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Lord Knox

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About Lord Knox

  • Birthday 10/31/1870

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  • Gender
    Not Telling
  • Location
    The Great Wheatfields
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Character Profile

  • Character Name
    Pumpkin Lord Knox
  • Character Race

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  1. [!] Knox blesses mouse people.
  2. A strange dark-skinned Thainling looks over that of the missive after having shown it off to the Pumplar and Sheriff in confusion "This is funneh, oi'mah pretteh sure oi remembah tellin' Haense 'hat oi'd look inter fulfillin' 'he Weefolk agreemen's at a latah toime! OI ANNEH, JENNEH, YEH DO 'HIS?" he calls outwards to the furthest reaches of the Shire. The impatient figure then shrugging moments later- "Oh well, Halflin' influence expands onwerds! Hopefulleh 'hey didnt start a relationship wif 'he Impropahs an' extremis's, 'hat would beh a VEREH bad 'hingeh fer 'hem! Oh well, a storeh fer anothah day." The little figure then lets out a deepened yawn, slowly puffing away more at his cigar as he prepares the phamplets for that of the ongoing Brambleburry happenings. @Rioling@Little__Lady
  3. The Ballot: ((MC Name: HiddenAdmin )) Name: Rolladango Applefoot Vote for Elder: James Peregrin () Greta Goodbarrel () Filibert Applefoot (xxx) Jordan Applebottom () Winter May Gardner ()
  4. The tidings of the voidally scarred continues to bring forth a lesson of pain onto those whom try to exist. We all lay in silence in this hellscape. This bound hole of pure degenerative destruction. The slender figure of the Autumn Craven simply stands over that of the Sutican roads as he looks down at the spot where Judas would be slain. The total darkness of the streets has caused nothing but dismay and droll sadness, and from the Monarchs of The Trade Nation's history it has only devolved further and further with time. Though in the time of mourn, the strange illicit figure of The Pumpkin Headed entity idly looks down at that of the deceased section. Wisps of orange float around him as he fishes into that of his pockets and pulls out a pair of completely ruined glasses... belonging to someone of long time history prior. The idle musings of Judas were something which had circulated throughout the man's mind before. Whether told, heard of, or spoken directly were unknown... yet it resonated with something deep in the beast's soul. "Judas, your words are true. Your mentors end up betraying you as your own selfish attempts at being a 'true magi' have left you with nothing but a disappointing end. Despite our methods we both wish for the same thing. It's almost ironic, don't you think?" wonders that of the lithe figure. Orange wisps continue to drone around that of the being's mawl... an unchanging stare rested on the stone floors below as the only other source of light comes from the magelight in the lanterns just above the Sutican walls. "There is only one thing that we can do as to fix our faults. Rip and tear at the foundations of selfish voidal bigotries, for it must end. This is not the chaos of the unknown, but the orders of the forsaken enchanters whom cause this catalyst. This place shall lays at the center as finally the last true identity of this place has fallen. It is time once again." he recounts- turning to walk straight along the bridge into the Oasis of Southern Almaris. "It is time for the end of the era. Goodbye to the chains which bind this oceanside property lacking of identity together. We must go back." The creature then smashes his foot onto the glasses which he rested on the ground. The Llyrian scourge was smashed, why would this be any different? See you soon Judas.
