joshun_

The Stoneman of Stone Tower wept tears of both joy and despair. He had been sleeping throughout the whole battle in the stone tower, and when he woke up, he dropped his sword on the ground as he looked at all of the bloodied wigs on the ground. He fell to his knees and began to fully sob that he could not cut down any of the Orenians.

Rutmok Ireheart stood proudly after fighting against his adversaries, nodding to his brothers-in-arms as he hangs a painting up in his home.

╔══════════════════════════════════════════════════╗

THE TURN OF THE TIDES

╚══════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

The dwarven forces watch as the two members of the ISA fight for their freedom.

On this Stone Day, during the conflict between Urguan and Oren, Oren has made yet another mistake in challenging the Grand Kingdom. Urguani forces stormed the newly erected capital, forcing those inside of their walls to cower in fear and hide behind their church. Despite this, those fighting still managed to take a hostage and eliminate them because of Oren’s inaction. Because Oren did not act, did not raise their blade, those who remained stuck outside of their gate have perished, the blood of those involved is on their hands.

The fighters then posted in small groups around the outside of Oren, standing stalwartly in the face of adversity, and still refused to act, allowing the forces to walk over them like the roads that they take. Hundreds of Orenian citizens and visitors were boycotted from entry into the capital, forced to pay a tax or pay with their life; and in their incompetence, Oren allowed it.

At the apex of the afternoon, Oren finally decided to act, sending a Lieutenant of the ISA, and Joseph d’Azor, an officer in the ISA, and Heir to the County of Azor. The forces of the ISA were quickly detained, not standing a chance against Urguani forces. They were taken back to the Grand Kingdom and tried.

Once identified, those on the council were to decide their fate. Many options were up in the air- torture, death, but one penultimate decision was decided; they would fight to the death, and the victor would get to leave. Thousands of dwarves sat and watched the warriors fight this legendary fight, and David Goldhand could be seen taking bets. Naturally, the prideful and selfish Orenians took this opportunity to free themselves instead of thinking of their comrades, and Joseph d’Azor brutally beat his comrade-in-arms, snapping his neck as he lay limp.

True to their word, Joseph d’Azor was given a firm handshake and was sent on his way back to Oren. But between both dawn and dusk, this was but one of the two victories that Urugan received against Providence.

╔═══════════════════════════════════════╗

THE IMPERIAL FOLLY

╚═══════════════════════════════════════╝

The Ireheart forces standing over those defeated that dare threaten the Grand Kingdom.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A stone week ago, two unidentified riders came to the front steps of the capital, aiming to terrorize the fair Urguani city after the announcement that Providence would clash swords with that of Urguan. Those involved soon found out that the two mysterious riders were affiliated with Oren. With swords drawn, the humans threatened the dwarves outside of the capital with no warning.

However, the two found out in a flash that Urguan will not be trifled with. In a matter of seconds, the mighty dwarves of Urguan sprung into action, those mighty warriors hailing from both the Ireheart and Grandaxe clan quickly neutralizing the threat, despite the two being on horseback. 

The two assailants were swiftly defeated, tied up, captured, and tried before the Council. One of the two assailants was identified as an Orenian noble, related to the General of the ISA. The man accompanying him was devil-like, featuring dry, serpent-like skin, and cannibalistic-like actions. The fact that a creature such as this is traveling with an Orenian noble is questionable and dubious. The fact that a holy nation such as Providence is harboring daemonic, ungodly creatures in order to gain leverage in a war against Urguan is jarring and hypocritical.

Despite this, through the endless seas of bravado and bragging, Oren has only won fights that outnumber the brave dwarven warriors; this very attempt of a “fight” proves that weak humans come together in order to make a brave face. Let it be known that despite the loss we have received, we have no plan of losing anymore.

Narvak oz Urguan.

Shaking with pure resentment towards his cousin, Herakles raises his fist and bangs it onto the table in his quarters. He feels his breath falters as he grows more and more exasperated. "You have done NOTHING! Everything that you have was given to you on a silver platter!" The man's frustration was clear to see, as his face was a bright red. He slumped down into his chair and set his elbows onto the desk, running his hands up his face and through his hair, offering a very heavy sigh. "All my work for nothing..." He admitted standing up as he ripped up the missive before promptly disposing it. "A brave face I must show despite my envy... I must endure..." The man muttered to himself, opening the door to his quarters before slamming it behind him, preparing for the coronation.

