Periphonics

The mighty kha lets a low rumble of a laugh escape his lips, amused by such a proclamation. "it is of too bads they'd not known Eittitica planned to be removing the shrine anyways... Less work for Kabuki, he thinks. Foolish, non thinkers. Know not that khas devotion to the fallen Muuna wavers not even when gone." And thus, begins the construction of the greater shrine of Metztli An evil little imp catches wind of these occurrences, and begins to jump around with excitement. "Ra’drakurz raht roknoth kuul ra’vaznan amol tul. KILL THE WEAK. DEATH!!! THEY ALL DIE!"

im so glad you think so!! :D

The great druid of Crows and Ravens and Rooks bows his head solemnly. He hasn't seen his son in decades, the last remnants of his past life had been in his granddaughter. Waves of regret wash over him, how much time could he have spent with her? How could he have wasted her precious and fleeting life like this, how could he have dared to not play a bigger role? His own granddaughter! Fal'leon slumps against the back of his dining room chair, alone in his seed hall, forefinger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose. The life he had abandoned continues to wither and die without his presence, and despite his confidence in his choices, he laments not taking more with him. An era was ending swiftly, only one of the lineage of his time as Minister remained standing. Silently, he swears to himself to play a bigger roll in the last one standings' life. First, however, he sits before the totem of Kholibrii, the mani of Melody's lineage, and places Calla Lily before her visage. "Kholibrii, adont’ahern Melody aher perith'leh. Ito talonnii narne, ame nae evareh..." He hesitates, drawing in a breath before folding the news of her death and setting it among the million other letters he's received as of late. "Llun ito kae'leh, Lenniel... kae'leh div'ito..."

