Adstrom

The usage of RP slurs and real life slurs shouldn't be any kind of Venn diagram intersection affair. If it has real life connotations, it shouldn't be allowed in rp either, even if those connotations change to reflect an rp situation. In this particular instance, they are hardly even different, and to argue such is nothing short of an excuse.

How many jakers interlinked does it take to change a skull knightling proddiner

The IRON BARON DISTRUGERE and his FABLED IRON TIGER mere moments after inducing the COWARD's WHISKEY:

MC Name: Adstrom Discord: Adstrom#2626 Image: Description of Image: DISTRUGERE, seated upon another soon-to-be throne! Dimensions: 1 x 2

MC Name: Adstrom Discord: Adstrom#2626 Image: Description of Image: DISTRUGERE, seated upon his soon-to-be throne. Dimensions: 2 x 2

MC Name: Adstrom Discord: Adstrom#2626 Image: Description of Image: The IRON BARON DISTRUGERE, standing before the soon-to-be castle of DISTRUGESTADT. Dimensions: 2 x 2

+ The letter of the Hunter was received. Within one body, two split and separated minds found both remorse and reprieve. An extreme balanced dualism. The consequences of unending zeal. The predominant, an Ironclad BARON, was struck with a sudden sinking grief. Sorrowful and bitter thoughts of an old friend, and a lost friendship, cast out in two-pronged ambition. Of a gambler, who's luck had fallen tainted. The other, far more ghoulish, was deep and locked away. A curse forced to yield. Even now, it rejoiced. With a sickly and unheard glee, it celebrated in its chasm. For its work was finally done. Though in the end, only one voice spoke. And it was thunderous. The BARON was to prepare for a wake. That curse had been conquered, and the castle loomed. The Four Horsemen would ride again. "Gloria Al Barone."

And blood-black nothingness began to spin.

MC Name: SpaceOddity Discord: SpaceOddity#2626 Image: Description of Image: An Inquisitorial depiction of Initiate Ealdwyn von Saltmire, his signature instinctive utterance inscribed upon the base. Dimensions: 1 x 2

Two shimmering glasses of a stark golden brew found themselves into the hands of distant men. One became ensnared in the ironclad grip of a man whose cigar was lit ablaze for the the first time in many years, and the other fell balanced inbetwixt scarred fingers of a Hawk trapped between worlds. Both shed what could be shared tears of some detached, mournful sorrow.

R

Somewhere within the accumulated audience of family and friends, a pair of thumbs up extended from beyond a theatrically flowing cloak of dark green - the figure starkly contrasted against the golden sands beneath. An unmistakable bellow of joy paired with the call of a falcon soon followed thereafter from the source of the gesture.

R

How about acacia

This is the single greatest plugin concept I have ever read with my eyes. Please let it become real. Finally my bartender characters can have TRUE purpose..

