satinkira

Just now, Java17 said:

While daylight had begun to return... Desperation and screams were all that could be heard from the heart of the blackrooms...

Yandel understood it, now. The fear that had taught prayer to men.

But it did not matter. He understood that too: Godhunt, regardless of the target, was monolithically insane, and therefore gave no regard to fear. To think that man could slay the Gods seemed folly, but he had only one target, so perhaps it was not impossible. He was still locked away in captivity by the Nephilim, but his promise was unchanged: To avenge the Sunlit Lord. To slay the Arch-Drakaar, or to see its slaying. 

These were the sort of thoughts that drove one to madness. But Yandel could not forget, nor forgive. He had spent years toiling away in the pitch-black, unable to countenance the draconick scales that marred his flesh and the disturbed nature of his soul. He dreamt Xannic visions, heard the soft chimes of prayer-bells in his sleep, and woke to find himself still in pitch-black, still in captivity, still in the claws of Azdromoth's servants. And it had been like this for years. 

Something would have to give. He would either escape or be executed, and Yandel could not escape on his own. So he hoped, and dreamt prayer, but expected death. 

No tyranny was so complete as blindness.

1 minute ago, Onnensr said:

I refuse to believe we go through all four seasons in 7 irl days, and elect to believe we're in Game of Thrones orbit where a season takes many years to pass

me too this is based but the only season that's actually notable is winter and that's because all the cities get a snow do-over. I would really like the seasons to have consequence and impact as they come and go and wholeheartedly endorse crop failure 

5 minutes ago, ThatFunkyBunch said:

I feel like nations are lacking and have been sleeping on sports competitions between each other. 

b... b......... ba.... bask.... basketball.............?

"Appeasament," Serwa proclaims, "is a bad policy."

good editing

a lovely lorepost - I would recommend changing the name of the dragon creature since within actual lore the term 'dragon' carries with it certain lore implications, but beyond that it's genuinelly really lovely and excellently formatted. big +1

will the road to 500 be achieved via taking players families hostage?

2 minutes ago, Java17 said:

I keep the opinion that such a plugin would either related wholly to RP or to PVP in order to avoid players from seeking RP magics for their OOC PvP benefits.

^^

43 minutes ago, Aesopian said:

 

Damn, sorry, I don't think I can resist adding spaghetti...

ITS OVER

17 minutes ago, Aesopian said:

 

• Farming
  • Should specific plants grow better in certain biomes?
  • Should there be subspecies of plants (e.g. multiple species of wheat seeds such as millet, barley, or rye)?
  • Should the time of year influence your harvest yields?
  • Should certain races be better at farming than others?
  • Composting
    • Should different types of compost be available which help with different plants?
    • Should it be possible to make a generally 'better' bonemeal?

1) don't see why not
 

2) don't see why not

3) the time of year should only influence harvest yields if the time of year is represented in-game, E.G winter results in snow across the land which results in bad crops. however since every week is one year it would be a bit silly to go 'oh no the crops have failed on friday again because winter hit again', every single week, so I will have to vote no unless a nice method of making the seasons matter is created without it being a bit repetitive

4) no, unless I'm missing something none of them really have any reason to be better than any other at farming

5) nah bonemeal is fine

6) no I don't think we should lose the minecraft feel that lotc brings and I think that making stuff like compost would hurt that a bit personally 3:

21 minutes ago, Aesopian said:

 

• Rarity
  • Should different rarities of food ingredients exist, which require more or less effort to acquire?

surely the only way that rarer unique-to-lotc types of foodstuffs would be introduced would be via roleplay, in which case they're represented via item tags and descriptions and so forth anyways? unless I'm missing something

22 minutes ago, Aesopian said:

 

• Raising Livestock
  • Should older animals provide progressively better ingredients?
  • Should certain races be better at raising livestock than others?
  • Should the feed you provide your animals change what quality ingredients the animal then produces?
  • Should specific animals grow faster in certain biomes?

1) again I don't see how that would be implemented without custom foods, in which case I would have to ask you how you'd go about them

2) no, unless I'm missing something none of them really have any reason to be better than any other at raising animals

3) must again ask what you mean by quality of ingredients. if it's going to be a pig it's always going to drop pork

4) dont see why not

24 minutes ago, Aesopian said:

 

• Other Food Sources
  • Should berries be altered to reduce their effectiveness? 
  • Should the amount of Billybob Taters be reduced?
• Beekeeping
  • Should this exist?
• Alcohol
  • Should aging alcoholic beverages for longer make them stronger?

