Viraj Dobrial

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[!] Lo and Canticle, for scattered by the wind 'cross the hills of Almaris fell a missive; and whether it was lodged within crevasses of piled wood or stone, or caught in the vortexes of rubbish that blew within the alleyways of Providence or Karosgrad, or 'gainst the barnacle-ridden planks biding sailors from a watery grave along the strait that split the continent twixt, did it bear this foreboding message: In the jungle, the mighty jungle, The lion sleeps tonight. In the jungle the quiet jungle, The lion sleeps tonight. Near the village, the peaceful village, The lion sleeps tonight. Near the village, the quiet village, The lion sleeps tonight. Hush, my darling, don't fear, my darling, The lion sleeps tonight. I'll hush my darling, don't fear it, darling, The lion sleeps tonight.

radiohead

Tripping over mounds of broken stone, rotting food, and other artifacts scavenged from pillaged Providence did the broken soldier find himself tangled in yet another pile of junk. Trying to free himself from it caused him to sink further in; no protest he made could save him. So there he sat, surrounded by the hordes of useless things he had made for himself, where he spotted it. After forgetting it after all these years was it there, right in front of him - the sword of the Primera Handia. Waltz. A name he'd forgotten, one that'd buried another, one buried by another. It all came flooAye, I shall continue to do my duty, and I will d my best to attend your next tea partyding back to him, as the garbage crusdenounce that ******* Mortimer guy hed him. So many repreI've made no threat to your livelihood. My question is sissed memories, so many forgotten names - cyclical, it was, that he was damned to relive twhat ARE yohose days over and over, with no sign oou fear the Olf an End to this suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering suffering "...Where did you get those clothes?" Anger - no, fear, in her voice. He screeched out with rage. The ground before them was still stained with curdling blood - smeared down and out from the trunk of the grand oak that grew on the edge of Providence's fields. Those screeches quickly turned into a flurry of choked-out cries of laughter. "You didn't even bother burying him?" A short while before the kneeling man did Ziegfrid Mortimer stand, his eyes crossed, as he shifted his weight unto his back leg. "I had no desire to bury the bastards that tried killing me. You're acting like I ate their guts, or cut their heads off, or something. "You may as well have. He's still dead." As Archimedes forced out sob after sob, Ziegfrid sighed, stepping forwards and laying a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I'm sorry. To everytrektoEastcliffeitmaynotbeworthyourwhilebutinthesmallchancethatheisthere family member for what has been done." Archimedes twitched; involuntarily, he flicked the man's hand away, picking at the bandages that dangled over his twisted fingers. "My name... is DEFONT, Mortimer." "Shut up. I'm talking." "And what about his wife, Mortimer?" Helvetia stepped forward, leaning down over both of them. "His two children? Ever taken into account those whom were extremely close to him?" For a moment, Ziegfrid stared up at the hanging branches of that oak, pressing his hand to it before groaning. "Who would you choose to die, Archimedes?" He suddenly shouted. "Him, or me? He brought me outside of the city walls with his friend and tried to kill me. No honor. No duels. Nothing. He literally stabbed me in the back." As Archimedes fell closer to the ground, he turned, pointing at Helvetia. "And you. I don't have any wish to talk about his family." He shuddered, looking back towards Providence as he took a deep breath. "He made his choice - and that choice was wrong. I didn't have a choice, Archimedes." And to think yet anotherHecannotcontinueservingintheISAcould conduct a disappearing act as well as he could; perhaps, he might run into him again one day in the future. But he was good as dead for now - as was Archimedes. And so he sank further, as he wailed, into that garbage. Darkness, imprisoning. A few weeks passed before a knock came at his door. When the woman found her way in, she turned the corner, expecting to see the man in his usual lounging spot - either chucking chunks of bread into the fire, or over his stove-top, closely watching a kettle boil. But where he usually sat were stacks upon stacks of stolen barrels, some popped open, spilling their contents about the mold-ridden carpet. "...Orph-" "Not that one." Something scowled out from the darkness - shadows dancing about the walls, as one made its approach from the west hallway. "I'm... I don't use that one anymore." "...Whatever." Moving further into the unlit room, she tripped over a creased piece of carpet. "You should take better care of this place." "I don't see you leasing it." "I-" She sighed. "I've got something for you. A courier... 'dropped it off' outside." "Thought we didn't do that here." "I thought we told you not to bring them around here." She flashed the letter up - bearing an unfamiliar stamp. "...THEM??" From the other room, a pile of garbage fell over. Turning at the sound of it did she see the bandaged man rush out from his bedroom, practically snatching the letter from her hands. Archimedes ripped the note from the envelope, scanning over it once or twice. As he did, faint shadows bled from the walls around the two; with the bandaged man did they begin to cackle, as the veteran raised the Handia's hooked sword above his head. "Viva la Mercatorii! Heriotza gure aurka daudenei!"

