femurlord

Can I be grandfathered? Thanks

"THIS IS IT." A fiery blade manifested in the hands of Gashadokuro in light of this ephiphany. Tearing itself from its seat, the Archlich begun to whirl down, seeking to a new land. "THE TIME TO SEIZE THE POWER IS HERE."

The evil eye of Gashadokuro glares over this page, even if not personally directed to it, this missive was an issued challenge to the undead.

"True Necromancy." A disembodied voice called out from a shadowy corridor, where only flakes of red were perceived in the low light.

"I will arrive into the High-Hells scaled and horned!" Gashadokuro, the source of all problems, laughed while hovering over a great rift in reality that rippled lavishly.

What needs to be amended is tells and telegraphs made specific and their counts unable to be reduced. During concentration based spells, movement is limited to [2] blocks. But voidal magic is getting to the boiling point where nerfs will be either done correctly by the playerbase or made right by management

"Someone is upset their legacy is being ruined. But like he said, the Truth shall prevail.. Kyahahaha!" The Archlich spat from its throne of bone, conjuring forth a sword of flame.

__________________________________________________________________________________ The northern capital of Haense transformed into an eerie tableau as dark clouds and lightning replaced sunny skies. Deserted streets and distorted shadows haunted the city, with an unsettling stillness replacing its usual cheer. Parks became haunted landscapes, and the city's architecture loomed like spectral apparitions. The grand cathedral's spires pierced the sky like skeletal fingers, and the town square echoed with ghostly whispers. As the storm intensified, blood-spattered pages with cryptic messages appeared on monuments, deepening the unsettling enigma that had befallen the once-vibrant capital. What brought about this change? __________________________________________________________________________________ Northmen of Aleksander, the Sovereign, The Midlands and North ring with the whispers of the knowing man, they cry of betrayal, a lapse in judgment, a dance with the devil; It's all true. You have no need to question it, the inheritor of past Kings, Aleksander, has knelt and offered me tribute out of sheer greed. As Haense’s leader, he decried his enemies as unholy and dishonorable against their faith, but truly it is the fattest rat that squeaks the loudest. In a pact with me, the King forsook what his predecessors swore to protect after recovering it from the hellbent leader of an infernal party that once stormed your capital walls. A blade of immense, demonic power promised to be sequestered, to be kept from dark hands; instead it was conveyed to me by his most trusted men, saw to by his Wife and her chambermaids to deliver it to me, The Archlich. All for an ancient grimoire, and it is why madmen howl in the streets as they do now. And in light of this, he acts much like the rat he is, hiding among the cracks and crevices outside this world under the lie of wounds from battle. And while you hide from the truth, I roost in your nest among your vile brood. Let this be my declaration of war and heed it well, I will bring upon a great storm, one of violence and monsters. With my prize, there is no line I won’t step past, no warrior that will stop me as I mantle a crown of strength and will bring more than Dragons and Worms. I will tear it all down. Expect me soon. You WILL know my name, Gashadokuro __________________________________________________________________________________

The aforementioned Archlich tread upon soil in a light frolic. It danced around a decorated coffer, humming with malefic energy as it spake, "It's already too late."

"Tell these fools to kick clams!" An undead captain bleated, surveying the now waterlogged and faded newspaper within the depths of the Shuul capital. @Qizu

You helped me start the Legion to what it is now, giving a body to the iblees project that creates more narrative! I am nothing but thankful that I've had someone of like mindedness and drive to help me where I needed it. Life is going in the right direction for you

"He's avoiding the flack of aiding me." The Lich discerned, deep within the bowels of the earth, where rock and dirt met.

I think personally, as the FA stands, it's fine. And shouldn't gain any combat benefit due to their lesser nature and non-intensive procedure of creation, they should be flavor. Their purpose in lore was to be a welcoming sign for aspiring spook players, similar to what ghouls are now. Making them flying acrobats and microscopic eyed super soldiers in combat will have everyone trying to minmax with the feat on their unkillable, hot topic OC. (Nearly every character is eligible to get the FA.) They do not need to CRP to take the mantle greater vampires left, just do big blood magic rituals.