1) no 

2) no

3) yes

4) yes

24 minutes ago, Aesopian said:

 

• Cooking
  • Should custom recipes exist which provide benefits besides standard vanilla food?
    • Should this be restricted to just saturation and hunger bars, or should this also include any or all of:
      • Health Boost
      • Absorption
      • Regeneration
      • Saturation (potion effect)
      • Haste
    • Should it be possible to create entirely custom recipes (ST Admin only)?
    • Should certain recipes exist that are race-locked?
  • Should you be able to take an arbitrary food item and 'reskin' it into another food item? This would PRESERVE ALL MECHANICAL PROPERTIES of the food item in question, but allow you to then CHANGE ITS APPEARANCE, allowing you to roleplay it however you would like. 

1) no, and I'll have to refer to my 'I would like things to remain within the bounds of minecraft' reasoning. I understand that this is a very opinionated opinion but I don't really want the minecraft-esque feel that lotc maintains to be tampered with by stuff like sphagetti minecraft food items

2) NO. big no. please do not make food give mechanical benefits beyond just hunger bars, please do not create ways for pvpers to get advantages over each other please do not start the aevosian arms race

3) I mean if its ST admin theres nothing really stopping them right now

4) no why would there be

5) thats quite nice actually yes please

27 minutes ago, Aesopian said:

 

• Cannibalism
  • Should descendants drop a food item when slain (up to a limit per day)?
    • Should this grant additional buffs to undead players?

1) dont see why not

2) no, please do not introduce mechanical buffs to roleplay creatures as that will incentivise them to no longer act with roleplay in mind and instead the buffs that you've offered

A Knight inspects the scene. He gazes, for a time, at the pentacle. Then:

"Eternity! A lofty goal, for one so captivated by the horror that flesh can bring. I do wonder how little of life this zealot has experienced. I would like to speak with them."

His rather dramatic remark given, he wanders off to the more snowy areas of the world, doing absolutely nothing about his desire to speak with the culprit. No doubt all was as the North willed it to be.

HERMAÐUR had ventured far. He had travelled to every nation, every city, every palace. He had been to every coast, seen every village. His warning, he reckoned, could not be spread more thoroughly.

In truth, he had been a little disappointed. Knowledge had a habit of sullying the imagined image of a thing. Far-away nations, cultures, peoples - like Aaun, like Vikela, the Azdrazi even - now, they all seemed as grubby as the lowliest fishing village. They were all mired in their politics, their proclaimed greatness. Even things supposedly ‘holy’, like the Scrolls, now just seemed variations of what they proclaimed to be sinful. Or they just baffled the mind, and pretended that obscurity leant things sincerity. 

The Far-North was better. Hermaður understood that now, gazing at the snowy hillsides with the collections of pine trees, their scent cleansing the mind and restoring clarity to the Knight:

This is where you belong.

And he embraced that truth. He could feel a wind blowing from the South, and beyond the mountains, he saw the Eclipse lowering itself down the mountainside. The Night-Eternal would continue. He did not especially love the sun, but he feared what its devourment portended: the coming of Dragons. Heat, and fire, was obviously anathema to a man such as himself, a warrior of the North, pacted with the Witches. He feared the coming age. He feared it greatly. The North would need protecting.

. . .Perhaps Aptrgǫngu-Maðr is the answer.

But he banished that thought as soon as it came. The Witches had revelled at its return. They had built shrines to it, and he had spread the word, warning of its coming, but he could not love it as they did. They were undead; the scent of rot and decay on the Beast’s breath could not sicken them as it did him. He had mourned, watching as the animals had fled from the North in the wake of its return. He had seen flocks of birds change course upon hitting the snowy realm - like some sort of invisible barrier barred them. Even though he knew no such thing existed. Even though he knew it was simple fear that kept them at bay. 

It might have kept him at bay, too, did he not know that his duty extended beyond fear. That was what separated the bestial from the sane: 

Duty. Purpose. 

The Witches held a pact over his life, and he could not abandon them. It was only by their hand that he had lived. That man, the green-eye’d War-Priest of Haense, had questioned him sharply, but he did not understand the North. He did not understand that there were vows and promises that were sharper than even a Thanhic blade. He did not understand the nature of the Far-North, and even if he had told him, he would not have understood. None of the Southerners could. 