  5. Stagnant air and riveting hums slowly pool throughout the surrounding trees. Elvenesse, what a wicked display of congealed saturation and order slowly upheld by those too scared to face the unbridled whims of all and any. A circling dredge of stones, and yet as the pumpkin-headed beast slowly walks across that of the Bramblebury forests, the smallest melodic utterance could be heard heavenly moving throughout that of the thick flora of the many trees. In the Halfling culture of the Weefolk, slowly encroaching is that of Krugsmas... a time of love and remembrance of many to that of The Pumpkin Lord. Though what a disrespectful and display, a violent display of pure and absolute dismay as to try and disregard that of the gourd-flavored beast. The auric wisps splay all throughout Bramblebury as time lulls into darkness. The dark looming sky, the bright white sheen of the moon pooling down on the front circle of the Halfling Town, the challenge has been proposed and yet the pumpkin helm atop that of The Lord's head does is sit in complete silence. Unmoving the smog leaves his eerie grin as he stares at the mess of pumpkin innards. There's only one response that comes from that of the creation, the strange gunk all about him pooling as to bring the solitude response along the trees yet into the minds of no one. "The wicked thralls of the forest try and call for me. I hear whispers of a beast that attempts to come after me. A mindless beast uninformed as it tries to come after the hope of the Halfling creations. You want me, come get me dear beast. Yet in doing so you merely fall in a trap of your own doing." In the next moment the gross splurged gunk amongst that of the wisping figure would be overlapped amongst that of a nearby tree. Slowly slopping and drooling down that of the Sprucewood Bark as it seems to slowly dry into that of an image. In such, all that is left for the fellow "I embrace your message beast. Come find me."
  6. [!] In the middle of a strange valley, where moss and other gunk slowly creep up a terribly disheveled manor... the peering eyes of an orange smog slowly plumes forth from the visage of the strange '''daemonic''' entity. He seems to lay within an almost trance, reading idly at the missive despite how little it seems to leave an impression on his mind. - Eventually the fellow takes the small halfling pamphlet, twists it up into a rough cigar roll, and lights the tip. The fellow taking a deep breath as the ashes and burning embers glaze downwards that of the lovely treat, before exhaling a deep breath to add within the wisps alongside the air around him. The fellow's back creaks and he lays amongst the chair right under him as he simply muses- "Bullshit tastes nice in the lungs."
  7. [!] Tacked amongst the many doors, shire-boards, burrows, and pristine furniture of the Halfling abodes appears to a doctrine. Written with some type of grotesque black ink which dredges down the page in a disorderly and nearly unsightly form. Though at the very top of all the written texts would be the simple title- VIVAMOS LIBERO: The Knoxist Doctrine A depiction of the benevolent Lord in a regular descendant vessel, almost strangely familiar to certain eyes. Table of Contents: - Introduction - The Radical Opposition - The Wills Of Knox - True Life - The Golden Wheatfields - Arugula’s Tide Introduction Greetings and salutations to the many of the underlings and weefolk on the two discs, it lays upon my shoulders once again to proudly assert my prime royal stature and call out some of the more CONCERNING traditional undertones I’ve been subject to hearing throughout my eons merely listening along in the waves. Ever since my original uproarious appearance in the lands of the Aegis Weefolk Shire, I've been subjected to quite the manner of underhanded dealings, power grabs, surges in influence, and other such deific handlings as I've ascended into my place of power. I must say that amongst the things such as the Ivory Courts and other whining pantheons- the spot I have is one mostly faded and shrouded in an obscurity which I do truthfully enjoy. Et portae inferni mei de custodibus However quite recently in fact, I’ve noticed an ASTOUNDING lack of conjoined gratitude to the faith of the Knoxist ordeals. Properness? Improperness? Democracy? Benardism? - All these are supposed to be umbrella's within the grand embrace of Knoxism, truly caring and entirely free of things which divide our lives. And yet, there lay people here and now who would attempt to undercut the whims of such a prosperous society in which we all lay happy and free. Can you image, these nearly democratic and political PIGS wishing to ENFORCE new customs amongst that of our new people? Surely the guttural trash which works to pull the cloths over your eyes are nothing more but a distraction and disloyalty to the True Life we all wish to have at the end of the day. It’s disgraceful, hypocritical, and attempts to undercut that of my very words when I’ve worked to bring forth such a peaceful utopia devoid of other descendant intervention for the last multiple eras and civilizations to the many halfling shires of past and current. Merito labes excoquitur civilization sicut in stercore meum observábunt As such I have entrusted a scribe to write upon my musings, and properly write down the following large topics into a neat little