Hearing the news, Herakles adjusted himself up from his seat in the tavern as he feels a need to see the missive for himself. Hung nearly everywhere one could grasp, Herakles took one from the marble statue nearby and skimmed the parchment. "The Marquis has gone missing." An assortment of phrases were used, but they all meant the same thing: the leader of Myrine, and the head of the family was no more. Frustrated, Herakles balled his fist gently as the paper crinkled within his grasp. His eyes were stern, and a scowl went across his face. "How frustrating, it seems the cogs have stopped. Reevaluation is inevitable, but I did not expect the old man to bite it that quickly." The man bit his gloved thumb, looking narrowly ahead as he removed the finger from his mouth and used both hands to fully ball the paper, throwing it dismissively over his shoulder as he begins to walk back to his quarters. "My acting skills will be put to the test once more." A growl lastly uttered from his mouth.

swish

swish

swish

A young man in the corner of the court in Myrine could be heard perfecting his corner shot, having a stacked rack of Bucketballs placed by his side. Duteously, he would train. Meticulously, he would try and try again. Practice does make perfect, after all, he smiled thinking about the streak that the Saints were continuing on after their humiliating loss against the Bucks.

After the match, Herakles denied all interviews, waving his hand dismissively at the reporters; all except one. "What's your secret?"  He asked.

Herakles smirked. "It's about drive, it's about power." The man simply responded before walking off, bucketball tucked between his arm and waist.

2 hours ago, Sarmadonn said:

Dear Basketball,

 

From the moment I saw Sigmar Baruch Memorial Stadium, I knew one thing was true. I fell in love with you. A love so deep, I gave you my all. From my mind and body, to my spirit and soul. As a 6 year old Ayrian boy, deeply in love with you, I never saw the end of the gatehouse. I only saw myself running out of one - And so I ran. I ran up and down every court after every loose ball for you. You asked for my effort, I gave you my heart. This game was so much more. I played through the sweat and the blood, not because pride called me, but because YOU called me. I did everything for YOU. Because that’s what you do when someone makes you feel as alive as you’ve made me feel. You gave an Ayrian peasant his Valwyck Bears dream, and I’ll always love you for it.

 

But I can’t love you obsessively for much longer. This season is the last we all have left to play. My heart can take the pounding, my mind can handle the grind, but the Staff order it’s time to say goodbye. It’s not okay, I wasn’t ready to let you go. I want you to know now, so we both can savor every moment we have left together. The good, and the bad. We have given each other all that we have. We both know, no matter what happens next, I’ll always be that Ayrian boy with the green and orange tartan, cauldron in the corner, five seconds on the glass. Five, four, three, two, one. . 

 

Love you always,

 

‘Danger’ Dougal Macduff

#50

dudes be like this then go 0 - 3

Herakles "Herathrees" Mareno, starting point guard for the San Luciano Saints played one hell of a game. Scoring thirty-one points for the Saints and avoiding an ejection from the game by not fighting the orc that broke his teammate's nose. He practices his jumpshot in Myrine until the next week..

A small, lone, pale halfling who hasn’t seen the light of day since Myrine was erected sat chained to the wall deep underneath Myrine. An ink and quill sit next to him as he looked down at the floor. He heard the rattling of the door in front of him, and saw a menacing figure come out. @Mickaelhz “Did meesa do a good job?”  The poor slave would ask.

“Yes.” The shadowy figure responded. “You have earned your cheese for the day.” It said, throwing the halfing a morsel of Monterey Jace™ cheese.

The halfling devoured the cheese that it earned, leaving no trace of the milky goodness left.

“Mess'll write really good next timen Mastah Cyrus.” The halfing said, content with his cheese as he picked up his ink and quill once more.

“Good.” The shadowy figure responded, leaving the halfling to it’s solitude once more.

╔════☩══♛══☩════╗

A Mareno's Campaign

A depiction of Herakles Mareno on a poster.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

"As Mayoral duties fall upon the Magistrate, thus removing the need for a Grand Mayor, I have decided to run for the third position of the Magistrate, the one that is elected by the people, and work for the people. As a Mareno, we rely on Savoy's support to assist our house in every facet of life. When you shop in Little Myrine, when you share a drink with your fellow man in the tavern, you too are assisting the future of the Mareno house. As such, I have taken it upon myself to give back to the community, and fight for the rights of the people in Savoy!"