The Triumph of Mahau-Ra The Messenger of Light Written by: The Ka'Tau Scripter of Time ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── Mahau-Ra is a figure in Ka’tau culture widely renowned for being the exemplification of what the ideal citizen should be, after his great sacrifices and devotion to Ra’Tuhmet. Mahau-Ra came to the world during the early Rah’mun period as the first mortal messenger of the Sun, during the time of Neseret. In the beginning, he was regarded simply as another priest of Netjer, one amongst the many who spoke the word of the Gods and boasted Heka from them. He, however, was anything but ordinary. Rather, Mahau-Ra bore a distinct decorum and etiquette unparalleled to others. He walked and talked with purpose in every action, his duty as an alleged messenger etched into him like a brand. That was how he introduced himself; The Messenger. Despite this, none had ever been prompted to inquire just what his message was. That was, until the Pharaoh inquired Mahau-Ra. He claimed himself to be the Messenger of Ra’Tuhmet, the Sun, baring his gospel and knowledge deeper than any before him. The response to such claims was that of deep scrutiny, and he was vehemently chastised by the Pharaoh. “Your disrespect to the Creator of Light will not go unpunished, your Khnum is impure.” What followed was one of the most brutal whippings the Rah’mun people have recorded, and yet the man of Sun endured each strike with gritted teeth and a stoic expression. When asked, as blood stained his garbs and soaked to the floor, why he circumvented refusal, Mahau-Ra said that if he had disrespected his King he would accost the punishment to prove his truth. The years that ensued were hardly more bearable, Mahau-Ra became the unfavourable of the Rah’Mun, and yet with each day that passed he continued to aid his people. In droughts, he came bucket by bucket with water from the rivers; with famine he offered his bread to those who hungered; and when war came he drew his ragged blade to defend his beloved home. War. The unforgiving. The act of brutality descendants seem to never stray from, the very opposition to Life. Mahau-Ra fought with valiance, though was unrecognized as a true Machimoi of Rah’Tuma by his contemptuous brethren. When asked, “why do you risk your life for people who disown you as theirs?” he replied, “They are my blood, the people of Ra’Tuhmet are sacred.” The war waged for three full years, and each battle saw the accursed Mahau-Ra spilling blood in the name of the Sun, and his people. He slipped into battles after they began, and used the flurry of steel to mask his presence. His aid was paramount, and had been unrecognized entirely throughout the endless combat. That was, until the final battle. ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── The battle was viscous, each side- Rah’Mun and Isfetian alike- beheld the desperation of soldiers who had not known peace nor rest in years. Days passed, and yet neither side would yield, nor would they bare advantage substantial enough to insinuate a claim to victory would draw near. Mahau-Ra observed from a distance, atop a steed held dear to him. The Sun idled over the horizon, spilling crimson rays over sand dunes as though soaking each grain in blood. A dire omen for the proceedings. While he stood in his place, the golden skinned man draped in white fabrics took this single moment to reflect upon his life until this point. For an instant, he bore the question; Why? Why any of this? All the moments that lead to this had been ones of suffering. And yet, he yielded not only the answer to his own inquiry, but to the survival of his People. None had ever permitted Mahau-Ra to finish his message, it had become the secret he kept held to his chest tighter than he did the very heart that beat his life force. A wind drew forth and upturned the sands of time, frigid while the rays of Sun still yet withheld from extending to reach the Messenger. Despite this, naught as much as shiver passed through Mahau-Ra, for he bore the warmth of Light in a way none had ever held prior. Had only he been allowed to fully explain himself, he could have elucidated how he could possibly bear the true word of Ra’Tuhmet. He was, for all intents and purposes, ordinary. No stronger, nor greater than any Netjer before him. His word yielded no further divinity than this brethren, for he spoke with the identical directness as them. Despite this fact, he had a message from Ra’Tuhmet given to him in a walk to the Sun, a simple message that was as dear to him as water is to life. Mahau-Ra rode across the sandy wastes towards the Isfetian hordes, in stoic silence he passed the gruesome scene of gore and guts, of steel hissing as blades met. His destination was unprecedented, and unwavering. The white-clad man, using the distraction of onslaught made possible by the forgiving cold of the night, who threatened to give way any moment, came to a halt. He faced now the back of the Isfet army, invisible through ignorance of his enemy. “Ra'tumet, ak'aan shara adurbûrz.” Ra’Tuhmet, suncut man of light, “Thrakord kaal durbûrzlab danghum, agh tûrnûl matum.'' Bring forth your lights punishment, and inflict death. Many recount the blazing glory equal only to that of the very Sun that hangs in our sky that erupted as his words were uttered in the guttural sacred tongue. The beam that then shot down from the behemoth ball of light struck into the heart of the Isfetians, imbued with Ra’Tuhmets will, became the deciding factor in the long standing war. Those touched by the rays, veterans claimed, had fallen to their knees screaming as the true Sun finally poured over the horizon and painted the landscape in gold. Those left untouched spent but a fraction of a moment glancing towards the glaring light, and left themselves exposed long enough by hair to be struck down by Rah’Mun blades. The light faded, the battlefield coated in corpses, the Sun hung benevolently in the sky. Years of combat had come to a close, and the victors owed their success to a single man. ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── The dedication displayed by Mahau-Ra was recognized on that day, the pharaoh who had seen him slandered awarded him the title of Rah’hemtepi Netjer, High Priest of Ra’Tuhmet. Since his time, he has come to be known as the ideal Rah’mun, his resolve that of the utmost perfection. All of his time would come to strive to emulate Mahau-Ra, and thus his name has come to withstand the tests of time.

based

Fal'leon Maehr'uhier lets out a curious hum, and makes a mental note to meet up with a particular niece of his.... "wha' 'as Floria been doin'..."