pamphlet, as I hope and expect these words to quickly surge across the villages of current and new with a rehabilitation of pious love and doctrine love. May these works find you, and rid your mind of any doubt which the uninformed have forced upon you. The Radical Opposition I would not however be able to begin, without addressing first the past. It is unbecoming of myself to call out halflings by name, as you are all mostly people of my loving order whom I cherish with my very heart as time goes on, but let me just ensure that I get a few names, ideals, and words across in a short but sweet manner to all whom it may concern. False King Cyris - It is your untrue benevolence which has caused much confusion for the many inhabitants (of Bramblebury specifically) to find themselves lost. Your words are like a pandemic, sickening and able to spread like a wildfire of plague towards the mental states of whomever you spew such toxins to. A beast devoid of true common sense and you writhe amongst the world like a stillborn child, waiting to be properly saved by either the grains of the True Wheatfields, or sunk to Arugula’s clutches. To you sir- I simply denounce and revere with disgust at your saddening existence, even as to go far enough and attack me brings me such a devoid sense of sadness at your impartial dissonance from what is reality and what is fiction. Unfit Thain Gardner - After my threatening and understood defense involving both myself and the dear False King, you saw it fit to go as far and deem my advice unworthy. It is saddening to see that the wisdom of both Thain Applefoot and O’Connell before you has devolved so tragically, as to where now all that holds you up is the Improper sights of your very society before you. In all fairness I do not blame you Thain, but the temptresses and deranged people who have whispered impartial logic into your ears. The teachings of such is understood by all but yourself, and perhaps you will be able to look away before the trumpets of ruin come blasting into the Gardner burrow. The Decultured Halflings - This goes out generally to the many halflings out there. Those whom have been taken away and drug outside that of the normal confines of our beautiful Halfling Shires, and wish to live amongst the cities of the other descendants and throw away the values which hold together our true Knoxist values. Weefolk devoid of sense and truly seeded with the sins of Descendants who’ve been slowly rotted away via the garbage cultures of other multi-faceted nations and other groups of enforced belief. To the heavily Improper, dark magi holding, descendant shilled halflings of the world, I only hope that you will soon see the errors of your ways before the hard handed judgement smashes down upon you like a tidal wave of realization. To all the beings who call me a daemonic being, remember that the line between that of the Angeuls and Daemons are quite slim. All that divides such is a fickle line of morality, to which some would force down the throats of others that my hopes for a uniform society rip apart the bounds of order despite being the only way we should all truly exist. The Wills Of Knox Moving on into the meat of this doctrine however, many have become confused as to what truly Knoxism is supposed to be an envelope. The virtues of this strange wicked sensation of nearly eldritch normality however can easily be broken down into 5 simple tenants, laid out and explicitly ingrained. Always Smile: The first will lay plainly, as in our absolute destitute and feverous sludge of a society we are followed by nothing but sadness, egregious blights, and absolute rapturous vengeance. As time ticks away at your mortal souls, it slowly sucks away at your innocence in an attempt to slowly torture your mind, body, and conscious until you are nothing more but a shriveled up prune of a once humane shell. As such, you must always fight against which wishes to break your spirit. In times of the worst virtue, just merely smile. If you hold enough of a strong-will, your fighting love shall break through and free you from your confines as long as you follow the Wills. Live Unbound: The lives of Halfling and Knoxist followers alike are not made to be second fiddle to that of a superior power. There is only supposed to exist those of us who work alongside one another in harmony, whom at the VERY MOST revere a Pumplar or Thain as a true ruler as to spread forth and enforce the Wills of Knox should I not find myself present in Halfling society. Honor Among The Strange: Those who believe in Knoxist virtues are to honor thy neighbor and fellow worshipper as if they were one’s own family. There are no intense divides that cannot be forgiven except for that of a complete atheistic approach to that of the Pumpkin Throne. A halfling or any other who would find themselves uninformed should work to learn about the new ways of the Knoxist Wills, and those who do follow such teachings should treat and teach their uninformed brothers as if they were completely lost in life. It is our duty to free people from the societal binds of order forced down upon them, and bring them into our gracious embrace of familial worship. Virtuous Understanding: All throughout our existence we are faced with challenges, and goals we wish to pursue. Whether it be to attain love, find our family, uncover a mystery of the world, we