It is not something that can be told, Hermaður decided, sitting on his horse and watching as a singular snowflake landed on the tip of his finger. It is something that must be experienced.

But his love of the North was not incompatible with the South. He saw that now. The Witches were bound to devour the realms of men: it was simply their nature, to hunger, to feast. He himself had almost fallen to their insatiable gluttony.

They wanted to eat the South. He wanted to blanket it in snow. And why not? It was a beautiful thing, the Far-North. Holy beyond measure. And casting a Winter over all the realm did not necessarily mean the deaths of those living within it. Truth be told, Hermaður did not particularly want to end mankind. He held no grudge against them, no hatred. They had not disgusted so much as disappointed him, but that was alright. He had measured them by too great a scale. They were not Northern. They did not live by the North, and therefore fell short.

Only one thing had yet managed to disgust him: The Beast of Skjoldier. And it had clearly disgusted the rest of the North, too, who had fled at its coming. So he hated and despised it, and despised the Witches, too, though for different reasons. Unchangeable reasons. 

But for now, he would remain in his pact with them. It was what the North demanded. So he turned his steed, stroking its shivering mane and murmuring soft words. 

Not much further now.

erm...

4 hours ago, Morigung-oog said:

Valindra blinked

Yandel sat in the Black Cells, binded and shackled. Xannic visions filled his dreams, and his eyes gazed upon his skin, marred by dragonscale, scarred with Asiothic runes. The Oyashiman woman had left him a book, an instruction, and a promise - write your reasons for being grateful for the death of Xan, and you may grow one step closer to leaving - and he had finished the book. It was a cruel task, that he knew - manipulative, evil, an attempt to break his spirit. She had asked for honesty, and he had given it; perhaps she would not like the book, but when he had struck her, she had been pleased. She valued his bravery: she thought of Yandel as a rare animal of sorts. He supposed the comparison was not entirely unfair.

There was an order to imprisonment. That was the thought that Yandel grappled with: what was better? To live as the Oyashi's prize? To live, passively hating her, dreaming of Xan, but doing nothing in reality? Or to work towards escape, to recover and recuperate, and then to return with scorching vengeance?

It was that desire for vengeance which had landed him the cells in the first place. That was why he was hesitent. But there was a blood-debt to be paid: the Godhunt would need to be fought against. So what was better? To accept fate, or to war against it? Was Order found in truth or hope? Or both?

Yandel prayed for an answer, but also for rescue. He had sworn to his captors that he would not die in the bowels of Tor'Praeth. He intended to keep that promise.

9 minutes ago, ThatFunkyBunch said:

The beast snarls as it looks over the writing. The Red Lich need not concern himself with embers.

"May your woes be many, and your days few."

imagine a world where you haven't yet joined LotC but already know everything about it that you currently do - would you choose to join despite what you know, or would you abstain from the apple of the garden?

"Hrmph." Serwa hums, and she sounds pleased. "I wonder if this is something I should congratulate Celach for..."

Serwa hums with disappointment. This was all surely a misunderstanding.

1 hour ago, Hunnic said:

Also comment links to the posts regarding this world-changing thing if possible. Thank you

good to see more regular application updates, at what point can we expect a retention update?

I've become aware of a fascinating conspiracy theory that Lizard People known as 'Azdrazi' run various governments--Aaun, etc. Always, the operating assumption is that this is bad specifically because they are Azdrazi. I find this close minded and offensive. We shouldn't be biased against Azdrazi per se anymore than we should be biased against people based on skin color or gender: it's their biology, and not fair to hold against them. However, if Lizard People really are running, say, Petra (my nation, which will be my focus because I have the most insight into it), a very fair objection is that they're simply not very competent. I'd rather not focus on my specific views on what exactly the secret discord channel is doing wrong--in this polarized age, one thing both ends of the political spectrum happen to agree on is that the government isn't functioning at a high level. Aren't we better than that? As an alternate approach to hating Azdrazi because they're reptilian, I would argue for a more objective, even handed, less specie-ist/racist approach: we should hold the Azdrazi accountable for poor governance. The polarization of the server, Discord scheming, overly zealos mod team, and impotence in the face of the server-wide catastrophe of new-player-retention all point to poor policy decisions on the part of the Azdrazi. Working together, we can build a better future. One in which humanoids are judged not based on their body temperature, presence of scales, and ability to breathe fire, but on the content of their character and ability to competently govern and participate in the civic process.

