AstriaS

Alara Camian, Court Alchemist of the Barrowlands, was disappointed to find that her name was not listed among the citations.

At the prospect of Norlandic Trivia, Alara Camian, the self-proclaimed (and actual) foremost living expert on Norlandic matters, prepared to be as malicious as possible about winning.

Well. I was conflicted on this while I was writing it. It's part of the reason I included the option to bring them on board diplomatically as well. However, here's a potential option: "• If more than half of a Lesser Spirit's total health pool (38 HP) is taken in a single round, the Spirit may be immediately forced into submission, ending the war." Or something similar.

SPIRIT WARS OVERVIEW Ever a tumultuous realm, the world of the Spirits is well-familiar with conflict. Whether fueled by the ambition of the Lesser Spirits or the animosity between opposing domains, it is not uncommon at all for Spirits to turn their power against one another. Depending on the intentions of the aggressing Spirit, these conflicts can have a great many purposes, ranging from the weakening of the Spirit’s enemies to simple, indiscriminate violence and bloodletting. COURSE OF WAR Spirit Wars are separated into three phases. In the first phase, Spirits and their followers declare intent and make the necessary preparations to begin their war. In the second, conflict between the Spirits begins, with their respective forces and followers taking up the cause. In the third, a winner is declared and the results are detailed in a final roleplay post. • PHASE I - Declaration of War - The Spirit war is declared via a roleplay post in the Spirit War subforum. This post should be made by the leader of the aggressing side. Additionally, it should specify an intent from the list below: • Bloodletting: A war of simple violence, carried out to prove superiority, humiliate rivals, or have violence for its own sake. This goal has no lasting effect on either Spirit involved. • Conquest: Carried out between Lessers to build power for themselves, this type of war sees two Spirits attempt to drive one another into submission. The result of this can be either submission, in which the losing Spirit declares fealty to the victor, or annexation in which the loser is cast away and its domain is taken over by the victor. • Deposition: A war waged by a Lesser Spirit to take over the realm of a governing Greater. These conflicts can only be waged after at least three other Lesser Spirits are conquered, or otherwise convinced to support the endeavor. • Secession: In this conflict, a Lesser attempts to seal away a portion of a Greater’s realm for its own. Similarly to depositions, at least three other Lesser Spirits must be brought under control to begin this sort of war. - Establishing the Roster - At this point, the initial roster of worshippers is set. For this purpose, a list of usernames should be included in a spoiler on the declaration post. For the opposing side – should any players choose to oppose the aggressing Spirit – a leader must be declared, and a list of supporters likewise documented. This roster cannot be changed until the first round of Phase II is complete. • PHASE II - Conflict - Conflict is the core of the second phase. It is at this point that the Spirits begin to exchange blows within the Spirit World. Each Spirit begins with a set pool of health and deals damage according to a handful of cumulative factors. The results of this are determined by simple addition and subtraction, as detailed below: • Health Points are determined by Spirit power – Greater Spirits begin with 100, and Lesser Spirits with 75. • Each Spirit deals 5 damage per conflict stage. • Each Worshipper contributes 2 damage, and Shamans contribute 4. • Ceremonies, if performed, can contribute 5 damage. • Great Sacrifices, if performed, can contribute 10 damage. Below is an example of how this would look in practice. Before Laklul HP: 75 Base Damage +5 5 Worshippers +10 2 Shamans +8 1 Ceremony +5 28 Damage Freygoth HP: 100 Base Damage +5 3 Worshippers +6 3 Shamans +12 23 Damage After Laklul HP: 52 Freygoth HP: 72 - Recovery - After the completion of the conflict round, both Spirits will take a reprieve to recuperate from their struggles against one another. During this period, worship from the Spirits’ followers will serve to restore their energy and vitality. • 1 Ritual will restore 5 health. One ritual may be performed each round and should be documented on the Spirit War thread with Screenshots. • 1 Ceremony will restore 10 health. There is a one-round cooldown on the use of ceremonies. • 1 Great Sacrifice will restore 15 health. There is a three-round cooldown on the use of ceremonies. - Repeat - As one would expect of a conflict between immortal beings, conflicts between Spirits may very well last for several years, and the successive rounds of conflict will continue until either one Spirit’s health reaches 0, or the war is called off. Each round will last for 1 OOC week, beginning