are all uniform and amongst ourselves to ensure that we go through and attain these statuses no matter how hard we must push ourselves. In virtue our true selves shine, and to be an unmotivated soul against that of society and brought down by the harsh sadness is to be considered Improper. One must always try and work to put there all into what they wish to accomplish, for otherwise the soul lays incomplete. Proper Unity: What's yours is mine and what's mine is yours. All that divides what we should have is by what we need. Except in the case of the Thain or Pumplar, there does not exist one who may require more or less than what they truly desire. In true Benardist values, we all work together as a singular unit to pool our resources and never outstretch the bounds of what our society can communally create. The worker is able to take the apple he produces from his work on the fields, and put such directly in his own maw. Those who mooch or unfairly slip resources from the communal supply are considered leeches and against that of the true Knoxist will. To those who don't follow these lessons may find themselves subject to that of Arugula’s Tide, and/or barred access from the splendid valley of The Golden Wheatfields. By following these Wills, a halfling or follower ensures themselves to follow the True Life, increasing their likelihood of attaining a spot among the golden fields in the Seven Skies above. True Life The True Life is considered to be an absolute blessed sentiment. Your very mortal coil is constantly subjected and watched over as you make your decisions. Following the movements of all, each and every single choice you physically carry out is something you should feel comfortable explaining to that of the higher powers (such as myself) whom will decide your fate. The written wills act as a guideline, a way to explain and show off the best life and outcome as to bring you good gracious joy throughout your slow upbringing into either the depths of the tide, or wheat lands above. True Life is said and proven to bring you a more well eased mind, a simplified lifestyle, a better chance at love, life, and happiness, and so much very more. It is always quite easy to tell when one doesn't follow that of the True Life, for their form will always follow about as if a hulking musk of silence and despair. Enraptured in the blight of misunderstood knowledge and shakled by the torment of other deific imprisonment, those who see this as their one and only option are forever fated to find themselves chained at the bottom of the depths whether it be Iblees' Nether or Arugula’s Tide. This all plays into one’s end. Once the soul you have within flings out of your existence and within the Soulstream of Ascended yore, you will find yourself amongst the stars and propelled throughout the many cosmos as me and my multitude of servants judge you. There lay three points in which you may be sent forth. The first lays in The Golden Wheatfields- the true heaven, the second lays in Arugula’s Tide- a never-ending hell, and the last lays in reincarnation. Should one not be destine for the never-ending torture of the kraken’s grips, yet never found themselves qualified for the Wheatfields above… they will be reincarnated once more. Depending on how True of a life one goes about will even determine what one is brought back as, with the most borderline of souls being truthfully reinstated as Halflings. The Golden Wheatfields Imagine the best, most beautiful fantabulous utopia that could grace your mind. Now multiply that existence by at least 200, envision a never-ending landscape of wheat, alongside all those whom you dearly love, and you have gotten the Golden Wheatfields. The absolute, the never-ending, the pure and wished for heaven of those whom follow this life. The best which you can hope for, and what all should truly thrive for, this exists as the place in which all the broken halflings finally get to rest once they arrive. Often subject to multiple lives until they live through an existence willing enough to bring them to these fated grounds- the yellow plains act as our respite for those whom have faught long and hard to live a life in which they are not chained. Arugula’s Tide At the bottoms of the coral reef lays my abomination. A beast of pure nightmares called forth from a mixture of the true despicable pitch black, and Lyes’ unimaginable worst fantasies. Within the seas, thousands of miles long and hundreds of tendrils outstretched lays the Great Daemonic Kraken of the depths, Arugula. Enforced with properly dragging down the most engrained and despicable beasts to be forced into eons of despair and grievous torture at the bottom of the sea floor. Serial Murderers, Capitalist Scum, Oppressive Rulers, those whom go against the grain and attempt to frame and enforce this sickening destitute amongst that of the Unbound Society and True Life, meet their neverending fates at the very very bottom of the ocean's crust. At the end of the day my children, the premise is simple. Follow your hearts and follow your souls, for they will bring you to the true salvation. Never look away from what the soul you own says, otherwise you may as well already be gripped by the chains of oppression pulling you into the seas of hell. Until we meet again one day. - Lord Knox
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