His head was bowed, and he knew loss. Yandel sat in a prison, alone and defeated, gazing at the darkness of the Black Cells. Dragons and flame coiled at the edges of his vision, a consequence of the curse of Xan’s devourment, though he knew that not. 

How had it come to this?

These cells had not been so bad before. He had had his Paladin magicks; he could simply wave his hand, and bring forth Golden Mists, which would suitably illuminate the area. But now Xan was dead, and he had no magick, and his skin was marred and corrupted with draconick scales, ornate designs of butchery and flame at the hands of the Arch-Drakaar etched into his flesh.

He wept, beating the wall with his chained hands, again and again and again until they were bruised and bloody. He did not blame himself - events had been utterly out of his control - but he did blame one creature:

Azdromoth.

He could feel that black hatred, not loud, but deep, coiling inside his gut. And he knew that that hatred was what had brought him to defeat and imprisonment in the first place, but Yandel no longer cared. He sat in the black for many days and nights, swearing oaths of vengeance and dreaming of his slaying the Arch-Drakaar - of the glory that would come with the righteous slaughter of the Nephilim. It was an act of monolithic insanity, to dream of the murder of a God, and Yandel could feel the duress this hatred was putting his soul and spirit under. The darkness of the Black Cells was driving him towards madness, and though he pleaded with his captors, they would not let him leave. They wished for him to turn to their side - he knew that. The Oyashiman woman had clenched his hair and tugged his head about, mocked him and bound him in chains, treated him like her pet, because she had known that there was nothing he could have done.

Such humiliation!

The loathing carried on, but it could not last forever. Yandel soon exhausted his stores of hatred, and then it was a matter of numbness. It was either eventually turn or die - he knew that. But he no longer cared if he died. Yandel did not look to be a martyr, as there was no longer a deity to martyr himself for; there was no Order to fight for. The war was irrevocably lost. Yandel no longer wished to live.

———«»————————————«»————————————«»———

He had felt his soul empowered, as all Paladins had. His body had glowed with sapphire, and he had found himself comprehending magicks and Holy sorceries that he previously had not. He had tried to heal his leg - the Oyashiman had swiftly put a stop to that, but he could not help but feel that victory was certain. How could it not be? 

She had bound his legs and feet to a chain, which she had attached to her belt. He was stumbling after her, dragged about as she and her Draconic comrades had set upon the centurions attempting to invade the Throne room. It was not a particularly hard-fought battle - the Paladins were promptly slaughtered. He had deeply mourned them, in those moments, but then he heard the death of Elden and Satar, and his heart had leapt in his chest. Dragons were perishing! And as that monstrous cleave had rendered the room apart, scattering the Azdrazi and sending the Oyashiman and Yandel scurrying behind a stone wall, he had rested against the rock content. He could feel his heart beating against his chest, thumping, thumping, thumping…

And then Xan died.

———«»————————————«»————————————«»———

He was fed, daily, by the Oyashiman woman. Her fingers would roll the bread into a paste, and gently place the morsel directly into his waiting mouth. He would eat, and she would look at him with a pitying gaze - and, in silence, leave.

This was a manipulation. Yandel understood that well. She had torn his world from him, quite literally forced him to watch the death of his God - and now she pitied him, and acted gently, and fed him herself. She sought to replace the community that he had formed with Aurae and the Paladins; after all, by this point, he had nothing and no-one else. He would never escape Tor’Praeth, the Black Cells, and so her daily visits were all he had. And though the greater part of his soul was deadened and numbed for hatred and sorrow, some lesser part looked forward to those daily visits; to the sorrowful look in her eyes, the feeling of being worth something.

To the feeling of belonging somewhere, even if it was a jail cell. To the feeling of meaning something to someone, even if she was a Herald of the Arch-Drakaar. Even if she was not as caring as he wanted to think. Even if this was just a delusion.

———«»————————————«»————————————«»———

It had begun with a scorching agony, the immolation of the soul. Yandel had seized over, gasping and clenching at the stone floor; he could feel something fundamental within him withering. His eyes, blurred for tears of pain, had seen his flesh begin to mutate; he had watched, with veritable horror, as draconick scales had begun to etch ornate designs upon his flesh, as patterns of slaughter and Asiothic ritual had been carved upon his skin. He had slumped back against the stone wall, exhaled, and there had been no sapphire upon his breath.

And he had known. It was over.

———«»————————————«»————————————«»———