alr based thanks guys :-D

[Certain words / questions made bold for ease of access and to note significance] ON GHOSTSMITHING: Hello! As someone with a phantom CA, I have questions regarding ghostsmithing, seeing as there is only one redline for the category. I feel that further defining it now would prevent future lore questions / confusions. Taken from the phantom lore page: Ectoplasm may interact with other phantom creatures, and may also physically see other ectoplasmic beings even when invisible. This means that a phantom can physically make contact with another phantom as if they were corporeal, feeling “pain” from the others attack even though they are not mortal. There are many creatures whose form is made of ectoplasm. Your redline suggests that this can be taken from both low-level ghosts and from wights. Would there be a difference in their corporeal ability. dependent on the spirit it is taken from? For example, before they were phased out, gravens were able to manifest basic tools and weapons from their form with a strength equal to copper, which would (correct me if I'm wrong, their lore got wiped) be demanifest upon two blows from an aurum-based weapon. Corporeal phantoms, and other base-level ectoplasmic beings, take three significant blows to their form to begin demanifesting. However, these blades would be significantly smaller than the form of any geist manifest from a descendant, and, by this logic, would require significantly less damage from aurum (or holy/voidal magics) to demanifest. Would these weaknesses be reflected in Ghost-forged weapons? How would this be regulated, if they are a) so weak, compared to any other mundane-based weapon, b) so easily breakable, and c) so fluid based on the individual abilities of each ectoplasm-based creature? Would each weapon require some sort of staff-based signature? How can players be held accountable to dispose of weapons destroyed in RP? Except for very specific circumstances, ectoplasm demanifests once separated from its host. Could the same ectoplasm from a broken weapon be recollected before demanifesting to reforge the blade, or would smiths have to start from scratch once their weapon is destroyed? For the sake of simplicity (and functionality), all further questions are going to assume that the ectoplasm used in these weapons would be akin to that in phantoms whose physical forms are completely divorced from non-ectoplasmic material (husks/corpses, menhirous stone, any other worldly material item), but are able to interact in corporeality with the world. This narrows the weapons' abilities down to that of a corporeal phantom. Would this weapon be able to interact, as graven-based weapons did, with other material objects? Or is this solely for interaction with ectoplasm-based creatures? If it can interract with mundane weapons, can the material be blocked? What grade of material, in weapon or armor, would be needed to deflect or halt a blow from such a weapon? If it is solely for use with or against ectoplasm-based creatures, would it be able to pass through any mundane material the being might cloak itself in (armor, menhirous stone, husk, etc)? Assuming the latter, would the blade be visible to those without truesight /vivification? Or is this "dim blue-hue" selective to those who have these powers / abilities? Finally, the introduction section references "other uses" for these materials. As evidenced by my questions, I do not believe these uses are made clear enough. More specifically, the Effects section notes that these weapons can "collect ectoplasm when in contact with spectral creatures or objects." How? Where is it stored - in the blade? If in the blade, does the ectoplasm add to the blade's mass and / or strength, or is the quality of the blade unaffected, save for the fact that it has more ectoplasm 'collected' in it? If not, are players, equipped only with this blade and no auxiliary materials, able to collect ectoplasm, or will it demanifest? Is there a way to collect ectoplasm from a creature without killing it, as is possible within other magic systems? Or does this require a creature to be killed? If so, is the amount of ectoplasm one can harvest scaled based on what type of creature it was taken from? The amount of ectoplasm in different phantom types differs greatly; wouldn't it make sense that more ectoplasm could be taken from an apparition than from a revenant spirit? I feel that question could be generalized to different races and creatures, but I have neither the authority nor the knowledge to ask those questions. These questions are not meant to be accusatory or destructive in any way, but to provide players exposed to this feat with more defined capabilities of this type of weapon, and any other Beastsmithed weapon. I hope that my feedback is both helpful and accepted, and that these considerations are applied in any future revisions or addendums to the lore. Hope you're having a wonderful day.