Yhl'Kabuki, the great Tigrasi Aelkos of the Sanctuary of Eittitica, their leader of SOUL, could have never prepared himself for the sorrow that came with the loss of his first friend. Kabuki was not born to a family of people to look up to, his patta had not been a man of wisdom, but rather one of physical demand. While this had meant the young Tigrasi was born and raised to be an apt combatant, it was never what he felt in his heart was the path for him. When the first Pyramid of Eittitca was erected in his home city, the wise Keidha stood to be all of the things Kabuki wished to see himself become. A leader who guided and shared the culture of Kha. For a whitewashed kharajyr such as himself, it was incredible to see someone of what his culture could be. Alongside his patta as general, Kabuki came to become a Tlapana, a warrior, of the former Eittitica pyramid. There he would begin to learn both his kinds language and ways through Keidha's events. Fondly, he recalls the time himself and Keidha stood at the highest point of the pyramid and spoke of Metztli, where he first learned of her importance to their kind. He met new kha's, including his second ever friend, Yaotl, and from there he knew this was the way he wanted to live. Kabuki knew that he dreamed to see a pyramid in which his kind could come together safely and share their culture together, to give home to the scattered kha across the continent. It was during the attack of the Mori, and Yaotl's allyship with the Mali'Ker, did Kabuki strike up a way to see all of their dreams come together. Eittitca, meaning Trio, was always meant to have three leaders, Keidha had told him. Together, the three Kha, Leaparda, Pantera, and Tigrasi, would ally themselves as MIND, BODY, AND SOUL. When their paws touched the new continent of Aevos, they began construction of their new pyramid. They held events together, and grew their community. Keidha was Kabuki's first friend, and first mentor. He took the place of a patta when his own failed to do so. It was their meeting that has ever been the most meaningful to the massive kha. The two would never hold the same bond that Keidha and Azhanna did, he didn't care regardless. Perhaps the elder kha never even knew the place he held within Kabuki's heart, that thought alone was enough to bring him to tears. His own patta abandoned him twice, and openly loved his younger sister moreso. His own father taught him only how to fight, and to be strong. It was Keidha who taught him to lead, to become a person others could look up to themselves. In their final moments together, Kabuki was incapable of finding words for himself. He knew when he had been summoned what was to come, he knew the reason that his fellow Aelkos had been seldom leaving their shared tower. But he simply couldn't bring himself to admit it. Keidha could, Keidha was strong enough to speak the truth that these would be his last moments. "This one has been of such pride to be getting to be of seeing Yhl'Keidha's dreams be coming true. Keidha... Was this ones first perta. This one would stand not where he does without you, without all you have been done. This one... Wishes Keidha could be seeing all that khas will come to being. This one wishes we could have been having more times together. To have known each other with more, to have shared but... Just one more drink, one more ceremony." When the elder kha's final breath was drawn, and his serene song finished, Kabuki could do nothing more than break down to tears. Nearly a century had passed with the two knowing one another, a century of viewing the leaparda as a mentor and ally. Nearly a century, and it had drawn to a close. Regret swept him, of all the words he hadn't gotten the chance to say, all the glory they had not seen together. The tigrasi wept, the kha known for his stoicism and might, broke to tears as sorrow and grief overcame him. He swore to continue to see Keidha's dream come to fruition. His paw came to rest on his Aelkos' forearm, despite the protestant hissing of Azh, and he whispered for just himself and Keidha to hear: "machtia, pehua. Achcauhtuan, pertuan, ma xipatinemi huecauhtica. Mocehuia ica Muuna Metztli. Mocehuia, auh axiltia ti aocmo huecauh. Mul'ta ti chihua ye, pattuan. Yhl'Keidha.] [To teach, to triumph. My leader, my friend, farewell for only a while. Rest with our mother Metztli. Rest, and we will join you soon. Thank you for all you've done, my father. Yhl'Keidha.]

very cool and slay masterdoc on these things! it'll be nice not having to have multiple open

Neat post cool club to be in 💪💪💪

The victor of the combat scenario allows the losing party to either soulstone or /d20. Using either prematurely or in bad-faith can result in a perma-kill the losing party’s characters. the aspect of the premature/mad faith pking the losing party has be confused? perhaps its the wording, but it sounds as though if the victor using the ss/d20 in bad faith the loser may in up with a PK, which sounds unfair? do correct me if i'm reading this wrong, however it raises concern to me that the victors could hold this power based off of written rule

