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Posts posted by Tea_Guzzler
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Aiyeis would peer at the missive in confusion, wondering how the beheaded man was sending them out before returning to the artwork she made of his demise. Foot tapping idly upon the floor as her charcoal sketched out the decapitation of Braxus Ni'Leya.
5 -
Just now, Laeonathan said:
"Aiyeis guild's on top I heard!"
"I am always on top," Muttered the cripple as she discreetly began her journey of sneaking missives in every Aevos mailbox.
2 -
Laurih’Valmiran Heial (Noble/Chosen Artisans
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Welcome to the opening of the Artisan’s Guild in Celia’nor.
Within the next few elven weeks, a guild hall will be constructed with a reading nook for our permanent residents and quarters for the apprentices.
There will be a notice board in the main hall to promote their works and garner commissions. Also found in that hall would be a small tavern space used by the Celia’nor Winery and Tavern. And a few market stalls.
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Upon its construction - the guild will be used as a gathering square for artists to converse with like-minded virtuosos and create or strengthen bonds within a fresh community.
The Artisan’s Guild aims to be a beneficial center for those in creative fields. Artists who join and are active participants will be given emblems to show they have the guild's support.
There will be five separate parts of the guild: artisans, tailors, architects, writers, and musicians. Though they are split, the guild will function cohesively. More information will be provided in later missives.
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To establish your desire to work at this Artisan’s Guild, please get in touch with Aiyeis Acal’Turrii (EamBhaaling) or Ac’Sullii Acal’Turrii (CaffeinatedCrow) via letter.
Lady Aiyeis Acal’Turrii, Court Seamstress, Head of Acal’Turrii Talonnii
Ac’Sullii Acal’Turrii, Apprentice of Aiyeis, heir of Acal’Turrii
Her Ladyship, Renna Py'lrie, Circle of Stars, Silver Seneschal, Primary Physician of the Celia'norian Clinic and Medical Institution
His Royal Majesty, The Prince of Fi'andria, Evarir of the North, Descendant of The Silver Phoenix, Enforcer of the Star’s Will, Prince of Celia'nor, Illthrak Ibarellan of the Principality of Celia’nor
11 -
34 minutes ago, Wizzar said:
Ailsa
A creature would stir, dirt and grime leaving her skeletal form as she rose to her feet, rusted armor creaking. In the absence of Aonghus, a rage would beset the woman, taking the place of grief. Her soul too twisted by foul magic to properly process the loss of the once-great knight. Any reminder of life before death now gone.
Forever lost to the same false light he had brought her into when dragging her soul from the afterlife.
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Just now, Direswift said:
Athrallion huh
I'm braindead
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MC Name:
Eambhaaling
Character's Name:
Aiyeis Acal'Turrii
Character's Age:
188
Character's Race:
High elf
What magic(s) will you be learning?
Air Evocation
Teacher's MC Name:
Direswift
Teacher's RP Name:
Midas Athri'onn
Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it:
No
Do you agree to keep Story updated on the status of your magic app?:
Yes
Are you aware that if this magic is shelved, it will be unavailable to use?
Yes
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MC NAME: Eambhaaling
Name: Aiyeis Acal'Turrii
Vote 1: Theveus SythaerinVote 2: Theveus Sythaerin
5 -
A sigh of relief would leave the scarlet haired Arthalion, much akin to her father. She was a self admitted bisexual.
13 -
A rather dirty and decrepit adunian would clutch the missive close to their face, olive hues narrowed to slits. Mouthing the words, a short laugh more akin to a wheeze would leave. One hand sifting about in her pocket, pausing upon an empty and light pouch. Perhaps no letters to be penned, or drinks to be had. She had laughed too quick. Throwing her chin up towards the sky Liadain would grumble before turning on heel and striding out. Her brief city venture quickly ended.
2 -
Though she took no glee in the death of a king the adunian would laugh at the irony. Her father was right, they long outlived the lech. Perhaps the one to take their place will usher a greater era for the Balianites. Packing her bags, the Morrigan Arthalion would make to return home to Numendil.
4 -
The silver haired mali'thill directed her attetnion unto the penguin that sat within her side yard. Grasping a sharpening stone and a dagger she'd prepare it's method of demise. The mother would serve her child penguin jerky for dinner.
3 -
A smile would cross the freckled features of young Dianthe Py'lrie as she read over the missive. Such a joy brought to her that she let out a laugh, before exclaiming "We've been freed of war!" Placing the parchment upon the desk she'd been sitting at the, the 'aheral would make to stand. Ready to start her day without the threat of war looming over the cihi.
4 -
The aformentioned mother would wail. The loss of her daughter a final nail to the tomb that would be her own mind. Clutching the corpse with one hand as her knees sought the ground. Sobs wracking that weakened form of hers. "Oh sweet child," She'd choke, words barely escaping as more than a croak. The drake that had once coiled about her shoulders, now seeking to rest atop the charred carcass. Only hours before had she said words to the youth, such falling upon deaf ears. No longer a mother was she, now that her final child had fallen. A horrid fate to live past ones own lineage.
A child found, not made.
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As she read over the missive - Aiyeis would let a smile cross her pallid features. "Ay'Celia'nor," She'd murmur, placing the paper atop her wooden desk as she moved to stand. Grasping at a cane, the 'thill would make to depart her abode.
3 -
A particular mali’thill would set herself upon making a wide brimmed hat for visiting purposes.
1 -
The silver haired recluse would shift beneath her quilt, reading over the pamphlet once more before discarding it in a basket to her left atop the many others. Her hand now freed to grasp the neck of a wine glass. Bringing it to her mouth as her attention fixed upon the crackling of a fire, her chair rocking idly.