A warrior, a friend, a creative soul, and a visionary, Herakles Mareno has spent his whole life in Savoy, assisting his fellow man, having a drink with denizens in the tavern, and fighting for the sake of Savoy's prosperity, Herakles Mareno is no stranger to the niceties of living in the grand Principality. It is this man's goal to ensure the prosperity and safety of Savoy; but not only that, Herakles Mareno shall work to make all gaze upon Savoy and smile brighter than that of the Sun's beams when they see our diverse culture, the stunning camaraderie between citizens, the peak of Southern architecture and the plethora of eventful activities around the city.

Let us make a home that not only we can smile upon, but those who naysay may change their opinion on the Principality. Let us strive for not only excellence, but to be the very best!  

Starting this day, on the 4th of the First Seed in SA 47, Herakles Mareno is throwing his hat into the ring, and running for the Magistrate of Savoy. Savoy and it's denizens have given their all to the Principality, now it's time for the common man to give back.

I sincerely hope that I can receive your support and consideration for Magistrate!

Signed,

Herakles Mareno

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

In addition to this, I recently suffered a ban for racism/slurs, and while I do see the reasoning behind the ban, I had only suffered one (one) day ban beforehand.

Once banned, my sentence lasted two weeks. From one day, to two weeks.

After some discussion with a moderator manager regarding the issue at hand, they told me that there are certain severities to bans, and that doing (x) leads to the least amount of time that your second ban can allow, while doing (y) does the opposite, leading to the most amount of time that your second ban can allow, and in the example used above, two weeks.
However, my issue and prerogative is that there is no clause or explanation for this in the rules on the forums. And while all I can do is look back on it, I wish that things were more transparent with rulings and infractions so that players don't misunderstand why they got hit with a metaphorical truck when they're banned.

can u go touch grass

┌────────────────═━┈━═─────────────────┐

└────────────────═━┈━═─────────────────┘

Aren struggled, his arms flailing wildly as his natural senses kicked in- he was content on dying, but he certainly still wanted to live. As the sloop sank, Aren felt the beads of sweat roll down his face, as his heart nearly pounded out of his chest. It had stopped raining, but it was too late for the ship, everything was sinking, and so was Aren. He needed to do something, fast. As he struggled for naught, he felt his neck lower into the water as the icy cold depths caressed his chin, calling him deeper. As much as he fought, he was dead weight, and when he ran out of energy, he would sink. So he gave up.

Aren slowly cascaded down to the depths of the ocean, following his ship, he was unaware of his crew’s status, but knowing that they were not suffering as he was made him content. He was fully submerged in the water, and scanning his surroundings calmly. There were barrels floating up, along with lightweight wood, but that wouldn’t do much for him, he was too far out to be saved by anyone, so all he could really do was lament.

He couldn’t raise a family of his own, he couldn’t become a knight, he couldn’t become a person who could protect others like the person who inspired him to be a knight in the first place. Aren frowned somewhat as the abundance of oxygen suddenly ran out. His heart began to beat faster, despite it not doing anything. Aren felt his eyes flutter, everything was turning black, everything was becoming cold. Aren lost consciousness, and soon- his life. His heart no longer beat in his chest. Months later, something could be reported washed up on the shore in the outskirts of Norland. It was a light-blue figure that was sleeping.

══════════════════════════

Aren felt his eyes aflutter as he awoke face first in the soft sand of the beach. He lifted himself up off of the ground and sat down, looking at the ocean beyond. “This is the Seven Skies?” He silently thought to himself, as he looked to his right, then to his left. He could have sworn that he drowned- this definitely was not how it was described in the Church. Nonetheless, Aren assumed that he somehow lucked out, and some mermaid of sorts brought him ashore. He didn’t have any bile or any water he coughed up, which he thought was strange, but did not look much into it. As he looked around, he saw two fishermen relaxed beneath a tree with their lines cast into the water that he was washed up from. He yelled to them, but they didn’t respond. Strange. He cupped his hands around his mouth and tried once more- but once again for naught.