"Tried, an' failed" A melancholy grin crossed the druids lips, shaking his head. "Wha' an understa'men'. Leas' 'e remembered tae mention me." Fal'leon sits back, run down from the losses that had been coming one after the other as of late. "Me firs' real love, ye were. Our time t'gether will remain remembered with bi''erswee'ness. I spen' decades prayin' ye would die, decades more tryin' tae ferge' I even loved ye." He lets out a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose, wrought with feelings impossible to decipher. Loathing, regret, longing, sadness. "Van'ayla, ame nae evareh. Kae mayilu nae ker'ante."

Fal'leon was left with his thoughts, with this pile of bound books, and not even a moment to thank the woman who had gifted them to him. Every time one of his human friends fell, he was reminded that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't escape the ache that came with the loss of those he cared for dearly. He flips through the pages of the Lesson's he had been given, the news of Nisreen's passing a weight on his chest. One that not even the three bottles of whiskey by his side could cause to subside. Tears well in his eyes as he mutters his thoughts to the silent room of his Seed Hall. "Ker'ayla, llir. Ye've fough' fer so long, ye've led such a wonderful life. I know ye said nae tae, bu' I shall miss ye eternally, an' shall ne'er ferge' ye. Yer books will 'elp guide those who come tae tha seed, I 'ope they can keep yer legacy alive. Goodnest, rest well alongside tha Xannic ligh' ye followed." He lets out a warble, and takes another long drink. "I'll pass on yer traditions, I swear i' tae ye."

Kabuki let’s out a low, pleased chuckle. “This one hopes the musin and kha will be of drawing together with this!

