christman

A scarcely seen councillor confers with her only friend.

Father Mattia read the missive and committed it to memory!

Saeval Vanethelan is gonna go!!!!!!!!!!!!

Full name of Man — Godric ap Easworth Date of Birth of Man — 108 S.A Full Name of Woman — Pavline-Matilda Fredericka Montalt Date of Birth of Woman — 107 S.A Location of Ceremony — Cathedral of ST Emma, Adria Date of Ceremony — 144 S.A Name of Clergyman who preformed ceremony — Father Mattia

Banishments of Lumbridge 5th of Deep Cold, Year 143 of the Second Age "In this moment, I am euphoric. Not because of any phony god's blessing. But because I am enlightened by my intelligence." Henceforth, Those who commit grievous acts and break the law of Ember will be known as Traitors; exiled. We are not a people of forgiveness, they will be given no trial. To re-enter is a Heinous Crime, of unforgivable severity. Watanabe Ayako (known also as Abendevek), is to be seen eternally as a traitor. A shapeshifter prone to undeath. Every person must be on their highest guard. She is known to take the forms of; 1. An Oyashiman of black hair, bearing a scar across her eye. Often dressed in black and blue; 2. A ghoul-like creature of yellow eyes and white-hair. Often acting unpredictable and bizarre; 3. A dark elf of deep black skin and red eyes; 4. A bipedal bird, a clear costume worn. HEAR! She will be stripped of her title; The Herald of Strife, which might never be claimed again by her person. She will be stripped of her gifts, and she will be stripped of her memories. Signed, Gravelord Melandrach The Council of Heralds, We are born by the Dark Made Men by the Dark; Undone by the Dark; We fear the Old Dark.

five usd is 3 pounds & 5 pounds is 6.30 usd

Congratulations soon found the newly elected Maheral, as Ildilyntra—who shamefully could not attend the meeting—found Malaurir Miravaris at their next lesson. "The weight of Maehr'sae Hiylun'ehya and the sanctity of our state rests heavily on your shoulders now, Maheral. Prosper well in this position, it is your right of pure blood. @Kenzo74

The dark wept and it wondered; Was there worth in his dream?

ok so use the other half then

she say do you live me i tell her only partly i only love funonthebun and my soloman im sorry

just make up (OR STEAL) fantasy slurs why use real life ones its just that easy ?? Humans Dwarves Elves Orcs (credit to https://nubbl.com/dnd/slurs )

[!] The okarir'tayna hurriedly came to Arasdirs side, a missive clutched close to her heart, "Laurir! Look," The paper was offered up. "How horrible — what a terrible crime to be committed within our blessed bastion!" @Kenzo74

And upon a throne of alien stone, a thing woke. From that Silver Purity; white hot scorn was born.

im not calling it that

u guys r all weaksauce i'd be a fkn azdrazi and conquer the world

My perspective of Xionism is pretty skewed — I'll be honest, as it was my first introduction to something beyond canonist Orenian political roleplay, so it holds a pretty special place in my heart. I also really like dark souls LOL. The issue of Xionism doesn’t stem from the actual faith itself, it is from people who use the ideology to justify their low-quality spook murder roleplay. They take the core of it—I want to kill god—and the fact that it is a ‘dark’ adjacent philosophy to begin spouting genuinely braindead takes on why EVERYONE NEEDS TO DIE! I'll touch on what Islamadon and Panashea said briefly because he brings up some really good points and I agree with some. Xionists are designed to help descendant kind, the ones untouched by aengulic intervention (and even save the ones who are saveable). Aengudaemons (as far as I know in the book) are not seen as bad because they are immortal, they are seen as bad because they willingly crossed over the threshold the creator made. I’ve seen some justifications that some characters believe death didn’t exist pre-aengulic intervention, and that's why they want to assume immortality/trancendence. Way of the Dark is also the islamic extremists of the spook world (or should be at least). Transcendence is only justified as becoming something greater without deific intervention. You’re actually really right a Xionist Druid is paradoxical. Druids who are Xionists are wrong. Feed back is here: The super verbose, archaic way Xionism is written actively leads to its contents being misinterpreted. While I enjoy going through and explaining Xionism — not everyone is afforded that, which perpetuates people wrongly roleplaying it's core concepts. Additionally, there's one section that suffers really heavily from that. The coming about of Dresadil and the Widukind. The creator stole two voidal horrors from beyond his veil... because he was scared of the dark? (something he created himself) and then enslaved said voidal horrors? It's not explained why, either.. or what they did. He cut Feldamfir from the roots to carve mountains and valleys — why didn't the creator do that himself? The direct bloodborne quotes and dark-souls inspired insignia are also pretty wild, I'm a big fan of the games and their aesthetic — but it does feel on the nose sometimes. I like Xionism, it's fun and a really enjoyable religion to roleplay — but its been the crutch of bad faith for so long, purely because of how hard it can be to understand. (People don't want to sit down for an hour to understand a minecraft faith, and thats totally ok). It also would never function as a religion if posted today, even in roleplay its a massively historic book. A lore-piece posted in 2016 isn't the same as a lore-piece posted in 2023. Same as a 400 year old document not being the same as a document posted now. Oh yeah. also I get Zion from the matrix probably lead you to name it Xion — but thats a crazy choice. To sum it up, I agree with creamynoteblock and he never misses.