on the day of the week that the declaration was posted. • PHASE III - Conclusion - Once one of the participant Spirits is defeated, or the conflict is ended in some other way, the war is called to an end and the effects are detailed in a conclusory roleplay post. - Aftermath - Spirit Wars are often devastating for the losing Spirit. Many will have their domains absorbed by other Spirits, or otherwise have their name tarnished by the black mark of failure. Those Lessers who try and fail to rebel against their masters, meanwhile, are almost always stripped of their domains and cast deep into the far reaches of the Spirit World under a new name. WORSHIPPER CONTRIBUTION Though worshippers do not directly take up arms in conflicts between the Spirits, they are nonetheless an essential asset to their success. Through their reverence, they can direct power to their patron of choice, aiding in their battles. This can take three forms, as detailed below. • Rituals: The simplest form of worship is a ritual, consisting of group prayer, performances and/or offerings from worshippers. One ritual can be performed in each round, which will restore 5 health to the Spirit being honored. • Ceremonies: Ceremonies are a more intensive form of rituals, which must be performed at a Shrine of Tier 1 or higher, and must have at least 1 Shaman and 3 Worshippers present. Through a ceremony, the worshippers may contribute either 5 damage or 10 health to their Spirit for that round of conflict. After completion, 1 round must elapse before another Ceremony can be performed. • Great Sacrifices: The most powerful form of worship, worshippers may gather and contribute a significant offering to empower their patron. This offering must be pertinent to the Spirit it is given to, for the purposes of proper reverence. For example, while human sacrifice may please Ogrol, it would displease Akezo. The following are acceptable as offerings for a great sacrifice: • 1 Descendant sacrificed (PK is not required) • 10 mechanical stacks of a material/item • 10 unique roleplay items • 10 animals sacrificed Once completed, 3 rounds must elapse before another Great Sacrifice may be performed. DOCUMENTATION Below are outlined the proper processes for documenting and tracking each phase of a Spirit war. Phase I Phase II Phase III An Abridged Timeline of a War REDLINES General Restrictions • One must hold a valid Shamanism MA to declare a Spirit War. • Once posted, information provided (rosters, contribution, etc.) is final. The post may not be edited, for the sake of fairness. • Wars between Lessers may be moderated and conducted by players. Conflicts involving Greater Spirits will require review by an ST at the war’s conclusion. For the sake of limiting staff-side paperwork, documentation for wars will be carried out and overseen by players. • For all combat rounds, damage will always be factored in before healing. • Abuse or loopholing of the system may result in the cancellation of the war. Greater Spirits • Greaters may declare wars against other Greaters, however they may not conquer their realms outright. • Greaters may declare wars against their own Lessers at will. Lesser Spirits • Lessers may declare wars against other Lessers within their own realm, or against their governing Greater. They may not declare wars against any Spirit in realms beyond that of their respective Greater. • In the event that a Lesser Spirit suffers 38 damage (half of their total HP rounded up) in a single round, they may be forced into submission to immediately end the war. • When conducting a Deposition or Secession war, links to either forum posts or screenshots should be included to prove the involvement/loyalty of the prerequisite Lessers. Worshippers • A worshipper may only take the side of one Spirit at a time in a given conflict. They may switch sides, if they so choose. • Any changes made to rosters will not take effect until the round after the change is documented. Contribution • Each type of contribution may only be performed a single time in one round. That is to say, one could perform a ritual, a ceremony, and a great sacrifice in a single round, however one could not perform 2 rituals. PURPOSE The mechanics for Spirit Wars, at the time of this writing, are unfortunately somewhat difficult to follow, and the process is time consuming to the point of being a hindrance to the potential RP to be gained from them. The intent of this amendment was to more clearly define the process and potential outcomes of Spirit Wars, as well as to make them, overall, take less time to carry out in full. The hope is to allow more conflict in Spiritualist circles, and to bring a bit more RP and player influence to the Spirit World, as player interactability is one of the Spirits’ strongest points overall. While this piece is, admittedly, very mechanics-heavy, the goal is for said mechanics to serve as a foundation for roleplay to be built upon, and provide avenues for new roleplay in the process.