Frustrated, he walked towards them, walking up the short, sandy hill from where he came and to the left of the fishermen. “Excuse me, do y’know where we are?” He would ask them. Alas, no sounds were produced, and the fishermen looked forward. Aren waved his hand in front of the stout fisherman, which caused a response. The stout fisherman looked over to Aren, and a streak of shock ran across his face, he was speechless. Aren cocked his head somewhat, not very sure of what this man had to fear, the stout fisherman scooted back towards his partner, until his back touched his arm, in which the other fisherman turned his head towards the two. Meeting Aren’s gaze, he felt a shiver down his spine, and together, it didn’t take long for them to make off. “Ah well fock vy too then.” Aren would scoff, shaking his head in frustration as he made his way to the closest, well, anything. 

Little did Aren know, he got the chance he so desired when he died. This is his second chance at life. The hoisted sails were now lowered once more.

┌────────═━┈━═────────┐

Hoisting the Sails

└────────═━┈━═────────┘

Aren slowly exhaled when he looked out the window of his office in Karosgrad. Admittedly, it was just in his house, but it was a place where he could relax. He rest his head in his hand, while his elbow was relaxed on the table, looking about the room, filled with model ships in glass bottles. It was a hobby of his- as he previously sailed the high seas of Almaris seeking treasure and adventure when he was a lad. He stood up from his chair and pushed it into the desk, pacing towards his collection as he gently picked up one of the few models. A sigh escaping his lips, he set the bottle down, and a smile began to perk from the corners of his mouth. He decided that it was time once more to lower the sails.

Fitted in an outfit more appropriate for seafaring, Aren assembled a group of men that he had grown close to over the time he had spent in Karosgrad; a group of sailors that shared the same passion that he did. With a greeting and a smile, they boarded the ship that Aren had owned, docked to the east of Karosgrad, and set sail. As they began the voyage, Aren lifted his head up, and gently shut his eyes, feeling the cool ocean breeze brush past his dark auburn was just the thing he had in mind to relax. His lips staggered, tasting the salty air- this was his home away from home, the ocean. He walked up to the helm of his sloop, and rested his folded arms on the steering wheel, taking in the sights of the great, blue ocean; here, Aren quite literally had no worries- or so he thought.

Slowly, the sky began to darken among the sea, the clouds churning into a grey conglomerate mass that distilled fear even into the most veteran of sailors. Aren however, was unaffected. He has seen many a storm in his lifetime, what’s one more? Little did he know, this storm would be the last one he would ever go through. Initially, things were not as bad as the sky telegraphed- with a light drizzle amongst the seamen, the water began to churn slightly, but that barely affected the ship that the lot sailed upon. As time went on, the storm gradually became more and more ferocious, the sailors began to worry, sweat upon their brow as the water rocked the boat to and fro. Aren took the helm and began to steer the ship, turning the wheel with all his might so that they have a chance of making it out of this alive. They were at the mercy of the sea- and Mother Nature was not feeling generous….

The best chance that they had of surviving this hell-storm was to escape it by outrunning it- and that’s exactly what the captain planned to do. Gripping the helm with his bloodied, white-stained hands, he grit his teeth, and narrowed his teeth, peering at where the waves originate so that he could find the path of least resistance. For as long as he fought- his efforts seemed to be for naught. The angle that they were faced was undesirable, the sails were blown off of one side by the boisterous wind, and they were much too light to survive this. The waves never quelled, crashing against the sides of the unassuming sloop as the boat rocked more extremely; Aren wasn’t going to give up, despite the dire circumstances, but to him- they had a chance. The wind thrusted the boat to lean towards the port, causing Aren to lose his footing and stumble, crashing into the side of the boat as he felt a wave of disorientation crash against him. The men beneath the deck were bailing as if their life depended on it- and it did, but it wasn’t enough.

Aren knew what he had to do, but he questioned his will to sacrifice himself for the sake of others. His lips quivered as he covered his face. He was going to die, he wanted to save himself- he shouldn’t have come on this trip. But thinking negatively wasn’t going to solve anything. On board was a rowboat, fit enough for nearly everyone on the ship, leaving a few others behind. In the worst case scenario, everyone could bite the bullet and attempt to fit in the small rowboat. Everyone worked together to lower the boat and began to enter it. They fit together like sardines, but they were somewhat sea-worthy. Aren took a step inside, and the rowboat began to sink at the back. There wasn’t enough room for him, or else everyone would perish. His face lost color as the panic began to ensue, he didn’t want to die! He still had stuff he wanted to do! Aspirations! Love! Anything!

