satinkira

out of interest whos the most upvoted lotcer

Dear Aurae, This trial did not take as long as initially expected. I had initially planned some sort of expedition into the now-cursed forests surrounding Koyo-Kuni, but on a journey from Celia’nor to Petra, by the river, I was confronted with a rider in black armour. The rider informed me that if I surrendered a portion of my blood to be their meal, I would be let on my way. I told them that I would permit no such thing - I asked them if they were a vampyr, and they confirmed such. I stated that if they would permit my purifying them, then I would be on my way. At this point, they grew quite angry. They stated that there was nothing wrong with being a vampyr; I asked them what would happen if I surrendered my blood, they stated that they would have to kill me to keep me quiet, and I used that as an example of their lack of morals. They gave no answer, and whipped their horse to charge at me. By this point, I had drawn my sword, and I immediately dove into the river; it was slow-flowing, and I had no trouble with paddling, as I wore no armour. This was the only sure way I could at least maintain an edge. Their armour and horse meant that I stood little chance of defeating them; they wielded a black hammer, and as I had no armour, I knew that even a single hit could potentially incapacitate me. So I remained treading in the water. They mocked me as a coward, and I referred to them as one in turn, stating that unless they came after me, I'd inform the local guardforce (the Petran guardforce) that they had attacked me - I told them that if they did not attack me, then they were surely the coward. I told them that they could always take their armour off and reveal their identity if they liked. They refused to take the armour off. They did get off the horse, then, putting aside their hammer and revealing a crossbow with which they intended to shoot me; I knew, then, that I had to move fast, and I immediately scrambled out of the river, racing towards them, and they could not put away their crossbow in time. I wielded my Khopesh, Dawnbreaker, and slammed it into their crossbow, and the wood splintered. They delivered a glancing armoured punch to my side, which would have cracked a rib had it been more accurate, and I knew that I had to get back in the water - they had no ranged weaponry anymore. So I plunged back into the river, treading water and taunting them, which greatly angered the vampyr, and they threw their hammer at me - which missed - and it bobbed down the river. I told them that I'd seen children who could throw better; they told me that they'd seen children who could fight better, and I reminded them that they were the one without weaponry. But this was not the case. They withdrew a standard ferrum sword, dented and chipped, and I knew that if I were to destroy this weapon, somehow, I'd have the edge of the fight. That was a miscalculation; they did not throw the weapon, as I had thought they would, but instead they charged towards the bank of the river, in full armour, and, leaping into the water, plunged upon me, grasping me by the neck and pushing me deep into the river Petra. They forgot about my Khopesh Dawnbreaker, though, and so I stabbed them through the neck and swam to the surface, watching their body sink to the depths in their armour and float away. I am unharmed, as is my Khopesh. It was a frustrating fight - I could not take his head, and his horse had long bolted. But no doubt I will claim many a head in future. So concludes the second trial. I eagerly await the third; I am growing to understand the nature of the Order that Xan embodies, now that I have seen the disorder of Darkspawn firsthand, and I am all the more willing to fight for it. Yandel

could you please put an aviary back on CT. otherwise I love you java and would marry you if you asked (please ask).

I don't think it can be considered at this point (I forgot about the Shaman freeze) but the rewording essentially just works to remove anything potentially inappropriate whilst maintaining the potential for all the other forms of temptation/desire (alcohol, addiction, vanity, so forth). I suppose it does the same job as the redlines, but if the redlines contradict the lore, then it's worth writing the lore to not contradict the redlines/vice versa (in this case the lore), at least in my opinion.

forgot about the shaman deepfreeze

OLD Thulezia - Spirit of lust, pleasure, and beauty Appearing as a succubus-like creature who shifts between male, female, or both. Will attempt to lure all who summon it into temptation and seduction. If it succeeds it will entrap them. NEW Thulezia - Spirit of temptation, vanity, manipulation Appears as a representation of what the individual wants or desires most. Will attempt to lure the summoner with false promises of the fulfillment of their strongest wishes.

