AstriaS

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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Love my Orc persona, just haven't got the time for her myself. Generally, though, as others have said I think the main thing is that Orcs fulfill a very particular niche/style of character in any setting they're in, and don't really move outside it (i.e the three archetypes of beserker, hunter and shaman). So I just assume it has less to do with people not wanting to play Orcs so much as not as many wanting to play the sorts of characters that Orcs tend to be. Not necessarily a bad thing, just a thing that is, I guess.

"I for one love autocracy," remarked Velsyni Indoren, intentionally embracing extremism for her own amusement, as was her wont.

Casimira felt a great rush of schadenfreude as the information was relayed to her, and spent several minutes laughing at the misfortunes of the people who had driven her to take her forever vacation in the first place. "Hope you let the King of Haense take you to dinner first," She snorted derisively.

A young woman with romanticized ideals of gallantry, Elena Camian, remarked, "Though we may not see eye to eye on matters of faith, to illuminate the darkness is a blessed act no matter the hand which holds the torch. They shall have my sword - Seremus Delenda Est!"

A particularly fastidious woman, and a history buff besides, Alara read over the document and without delay wrote a letter which she had delivered to the Alisgrad temple. "To the Clergy and the High Keeper in Particular, To be brief, your most recently published document contains two very prominent historical mistakes. Firstly, Alisa Camian became High Keeper in the year 1754 of the First Age, nearly a full decade before Caedric became Duke of Morsgrad. In fact, she was the one who oversaw his coronation. Secondly, the High Keeper that preceded her was Solvi Faretto, who was not "old and tired" at the stated time, but was in fact dead, having been murdered by a woman by the name of Rosalia. In the interest of maintaining an accurate historical record, please do issue a correction to this. Regards, Alara Camian"

Casimira wrote and then promptly discarded several drafts of a letter, each more bitterly worded than the last, and they began to slowly pile up in a corner as she threw their crumpled forms at the wall in frustration. Finally, however, the woman settled on the following: "To Einar, Firstly, allow me to state in no uncertain terms that I do not particularly care what you intend to do – in fact, I wish you good fortune in all of your endeavors, provided they are nowhere in proximity to me. However, I will offer you a gentle reminder that politics is a meaningless, wasteful distraction. In this world of ours, and in Norland especially, it seems increasingly the case that those more suited to a position and more dedicated to it are consistently cast aside in favor of those who can scheme the best – for example, by insisting that a vote be cast in absentia by a girl barely out of her teen years, but I digress. Secondly, no I am not bitter, and I have actually never been less bitter in my entire life. I will thank you in advance to never interrupt my vacation again. Regards, Casimira"