"They won't be our neighbors for long." The high-king of undead remarked from the summit of its throne.

"I summoned that crab," A red boned beast murmured within its crypt.

I stand with Islamadon

Hey, what about liches? :)

GHOULS, GHOULS, GHOULS

just do it *****

9. The Dump | The World of Lacking | Poverty and Trash: A plane ridden with the hallmarks of oppression albeit by invisible forces. All resources are scarce, crime and poverty abound, and garbage heaps and trash piles litter the natural landscape. An adjacent plane to Sloopidoop. In an aimless hurdle, infernal bones accustomed themselves to the slingshot across space and time. Lights danced across its baleful bones, refracting the luster of the cosmos as the Archlich’s gaze of matte fire absorbed the array of colors. The creature willed a hand forward and threatened to grasp that radiance before it was stolen away, sent hurtling into a land of stormy filth. Drip. . drop. . . An alleyway showered by a raging storm stirred, rancid and rat riddled, the whistling breeze began to whip with unnatural magics as reality peeled back in a violent churn. Flying out was a mound of scarlet bones and tattered cloth, assembling into a loose construct which resuscitated and stitched itself back together with a jingle. The Lich, Gashadokuro, in its dazed rise clung to the shadows and bundled garbage scattering its surroundings, attention wandering about the land it was brought to.. With fiery eyes, the undead turned ahead, then back to realize the passageway it occupied was bundled by garbage and scavenging peasants. The undead absorbed the world it landed in with a gaze towards a disappointing beyond. Past oppressed men, battling street cats and hungry rodents, the Archlich was enlightened to a world outside of the stone passageway; where trash heaped, flies gathered and carcasses rotted amongst caverns of refuse. Fires whirled in the shadows Gashadokuro sat within, enlightening curious creatures to its presence with a sickly green glow, capturing a man from his drugged daze. Rising from the ground, the tramp slurred out a wail as he casted a finger forward, “Devil! Devil!” Drawing out from cardboard homes other curious stares. The red boned undead turned to face those that stare upon it, some in fear and others in anger. Grasping for rusted metal rods, stones and even a rat, a squad of countrymen armed themselves and charged down the beast as it took to four-legs and began to skitter and flee. Down the alleyways they ran, the Lich laughing out as it vaulted heaped trash and clasping hands. Finding refuge in ascending a retching gutterway, rising to the rooftops above the mass of raging peasants, the Lich had celebrated, but it was too soon. The heavens opened up, tearing in a vicious screech that stopped both Gashadokuro and the louts in their tracks. Reality tore away to reveal an abomination, one of many tentacles and humming with eldritch powers that descended upon the land as a disturbance was found. This appearance only initiated one response within the undead, as it began to wave its hands as they cascaded with sparks as the creature rained down from the skies. The peasants fled as the horror made manifest landed before the infernal dead man, who conjured a portal and leapt for it. With its bone crackling and popping, it was absorbed into this rift, sent down a tunnel that ran with the patterns akin to a kaleidoscope and ejected back into a world familiar to it, the walls of Hexicanum. Narrowly had the Lich evaded the first law of the Cosmos, learning a valuable lesson as it found its lower-half obliterated in a daunting escape, shrieking; “That octopus will rue the day!”

AT THE WITCHING HOUR In the South Western Swamps, the light grew to its dimmest, inspiring the wildlife a final cry as the Witching Hour descended upon the land, inspiring a haunting transformation. The sea belched black and brackish waters grew a vibrant, neon green-blue, creating an ominous glow over the land. And as the moon became obscured by the clouds, the dead walked again in forms ethereal, and now, rotting. Congregating in droves, wayward and explorers noted these apparitions to shift through thickets of root and mud, occupying a land overripe with life betrayed only by a dis featured and demonic shrine of shrieking mouths sat in the middle of this oasis. A calloused land of opposing influences, infernal and heavenly. As the lifeless fell in prayer and worship around this temple in mindless devotion the air erupted with whispers that urged sacrifice for gain,the ground itself pulsing with a sickly heartbeat, and eyes felt upon you. To those that linger long enough, they too were regarded by the baleful breeze. What was this place?