X*N WILL DIE RAAAAAAH

AJIKA Steward of the Forests Ajika is a Patron appointed by the Aspects to watch over the forests beyond the realms of the Eternal Forest. It takes the form of a stag with many horns, though it is not unknown for it to be sighted, in moments of conflict - usually with intrusive darkspawn who damage the woods - as an abnormally vast knight, akin to a Tree Lord with green bark for skin and flowing moss for a beard. It is said to wield a magickal axe. In its usual form, the many-horned stag, Ajika wanders the forests of all the world, of continents known and unknown to descendant-kind. As a result, its being seen on Aevos is an incredibly rare occurrence, one usually spurred by some devastating natural disaster. Though Ajika is known as the Steward, they can only be in one place at once, and in all lands with intelligent life, the forests shrink under the burden of the expansion of intelligent life - growth demands resources, primarily, wood. Every tree cut down brings a pang to their heart, every diseased grove a stab at their soul. For this reason, Ajika is a sorrowful, reclusive creature, doomed to watch in distant silence, and wait for the day which it believes will inevitably come - the day when it will have finally failed in its duty. This is not to say that Ajika will not fight for what is in front of it. Ajika has been known to murder wood-cutters and dark creatures who have been unfortunate enough to harm a forest that Ajika was residing in at the time; they share a deep, profound love for Descendant-kind, especially the Druids, but that love is overridden by their primary purpose: keeping watch over the forests, and keeping them safe and whole. DEATH AND REBIRTH Ajika is known to have died before. As their soul is bound to the protection of the forests, so long as a single tree stands, Ajika can never truly die. They can, however, be slain; Ajika’s blood bears the colour gold, and that blood is known to bear the extraordinary property of the healing of all wounds and scars, no matter their extent, and to extend life thricefold. It is a most valuable elixir, and is thus highly sought-after - as is Ajika. But the murdering of such a creature as Ajika is a grave moral sin. Save in instances of provocation or damage to its forests, Ajika will never harm nor attack a descendant; from the perspective of the trees, Ajika is their guardian, their immortal comforter. Therefore, those who murder Ajika or drink their golden blood will find that trees and flowers will whisper hateful things to them, condemn them, despise them - even if the individual is not attuned to nature, the blood of the Patron permits them this small curse; of being aware of the deep loathing with which the natural world will treat them. They will find that their walks through the forests become distressing experiences, with constant whispers from the leaves and trees of disapproval and disgust, and not a single animal crossing their path - such is the hatred that nature bears for them. It is not uncommon for the hunters of Ajika and for those who drink their blood to eventually go mad. After Ajika is killed, the forest in which such happened grows sickly with despair and sorrow; the trees immediately surrounding the death grow shrivelled and diseased, and unless they are swiftly cut down, this disease will rip through the entirety of the nearby forest, leaving nothing but husks of dead wood in its wake. Ajika themself will reappear after a short time in some other forest, all the more sorrowful, all the more despairing. INTERACTIONS WITH DESCENDANTS Ajika bears no ill-will to the common man. They are afraid of Descendants, of their magicks and their tricksy nature, and usually observe them, when they do, from a distance; most reports of Ajika tell of seeing them on some distant hill, or perhaps deeper in the forest. When Ajika draws near, the leaves rustle, and the wind blows unusually swiftly. The trees know - the animals know - and the Descendants know, always, that it draws near; even if they do not know what Ajika is, they sense that feeling of something momentous, of an old, impossibly old creature drawing near. Darkspawn would note a certain tinge of judgement, and of impending danger - Ajika does not tolerate corrupted things, and will take the aforementioned form as a warrior in green armour in order to slay them. The common dark creature stands little to no chance in a straight fight against the Steward. Ajika does not request worship, and nor do they demand sacrifice or offering. Druids have recorded attempting to kneel before the Steward, only for it to nudge them to their feet, and for the question to resound through their attuned mind with the voice of a thousand-thousand leaves: “Rise. Does the fox worship the oak?”

TAKE THE AZDRAZI PILL

beautiful formatting

sorry chaps my bad

OLD - A Fjarriagua’s skin slightly cracks instead of being cut, though this does not mean that they are more resistant or weaker to any forms weaponry, and can still be sliced, cut, and stabbed. Their blood and saliva are like sludge and moves very slowly, pouring out of them when they are damaged whether in or out of their disguise. Minor cuts and scrapes no deeper than 5 centimeters would only appear akin to that of descendants in terms of blood flow. Anything more severe would start to reveal cracks and a darker, slushie-like liquid. NEW - A Fjarriagua’s skin slightly cracks instead of being cut, though this does not mean that they are more resistant or weaker to any forms weaponry, and can still be sliced, cut, and stabbed. Their blood and saliva are like sludge and moves very slowly, pouring out of them when they are damaged whether in or out of their disguise. Cuts would reveal cracks and a darker, slushie-like liquid. REASONING I noted this inconsistency earlier today, when looking through the lore - how could it be that cuts in the arm, at first, bled as normal, if the blood was darker and slushy? It seemed inconsistent, so I spoke to some Fjarriagua players, who said that it was a contradiction that was written in to combat the hyper-vigilant testing nature of places like Minitz and Haelun'or. To me, one or two overly zealous nations isn't a good enough reason to ignore a contradiction in lore - Fjarriagua should fear these places regardless, because of how stringent and devout they are. TLDR; fixing a contradiction in lore.

Serwa, finally by the edge of the continent after her extended penance, was resting - the great pilgramige had been completed, and all that now remained was to send the letter to Father Celach, and then she could return home. But the sky shone. It glew, and she gazed up, and she saw the five comets, and there was a brief moment of incomprehension, of disbelief; it was too auspicious, almost too perfect, that after she should complete the instruction by Father Celach to complete five pilgramiges in order to reclaim that most Holy blessing, that five comets should appear in the sky. But they cared not for her disbelief, and they shone bright, racing through the sky, and Serwa could deny it no longer. She knelt to the stars and wept before the sea, and prayed deeply, from the soul, and after the comets had vanished and all was dark, she lit a candle, and began her letter to Father Celach. It would be, she understood, momentuous. But the truth could be denied no longer.

elves are lanky

Perchance.

A local peasant named Leweth wanders by, stopping and squinting at the seemingly schizophrenic Estel before turning away and muttering a warning to his family about insane people who talk to themselves - he refers to it as 'the seventh stage of madness'. He then looks back to Estel with a beffudled expression (reference below).