when does creamynoteblock miss

The Long Journey The morning was cold and sleet hung over Haense. Red, watery sunlight wept over the terracotta walls and bathed three adventurers in her bleak warmth. They broke bread over a flickering fireplace, drank a final mug of warm tea and set out into the arduous journey that lay ahead. It had been Sawyer who proposed the expedition. For he had heard of a faraway land that housed a bizarre race of people that were short, like children, and bore greatly sized feet. “Halflings”, he had called them. Neither Kazamir nor Caroline believed him in truth, but he insisted with such fervor that they could do little but listen. So they set off, outside of the safety of Haense for the first time since they had arrived barely two years ago. A compass and map in hand—something they had saved up for months to afford—they went down the Kings road until they came to a crossroads. They had gone through the lands of the League of Veletz, and now wagered two options. The mild breeze blew cooly over their sweat laden skin, and it was Kazamir who vouched to take the shorter of two paths. The fellowship of three, the party to see the halflings, went down the way to see the famed White City — Númendil The City was grand, a far cry from anything they had seen before. Pillars of ivory marble spiraled up into the sky and supported a lengthy town far above the world. They wandered by the tavern and drank their money away, then drunkenly came to the overhang so that they might’ve seen the sea. "Is this what a bird sees? So high above it all — where the great boats of man are little more than ants, and we see such fearsome things like warriors leagues as specks of dust upon a plane?” Wondered Kazamir as the sun's dazzling light refracted off waves of wild water. Sawyer and Callie watched in awe as men—much like the Haensfolk, but known as the rarely spotted Adunians—marched through the streets and dined in each other's presence. They hoped to stay, but the sun was disappearing into the mountains and Petra’s door had to be reached before night. Kazamir yearned to go back and bask in Númendil’s grace again, but they walked up into fields of grass and her flags disappeared over the horizon. They came to a tower at last, one that marked the name ‘Petra’ and entered a rickety lift that seemed unfit to hold a man's weight… There, they exited into a tunnel and walked through its inky blackness. Light—woven with red hues—spilled into the archway and guided them forward. Callie swore; “Could this have been built by men alone?” and watched as they saw a city of greystone rise from across the waters edge. Petra paled in comparison to Númendil, but the riverbank danced to her whims — had the land built itself for this impressive city? Sawyer directed them through the streets and they came to a library. There, Callie found a parcel wrapped in newspaper and uncovered a great treasure; water color paints, imported from the Elves of Haelun’or and a papyrus workbook. She took it while they rested, for the journey ahead heralded a strenuous walk. They would have to venture off the road. They set out in the early morning, they had slept in the streets of Petra as drunken vagabonds. Dew clung to their clothes, soon burnt away by the sun's early rays. Behind the city they trudged deep into the thickets of high grass and waving hills, but their map grew confuddled and hard to read as they kept by the path. They felt a coolness touch their shoulder and fell into a large shadow, unlike any they had felt before. A tall tree—wreathed in pink and purple leaves—towered above them, kept by a pristine lake. Parched by bitter mead, Sawyer was quick to drink deeply of its water… Then Caroline followed suit. Soon each party member indulged in mouthfuls of blessed drink — unbeknownst of its magic. The memory tree offered them clarity in the trials of life and let them wander amidst their souls for some time. It was when they awoke—having garnered a new understanding of existence—that Kazamir and Sawyer watched Callie paint upon her stolen wares, a picture of them sat by the shores edge; content in that momentary peace. They bundled themselves up and continued, reinvigorated, through the mild plains and kept jovial in each other's company. They split rations when hungry, and carried each other when tired. The experience beneath that tree had drawn them together — perhaps a feat unrealized by one another just yet. Their travel ushered them into a forest of large Birch, trees as white as Númendil that rivaled castles in height. Beneath these trees, they rested.. And in the water they washed. Callie painted adamantly and captured the detail of every scene — while Kazamir drummed a beat for Sawyer to sing off key. They saw an impressive statue, a warrior of a tribe long gone. Sawyer asked who it was — and even Kazamir did not know. “A king! He wields a trident, a weapon of such grace.” Callie roused, but she was met with opposition; “Surely — a knight. Where is his crown?” Argued Sawyer. They clambered the rock and felt its roughness. “Will this become of us one day?” Thought Kazamir, he watched his comrades from the shoreline. “A forgotten statue, my purpose unremembered?” They slept beneath the forgotten warrior, but the virulent stone offered no protection to a weary mind. The towers of birch thinned out into planes of oak once again, but it was Callie who gasped and ran ahead of the grime-ridden men just behind. She had spied a pink tree, that wavered with translucent leaves that sparkled like glass in the sun. They entered a vast forest of impressive pink and sat beneath one. Sawyer told them that it was close, there was a bath nearby, but Kazamir and Callie wanted to stay in the sakura-pink warmth and rest just a moment longer. This journey had wasted them days, but their bond had grown tenfold. A question still brimmed on Kazamirs mind — were the halflings real? Or a figment of Sawyers imagination. They continued off, down the path of cobbled stones they ate the last scraps of their bread. “I see it! Look, just ahead!” And Callie grabbed Kazamirs hand, who wrapped his arm about Sawyers shoulder. They had made it; the realm of the Halflings. Short folk brimmed the idle shire streets and the trio watched in amazement. They met ***** folk, types they had never seen before in their lives. Rats on two legs that spoke in the common tongue and gnomes that danced through the forest. A blind man met with them on the docks, who lived prosperity — far unlike the types they would see in Haense. Exhaustion gripped the party now and hunger tinged at their stomachs. So they ate, helped by the generosity of the weefolk and sang songs by the fire. The journey had come to a close.