femurlord

Along the treeline of the Druscan Archduchy, glinting and hungry eyes watch from the darkness of night, waiting for its next prey.

The crest of a wolf denotes any page advertising Open Season, pinned all across the Empire's territory. Along the outskirts of the Empire, stationed on the eastern outskirts of Veletz's ruins, a cart with various wares. Headed by a man burdened with age and wisdom, he hosts wares befitting huntsmen and the end days, offering the equipment to fight them and the creatures of the night. On the other hand, he gives rumors and wisdom on where a huntsman may go next for the thrill of the hunt. The Wandering Merchant’s catalogue is documented on papers alongside a mostly accurate map, spread throughout the realms and vassals of man, though only a few of his many items are listed, and prices are negotiated in person: Those who come upon this place are met with a warm welcome by a retired huntsman, a warmth that betrays the ruined and overgrown surroundings, a sky caught in thunderous dark clouds, and titanic chains spiralling towards the sky serving as the backdrop. (if you find the sign /msg Barbarus in-game or barbarus2k on Discord to schedule an interaction!) An addendum to the Open Season Wares' catalogue spreads across the Empire's territory, accompanying the first advertisement.

Along the outskirts of Alba’s walls, the sun rests over the past before the Empire. Ruins cook in the sun, and the lush overgrowth spills over, creating a foundation for trees to stand tall. But the wilds’ vibrancy and cherished presence were bitter, and the rubble-filled buildings felt strange to adventure through. Hairs stand on end as you feel eyes upon you from unseen places.. Everything was wrong, and most importantly, it was silent. Flies linger in the air, and decay is on the wind, as trees are found hosting faceless dead through their branches. They blister and bake in the sun, their flayed and tattered skin becoming leather from the heat. Their wounds were primitive, from something significant and wolfish. Their last moments were unspeakable, and in the witching hours of the night, their voices echo out again for help. Something has come, stalking the reaches of the Empire, leaving hangmen suspended in their forests, a primal reminder of its presence.

Thanks @xo31I'm unkillable now

This is a prophetic vision accessible to seers, naztherak, farseer shamans, vivification, clairvoyants, and mystics with hexing per Prophecy lore. Those branded by Gashadokuro felt their magicless sigils come to life again, as if Vutcimuz still haunted the world. While hatred glows from branded flesh they're visited by these prophetic visions. The moment your head hit the pillow, the burdens of the day clung to you—Braevos under siege, the dead marching from the shadow of the Mountain. Rain lashed the windows, and thunder rolled like a war drum. Sleep, though an enemy’s gain, retook you as it had the night before. But the void behind your eyelids betrayed you. A force yanked you from slumber, eyes flung open to a sky where stars had been choked by storm. You hovered weightless above a continent in ruin. Iron chains—massive, living things—spread across the land like veins of conquest, choking kingdoms one by one. Only a single place remained untouched: a dead plain beneath a grave-silent sky. “Bells toll backward, fools march straight, The Jackal Knights unlock the gate.” Your vision raced toward a charred no-man’s-land, where the trees stood scorched and lifeless. The air was thick with decay. No tombstones—only swords driven into the earth. The silence here wasn’t sacred. It was afraid. “Deadmen dig with devil’s pride, And laughter stirs the thing that died.” Shadows stirred. Imps giggled. Deadmen whispered. You spun, searching, but only a severed hand—bathed in crimson light—revealed itself, skittering like a crab into the cracked earth. Compelled beyond reason, you followed into the depths. Darkness closed in. The dead laughed, unseen creatures growled. Something led you deeper, wanting you to see. Eventually, flickers of candlelight revealed massive vault doors carved in stone and gold, ancient and unbreached—until now. “The vault is not a tomb, but claim— And all shall kneel who know his name.” Inside, worshipers gathered—hooded, horned, chanting. They bowed before a red claw dragging itself from the shadows, its veins oozing black magic that made the very stone pulse. The air trembled. The vault split open. Fire spilled from the dark, not treasure. Then came the horde—armored monstrosities waving banners of a Laughing Oni. They did not attack. They fled. “For he walks again, torn from Hell’s flame.” The earth convulsed. The ceiling cracked. And from the gate crawled something massive—bloated, scorched, screaming. A demonic serpent, horned and blistered, slid from the rupture with agonizing slowness. Green and black fire poured from its mouths. Its birth crushed the vault, and you were swallowed with it. Inside its searing, hollow body, you drifted—until a silhouette emerged from the burning dark. Horned. Grinning. Cloaked in red light. It looked straight at you. Then came laughter—yours, his, the world’s. It jolted you awake, your body soaked in sweat. Your room looked the same… but everything felt wrong. Something had changed. And something worse was coming.

https://gyazo.com/8fbe2475b739aaa95a5dd626e0c2bb36 Its only ever mentioned to be at will and as well, the process to transform remains unchanged, requiring criteria to be met. This only affects the mental side of a lycan and outside of the other two ritual, one of which can be used to deny the curse, allows for this one to give more. The original lycan lore fights against itself, without much direction or depth, due to how it was written (to get accepted).