Falling Leaves Crown Prince-Consort Esmond Reede de Astrea of Elysium 0 S.A. - 62 S.A. The crisp air that wafted throughout the portside city of Vortice and its docks permeated the nose of a particular Adunian man who roamed its lengths, emerald eyes cast outward over the glistening sea which crashed idly against the creaking wood he stood upon. Though he lingered not, for concerns lay elsewhere, a gentle hum emitting from the man as he circled through the town, halting in its square when his gaze settled upon a pearlescent haired Badawi woman. The olden memory flashed and dissipated in a fleeting instant. A premonition. And yet, before Esmond could even recall what had just occurred within his mind, his eyes fell upon a hiss of motion, horror enveloping him at the clear sight of a translucent flask soaring through the air, hurdling swiftly toward himself, and his shield-brother at his side. The Adunic Paladin hesitated not, capitalizing on perhaps a split second of time, as he heaved with all of his strength and bound forth into the man at his left, forcefully shoving Togrim backward before he could react. And without another moment, the blast potion collided with the jagged rock at their flank, an eruption of crumbling stone and shrapnel paired with the sheer might of the blast casting him forth into the vile embrace of the cavern’s sharp and shadowy depths. As he began to soar through the air, it felt as if everything around him began to slow, memories and swift reminiscence enveloping him. Like a slowly descending leaf, caught in a gentle breeze. The warmth of a cramped smithy faded in, its innards alive with miasmic heat. An emerald-eyed Adunian standing by the cold steel of the anvil, hammer in hand and sweat upon his brow, while a towering elf who clutched a small glass marble in their grasp watched from the side, brows knit in scrutiny. The rough beginnings of a dagger lay on the metal before him, and he was fast at work, tapering its composure as the tool was brought down against the heated ingot. Dink. Clang. Dink. It faded away. Then, in its place, a new memory flared. He stood nearby the roaring hearth fire of a cold home, gaze fixated on its dancing cinders before it swiveled back towards an equally cold high-elf that stood opposite to him. The hands of both men dripped fresh crimson and soon were clasped together in paramount sincerity. “You must tell no one.” One spoke, in a grave tone. To which the other replied without hesitation. “Ti - mal'onnan to the end, now.” And then, it too was gone. Next, it contorted, and he was in the cold, unforgiving grasp of nature. Huddled along the length of a dwindling campfire, his body trembling greatly as the freshly skinned pelt of a wolf hung around his neck, blood escaping from a nasty wound in his shoulder. He felt his vision grow blurry until he collapsed sideward and everything darkened momentarily. When the light returned, he stood by the Badawi woman again, a young child clutched in their arms, cradled as it slept. Tears flowed from his emerald eyes as they remained glued to the duo, his arms wrapped around them both in a gentle embrace, warmth enveloping them until a bright, gleaming luminescence engulfed the room, and the scene dissipated. Suddenly, that same glow was replaced by the shimmering rays of the sun. He sat upon a patchwork blanket, three children nestled nearby, and the same woman from before at his side, protected by the shade of a large oaken tree. Joviality and comfort seemed to surround and radiate from them, smiles painted about as they conversed and laughed together as a family would. Too, did such a gathering melt away, a far more regal procession now present. Friends and family from all across the realm seated in uniform fashion facing an altar. Behind it stood the Adunian and the Badawi, after an extensive and troubling courtship that had spanned an unending period of years neither of them would ever have expected. One said “I do” and the other chimed out the same in immediate mimicry, the union of two unbreakable bonds rectified. The platitude phrase “Till death” was never spoken, but it rang throughout the memory all the same, like some horrid overlapping chime. Finally, his mind spun around once more. He now kneeled within a sacred chancery of pure white quartz, glistening mists of emerald hue billowing upward rapidly and encircling him as an eloquent man spoke before him. Tenants and creeds delivered, enshrined, and emboldened in interwoven light. Tales of sacrifice and heroism relayed in mighty splendor. This was when it all clicked together, in culmination. And then, time began to accelerate. And in a mere instant, Esmond thought of all who had impacted his life. Of Eugeo de Astrea Of Daubeny Bashkimi. Of Sinsio. Of Azriel de Astrea Morningstar. Of Lorrick Al-Wahdi Of Lawrence Dreadmoore. Of Eleonore O'Hara de Astrea. Of Silas Astasel. Of Fitzgerald Reede de Astrea. Of Nisreen Reede de Astrea. Of Annore Reede de Astrea. Of many more, And ultimately, of Aylin Reede de Astrea. Aylin. That was where he lingered. All the reminiscence, all the reflection - it coalesced into a vivid depiction, a symbolic representation of all that coursed throughout him, finalized in a warmth-ridden visualization of Aylin. A pure illustration within his mind, forged by unending, boundless, persistent, and ever-enduring love, endearment, and fervor. ---- Behind the slots of his ferrum mask, his emerald eyes flashed open, affixed to his wife as his form began to plummet downward rapidly. Momentum had finally caught up with him, and he knew now what awaited him next. A painful emittance of an emotion-filled outcry rang out, carrying throughout the cave as it escaped from inbetwixt his lips. “I love you, Aylin.” They were hurried final words, but he meant them with every fiber of his being. And, with the grotesque coalition of rock and flesh, he collided abruptly with fate. A large and jagged stalagmite that loomed underneath pierced immediately through his gut, not even a yell allowed before the bright and joyous fire behind the emerald gaze of the Adunian was extinguished forever. ---- And for a few moments, his voice still echoed. His last words ricocheted off the cavern’s walls, in a haunting melody, before silence swooped inward in its place. The leaf had reached the earth below. ----