Dual-citizen Alara Camian felt a degree of inner conflict, being pleased with this turn of events on one hand, but still mumbling something to herself about graves and people rolling in them at the same time.

KINDRED MINDS With the shuffling of paper and the gentle thump of a tome snapping shut, Alara pushed herself away from her desk, rubbing at weary eyes with a thumb and forefinger. A grumble of mild frustration escaped her, and she gave a small gesture in the direction of an ever-attentive living doll, a silent order or perhaps a request. In course, the obedient construct trotted off into the next room, leaving the elf to her lonesome. A silent moment to herself was one to be cherished, she thought – though of course her entire evening had been relatively silent and solitudinous, apart from a knock or two at the door, but that was neither here nor there. In the quiet she allowed herself a moment's rest. Poring over tomes, as ever, had proven a surprisingly taxing ordeal. Toil, she ruminated, was all that it was. Was there gain to be had? Certainly so, but it yet eluded her grasp. She cradled a cheek in her palm then, and her eyes drift shut ever so briefly. Within but a moment, the familiar, languid drift of sleep found her. Yet, in the darkness, the quiet departed. A voice called, its words unintelligible… Alara roused from her momentary trance with a mild jolt, a hand clutching at the arm of the chair. She gazed about, finding only the living doll assistant, tugging at her sleeve to present her with a fresh cup of tea. This she rewarded with a flash of a smile and a gentle pat upon the doll's wooden head. Taking her teacup in hand she drew a sip from it. As was her preference, the tea was quite strong and sharply bitter, though not overwhelmingly so; perfect, in her opinion, though perhaps offensive to the palates of more people than not. Either way, it seemed, that was just the thing she needed, and between her tea and the gentle aroma rising from her desktop censer, the fatigued woman began to feel just a touch of renewal in her spirit; a much needed respite from her stresses. Yet it was to be a fleeting thing. Her leisure was interrupted by a sensation rather unfamiliar and uncanny, akin to a sudden change in the wind. This she found quite perplexing, and it made her overactive mind begin to churn. Worry and concern bubbled up in her thoughts and began to eat at her. This only worsened as the sensation began to linger, and finally after some few minutes of fretting over the matter, Alara decided to seek answers beyond, in the Otherworld where the Spirits dwell. And so, despite her weariness and with an anxious urgency, she began to arrange her usual ritual circle. Lines and sigils were drawn on the floor in chalk, candles set in each cardinal direction, and a pungent incense set asmolder in a ritual bowl. Alara settled in and set her focus. As straightforward as ever, moments later she found herself caught by the familiar pull of the Spirit World, and soon enough her mind was adrift on the current. That, however, was where familiarity ended. No longer was Alara in control of her direction or destination. Plucked from her intended path she felt as a ball rolling down a cluttered staircase, tossed about and crashing into obstacles in her descent. She soon found herself pulled into a place of substance, however, and began slowly regaining her wits, her mind scrambled from the disorienting experience. As she came to, blinking dizziness from her eyes, the Shaman found herself amidst seemingly endless shelves in a maze of a library – the realm of Theruz, by her recollection. Yet as she wandered, all was not as expected. The corridors began to wind and twist further with every step taken. The confusing rows of shelves carried on for what felt like an age, the pathways becoming more ill-lit and cluttered increasingly by scattered tomes, the floors becoming uneven, and eventually inclining at paradoxical angles. Shadows of curious denizens lingered at the edges of her vision, eyes lingering on her as she passed. Finally, she tired of her wandering and came to a stop, a glance cast ahead and behind, unease washing over her. The path before her looked identical to the way she had come. Had she gone in a circle? Surely not. There was nowhere to go from here, she thought, except perhaps to get lost enough to get unlost – a trick concocted by a vexsome Lesser fond of oxymoron and paradox, perhaps. It was then that she decided that it would be best to return to the waking world, to retreat and attempt her journey again on the morrow with her mind rested. But, even as she considered it, the floorboards below her feet began to warp, twist and creak, the wood near screaming as it suddenly opened like a gaping maw beneath her feet. Scrambling for ground Alara began to fall, catching herself unsteadily by the edge of the newly-opened pit. Her mind raced in terror. Below lay only an abyss, stygian darkness with not a speck of light to be seen. And as Alara struggled an appendage stretched from the depths of that horror and coiled around her ankle. One swift tug and she nearly lost her grip, and with the second she began to plummet into the black depths beneath the endless library. Falling. For a moment it was the rush of a headlong, accelerating fall. But, then things began to slow. From what light trickled in through the aperture through which she had been pulled, Alara could see as books fell from the shelves above. Through the air they tumbled haphazardly downward only to be caught on a gentle current of sorts – the same current which seemed to have caught her, carrying her towards an unknown destination. The air became tense, a chill at the back of the neck caused Alara to shiver. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught the flash of a low, green light, only for it to disappear before her gaze could fix on it. In the darkness, shifting could be heard – the rustling of papers, and the thumping of books being stacked. Then, silence. Stillness. All around Alara came to a sudden, unnerving halt, and a great eye opened before her, bathing her in a pale, green light. A voice rumbled in the Old Tongue. “Neither tome nor scrap of parchment are you… Why do you enter this place?” Before Alara could answer, a tentacle-like limb surged from the darkness to coil around her form and lock her in place. Another eye flared to life in the darkness, and then another, and a third and a fourth. The drifting, seemingly disembodied eyes floated about her, circled her like a predator circling prey – an appraisal of a sort, it seemed to be. Again the voice rumbled, echoing deep into the sightless void around them. “Ahhh, you. I have seen you, mortal… Or those like you mayhaps. The hunger to know, it marks you.” The grip of the cephalopoid appendage tightened around Alara’s form as it coiled around her, cementing its hold. As of yet, the binding was unthreatening, but Alara was no fool; one wrong move could be the end. More eyes began to illuminate the space and they slowly drifted onwards, continuing to bear down on Alara from all angles. Anxiety high, the situation seemed fated to escalate in any event, as thick, viridescent mist began to coalesce. As the Spirit kept her in its grasp, the Elf’s head began to throb, and her mind was wracked by a foreign presence. The glowing fog lazily changed in shape, dripping like a viscous semi-liquid as it warped and twisted into grotesque tableaus of Alara’s memories. The eyes watched on silently for the time, absorbing what the Spirit’s probing had revealed. “You are Alara. Shaman… Most curious indeed.” It was only then that the being’s grip on Alara was loosened, and she soon found herself standing upon a solid floor again, though there was still no light to be found. The eyes slowly moved to gather, with the great eye in the center, all looking at the elf head-on. “I am the one they call NAAGATHOTH, the Hoarding One – you have come to me at an opportune moment, as the winds begin to shift. This meeting is beneficial to you, is it not? Speak, Alara the Seeking One; shall we enter into an agreement?” For a Spirit to be so forward, Alara thought, that was a strange thing. What could it want? Why was it so eager to make agreements without so much as setting a price? Was it ambition, simple opportunism or something else that motivated this creature? These questions and more raced through Alara’s mind as she pondered a response. After some few moments – the delay of which seemed to raise a tension of sorts from the Spirit – the shaman mustered a reply. “T’was not my intent to seek you out, Spirit. What is it you offer, Lord Naagathoth? And what do you wish for in turn?” The eyes shifted then, drawing in closer until Alara’s face was limned in their dim, emerald glow. And, in fact, by that light she was momentarily able to glimpse the silhouette of what she could only assume to be an enormous stack of collected books – ostensibly taken from the library above. Again, the ever-so-forward Spirit spoke. “You and I are not so different, Alara the Seeking One. A craving unquenchable, the one that drives you is. This I know, for the need to know is deep-rooted in my mind. Like yourself, however, there remains much that eludes my collection, grand though it may be.” With the Spirit’s final word, a mote of sickly green light came to hover before Alara, and as she extended a hand to touch it, light suddenly returned to her. Though dim and tinged in pale green, Alara now looked upon the hoard unhindered by the darkness that protected it from prying eyes; she saw it as the Spirit itself saw it. On shelves, in stacks, and in piles, books, scrolls and loose parchment decorated the lair in numbers beyond counting. And lording above it was a form of writhing, coiling tentacles and glowing eyes, thick, dark mist rolling off of its otherworldly appendages, and occasionally forming into new ones altogether. “The terms, shaman, are simple. You will contribute to my hoard, and grant me greater sight into your world. In exchange, you may peruse the contents of my hoard at your leisure, and learn all that you like – but you must not share what you find here, not with any soul or creature. And, of course, I will lend you my power as your patron. Together we will prosper.” — “What say you, Alara the Seeking One? Have we got an accord, you and I?”