Purpose: TOTEMS PACKS CRAFTING In the times Morea favored the lycanthrope, they populated and protected his everglades in the cradle of the Mani, the Fae Realm. They initially wielded their powers for their intended purpose, fighting back intruders from Morea's domain and maintaining its peace. But given time to witness and use their abilities, the primordial werewolves grew disillusioned with their place and purpose; why should they heel to any master as their powers grow? Inspired by a growing hunger for power, these beasts longed to hone and covet their power expeditiously, forsaking their duties as they used imbued monuments to accomplish this. Ultimately, they were foiled and outcasted by the Wolf Mani. With this, their structures become a lost history, now unknowingly unearthed by the run-of-the-mill lycans of today in acts of delirium or desperation. To create a totem, [3] lycans assemble in their untransformed state over the rotten corpse of a prior hunt, where they arrange and craft their effigy. Twisting their trophy into a gory pillar before the Lycans in question will each bleed themselves upon it, sanctifying their bond and establishing a totem throughout [3] emotes. With their totem crafted, it emanates a presence palpable to all lycans, bound or not, and even capable of conducting thaumaturgy. The totem itself offers several benefits, allowing other lycans to coordinate with each other in their transformed states and differentiate between friends, both transformed and untransformed. Alongside this, these bound lycans inherit innate knowledge as long as the totem exists, capable of performing rituals in its proximity. Also, being bound to the totem grants clarity in its immediate proximity, while unbound lycans feel uneasy yet oddly drawn to the monument. REDLINES: THAUMATURGY RITES OF THE PACK Werewolves bound to totems inherently gain a host of new potential, for which they may use both inside and outside the hunt amongst each other. The lycans unknowingly retread the original sin, reaching for avenues initially lost by Morea's wrath. Into the occult and their totems, Lycans dabble, utilizing this domain they've created to enhance or suppress their powers. REDLINES: THE WILD SACRIFICE To soothe old, aching wounds or save their most critically injured, [2] lycans gather around a totem, bringing forward a critically wounded lycan. The aiding lycan shall bring forward living cattle, bleeding it over the wounded, alluring them to devour the sacrifice as they reach a frenzied state, though unable to transform as the domain chokes it briefly. This process takes a course of [3] emotes, where the wounded devours this offering in the end. After completion, both old and new wounds would begin to heal fully, as they recover over [1] OOC weeks, becoming feeble and unable to fight; otherwise, the ritual cancels and their wounds remain the same. REDLINES: DANCE OF THE SKIN-EATER The pack calls upon their curse within the clarity of their totem, to embolden their nature through ritual sacrifice, an occasion of celebration and bestial indulgence. At minimum [2] lycans dance in pelts around their totem, singing and blaring instruments as a living sacrifice bound to the totem is bled excessively to the point of resulting in the lycans' transformation. The lycans fuse to their pelts, where they will feed upon their bound prey throughout [4] emotes. This process exacerbates their curse; lycans outside their transformation are perpetually driven to a state of starvation, appearing famished and maddened as their appetite grows. To transform is euphoric, as pain is muted during their transformations, and they surrender to the beast’s whim, being bestowed a modicum of tactics to be expressed by the affected lycans in their transformed states. The transformation limits of a lycan are increased to [7] as this effect persists for [1] OOC week. REDLINES: COMMUNION OF THE PACK To detest their curse is latent in the lycanthrope. To suppress this cursed urge, lycans gather their pack to give in to their temptations and feast, sharing a kill with kin within the sanctuary of their totem to muzzle the beast within them. The totem soothes them with its latent magic, which stays with them for an entire year after they give their dues. At minimum [3] lycans gather over a fresh kill in front of a totem, bringing a corpse as large as a human descendant, where they feast together to stave their hunger before adding it to their totem throughout [4] emotes for [1] OOC week. Thus, preventing any transformation, even if their criteria are met. REDLINES: CREDITS Writing: me, myself, and I Concept and feedback: benleft Conceptualizing: holyland, barbarus Idea for post title: Hugo_Antero