Rebrand of the White Bear Tavern (Year Sixty of The Second Age) "L'eau fait pleurer, le vin fait chanter" "Water makes one cry, wine makes one sing" [!] A local Elysian’s rendition of the warm and inviting interior of the newly-titled Drunken Bokolo Tavern. To the Citizens of Elysium and all hungry wanderers, In this time of universal uncertainty and growth within our great Kingdom, we at The White Bear have decided to belatedly accentuate such shifts in unison with a change of our own. As of today, The White Bear Tavern will henceforth be rebranded and recognized under a newly selected title, The Drunken Bokolo. This alteration is intended to complement the freshly forming cultures and atmosphere of Elysium, while maintaining the roots that still define us. However, in addition to the new name, this reinvention comes in pair with a brand new menu - stocked full to the brim with a versatile and diverse assortment of locally sourced beverages, meals, and sweets, all carefully crafted to correlate and represent the way of life in our city. Furthermore, in celebration of this news, upon this upcoming Malin’s Welcome - only two Saint’s Days from now, The Drunken Bokolo will be holding a special tavern night to highlight all of the varying new items in stock. In addition, there will be an intense drinking contest - in which the winner will be allowed to create and submit their very own drink to the tavern’s circulation and new menu. Any and all are invited to come out and try the initial implementation of our new menu, and enjoy themselves in a night of revelry and celebration of both our community, and our home. [OOC: Thursday, January 27th at 5PM EST.] [Items visible within the menu are not representative of their descriptions, and are merely extremely summarized variants of them to accommodate for the limited formatting.] Signed, Duke Eugeo de Astrea Lady Aylin de Astrea, Heir Regent Minister of Interior & Foreign Affairs Penned by, Lord Esmond Reede, Department of Culture Chancellor, High Council Member, Co-Owner of The Drunken Bokolo Dr. Esmeralda Mariana Guenevere, High Council Member, Elysian Post and Postal Founder, Head Event Collaborator, & Protector of the Hyspians Dr. Lotte Dolorem, Department of Health Chancellor

❆ The Elysium Krugmas Tavern Night ❆ 19th of The Sun's Smile, SA 45 “Krugmas is the day that brings everyone all together.” [!] A painting of the Elysium square, filled with festive decorations and freshly adorned with a vibrantly lush Krugmas tree, its many branches embellished with shimmering ornamentation. To the Citizens of Elysium and Her Allies, As winter advances across Almaris, the Duchy of Elysium will be celebrating Krugmas! In these darkened days which envelop our realm, times like this allow us to celebrate the cheerful revelry which must be held steadfast in one's heart to persevere. These festivities will commence upon this upcoming Snow’s Maiden, within the upper-most floor of The White Bear Tavern. Any and all are invited to come and enjoy the warm merriment which permeates the wooden walls of our tavern. Steaming hot chocolate, peppermint sticks, freshly baked gingerbread cookies, chilled eggnog and more will be served by our diligent keepers, as the spirit of Krugmas is maintained throughout. Furthermore, all participants will receive small festive presents upon entry, and are invited to take this time to exchange gifts with their family and friends. As well as the interchange of presents, all are also encouraged to swap tales, whether they be of festive nature, or simply stories of times past. Remembrance and communion found the ideals which represent Krugmas, and it is these same sentiments that we intend to honor by hearthfire and snow. Finally, while it is by no means required, all are welcome to don sweaters of Krugmas spirit, whether they be ugly or not! Perhaps, too, Father Krugmas himself will pay a visit this cold winter night, and deliver joy and gifts alike to any young ones who may take part in such holiday spirit… Signed, Duke Eugeo de Astrea Lady Aylin de Astrea, Heir Regent Minister of Interior & Foreign Affairs Penned by, Lord Esmond Reede, Co-Owner of the White Bear Tavern and Department of Culture Chancellor Lady Emerald Guenevere, Elysian Post and Postal Founder Event Committee

