Acostrob

Something stirred within the scarcely populated forests of Western Almaris. Horus, upon noticing a messenger rat approach flashed a nostalgic smirk. It took the man a few moments to recognize the person from the drawing. He exhaled with a brief smile. "Breya? It has been years... What's this for?" He wondered, folding the drawing a few times and hiding it within the depths of his coat, and continuing his feast.

Kargârn, alone in his workshop, absolutely DEVOURS a dry ass spicy chicken sandwich, moments after noting to himself that it barely looks edible.

"Welcome home, Brother Wildfire." A force stirred in the Eternal Forest, that of the Osprey.

Kargârn tore the missive from a board, reading over it as he scratched his beard. He bellowed a laugh soon after "Hyspian pilgrims? T'ose dumb focks came onto our land, refused ta talk diplomatically, n' threatened us! Et seems t'at lies and canonist monarchs goh hand n' hand, nae matter tae era." He then placed the missive aside, to be later used to wipe grease and dirt from his tools.

morb of the craft

this is great, +1

Name: Kargarn Doomforged Age: 70-something Race: Dark Dwarf Culture: Urguani? Doomforged clan culture? Ties: Krugmar, Doomforged clan – OOC – IG Name: acostrob Discord Name: aco#8189

"Fockin cowards." A Doomforged smith remarks from his forge upon hearing the news.

Kargârn grins as his flaming eyes scan over the missive "FOCK YEH!" he yells out. "Ah gotta tell Umri 'bout dis!" he then added.

A certain Doomforged smith falls asleep.

It was a day like any other in the Vale, the overgrown streets of the former human settlement were quiet, save the occasional animal walking by. Morean, Brother Osprey, or as he had come to call himself in his final days, Brother Rot, left the confines of the town without a word in yet another search for enlightenment. It didn’t take long for the man to be lost in the dense forests of ancient trees that populated the western parts of Almaris. He wandered aimlessly for what felt like hours, if not days, having grown used to the ways of survival in the wild. He was a druid, after all. At one point during his pointless trip he was met with a threat, a pitch black towering beast of fat and muscle, with teeth as large as the elfs’ head. Popogoth Drekür’Ungri. The elf was easily overpowered, perhaps the gravity of his situation overwhelmed him, or perhaps he cared not about defending his life anymore. The elf was then tossed into a bag like a piece of inanimate meat, and carried deep into the Uruk homeland of Krugmar, where the Ologs' kin cheered, eager to bring another sacrifice to The Maw. The Great Maw, as seen in the lush forests near Krugmar. Morean was placed upon an altar, the Ologs' fist crashing upon the elfs’ head making him spit out teeth. He was raised, spitting blood and teeth at his captor, chanting a final prayer to his gods, his patrons. He uttered the name of Morea, as the enraged Olog snapped him effortlessly like a twig, tossing his lifeless remains into the endless, fleshy depths of The Maw. Unbeknownst to the present Uruks, nature grew quiet in mourning, a grim sign, known only by those attuned. A single Osprey flew around the shores of southern Almaris pointlessly. It carried not a message, nor a goodbye, for the Mali’ames' name was scarcely known. Morean was no more, his dream unfulfilled.

Goro Shirokuma peered upon the frozen shores of northern Almaris from atop his clan's vessel. He squinted, drawing in the cold, salty air through his blue menpō. He placed his hand on the hilt of the blade resting on his side squeezing it lightly, yet soon letting go. "It will take time for us to settle, but this land will do." Stated he, to no one in particular. He readied himself for disembarking.

idiot. i already know my ip address

what is your mother's address

[!] A missive hangs here, attached to the wall. Novice writer looking to write YOUR biography! Are you a voidal mage? Preferably, a novice? My name is Elyon Vynarvis, I am a writer and researcher, interested in the matter of how gaining voidal powers has improved or impacted your way of living, and perhaps your health. I am also eager to hear what made you interested in the power of the void in the first place, and what your journey has been like since you undertook the task of becoming a voidal mage. You may also share with us how your progress is going, where you see yourself in a few years, or whatever other detail you think should be included in your own biography! For your time, you shall be rewarded enough mina to cover travel expenses with plenty left over for pleasure or whatever you wish to spend it on, as well as a unique, beautifully ornamented first copy of the book, signed by the author, sent via mail to your dwelling once the book is completed. If you meet our criteria and are interested, please send a bird to my associate, Friederik Gelt, residing in Providence, to schedule a meeting! I hope to see you soon! NOTICE: This is a limited time offer, and there are limited slots! Currently, one of three are taken. NOTICE: All slots have been taken! It has been a pleasure to work with you all. Signed, Elyon Vynarvis (OOC: Contact aco#8189 to interact.)

8/10 pretty profile pic

The sewers reeked of death and blood that night. The young man awoke, partly due to nightmares, partly due to the stench that engulfed him, like a mothers’ loving embrace. He remembered not his name, age, or even how he looked. He regained his footing within a short moment, frantically looking about, seeing nothing but the putrid, greenish water below, and the low, gray ceiling, covered in grime above. With a sigh he marched on, his heavy, irregular footsteps echoing into the cramped, foul unknown before him. Out of nowhere, it struck him. His name was… Freddie? At least that’s what his friends currently call him. Of his real name, he had long forgotten. Friederik Gelt, the go-to man if you needed something done no man with a weak stomach could handle. He thought nothing of the seemingly important realization, only marching on in a random direction he just so happened to face when he woke up. And so he marched. It seemed like he had traversed miles, with no sign of escape. He kept going, somehow holding his balance on the uncomfortably narrow brick pavement next to the unending and disgustingly curiosity-inducing artificial river of human waste and rotten food. Perhaps he had died in his sleep? A death he did not deserve. Perhaps he was now roaming the empty halls of whatever hell he thought awaited him after death. Or perhaps, his paranoid, unsound mind had been leading him in circles? Perchance, he was still soundly asleep, and his mind decided it was time to torment him with his past again. He heard something rattle in his coats’ pocket. He instinctively shoved his hand inside, and felt… bones? Ribs, he thought? Human…? He stopped, his other hand rising slowly as he checked the pocket on the opposite side. Something heavy, soft, and… wet? A heart? No… A liver. After a moment of a hundred thousand thoughts racing through his head, each taking a moment to suggest what happens next, he heard scratching behind him. He turned on his heel, his breath speeding up and his muscles growing tense. “Rats.” He thought, relief washing over him, as his shoulders fell a little into a more relaxed position. “Nothing but rats. Rats and filth, perfect company for a man like you.” He told himself as he kept wandering. The sewers… reeked of death and blood that night.

unreal