Sunken in mud and blood, twisted beneath the roots of the marshland, Daisuke appeared disheveled after his grisly detransformation—beaten, as in many hunts before. But this time was different. His eyes were gouged, his face singed by fire; the pain reached into the pit of his soul. Agonizing in a pool of blood—his own and others’—he tried to reconcile with his loss, his pain, before rising with a roar. The darkness he now saw was all-consuming. The void left by his stolen sight became muddied with his unnatural senses. Lost in blindness, Daisuke felt the muggy air wrap around him: the mix of salt and freshwater stinging his skin. He smelled nature at war with itself—and at odds with him. Even crippled, life fled; it detested him. The swamps watched the cursed man writhe and struggle at their banks. Frogs and birds fell into silence. Larger prey buried themselves in ruts of mud. Everything scattered, wary of the danger he radiated—even blind. Amid his pained whines, fresh from his transformation, Daisuke’s sightless world became a maddening blur as his other senses surged to compensate. The air tasted of copper and mildew. Each breath dragged in rot and salt—muddy decay threaded with metallic hints of the distant sea. Despite the fleeing wildlife, the flies did not abandon him. Like a lazy constellation, they swirled around the rot he brought. Each beat of their wings buzzed like static in his skull. Slowly, the darkness behind his eyes shifted. In his cries, it swirled and took shape. In his absent wails, monsters formed—blurred by grief, by failure, by the blood that stained him head to toe and chummed the swamp waters. With that brine came his oldest fear: the fear of hunters. The fear of becoming prey. He called out to the Daemons. He called out to the Betrayer. He called out to God. And he called out to worse. Was his cause not just? Was it not enough to be spared? Wolvish silhouettes gathered in the black just ahead. Scrambling up the muddy bank, mud clung to his hands as he floundered, his wounds aching and bleeding. Tired and ragged, beaten and worn, the scents around him—real or imagined—grew overwhelming. Panic swelled. Before he could process the confusion, it struck. Pain tore through him. His flesh was rent. Bones shattered. Bestial groans and ragged huffs filled the air around him. In his suffering, he felt many—fewer than a dozen—but their presence flooded his senses: a collage of emotions, thoughts, agony. Then, nothing. Daisuke was gone in an instant. A former hunter claimed by the laws of nature. And yet, in what should have been misfortune, something answered his prayer. Death did not greet him with the promised nothingness. Instead, his reality twisted, fixed upon the scene of his end. In the shallows of the bog, five faceless abominations gnawed at guts and shards of bone, scavenging what was left of their kill. These five horrors—outcasts—left only a bloody mush. Then from the deeper swamp, a lanky wretch emerged, and with a wave of his hand, lulled the monsters to heel. He walked like a man, but bore the shape of something else. Necklaces of ears, belts of knucklebones, pouches of herbs and tinctures adorned his bare form. A trophy-gatherer. A sage. Eyeless, his face hidden behind a mosaic of hollowed, broken skulls. The sage posed himself above what remained of Daisuke. From this fixed vantage, Daisuke—still a hostage to this vision—watched the moment draw to a close. The sage beckoned. With a guttural rumble and a splash of snake oil and burned sage-bush, a command were spoke: “Barog.” Pain birthed Daisuke once more. From the bloody puddle that was once his body, a newly formed hand emerged. Then a gasping head. As if a damned soul rising from the depths, he dragged himself from this grotesque rebirth and before taloned feet. Strangely, the blind Daisuke could see again, to witness his company and bloody baptism. He stared at his bare, blood-stained flesh, frantic, before lifting his gaze to the towering figure looming over him and the five hellhounds at his flanks. With a guttural chortle, the being spoke in a primal tongue, its voice echoing through the hollow of a wolf’s skull it wore: “Dol sin, agash geish. Eiresh geish. Ol’vagr.” Though Daisuke did not understand the words, he knew their meaning. As the being pressed blood to his forehead, scrawling an illegible, cursed rune, Daisuke felt his purpose change. Shadowed by beasts and cloaked in dread, the prophet-like figure gave one final command—a single word that consumed Daisuke’s vision in black: “Dehr.” He awoke with a jolt, hands slick with brackish water and mud as they gripped and pushed his body upward. The memory clung to him—the agony, this vision—as his frantic hands patted his body in disbelief. The man and beasts were gone. Only the empty wilds remained. Calm surrounded Daisuke. Yet an urge gripped him. As if guided by some cursed intuition, he pulled at the scraps that clothed him, tearing a strip from his leggings and wrapping it tightly around his head. Covered though his eyes were, the black began to fill with light.

