Valannor

Almaris, here I come! GET ME OFF THIS CONTINENT!

+1, love you longtime, Llir bby

Hello! Your clan application in the Kingdom of Norland has been accepted! Welcome, Servant of the Allfather!

Tarathiel Elyra, enjoying a nice glass of Chardonnay within the confines of the Crow's Hearth Tavern, would blink her eyes rapidly, flitting her gaze between the Imperial disavowal in her left hand, and the Red Stripe's propaganda poster in the other. 

"Well... that certainly didn't take long."

53 minutes ago, Sorcerio said:

We're not on the right track here guys...

That doesn't sound like a good train of thought.

Hoarfrost would gaze upon the multitude of big and small fleshlings marching through its territory, tilting in its head in confusion from its treetop perch. With the song of communion, it would send out waves of confusion and lack of understanding, but would receive no answer.

1 hour ago, Malaise said:

The slope becomes more slippery 

Railway battleships is what I'm thinking

[!] A letter would arrive to the Wandering Bazaar, bore by a spectral crow.

"Dear Aaliyah,

It would be my pleasure to accompany you on such a trip. Should you wish to contact me, merely attach a letter to the crow. Worry not, it will remain nearby, even if it does not look it. Simply call for Beatrice, and she shall appear. 

I look forward to working with you, Brother of Brev. I eagerly await your reply. 

Yours Truly, 

Keeper Chryssa Stormbringer."

IGN: altiar1011

Character Name: Tarathiel Elyra

Age: 93

Place of Residence / Street Address: Farm House III

Position: Tribune

[!] A letter would arrive, carried by messenger squirrel!

Should you seek gainful employment, the Crow's Hearth Tavern has more than enough space left for a new bartender. I would be willing to provide you with free lodgings. The coin we make is plentiful, and should you wish to make additional coin, I could use some help in regards to brewing new vintages and such for the Haeseni people. For bartending, you may expect to keep all coin you make while working, and for brewing, I can offer up to 250 Mina a week at a starting rate.

I eagerly await your reply, young miss, and I hope to see you soon!

23 minutes ago, SomebodyHelpMe said:

Corbin blinks slowly as he listens to the metal man, ultimately to nod a agreement with him. “You’re right Ratticus, absolutely correct!” With that he’d slam his fist on the table he sat at.

Tarathiel Elyra would snap her gaze to the wick, looking up from her prior task of wiping down the bar.

"Smack my table again, Corbin, and I will smack you. I did not save it from being set ablaze by a burning Olog, only for you to somehow manage to break it."

The Keeper would chuckle, looking back on the events fondly. She had bore witness to the slaying of a God, and the resulting aftermath, and had continued on to tell the tale. 

"They are called 'Gods,' but when he died, you could not hear his pained cries above the din of battle... Curious."

She'd continue onwards on her eternal patrol, resolute in the power of her mortality; or rather, the lack thereof. 

"Perhaps those crazed cultists were right about something after all..." 

+1, I got to kill demons. 

Ballistic Shovel.

Myncryft

3 hours ago, argonian said:

Godan loves Hoarfrost.

Hoarfrost loves Godan's forests.

Hoarfrost would slowly awaken, having taken root in its territory near The Pale to slumber. Opening its maw wide to yawn, it would cross its eyes, staring down the bleached surface of the deer skull it wore, seeing a piece of paper attached to its nose. Peeling the notice off with its claws, it would confusedly stare at the piece of paper, and the vast array of foreign symbols would baffle the seedling thoroughly. 

It would then proceed to affix the piece of paper to a nearby tree, claiming it as a trophy!

A Keeper, hearing of this loss, would sigh deeply. Memories would flow back like a tidal wave; fragments of a life, long since gone.

"Iron from Ice, llir. You were among the first I saved, though it is a shame to hear that I could not do so again."

Tears of ethereal, flaming smog would fall to the ground, before she continued on her eternal patrol once again. 

1 minute ago, Mordhaund said:

You don't even know. 

Do I even want to know?

LoL

1 hour ago, Luciloo said:

Quote

 I saw no "May not FTB" Redlines 

Your priorities suck

I can't imagine anyone wanting to FTB with a Zar'Akal... What would possess someone to do that? At all?

Hoarfrost would tilt its head confusedly as it saw all of the stout humanoids exiting the mountains next to its forest. It would remember one, a dwed with green tattoos and a poleaxe, and would look down to the dirtied bottle of Dwarven liquor held in its hands.