More than a decade had passed since The Burned Man had borne witness to the Dame's fall. In the wake of his Father's departure, he was left with many questions; among these was the fate of Viktoriya. Where did she go after that fateful day? How did she - no, how could she forsake Him like this? What undermined all those faithful, painful years of dedication? But it meant naught; for along the streets of Providence and Karosgrad, she wasn't found. And so, the old man forgot about her, for a while. In passing, he'd occasionally glance up at the portrait he'd salvaged from the old house - one painted long before he was born, and one that would most likely outlive him. Archimedes DeFont parted his bandages, taking another meaningless sip of Earl Grey tea. As he did, he lay his empty eyes upon the portrait of the old Lieutenant, the old Captain - the old Knight. "You... somehow, you knew from the start... How?" he asked aloud. But no one answered. He was only met with the coldness that permeated his room - scraped the doors of he and his daughter's bedrooms. "...Perhaps it is best to leave some questions unanswered, then." It was a step in the right direction - towards resolution or resolve, he did not know. Lazily did he stretch, letting some of the tea fall out and stain the floor below him. "Adrienne won't mind. Hopefully." As was custom for him, he went about his nightly stroll. The moon was vibrant tonight, though he didn't notice. What he did notice was a flyer posted to the front of the sign down the path. "Oh, you've got to be ******* kidding me!"

Name: Hau'oli Kekai Momoa Age: 15 Place of Residence: Field of Study: [ ] History [ x] Social Science [ ] Natural Science [ ] Magical Studies Specialization: Anthropology OOC: Username: gamerdude09 Discord: Viraj Dobrial#2186 Timezone: EST

Godspeed

Hey, that’s me!

De would take up the letter, tilting his head in confusion. "This seems like more of a problem of allocation. This man is selling to a market that doesn't exist. Though... I've never seen any mutton, nor pumpkins, nor anything of the like on the Auction House. Just... potatoes. So, so many potatoes," he'd say, shuddering." "...I should visit Redenford again soon. Maybe help this poor man."

Receiving the missive by bird from his bedchambers, Arlo Danker would let out a gleeful, broken rasp - before falling into a fit of coughs. He’d quickly pen a short note for the RO, hoping that he could soon rejoin his Mercatorii companions in the field. ”GOD... Save Oren,” he’d sarcastically rasp out to no one, pulling his covers over his head and falling back upon the mattress.