"Wasted meat," Daisuke laments from his nightly containment, hearing word through the talk of Tatsu Clan as they overlook him.

@Tentoa

Im open to suggestions on how to facilitate that through mechanics

Purpose: ADDITIONS: PHYSICALITY & MECHANICS WEREWOLF FORM MIMICRY: They hold a reserved cunning and desire to lure their prey able to eerily mimic the sounds of men or beasts given they observe and listen uninterrupted for [3] emotes. A copied voice can be used after being studied within [1] emote and can mimic anything from crying children, men or women, and animals only being able to use calls of distress and the simplest of phrases. REDLINES: ♛ Mimicked voices will be produced as a distorted mockery, eerie and uncanny and unable to sound like anyone specific. ♛ Mimicry cannot be used to hold any sort of coherent conversation. It may only mimic calls of distress or the simplest of phrases, even names, e.g. “Help Me! - “Come here..” - “Where are you?” HOWLING: With [3] emotes of preparation, a Lycanthrope can emit an ear piercing howl that disorients anything caught in a #q range. Those effected find their movement is reduced by [-2] blocks and the accuracy of projectiles and martial prowess disrupted for [2] emotes. Though if another lycanthrope joins the initiated howl, the radius of effect may expand, reaching #rp and at maximum #s ranges per lycan helping. In the case of de-transformed lycans, any that hear this wretched cry find themselves in distress and prone to transform. REDLINES: ♛ The radius of a howl may increase depending on the number of lycans from its standard #q range. With a total of two lycans howling within [1] emote of eachother, the maximum range of howl becomes #rp distance. With a total of three lycans howling within [1] emote of eachother the maximum range becomes #s distance. For this effect to occur, lycans must synchronize the activation of this ability within a [1] emote grace period. ♛ The total duration of this stun effect may only ever reach [1] emote, the ability to act returning to them in the following emote. ♛ Those effected by a howl will find the ability to move a struggle, as their equilibrium is ruined and movement redcued by [-2] blocks. Alongside this, the accuracy of aiming projectiles and martial swordsmen ♛ Howling cannot permanently alter nor damage the hearing of its targets, its effect starting and ending after the stun duration. ♛ The disorienting effect may be mitigated through protecting one’s ears; one can cover their ears prior to the howl. ♛ While Howling is charging, a Lycan may not move without disrupting the ability, however they are able to defend themselves (such as raising an arm to guard themselves, dampening the attack, but not entirely blocking it or avoiding it). ♛ If an de-transformed lycan hears the howl of another lycan, this will send them into a fight-or-flight state and triggering their transformation. This may be mitigated by covering their ears prior to the howl. BEAST'S PRESENCE: Given their predatory affinity, lycans passively create an instinctive unease detectable by prey animals. Due to their nature however, a lycan's presence may be used to identify other lycans, both parties sniffing each other and allowing them to identify eachother both transformed and de-transformed. In most cases, these meetings are accidental and inversely, a lycan may reject this exchange between parties. This follows a normal #rp range. REDLINES: ♛ Beast's Presence passively affects NPC animals within a #rp range, leading them to grow hostile or cower and flee when faced by a Lycan. This will however not effect a horse, so long as it is actively being rode by a player, although the animal's distress will be evident. This unsettling presence does not affect descendants nor half-descendants, who are completely oblivious to the predator nearby. ♛ Beast's Presence can only be used to identify two lycans after both sides express OOC permission and is initiated through a transformed lycan emoting the aura that surrounds them. MENTALITY A Derelict Man PACK MENTALITY: While aggravated by the mental ailments of their curse, lycans feel a latent kinship to their fellow cursed, finding solace and confidence in their company. While by no means forced to organise under any one group or creed, nor obliged to conform to equality, all cursed with lycanthropy may find a primal kithship in their own kind as they share the anguishes of their nature, whether it be as an ally or threat. This even extends to their cursed state, where they might find ground to join forces to increase the efficiency of their hunt, whether it be voluntary or involuntary.