Aeva Camian regarded the missive with a mild curiosity, "Opportunity presents itself. Let us see just how much they dislike what I have to say."

Alara Camian began having notions. However, she quickly dismissed them, because that would be an absurd notion to have. Instead, she chose to busy herself with something even more absurd than politics; weaving baskets just large enough to carry a single egg.

Aeva Camian was knelt quietly at a crackling hearth shrine when word reached her, some distance from Alisgrad, "And so the heretic draws the ire of the unenlightened foreigner." The zealot spoke with an impassive hum. "Perhaps in suffering the faithless lot will learn penance, and return to the Father's teachings in truth. Will the fires of war temper the steel or leave it brittle and cracked? Time will tell."

That's a question which I don't really have a good answer to. Too many to choose. In terms of being enjoyable to read, I quite like Seer, Djinn and Naz. All three are wonderfully written. In terms of my favorite to interact with irp, Shamanism. In terms of what I find to be the most interesting, depends what my fixation of the day is. In the next episode. Take that as you will.

Tough question. A singular favorite is hard to choose, impossible really. Alisa (my first persona) and Alara (my current persona) are definitely standouts for their own reasons, however some honorable mentions are Velsyni, Casimira, my Orc Khaza, and my Li-Ren, Mei. To put them in order (though this order could change depending on what I'm feeling on a given day): 1. Alisa/Alara 2. Casimira 3. Velsyni/Sylvia/Khaza 4. Mei

It's all Sunk Cost after a while. As for a favorite language, I've definitely had the most fun with Blah. It's got a certain silly charm to it that just can't be beat.

Ask your questions and send me your shitposts.

A Camian has a schizophrenic meltdown after seeing the name 'Beowulf' on a piece of paper.

Resource pits. This is the extent of what I have to say.

Alara Camian gave an approving thumbs-up at the declaration!

Alara Camian, self-appointed successor to the legacy of Fiil'Yar, gave a singular approving nod. "To illuminate the darkness is troublesome work requiring the toil of diligent hands - Few would be better suited to take up the task."

Alara Camian, whilst reading of her own copy of the letter, wondered if her grandmother still received mail nowadays. This of course then sent her into a sentimental spiral of sorts, at the conclusion of which she ultimately decided that she was the next best available option. "Suppose someone ought to answer... If I'm not busy, anyway."

