MaltaMoss

The last living Fennic tax-auditor is awakened from his drunken stupor, lifting his weary head from the bar he laid against. His old friend, Kanvir Tundrak, leaned forward to whisper something to him. A single tear rolled down his face, his torture finally over.

The OOC story of LOTC is more often than not what makes the RP so fascinating. The IRL blood sweat and tears that goes into a lot of these projects is what lends them so much RP cloud and nostalgia. The Empire is a good example of that, Mali literally not sleeping for days so we could have functioning minecraft democracy on a nationwide scale. (This is when oren was like 25%< of the server population lmfao)

i heard that rogue elements of PMC Ferryman had hijacked the LOTC github via sleeper agents imbedded in Tythus LTD and utilized these connections to launch a coup against renowned warlord Mickaelhz Agent 60th was compromised

avast me hearties, this 'ere ship has gone off course. @Sean_VEVO

An ancient Fennic soul felt at peace, horrors undone.

what I said before completely stands.

Satinkara I'm sorry but you joined in Almaris where there were literally a total of 0 aggressive actions against gay people in roleplay what the **** are you babbling about. I remember when Kosher on his deathbed revealed that he was gay lmfao, nobody cared. This is the weirdest phenomena. I remember walking into Celian'or on my priest during a pilgrimage and two elf women stopped and were like *kisses does this make you mad????? I just said "no its not in the scrolls lol" no bro I dont care, nobody cares, nobody has ever cared. I doubt the church is attempting to larp how evil homosexuality is it's ******* minecraft. let people roleplay nuance and stop yapping abt server history you weren't here for (I wasn't here for atlas and backwards i have no clue abt that shit so you'll never catch me yappin abt it)

The ghast of an ancient Snow Elven marauder grimaces violently. "High elves, mama mia."

you truly were the future of oren best of luck to you friend

Istfar the Fair, alias of an ancient ally of the Qalasheen, readies his rugged blade for the battle to come. Strips of teal fall from his clothes. "Subhanallah, he shall guide us in righteous Jihad against such vile forces. For the true one, Allah."

An enigmatic man, bearing the title of the teal-faced marauder's right hand, visibly frowns at the missive. "Lady you killed my neighbors."

Somewhere in the woodland, a man cloaked in purple hues muttered angrily to himself. Van Aert sigils decorate his sides and arms, mementos of his once great uncle. "Never another surrender, never another Sarkozic. To hell with Adria, here we stand for the midlands!"

A figure dressed in ragged purple awakes with a startled expression, the gangrenous and sickly figure towering above him levied forward a small piece of parchment. "It's for you, Traveller." His voice croaked and scratched, flehm and mucus welling up between every choked out word. Hans quickly grabbed a hold of the worn page, looking over it first with intrigue then with a sense of undying pride. "My cousin? My cousin! That's my cousin!"

A forlorn face scrunched up in hatred as the missive fell before it, a calm stoic expression contorting into a violent scowl. An old soul cursed the names of every Raev bastard that had come to march upon them, the eternal peace wall gone violent. "Betrayed, at our most vunerable. I told you, liers, all of them!"