⋆꒷꒦‧₊˚𓆩The Narrator's Prologue𓆪˚₊‧꒦꒷⋆ [Before you, a book written and published under the name Fal'leon Kagura Maehr'uhier] We found ourselves in a space unfamiliar, cold, and devoid of life. The silence of nature was near deafening, and I was thankful for the song my staff gave off. Myself, Nemea, Elenora, Floria, Lesley, and a ‘ker unbeknownst to myself stood on the black sand, surrounded by crimson walls and a dark ceiling. The being- a man, or something emulating a man, faceless and threatening floated above us with menace. The Narrator, it so dubbed itself, and thus I shall do the same. The Narrator spoke, “Think of this as a first draft to my story. I’ve read stories with dragons and beasts, where a group of heroes save the princess.” Questions flurried from us. Where were we? What are the rules? Can we bird a friend? They were answered, though the information was hardly noteworthy. If the Narrator bore a gaze, it landed on Nemea, who had provoked it previously. Within an instant, she was atop a black stoned structure that hovered in the air. We, the heroes, I suppose, bickered for a small bout, the fault of our situation up for debate. A discussion I will save detailing. “Do you all have your weapons ready?” We were asked. Yes’s from nearly everyone, except myself and Floria. Panic struck me at that moment, but this Narrator creature is apparently not an unjust creature. But, rather, a storyteller. A glaive, my glaive formed into my grasp, thankfully. The engravings of elven, the decor, all as created. How interesting this creature is. The Narrator vanished before I had even a moment to notice, and in its place a creature of vile appearance. Its maw was large and toothy, hung open in an unpleasant manner. Its flesh, or something like flesh, was black and inky in colour, similar to the sand below us. “Thats a face only a haelun could love” “I dont think even a haelun could love THAT.” While humorous, it wasn’t a false description. This creature wasn’t something I enjoyed viewing. I can’t imagine any of us did. Our time to simply sit and observe was not long spent, as it let out a noise I can only describe as the roared version of a stomach gurgle before beginning to approach one of my comrades. We moved in tandem to encircle this creature while Lesley began to egg it onwards, yelling and running to draw its attention away from the rest of our party. I waited, my glaive ready, my breath held. The chance of this thing being peaceful remained on the table, that is, until it struck Lesley. I took this as this story’s confirmation to be on the attack, and attack I did. Decades of combat etched into the very bones of my existence, the cobwebs promptly shaken free in the moment of my approach. Swift, fluid, and on the mark. I felt my blade bury into the back of this creature with great satisfaction, and when I returned to a defensive position, saw what must have been its version of blood-- that thick black sand all around us-- leaked out. This initiation of combat wasn’t something that would go without punishment, I learned this fact quickly. I had kept my distance from the beast, the length of my blade allowing such, however not enough it seemed. Claws raked my face and seared pain through me. The sting of combat, a masochistic joy I seldom admit to miss. I felt the blood seep down, and with two of us bearing injury, a silent acknowledgement of the severity of our situation sunk in. Even if the Narrator wouldn’t allow us to die, a prospect we had no proof of, we could leave with severe injuries. Perhaps that realization is what caused everyone to move in at once. In succession, Elenora, myself, the ‘ker and Floria all moved to strike the creature down where it stood. Axe, glaive, trident and spear, all sunk into various places. Myself, I aimed for the very arm that dared to strike me. And, as swiftly as it had formed, the creature fell to sand as its jaw unhinged. We stood together, still seeing red, our chests heaving. I was brought from my trance by Nemea falling from above and landing next to me, and realized then it had ended. “Tutorial complete.” The Narrator floated above us once more, and I craned to view it. I wonder now, in recalling this, if it had expected the majority of us to have enjoyed the experience, or perhaps it was disappointed by such. It was hard to tell what a faceless creature was feeling, given it couldn’t emote such to us, and certainly wouldn’t give word. What it did inform us of, is that this was hardly the end of our new story. This was, in all senses of the word, a test. Our toes dipped into the waters of this tale, of the format in which this writer would be crafting its next book. Concerningly, excitingly, I’m under the impression that these chapters -- as I’ve been calling it -- will increase in difficulty going forward. This prologue was easy, but if the Narrator is as much a craftsman of chronicles as it claims to be, then things will grow more interesting with time. “I will give you two years' rest.” Two years. That’s the amount of time we have to prepare ourselves for the first real chapter of this tale, and hone the skills we have. What this Narrator is, its powersource, is unbeknownst to any of us. Voidal in nature, it is not, this is something I am sure of. Thus, it remains a mystery I hope to solve. I hope these next two years treat us well enough that we may be prepared for what lies ahead.

☾༻⸻☾ Velûlakeeyt ☽⸻༺☽ ☾༻⸻ Spirit of the Eternal Moon ⸻༺☽ Before the hidden shrine, the massive Kha stands. "Lesser ob the kranklob luara, descent ob she. Lup’Velûlakeeyt, za ash offers u lat. Grish. Fur. Asht." The Kha sets down a wooden bowl, filled with his own fur and a ground up bone. He raises a blade, and runs it along his palm- an area already scarred from similar ceremony. The blood drips into the bowl. "Akr'slaium agh mortality, link u izubu reality. Ukû. Gothûrz. Tor."

Fal’leon gives a small hum, there is some consideration to be had for the Corvid, it seems. He will keep this missive on his desk for now.