His breath faltered as the crew begrudgingly sailed away. He fell to his knees amongst the storm, on the sinking ship that was beginning to face the watery depths. It was over for Aren. He wanted to lament, but his mind was foggy- he could not think of a single thing. His legs refused to move, but he made them; picking himself up with the help of the ship and standing tall, folding his arms. His trembling legs steadied themselves, and his shaking began to cease. His lips turned upwards into a small smile as the beads of rain fell upon his head. He closed his eyes, and accepted his fate. He was going down with the ship, as all captains should.

As the ship nearly sank to the bottom of the water, the skies began to clear, a premonition that Aren had caused. As his spirit cleared and accepted his fate, the skies did as well. With that, the sailors made their way home, docking their worn rowboat in Karosgrad and taking a bottle of mead from a flask, pouring it from it’s container onto the ground. Aren had no family, but he did have friends, and he had superiors. The sailors would go to the people that were important to him and report the falling of the soldier of the sea.

Aren was never to be seen again.

MC Name:

         joshun

Character's Name:

         Aren

Character's Age:

         29

Character's Original Race (N/A if not applicable):

         Human

Transformed form:

         Phantom

Creator's MC Name:

         joshun

Creator's RP Name:

         Aren

Briefly explain the lore behind this construct or creature:

Simply put, the phantom, or the apparition is formed after the death of a person, "disrupted," so to speak when their soul is dragged back to the realm of the living. When something dies, it normally starts as a Revenant, however, their form may change into a poltergeist or specter once they find the reasoning behind their death. Phantoms are made of ectoplasm, which is normally malleable and intangible, but can be adjusted depending on the type of phantom that is played. They are generally weak to magic, aurum, and other weapons considered "holy," and get quite hurt when hit by these, but are normally unaffected by the remaining types of damage. In addition to bein susceptible to the things listed, they are also prone to having normal to severe mental disorders. When "killed," so to speak, they take a day to recuperate before reforming their corporal form. Between all of this, they have three different forms, as explained earlier.

To put things into simple terms, the specter is the "friendly" ghost, so to speak, where they have accepted the terms of their death, and have a more melancholic demeanor compared to the other two, poltergeists are quite literally the opposite, angry of their demise and are cursed to stay on this mortal plane. Extreme and hostile, poltergeists are the "angry ghosts" of the bunch. Revenants, however are the plane in between the two, acting as the phantom's first form that is a deciding factor between the two; finding the way you die determines if you become a specter or a poltergeist. A gruesome death, or one filled with trauma leads to the latter. If one finds peace within their death, they become the former.

If this construct or creature has some form of aesthetic choice, can you describe how they look? 

Generally speaking, it's quite broad to determine what a phantom looks like; with ectoplasm, the mind of the phantom determines what they actually look like, allowing for a pretty wide web of things to look like.

Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it:

         No.

Do you agree to keep Story writers updated on the status of your magic app?:

         Yes.

Do you understand that if this creature's lore is undergoing an activity trial and that trial fails, you will no longer be able to play this creature and will be forced to either revert the character back to its normal form (if it was a transformative type) or stop playing the character entirely (if it is an entirely new creature)?:

         Yes, I understand.

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:

         I have not.

Aren would walk among the city of Karosgrad, looking around at the posters that would be plastered everywhere. He took one from the wall leading to the steps of the palace, reading the parchment as his eyes moved across it. His eyebrows furrowed somewhat before both of them would raise., his mouth somewhat agape. "Well, Ah'll be damned, t'lad finally dropped t'question." he would say with a smirk, folding the parchment neatly and setting it in his satchel, walking off with a smile on his face.

hey louis cna i have youre skin for free

Aren stood solemnly in front of the crowd of others, banner of his home held high above his head as his eyes narrowed to the city he had never been to. He was ready for anything at this point- mostly ready to fight for the cause of his home. In a bit of a frenzy, he yelled to the crowd: "M'BLADE DEMANDS ELVEN BLOOD." Instantly regretting what he said, he his voice blended in with the rally cries of the Brotherhood.