Alara Camian, following the glory of the great battle, retired to her subterranean sanctuary, tucked away in the northern mountains. With a tired sigh, she sat down at one of her worktables and quietly she set to work carving away at a block of stone. "What a story this will be," the Elf mused to herself. "I do hope they write a song."

Have fun on the outside, gamer. Also, I apologize for none of the rude things I might have said. I have no regrets. (Hopefully I didn't though.)

The Dark Pilgrimage From far in the ice-ruled north of Almaris rumors swirl southward on cold winds and curious whispers. Landing on the northern coasts was seen a lone, foreign vessel - a longship of Svarlandic make. The remains of slaughtered men adorned the mast, and above flew crimson standards emblazoned with coiling serpents. From the ship and onto the frozen, rocky shore stepped a small band of warriors, at the head of which stood a being clad in dark, rune covered armor with charms and talismans wrought of iron and bone adorning their figure. A small band they were, yet their silhouettes were no less imposing against the stark white of the northern ice fields as they began their trek south and east. The leader, a Kjörnarling, stood at the fore as the party made way through the blistering, skin-shearing winds. Behind, they dragged along a captive, bound by the wrists and led on a chain. Through the frozen hills and valleys they wound and wandered, only one purpose in mind; pilgrimage. In time, the party reached what remained of a decades old shrine - a great serpent carved from wood and adorned with runes, the wear of time having rendered the sculpture nigh unrecognizable. Here, the captive met an unceremonious end, another sacrifice to join those of the distant past. Next did the pilgrims take their malice-laden path to a long-abandoned stronghold. Once, that holding was known as Vesturtjörnbúðir - the seat of Zhartýrr Rhykasson’s invasion of the Almarian northlands some few decades passed. Here, the party offered no sacrifice, but reverently collected what remained of that long-passed conflict; baubles of iron and bone along with weapons aged beyond use. It was naught of great use, but rather of great symbolism. With care, the items were stowed away in steel-banded chests, to be kept in great reverence. The pilgrimage continued then to the west, where the remains of a cathedral were found. There, crumbling walls gave way to snowdrifts that piled in the once great hall, and the original shrines the structure once held were decrepit beyond recognition. On those walls that remained, images of the Svarlandic gods were carved and painted. The barren, frozen remains of descendant sacrifices remained scattered before them. After paying due reverence before the dark icons, the party continued onward. Finally, the pilgrimage reached its terminus; the ruins of Varhelm. Scaling the ruined walls, the party wound through the frosted-over ruins until finally they came to a stop before the great, desiccated remains of the long-dead ashwood tree. That site of the Svarling Horde’s greatest victory yet lacked the mark of the Dark Gods, but no longer would it be so. With axes and chisels and hammers, the pilgrims set to work, and carved into the paving stones, the rubble, and the trunk of the dead tree itself the iconography and teachings of their gods. To conclude, an unlucky member of the party - one unfortunate to have been a southlander by birth, born of a slave, rather than a trueborn Svarlander - was slain in sacrifice to anoint the site in blood. Thus, the pilgrimage was complete, and the mission at hand could begin. In the days that followed, an odd missive began to circulate in the North… TO THOSE WITH EYES TO SEE AND EARS TO LISTEN, As the prophecies of Zhartýrr the Chosen foretold, the age of blood has awoken the hunger of the Gods. We few bring not the blades of an army, as once the Chosen did, but rather the dictum of the Gods in Nárgrindheim. Thus do we issue this warning. Remember well the Chosen's campaign; the slaughters of Vikne, Scourge of the Norðmenn; the cruelty of Gorm the Flayer. The Gods shall gorge on the blood of the fallen, as once they did before. Know the folly of standing against them. Those who toil in futility will find only ash and ruin. The Serpent's venom shall course in the veins. The Raven's guile shall blind the eyes. The Wolf's hunger shall gnaw at the mind. Sanngriðr of Brimnesskogar

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