The news hits the druid like a boulder to the face. The man so hellbent on dissociating from descendant attachment finds himself sobbing on his knees, alone in private, refusing to be seen in such a state. Leika, one of his dearest and oldest friends. Memories flood him of their exploits. The times they spend laughing together over various pranks pulled and jokes held. The times they, Amethyst and Ehrendil shared causing mischief despite their positions in Vikela. He remembers so clearly swearing to her crown, the only time he has felt so connected to people and a city. Fal’leon weeps and warbles as he remembers his time in government with Leika, the feeling that they together, alongside their friends, could make a safe and flourishing place. And oh how they did, how their lands became a central hub for people full they would protect and command. Even now, with his distain for cities and people, those times remain his fondest of memories. For a week Fal’leon sits alone, under the guise of meditation, crying on and off. Mourning the loss of his friend. It was a loss he had known was coming but he couldn’t possibly prepare for. Occasionally he laughs at her hinting at himself and his brothers closeness, before falling back to a state of sobbing. “Our world shall nae find another like ye, Leika. An’ I shall nae allow i’ tae e’er forge’ yer name. I will ne’er forge’ ye.” He hisses out, choking on his own tears. “I wish we would walk t’gether again af’er death. I shall miss ye so dearly. Ferever I shall be yer minis’er o’ knowledge, yer commander o’ army, I shall bow tae ye even whence I forgo me life o’ people. Van’ayla, ac’llir. Narn ilu’hileia, iylker’metta ahernan nae. Kae cihi’an ignere ay nae.” He speaks the elven solemnly, ears drooping down.

probably one of the coolest concepts i’ve seen for druids so far, and the post is easy to follow which my little brain appreciates greatly

Again i also want to reiterate the animal healing issue, this is something bothering me as it would and could be an apt replacement for grasping. These questions/statements are kinda being ignored. I don't want to come off as abrasive but these are genuine concerns especially from the druid communities that focus more on healing than combat

forgive me but this didnt answer any of my questions

Hello! me again, this time i do have some things I'd like clarified based on Kits post Firstly, i have to agree the LOS thing still makes next to no sense to me. Greensight for example, allows us to see the lifeforces of nature beyond what the eyes are capable of (our eyes can be closed and it can still be seen, blindfolded even) so why limit guidance on that? If druids can hear the song all around them then sight doesnt make sense as a limitation to me Furthermore, the 2 druids for barkskin creation still kinda raises the concern to me that shunned or loner druids may be blocked from this simply on account of not having two people willing to offer it to them. Something like deattunement i get being barred by multiple people to use but barkskin i dont get And the grasping, idk personally i really liked that ability and have used it before. Removing it is one thing if you genuinely believe it doesnt hold much use, however i dont see anything proposed that could replace it of equal strength. Perhaps its unintentional but healing feels very sidelined for combative abilties in this rewrite. And yes i think its good for us to be able to defend ourselves beyond surge, the whole point of druids is to heal nature. I personally would like proposed say replace grasping with something to powerfully heal animals. like kitsune said, animals get shafted ROYALLY by druidism, we can literally bring plants back from the dead but with animals that's too much? perhaps limit it to things only caused by descendant creation. This here is my biggest grievance, animals are equally part of the balance but we have like two abilities that involve them (beastspeak and beastpurging). If not grasping as a powerful spell, I personally would like to see something powerful for fauna. I do wanna say i think this is a good post! very well written and it clears some things up that didn't have explanation before (attunement for example), however i think there definitely are some adjustments that should be made to better incorporate nature healing, as again that is the primary function of druids TLDR: healing feels like its being overshadowed by combat abilties in this, which is entirely backwards to what druids should be like

Nothing to add to this, just wanting to agree with the points made!

im in almost entire agreement to the concerns listed + my own i mentioned. overall my worry is that our primary function, that being healing blighted and dead nature, is being sidelined for combative abilities. don’t get me wrong, i think it’s good for us to have more capacity to defend ourselves considering before the most we’ve had is surge, however that shouldn’t negate our primary rp purpose. nerfing the AOF of blight heal abilities, taking away grasping, etc. feel like real downgrades. overall the post is well written and the streamlines i can’t complain on, but i feel as though some adjustments should be made to better fit rp

could the proposed removal of grasping be explained? feels like a major tank to our healing which i dont understand, especially considering we're in the second instance in which our healing isn't enough without killing ourselves anyways. would strengthening it not make more sense?

^ this person is stinky (ooc)