Purpose: Silver Bullet | Mary Shelley's Frankenhole | Adult Swim Lycanthropy has been here for a time and has been a rather quiet addition to the server, alongside not much activity of note. I believe this to be a consequence of their limitations, which for a curse makes sense, but can become discouraging and even crippling for organic and continued roleplay. I intend to solve that problem over time. This second attempt ive decided to take the liberty of proposing a small tweak and addition in reference of werewolf folklore. ADDITION REVIVAL Upon being slain the lycanthrope’s remains function differently compared to the average descendant, their body suspended in death while it regenerates, reconstituting themselves over the course of [7] OOC days, mending all wounds. Though, this process can be halted. A lycanthrope may be Soft-PKed via surrendering [6] Lunarite ingots, forged from anything between stakes, chains to a greatsword. These either restraining or impaling the corpse at its time of death, nullifying their regeneration. The bound Lycan would appear as a withered husk in their perpetually starlit prison, stuck in-between life and death as their return is prolonged. REDLINES: ♛ If the remains are destroyed, buried, or otherwise trapped, the lycan may choose (OOCly) to wake up from death in the woods instead of in their corpse. ♛ A lycanthrope’s revival cannot subvert suicide or hard PKs. ♛ Given their regenerative abilities, a lycanthrope would be able to live past the normal lifespans, effectively immortal. Though their physical appearance and strength will degrade as any other descendant; i.e. if a Human Lycanthrope is 120 years of age, they will appear so. ♛ As a general rule of thumb, this is something that should be discovered in roleplay without metagaming. For example, if someone knows they have slain a lycanthrope and they experiment in order to do this, it is fine. Eventually, this might become general knowledge. ♛ The location of the lycan’s PKed corpse must be represented by some build up to 3x3 and an accompanying ST sign. ♛ Any lunarite sacrificed to soft-PK the lycan must be placed inside a chest incorporated into the aforementioned build, unable to be taken without the lycan coming back to life. ♛ The lycan must still be alive in-order to be Soft-PKed, the resulting impalement or restrainment of Lunarite before its final breath. Otherwise they will respawn as normal and cannot be moved, threatening to dislodge the Lunarite embedded in the Lycan. ♛ If the lunarite is removed from the lycan after 7 OOC days has passed from the point of death, the lycan can immediately take control of their character when it is removed. The corpse will regrow all damage in this process, if the corpse is desecrated while soft-PK’d the lycan may choose (OOCly) to wake up from death in the woods instead of in their corpse. AMENDMENT HEIGHTENED REGENERATION: OLD: Over the course of [1] OOC day, any small wounds, scratches, and cuts will be healed, but this will leave visible scars in the place of injury. As long as a medium wound has been properly treated, it will be healed over the course of [3] OOC days, and this will also leave a visible scar in place of injury. Heightened regeneration does not allow the ability to heal loss of limb. > Small wounds: Cuts, scratches, nips, scabs, slash injuries that do not penetrate muscle. > Medium wounds: Deep cuts, deep slash injuries that penetrate muscles, and stab injuries where an organ has been punctured (if they have not died for some reason from bleeding out). REDLINES: ♛ In their descendant form, a werewolf will always be at their peak physique, and do not need to exercise in order to maintain this. However, they still require to have a good diet and to eat regularly or else they can still become skinny and frail. ♛ Their physique remains the same and follows all redlines if they have a sorcery / approved magic application, such as voidal magic. This curse does not supersede this. ♛ In their descendant form, a werewolf will have heightened regeneration. As clarified, all small wounds heal over a period of [1] OOC day, and all medium wounds heal over [3] OOC day. It should be noted that if someone has had a punctured organ, it is still likely that they may die from blood loss or organ failure, but if they are somehow treated before this to not do so, the injury will heal. If an organ has been completely damaged without repair, it cannot be healed. On top of this, they cannot use their heightened regeneration to repair eyesight. This is only outside of combat, and heightened regeneration cannot be used in combat. ♛ They cannot regenerate loss of limbs. This can be accomplished through other means, such as alchemy or magic that allows regrowth of limbs. ♛ Heightened senses only allows for the lycan to have a sort of sixth sense, being able to sense that someone is behind them. However, this does not mean they will know if the person behind them is attacking them, or what attack they are doing, just simply that someone is behind them. Of course, this does not apply if the person is hiding behind something [a tree, a wall, a door]. The range of this is #rp range. ♛ Hair growth is just an aesthetic flare. A female descendant does not need to grow facial hair or bodily hair, but could have longer hair on their scalp as an example. NEW: HYPER-REGENERATION: Over the course of [1] OOC day, any small wounds, scratches, and cuts will be healed, but this will leave visible scars in the place of injury. As long as a medium wound has been properly treated, it will be healed over the course of [2] OOC days, and this will also leave a visible scar in place of injury. As long as a major wound has been thoroughly treated, it will be healed over the course of [3] OOC days, leaving large tumorous scars in place of their injuries. On the other hand, wounds made by Lunarite, no matter their severity, will take [1] OOC week to heal fully. > Small wounds: Cuts, scratches, nips, scabs, slash injuries that do not penetrate muscle. > Medium wounds: Deep cuts, deep slash injuries that penetrate muscles, and stab injuries where an organ has been punctured (if they have not died for some reason from bleeding out). > Major wounds: Dismemberment, impalement, and injuries that mutilate muscles or organs (If they have somehow not been slain or died from blood loss). REDLINES: ♛ In their descendant form, a werewolf will always be at their peak physique, and do not need to exercise in order to maintain this. However, they still require to have a good diet and to eat regularly or else they can still become skinny and frail. ♛ Their physique remains the same and follows all redlines if they have a sorcery / approved magic application, such as voidal magic. This curse does not supersede this. ♛ In their descendant form, a werewolf will have heightened regeneration. As clarified, all small wounds heal over a period of [1] OOC day, all medium wounds heal over [2] OOC days and all major wounds heal over [3] OOC days. On the other hand, wounds dealt by Lunarite, no matter their severity, take [1] OOC week to heal. It should be noted that if someone has had a punctured organ, it is still likely that they may die from blood loss or organ failure, but if they are somehow treated before this to not do so, the injury will heal. If an organ has been completely damaged without repair, it cannot be healed. This is only outside of combat, and heightened regeneration cannot be used in combat. ♛ They cannot regenerate loss of limbs. This can be accomplished through other means, such as alchemy or magic that allows regrowth of limbs. Able to regenerate themselves, lycans’ wounds cannot be treated via alchemy nor magic, any attempt proving ineffective. ♛ Heightened senses only allows for the lycan to have a sort of sixth sense, being able to sense that someone is behind them. However, this does not mean they will know if the person behind them is attacking them, or what attack they are doing, just simply that someone is behind them. Of course, this does not apply if the person is hiding behind something [a tree, a wall, a door]. The range of this is #rp range. ♛ Hair growth is just an aesthetic flare. A female descendant does not need to grow facial hair or bodily hair, but could have longer hair on their scalp as an example. ♛ In order for their regeneration to activate,