Confounded by all of the small fleshies, it would promptly bite the bottle in half, as it had been taught.

Tarathiel Elyra would read a transcript of the interview curiously, a brow quirked as her lips curled into a sly smile. The tavern, as it usually was these days, was bustling with activity of rowdy soldiers and nobles alike, joined in a union of merriment and song.

”I’d say that it was her greatest achievement as well... It has let the Kingdom soar higher than ever before, now that its wings aren’t bound by the shackles of servitude. 

Krusae Zwy Kongzem.”

Her gaze would flit to the lone Hektor, prompting a golden glow to begin traveling up her arm, along and betwixt the complex sleeve of tattoos that crawled across the limb.

”Hektor, dearest! Consider this round on me!”

And with that, the gathered mana would be released with a snap of her fingers as she meandered over to the man, placing a bottle of Carrion Black in front of him, as sparkles of glittering mana fell around the weary man.

59 minutes ago, HurferDurfer1 said:

Shadow over INNSMOUTH

 

I've got my own twists and such that I'll be adding to it, and due to the nature of D.I.Y events, there will be no legitimate supernatural elements to the eventline. 

I just want to run an event for folks who may be a bit tired from all the craziness, and let em chill as they investigate stuff. 

A Shadow over Reza

[Ambience]

John sighed, the smoke of a cheap cigar rolling into the darkness of the night before him, as he sat there as he always had; watching the waves. It was only in the past few years that he had taken up the ritual, sat upon his chair at the docks, but the benefits of such couldn’t be denied… or at least, that’s what he told himself, scratching the scraggly and ill-shaven beard he’d grown in the recent chilly months. 

“‘Allo there, Skipper!” A cheery, rumbling voice called out from behind the sailor, akin to a rock tumbler. John turned, quirking a brow as a familiar face deigned fit to grace him with their presence. 

“Now, what in the name o’ GOD do you want at this hour, Scup’? Ritual’s already been done, now we just gotta wait.” John drawled out, staring at the tall, limber man with lidded eyes. ‘Scupper’, as he was known by his compatriots, was a working man. A thick beard, wild hair and stormy blue eyes accompanied a smile about as wide as the Crownlands themselves; an unusual sight, especially for Scupper, John noted.

The docks were quiet, still, the very image of tepid tranquility as the two men stared at each other. The soft squeaking of the vermin who made the area their home was ever-present, and the harsh calls of Reza’s signature bird could be heard for miles, but this was nothing new. A soft fog creeped its way along and over the city, rolling in from the frigid northern expanse. “Oh, y’know… Just admiring the view!” He’d chuckle; an unsettling sound, like gravel being crunched underfoot. “‘T’ain’t often that we do this, y’know. It’s a er… special occasion, Skip. Glad to see yer’ so vigilant, makin’ sure I ain’t up to nothin’. Cap’n oughta be proud o’ you.” His tone was snarky, and patronizing; an image of a man who needed a swift kick in the ass, if John had ever seen one.

John scoffed, shaking his head as he turned back to his prior occupation. The river ran down south, off in the direction of Sutica, and was Reza’s only direct point of access to the vast blue ocean. “Oh, up yours, sharkbait.” This was a normal bout between the two of them. It’s not that the two men hated each other; Scupper was just the oil to John’s water. They were best described as ‘natural frien-emies.’ “Now, sit yer’ ass down and watch, ‘fore I get an itch to sen’ you out to pasture.”

Scupper complied, though in his own way, seating himself on the arm of John’s chair. The two of them sat there for a time, the thick clothing typical of a Haenseti mariner keeping them warm in the frigid breeze. As the sun peeked its way over the horizon, the duo placed their enmity aside as nothing arrived. Scupper would laugh, clapping John on the shoulder. “An’ our blessin’s continue… See, ain’t so bad, now is it?”

John would smile, taking another drag off of the cigar. Dubois, he thought, but he couldn’t tell the damn things apart. A cigar was a cigar to him. “Yeah, right as ra- wait…” He’d cut himself off, his eyes widening as he saw something that shouldn’t have been.

Their canoe had returned.

All the color drained from Scupper’s face, as the realization of what had happened set in on both of them. “Skip… We need to tell the others.” He’d stutter out, his hand like a vice grip on John’s shoulder. John wouldn’t reply, watching the canoe smash into the shore, sprawling its grisly contents across the ground. As the two watched in horror, a scant few, final words would escape the confines of John’s mouth, uttered out of instinct. 

“We need another.”

I can finally tame the Hellhound.

Yessssss.