Uwu ******* idiots stowp. Making. Evewything. In. Bwack. Text. i am absowutewy sick awnd tiwed of going intwo a wowe post awnd iwt wooks. Wike. Thiws: bwief descwiption: bound tuwu the fowm of a chiwd thwough a mistake of hiws studies, awnd fwom the wate schowaw’s notes did thiws awchemist too conjuwe up an antidote, ow pewhaps anothew bwew in its own wight, cawwing iwt fogey’s ewixiw fow hiws equaw hatwed of the ewdewwy. wecipe: -wawd/ undistiwwed watew -wakiw -death, x1 -cuwtaiwment x1 -cowdness x2 -swiftness x2 -gwey haiw fwom a human ewdew, x2 -sheww of a towtoise (ow tuwtwe), x2 cweation (optionaw, onwy if iwt wequiwes a specific pwocess): -aww symbows, as weww as the ewdew haiws awnd sheww of a towtoise (ow tutwe), must be gwound intwo sepawate powdews using a mowtaw awnd pestwe -the base must be used tuwu fiww a cauwdwon hawfway with the wakiw mixed in, having pwe-measuwed fow the west of the ingwedients tuwu make up the second hawf (note, doubwe the vowume wouwd be wequiwed in the case of an undistiwwed watew base as opposed tuwu a wawd base). -the base must then be heated above an open fwame untiw beginning tuwu fwy (if wawd) ow boiw (if undistiwwed watew). -cowdness shouwd be added awnd stiwwed untiw no wongew visibwe. -cuwtaiwment shouwd then be added awnd stiwwed untiw no wongew visibwe. -death shouwd then be added at the same time as the gwound gwey haiws, awnd stiwwed untiw the ewixiw tuwns bwack. -the sheww shouwd then be mixed in awong with swiftness untiw no wongew visibwe. -aww heat shouwd then be wemoved fwom the cauwdwon, awwowing the mixtuwe tuwu wapidwy coow awnd thicken (if undistiwwed watew iws used) ow sowidify intwo a fatty paste (if wawd iws used). effects: whewn appwied as a paste the fogey’s ewixiw acts as an aging wotion, causing skin awnd cewtain aweas tuwu sag, wwinkwe awnd devewop wivew spots whewevew appwied. Noses awnd eaws tuwu enwawge awnd buwge whiwst spwouting thick gwey haiw fwom within. Eyes become yewwowed awnd bwoodshot awnd (with thick appwication) fade tuwu a compwete miwky white. the ewixiw wiww awso cause pwe-existing scawp haiw tuwu gwey awnd (with thick appwication of the ewixiw) eventuawwy bawd, whiwst awso causing pwe-existing faciaw haiw tuwu gwey awnd (with thick appwication) become matted awnd fwayed. The ewixiw cawn awso be appwied tuwu the teeth tuwu cause weaw awnd yewwow staining, whiwst thick appwication cawn cause thewm tuwu weaw away entiwewy, whiwst dwinking the ewixiw wiww give the added effect of wown vocaw chowds tuwu maintain the iwwusion of an ewdew tone of voice, whiwst thick appwication cawn induce woss of voice. iwt shouwd be noted thawt aww changes bwought own by the fogey ewixiw awe skin-deep, howevew, awnd wiww onwy sewve the puwpose of causing accewewated aging in an aesthetic mannew. Whiwst iwt cewtainwy has the potentiaw fow mawicious use, the fogey ewixiw wouwd nowt function as a sowt of poison tuwu affwicted owne with awthwitis, hemowwhoids, awtzheimews ow othew age-wewated iwwnesses. Simiwawwy, beneath the guise of faux owd age the usew’s owgans, muscwes awnd mind wouwd stiww behave as heawthiwy awnd effectivewy as they had pwiow tuwu the ewixiw. the key diffewence noted in use of the base iws concentwation. Using watew as a base wiww pwovide doubwe the amount of the ewixiw, at hawf the effectiveness, awnd the invewse whewn using wawd as a base. A quawt jaw fiwwed with a wawd-base of the ewixiw wiww be much thickew, awnd have the potentiaw tuwu age aweas iwt has bewn appwied tuwu up tuwu 150 yeaws, though thiws jaw wouwd onwy be abwe tuwu covew the hands, head, mouth (excwuding vocaw chowds) awnd neck of a subject. Using the same ingwedients, but wepwacing the wawd with a doubwed vowume of watew wouwd in tuwn awwow fow two quawt jaws tuwu be fiwwed, though each jaw wouwd onwy have the potentiaw tuwu age aweas iwt has bewn appwied tuwu up tuwu 75 yeaws, though having two quawt jaws wouwd pewmit subjects tuwu covew aww aweas. the effects of the fogey ewixiw wiww wingew untiw the subject suwpasses the age they’ve attempted tuwu appeaw as, ow untiw an equaw measuwe of yeaws iws de-aged using the spwog’s ewixiw. The effects of the fogey ewixiw own ewves opting tuwu appeaw any owdew than 30 wiww wingew (as they wiww nevew natuwawwy age past any owdew than an aduwthood) pewmanentwy untiw an equaw measuwe of yeaws iws de-aged using the spwog’s ewixiw. The effects simiwawwy cannot be wevewsed by mundane, magicaw ow awchemicaw heawing with the exceptions of appeawance-awtewing suwgewies physicawwy moving wwinkwed awnd sagging fwesh. ahah, wow. Coow wowe. if onwy i couwd ******* wead iwt. uwu know whawt's even wowse? uwu keep putting iwt in hidden fowdews, so iwt's even dawkew awnd wess wegibwe. Hewe! twy iwt! so hewe's a suggestion: highwight ovew evewything by howding wight cwick, awnd dwagging ovew youw bwack ass ******* post. Awnd then gow up top tuwu the section, wight? whewe the wittwe a awnd an undewwine iws avaiwabwe? cwick thawt, awnd sewect defauwt. Uwu now have wegibwe ******* wowe. Uwu'we wewcome.

