Acostrob

unfathomably based

A one-eyed prince tugs at the missive, that lone eye scanning through it. A few short moments later it was cast aside, a chuckle leaving his maw. "How... chivalrous."

it sucks ass. i dont understand why the need for such an overcomplicated system when we could've just made CT an island on the map itself or something

thoughts about PiS

skill issue

i had to rep or my magic would be taken away. help

ostrobros we are SO back

what is your

This letter is aimed at a certain group of people - you know who you are. Assuming knowledge of it and using that knowledge IRP is considered metagaming. [!] Somewhere in the lands of yore, a flock of spectral birds flew. They carried parchment, old and ashy, adorned by stains of dark blue ink. Gravelord Naruntah, Due to your continued absence, I, Aranur of House Rilis, challenge thee to a duel over the position of Herald of Umbrage. Should you not meet me at noon the following day, in the belly of the True Synod's throne room, your titles will be stripped and I will assume the role of Herald of Umbrage. Signed, Aranur. @Geo

An ancient 'ker watched on from the dark, his hands clasped behind his back, robes as old as he adorning that deathly figure. "Hazk, balmak." He spat as the youth chose their way.

It was somewhere in the snowy tundras of the North that the Dwed met his end. It was cold. A day of endless wandering as any other, the Dark Dwarf having lost all he held dear when the nation of Vistulia fell and his friends perished. He merely wandered since then. Devoid of purpose and hope. Nothing accompanied him but the cold sounds of metal from the weapons at his belt and the crunch of the snow below those worn leather boots of his. For once, he enjoyed the solitude, the ability to make amends with his thoughts, for no man could possibly interrupt him here. He took rest near a singular pine tree that stood, as solitary as he was. He began setting camp, as was his usual routine. Gather some scraps to set a fire with, set up the tent and boil water for tea. “A long road awaits me.” He thought, “But where am I even going?”. Crunch. The sound of feet touching the ground rang through his ears like an explosion. He had looked around and no one was anywhere near him, yet it sounded mere feet away. His head cocked instinctively towards the sound, and he was met with a frostbitten woman of bluish skin. “Don’t scare me like that, lass.” His figure grew tense. “You are far, far from home, Dwarf.” She noted. “No such thing as home anymore.” He muttered in response, standing up from his momentary rest. Within moments, the womans’ face was torn open, a giant, gushing wound and a hungry mouth at once. The creature charged towards him. “WHAT THE ****!” He cried out, his weapons now grasped within those cold palms of his, ready to defend himself. Stab. Twist. The creature lunged onto him. An elongated, talon-like nail biting into the cold flesh of his collarbone and then twisting. His shortsword came digging into the female's waist. No response. Then, the warhammer fell upon her head. THUNK! Her skull vibrated, cracking from the impact, yet it only made the creature angrier. Stab. Twist. Another talon dug its way into his eye, those fiery embers quickly dimming out as another frantic blow came at the creature’s head. THUNK! crunch. . . The warhammer sunk in the snow as Kargârn contorted. A terrible scream and a wet crack rang out through the frosted valley. Kargârn was no more. The creature feasted well that gloomy evening. A lone mountain goat wandered the areas of Alisgrad and Urguan, a pack of letters strapped to its' back.

A 'Ker mercenary raised his brow as he read through the missive. "Should've at least included a drawing of how the bounty looks like." The elf sighed, casting the paper aside.

A certain Dark Dwarf nomad wonders if any of his old friends still live.

justify the mass exodus by the fact that we've been here long enough that natural resources are getting depleted and people start starving it doesnt always have to be "bad guys kick our ass so we run"

THE SHAPE OF THE NIGHTMARE TO COME Art by Paolo Girardi Such a sight could be spotted on the wall of a decrepit stone dwelling, deep under the ground. The gut wrenching mural portrayed a hole in the sky, darker than the northern nights with pus, gore and blood streaming from the inside. The fluids flowed, creating a putrid waterfall that drowned the land. Terrible, mangled jaws of bony serpents and other beasts rejoiced at the sight; celebrating, laughing, partaking in the end of the world with all their gluttonous hunger. In the corner of the wall there was a carving, a name. "THE SHAPE OF THE NIGHTMARE TO COME", along a date, 111 SA. This “art” seemed to come from a vision; a realization, an epiphany. It was the first of many. Similar works with the same title could be seen carved into planks, nailed to trees in rural areas of northern Almaris. A warning…?

The Wolf stalks the Hare. A crazed flagellant readied his arms.

A tired Druid wondered where his son might be.