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Oh my god? Truly? If only I weren't broke.
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IGN: Garlic_Muncher
RP Name: Yvaine Ranaleth
Persona number: #75606
3 -
Best mod
2 -
An uncivilized elf of the great Haelun’or would prepare a bunker to hide from the crusade.
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Morrigan Arthalion withholds a prideful grin at even the mention of her sisters ascension to the throne.
1 -
MC Name:
Garlic_Muncher
Character's Name:
Ailsa
Character's Age:
76
Character's Original Race (N/A if not applicable):
adunian
Transformed form:
Darkstalker
Creator's MC Name:
Kanapes, Krunos10, Silverthedm, Antisociety
Creator's RP Name:
The Doctor, Gimilizor, The Crows Craftsman, Afflicted Beggar
Briefly explain the lore behind this construct or creature:
By use of the Sacrament of the Usurper - four necromancers may craft an undead slave. Bound to their will be a memento mori; the unwitting soul is quite literally dragged through a rift made between life and death. Due to the process by which they are created, the newborn servant will suffer greatly. Their mind and soul warped by magic - subjected to bouts of strong emotion and guilt for their very existence.
As with life - in this unlife; the awakened goes through three stages.
Nascent - whereas mentioned before they are subject to bouts of strong emotion and an insatiable hunger that requires the undead to feed themselves on the lifeforce of their victims. In this stage they are no more than soldiers of undeath, bearing with them the basic arts of Darkening, and their undead form.
Regressed; the second stage of unlife, the corrupted soul has grown accustomed to their prison, gaining access to more clarity of thought, as well as holding the ability to feign life temporarily through a Necromancer's skill over flesh craft.
Within the third stage, only granted unto the undead knight through the aid of three necromancers. The darkstalker must consume the souls of two living sacrifices. Thereby ascending to Paramount. Though such a stage is rare and rarely do the creatures obtain this rung. With the new abilities and strengths granted by this rank - the darkstalker must also satiate a greater hunger so as to aid the necromancers and their brethren. Not only may they now aid in rituals when fed - they gain the ability to craft Abyssfire. Unlike true fire - it causes no harm to the undead - rather it brings a sort of warmth. To the living, it imbues them with a sort of discomfort, like an eerie chill. In utilizing this fire, they may either imbue it into items and weapons to create foul armaments, or harness it combatively to attack their foes.Over time the effect the repugnant magic has on the soul will grow evident. Unable to grow accustomed to unlife - these souls will grow distant, almost apathetic to the living. Worsened even more so by the hunger that besets these unwitting knights. Forced to satiate such by feeding on the living. Even their soul is subjected to an eternal cycle of self cannibalism.
With the loss of their life - the recipient of this curse is only made more useful with the curse. Unable to feel as they once did - the creature is made into a weapon for the necromantic cult that revived them. The only way in which they are once more able to feel pain is if the undead is subjected to holy magic - sunlight - or when exposed to flame for a time. Though these may cause pain - the process by which a darkstalker is released from this perpetual prison is the utter destruction of their skull, though such is only temporary. One is unable to truly kill a Darkstalker, these undead knights only able to be stopped through being placed within an enchanted tomb, known as the Rite of Sealing.
As mentioned before - the undead is bound to memento mori; an object that in life held great value now perverted by the very magic that brought them into unlife. Able to cause them great pain - emotionally and physically. Only freed from such when the item is destroyed.
If this construct or creature has some form of aesthetic choice, can you describe how they look?
The long since dead warrior now stands at a staggering height; towering far above what she had in life - flesh and sinew having long since burned away. The process by which her body was deposed haunting the young adunian in undeath. Her bones yellowed and charred, all that remains of the fire having settled in her eyes, like embers of a dwindling fire.
Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it:
nope
Do you agree to keep Story writers updated on the status of your magic app?:
yep
Are you aware that if this creature is shelved, your character may be given the option to revert or be indefinitely shelved?
yup
Memey RP or using this CA for subpar villain/bandit RP can lead to your app being denied, even after acceptance. Please put "I understand" as your response once you have read this part and understand the consequences.
I understand
Have you applied for this creature on this character before, and had it denied? If so, link the app:
nope
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MC Name:
Garlic_Muncher
Character's Name:
Aiyeis Vihaian'Welier
Character's Age:
157
Character's Race:
High elf
What magic(s) will you be learning?
Seer
Teacher's MC Name:
Monkelives
Teacher's RP Name:
Ava Ranaleth
Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it:
Nope
Do you agree to keep Story updated on the status of your magic app?:
Yep
Are you aware that if this magic is shelved, it will be unavailable to use?
Yep
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Morrigan Arthalion did not personally know the wife of Jan Ivanovich, but she'd be sure to express her well wishes in letter form to the old friend.
3
[PK - Apotheosis] A Knight's Resolve
in Events
Posted
“Alberic is…nie no longer with us. Szam.”
As the words sounded, Marceline would hear only ringing, the smile set upon her features twitching, a lump welling in her throat. It took all she had to control her expression, “That is not a very nice joke,” The woman would laugh, a pitiful laugh that would only further her spiral.
“That is not something ea would joke about.”
Those were the final words before she’d break, her smile falling; attempts at regaining her composure would be futile as the first sob escaped. Barely able to stand, Marceline would try to seat herself, wiping furiously at her eyes as her body shook. Her thoughts a whirlwind - all she understood at that time was that her father was gone. Memories of him, good and bad, all swirled about in her mind; no longer would she be called marshmallow. No longer did she have a shoulder she could rest her head atop.
He would be missed.
Bro has me crying irl