Skin: Suave Bid: 450 discord: AstrologicalEntity#9789 @Herod

☾ The Elysium Astral Feast ☽ ✧ The Grand Harvest, Year 49 of the Second Age ✧ -- Pinned to notice boards throughout the realm, a small ornate flyer rests before you, its parchment bordered with an intricate golden trim, and its ink denoted by a rich lavender hue. -- -- A local Elysian artist’s rendition of a darkened night sky dotted full of billowing sky lanterns. To the Denizens of Elysium and Its Allies, As Autumn advances, and the air continues to grow crisp and cool, it is necessary we remember the importance of union and familial bond in times of complexity and change. Let us set aside our trials and tribulations and for one night celebrate and commemorate such strong unification which emboldens us all to our causes, whatever they may be. In two Elven days, upon The Grand Harvest of year forty-nine of the Second Age, invitations are extended to all to attend the Elysium Astral Feast, held within the grand palace of the Duchy of Elysium. Any and all are delightfully welcomed to enjoy the festivities and feasting that will be provided by the de Astrean family and Department of Culture. -- Festivities Upon entry into the palace, all attendees will be gifted their own handcrafted paper floating lantern to keep until the conclusion of the dinner. All will continue up the grand quartz staircase of the Palace towards the upper floor, where a banquet will have been laid out and prepared for all to enjoy a delicious and well-rounded meal of many courses. Following the conclusion of the feast, Duke Eugeo de Astrea shall provide a short speech regarding the de Astrean family and its origins, as well as the significant presence of family and fellowship seen spread wide throughout our wonderful Duchy. Once the speech has seen its end, all participants will be invited to exit the palace and enter the gardens, where the lanterns handed out previously shall be withdrawn. Within these paper vessels shall be penned wishes and whims one may hold for themselves or their families, to be then set alight and released into the shimmering sky above, welcoming the dawning days before as the lanterns intertwine with the starlight beyond. -- Special Invitations are extended to the Clans residing within the Duchy of Elysium, as well as the De Astrean family and its many members. Signed and Penned by, Lord Esmond Reede, Department of Culture Chancellor. With cooperation from, Lady Emerald Ferinn-Guenevere, Department of Culture Collaborator. Orchestrated by, [Saturday, 6PM EST] Issued the 20th of Snow's Maiden, Year 49 of the Second Age.

Somewhere within the realm of Almaris, a faded specter recalls fond memories of a close friend and his once young daughter, long waning memories of a distant time, more evident than ever, now.

"Amddur, ay? I wonder how Lorrick is doing these days anyways." Spoke one, Esmond Reede, to himself within the peaceful safety of his forge, his eyes swiftly trailing over the contents of the missive. As his gaze reached the bottom, a discontented sigh emitted from between his lips. "What a shame! A shame, indeed.." At that, he carefully closed the dusty tome in which he kept all of his news, shuffling to set it aside as he returned to his work without further ado.

One, Esmond Reede, sat pondering by the roaring fire of his cracked stone forge. He rested upon his knees, just before the anvil, atop a thick green carpet, his mind wandering about as his emerald eyes watched the flame lick against the edges of the cold rock with ravenous hunger. This forge, which had become a home for the man as of late, served as a reprieve from all tribulation for him. He leaned back against the cool metal of the anvil as he raised his right hand, a wispy jade enveloping his palm as he flicked the base of his wrist, a large leather-bound tome levitating over to him, the likes of which containing many snippets of pamphlets, informational papers, and parchment of similar variety. He cracked open the heavy book, turning the pages to the newest accumulation of writings. His glistening emerald swiftly glossed over the contents of this particular paper, his form suffused with a silent and bubbling rage. His thoughts wandered to how easily the targets of these horrific monsters could have been anyone, his own love, his daughters, his friends. The realization dawned upon him like a burning blaze, not unlike the roaring heat which flickered before him. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he moved to close the tome, though a final thought pervaded his mind. He recollected the events that had transpired in Talon's Port a few Saint's Days prior, and was wordlessly elated that he had left the port's waters with crimson coated steel, his left hand moving subconsciously to give the pommel of his sheathed falchion a satisfactory thwack of his palm. With this motion came a conclusive and soft smirk which spread quickly across his visage as he stowed away the book, returning once more to his fireside contemplation.