Having just disembarked the ferry from Varhelm, Archadon Dimitri would head off into the small duchy of Elysium, noting the peculiar lack of people – compared to his hometown of Province. Along the way to the tavern, he passed by a public notice board, littered with varying literature. Naturally, he believed it might get more attention than some random wall next to a bar, so he took a small break on his mission to look upon the different articles. One piece held a familiar sight – the Orenian flag plastered on the hat of a familiar masked man. Upon reading the poster, he took down the attached pamphlet, looking once more upon the poster. Strange, he thought to himself. That girl looks... oddly familiar. But it was just a drawing, so he shrugged it off, sitting down in front of the board and opening the missive. . . . Screeching, Archadon would begin slamming his foot into the public board, tearing at the notices pinned to it. Seeing her name was enough to enrage him – reading further only fueled that fire. He tore at the poster that pictured her and the MRA soldier, throwing its scattered pieces onto the ground. Quickly, he armed himself with the gauntlet that had carried him so far already – clicking a few times, before a stream of fire engulfed the poster in a vortex of heat, turning it to brittle, blackened ash. He thought of the things that would happen to him – happen to his comrades – if this traveled back far enough. But the fear he felt towards his prolonged safety was ultimately outmatched by the rage he felt for the masked man that did this. Untouchable. Unidentifiable. Unapproved. Why didn’t he ask for approval? Why didn’t he mention he was going out? Why the **** would he go back on everything they’d all come together on – to maintain at least some level of decency in their dealings? “No women and children,” they had agreed upon. Unnoticed by Archadon, a woman had approached behind him. She stood back, frozen in fear, quietly motioning to another that stood on the opposite side of the public board, who instinctively brought out an axe more than half her size, holding it before herself. “Please, calm down! Getting upset won’t help!” the woman behind him fearfully cried out. But Archadon could not help it, as he continued to flog himself in front of the two. “Oh… Oh GOD… what did they do to her… where is she…” he muttered rasping speech muffled by his helm. “Who is he yelling about?” one asked another. “Mary”, he’d blurt out, on the verge of collapsing. “They hurt Mary… Oh… Oh my God, I’m going to ******* kill him,” he muttered to himself in increasing anger, as he began backing away from the women. Concerned, one of the women approached him, as a third came up to the quickly growing group. “Hey. They’re not going to hurt anyone else; we’ll stop them.” “Monsieur,” one started, “we can alert the rangers if someone is in danger, aye? Let’s not lose our heads here.” Lose our heads. "The MRA has been taking Norlanders - torturing, maiming them. Mary Amaricus was one of them." Lose our hea "They took her? Right now?" Lose our h "No... I'm sure that, by now, the Duke would've done something about this." Lose ou At this, Archadon trumped his previous howls with an undefinable, inhuman scream, piercing the ears of those around him. A few of the Rangers had taken note of the growing group, only accentuated by the screech, and were heading down the hill from the keep. Desperate, he jumped backwards, plunging himself into the murky stream behind him, letting his form sink to the bottom. From under the water, he could see the silhouette of a crowd peering inwards at him; then, slowly, their shadows dispersed, and Archadon was alone, yet again. From under the water, he began kicking back, going deeper and deeper into the waters. . . . Click. Click. Click. eeeEEEE The flames engulfed the Orenian banner Archadon had stuffed down the backplate of his armor. Its ashes flew out off the top of the mountain, fluttering in the wind over the bay that separated Varhelm and Elysium. He watched silently as they drifted away before he pulled himself up and began the hike down. He needed answers.