nice predator larp

Caves cool till abused

No

In the North a refuge of the faith, an island of a mirrored tree that sat in a void lie in cinders. The House of Life, Raguel’s gift to the homeless and faithful, sits in ruins and harbors a darker force, one which spoke through the very stones of that place. A seething declaration of little explanation which spread through whispering shadows cast all across Aevos. “Raguel @Werew0lf, I have replaced Life in your house with Death. I have and will continue to scatter the mangled remains of you faithful on these stones as long as you do not answer my demands for challenge. For now I have left you four, three noble knights who tried to kill me and a priest who attempted his exorcisms. Their number will only grow the longer I am unanswered. I will only quit if you return to your House of Life personally and face me in ritual combat. Kajut sna'Grael-Durngo, Kvothe.”

With so many posted parchments, how could Arthur pen a reliable response to reach the dead? Pissing in the wind, Arthur finds his response to meet nothing.

A black wax seal stands as the gloom and doom of a dishonored theology, a black sun dots a parchment that spreads across the realm of Braevos without prejudice by a mysterious source, as if propagated by a phantasmal host. To the dog, Arthur Burke @xo31, You’ve been bestowed an honor and title you are unworthy of by the equally incompetent Lumbridge. You’ve existed as Herald for decades, as deathbringer and gloom, cultivating an ambition and skillset of mediocrity. There is no greater dishonor than that which you’ve placed on the seat known as the Herald of Umbrage, we will change this in an exchange of blades and magic. I give you two days. Find me in the ruins of Veletz or forfeit. Kajut sna'Grael-Durngo, Kvothe.

A mad wight of fluorescent green spins a Carbarum Crown on a phantasmal finger. The creature contemplated the item, its luster had caught it from the moment Iori was crowned, "WELL, WELL, WELL.."

tsk tsk

I never had to pleasure of knowing Pebble's personally, but I empathize and see her kindness is evident. God rest her soul, she is in His arms now and in peace.

Nice Paladin addition, scalies

Abortion Clinics coming to Haense near you