its ears) being covered with rough, pale skin. The only aberration upon this visage is a lump, which closely resembled a tumor, upon where the creature’s forehead should be. Overgrown, long, yellowing fingernails protrude from the abomination’s hands.

Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it:

         no

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

         Yes

Do you understand that if this creature's lore is undergoing an activity trial and that trial fails, you will no longer be able to play this creature and will be forced to either revert the character back to its normal form (if it was a transformative type) or stop playing the character entirely (if it is an entirely new creature)?:

         Yes

Memey RP or using this CA for subpar villain/bandit RP can lead to your app being denied, even after acceptance. Please put "I understand" as your response once you have read this part and understand the consequences.

         I understand

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

         no

(( MC name: blackhand7 ))

Name:  Celebrimbor Sythaerin

Vote for Okarir’maehr:

( XX) Silvos Sythaerin
(  ) Elahern Aeth'sulier
(  ) Olrin Maehr'tehral

Vote for Okarir’nor:

( XX ) Elathion Dagre'sae
(  ) Aiera Sullas

[!] The following notice would be pinned outside of Helena, in sloppily written, rushed handwriitng

SUBPOENA

Gerald

DESIRES TO SUMMON THE FOLLOWING PARTY TO COURT:

Various ISA captains and soldiers, whose names I did not catch but can identify if they are shown to me.

ON THE BASIS OF THE FOLLOWING PRINCIPLE(S), DOCTRINE(S), EDICT(S) OR ARTICLES OF LAW:

THE RIGHT TO TRIAL, so no man will ever be wrongly accused when not charged by a trial of their peers.

202.071 - Where an individual intentionally assumes the identity of another individual for any purpose except the carrying out of high treason, this shall be impersonation in the second degree, an infraction.

204.041 - Where an individual interferes with, obstructs the progress of, or otherwise hinders government officials and prosecutors during the apprehension or investigation of a criminal or criminal activity, this shall be the crime of obstruction in the first degree, an infraction (this would hurriedly be written onto the paper, with a different, newer pen, as if the person who posted the notice had forgotten to add it in on the original paper).

I attempted to join the Guard of our great city, but, before I could, I was told by a man named Heiman to follow him if I wanted to join. He gave me a uniform, and then instructed me to follow him out onto the roads. I complied, and was then accosted by a captain and what I assume was a knight. I was then brought inside the bastille, where this man was killed after not complying with orders. I complied, but was then exiled without being given a trial, which I find to be unfair.

WITH THE PRESENCE OF THE FOLLOWING RELEVANT PARTY OR PARTIES:

Gerald

Assorted Guards whose names I did not catch, but I can recognize if shown to me.

ON THE DESIRED DATE OF:

[To Be Determined OOCly]
 

YOURS HUMBLY,

Gerald

Outside of Helena

Tantalus, in a far, far away land, would receive the news, his one working eye welling up as he heard it. He let out a low, mournful sigh, pocketing the paper and turning towards the rising sun, silently continuing on his journey to a new dawn, and the new future that it would bring.

+1, some nice, balanced thematic world lore

Rufus frowns, reading over the missive, before smiling. “So the Bigguns supposedly fight amongst themselves...” he muttered to himself, “Interesting. I wonder if this is a real, exploitable flaw or if it is merely a ruse to make us lower our guard for their upcoming attack on the Small’uns” he pondered.

Rufus, a local conspiracy theorist, would read the missive, frowning. “So it has begun,” he muttered to himself, “The biggun spies, the so called “children”, although all proper small’uns know that bigguns are born at full size, have already infiltrated our ranks. I wonder how many more will die to the biggun’s hands before the weefolk of arcas realize that we must stand small against our oppressors.”