Damnit_Delmar

A Radiant Renaissance 13th of the First Seed, Year 178 SA Dear Denizens of Aevos As many of you have come to know, we of Murkwater are a folk who value coin and clear cut deal over religion. For greed bears its merits, it brings a common honor, and understanding of personal want and growth. Yet there are other paths, other ideals that share this model. Take for example, the Path of Umbrage. The Sacred way of the Old Dark, that for near half a century now, has come to be spread in a diminished setting. Its words not made manifest, its ideals of expansion and magical renaissance. Not made manifest, for its herald lays languishing. Idle as one can be, and without proper vision for the future. The title of Herald of Umbrage, has been left destitute and lacking. Those who practice such, and those who learn from its teachings, left lost or worse. Doing nothing. It is why I, a wanderer who sees not through the lenses of zealotry, but through the gaze of an artisan. It is as an artisan, and wielder of the Darkened Art. That I take back that, which has been left in the hands of the Mystics. Whereby the title, Herald of Umbrage, returns to those who innovate and expand that very original art. It is with such, that I challenge you, Aranur. For the very title you bear, that which is the Herald of Umbrage. I give you a single Grave Week to respond to this challenge, otherwise I shall take this title, and use it to forge a more radiant future for my craft and kin. Let our Renaissance begin Signed Reynard Pharamir Delmar, The Lord of Crows

I like it, +1

That wretched craftsman sat upon his throne of winged ivory, gems and aurum dangled from that throne, as that aurum clad Gravelord rested upon that cushioned satin seat. The wizened Craftsman; Reynard Pharamir Delmar, cackled with cruel glee. The eyes of Galbraths lover, rolling in his palm like a pair of dice. "What a grand gesture, a grand gesture indeed! We love ones first prominent Bounty, let us see how such proceeds."

A Seizing of Misused Power 9th of the Grand Harvest, 175 SA [!]This letter would be sent to all members of the Murkwater Merchant Company, Allies, in addition to the Duke of Brabant. Dear Members of Murkwater, Allies, and the Mortal Duke. It is with great pain that we come to tell you all, that the former student, the Vicar - Franz Kossuth, or Tallinn Tordove. Has failed us, his attempted plots have failed, he has wasted resources, aided our enemies through his own lack of foresight. In the result of his ire against the mortals, he has chosen to forgo the importance of our current goals. Our current aspirations, and expansion in domains that have long since been lost. Thus it is with, annoyance, that we take away the titles bestowed upon him. His titles of the council; revoked, his permissions to plan conflict; revoked, his ownership over his own grouping; revoked. Dissolved into the holdings of the Murkwater Merchant Company. Should those that held business with such an entity wish to discuss, so shall it be done in person. There is no honor, in a deal not upheld. To the Mortal Duke in particular; we will not revoke your plaything, for we believe you a worthy nemesis for the child known as the Vicar. You may keep your personal little battle, at the cost however, of a lessened interaction of our Company. The resources of Murkwater, departing from the Vicar, until he has proven himself worthy of holding such resources once more. Hazk al'durngo grael, narn thur ithurzu sethorek Hail the Black Sun, for its Light Guides Signed

A figure of the cold north would not know, but still in that dimly lit sanctuary of his, that place of respite. He pondered, upon the past, of the old mountain tops of that once fertile landscape. He remembered his time as Lord of the Adunic people, as King of the Harren'hil. Of his noble duty that he had long since forsaken. Aurelion Marsyr sat in silence, and though he knew not how, he knew that another had departed. Something within that Soulless being stirring. That the prodigal son of his, the one he had entrusted with who he considered a daughter, no longer lingered upon the realm. The one who he had entrusted that adunic task, long gone and forsaken. How many years had passed, decades frozen in that state of life and death, forced to languish forevermore while all those he had raised. . .slowly departed into realms far more peaceful. "This. . .is my curse. . .I'm sorry for failing you, my son." So did the Marsyr sit, silence befalling the old hunter, as he merely waited. How many years, how many more decades, perhaps even centuries would it be. . .until he once more joined them.

Only when everybody becomes a pearl clutching puritan

The Murkwater Merchant Company Robber Baron; Reynard Pharamir Delmar. Continues work upon his new company headquarters, unbeknownst to him, the company name gaining grand traction as a dark Mercantile company

So did that dastardly Delmar reside upon his throne of ebony stone, the man enjoying the tantalizing smoke of that blunt. Fueled by the flames of the fire, that had missed his undead. "Well well well, it seems we have much to prepare for." The merchant mused with twisted delight, his hands lifting as though to compose the beginnings of some dreaded orchestra. "Let us see how they fair in their first proper conflict"

Uncertain if you just missed out on it, would Darkstalkers be able to utilize these effects as well?

Blessed be the Mordring Metal

From within the depths of his lair, did the old Delmar come to look over the missive, his eyes widening as he brought his ivory clad fist up. "We are capitalists! Hardly agents of Iblees, my student must do better in marketing our allegiances" Thusly did the old decrepit one begin his work, the whining and screeching of an undead steed, coming to be worked upon.

Let the Musin be blind, magical mouse for the win

Don't see the reason lessening the amount, considering what tree said; though with that stated, I approve of the Paramoumt addition. Give Darkstalkers their Squires

The infamous and dastardly Delmar looks towards the note in hand, his gaze flicking over the blood stained missive, nodding his head as he examined that name. "So this is who they spoke of. . .how intriguing" The crimson stained pages would be tossed to the flames, his form slowly rising, arms stretching as his old bones cracked and popped. "If this god can bleed, then it means it lacks any power, any union, any strength. What have those who praised old lords, been doing to cause such an easy victory?" After a few moments, he offered a nod, an idea coming to mind. The hands of that still mortal, lofting upwards to summon forth his gilded lifeforce.

Of course, marriage is the ultimate tax write off, therefore marriage = capitalism

After reading both sides, I have concluded the following. Capitalism creates equal opportunity for all, therefore, become a capitalist.

The Plagued Passersby[Event] The sound of flies buzzed about, as the soft crunch and crack of brush and bone filled the foul smelling air. A thin mist hung over the coastal woods, the scent of rot and decay filling passerbys' nostrils, as the wreckage of some ruined carriage rested nearby an old derelict road. To all who drew near, they would find several corpses, all of them being of the ‘ame people. The once wonderful colors, and fresh crops, tarnished by blood and buzzing insects. A warning for those who traveled the roads of the coastal elves. Should one care to withstand the stench, and care to investigate the bodies, they might begin to hear it. The sound of laughter and joy, a merry welcome for those who decided to tread into the treacherous jungle.

"Well isn't that just something" The Delmar would state, his gaze shifting over to his student, the missive folded and placed upon the armrest. "Perhaps we should start making a board of bounties, a small competition to be had"

Honestly in agreement with tree here, I see no reason that Oculi can't be jewelry or some form of 'clothing'. Like a helm or crown, something that can be easily targeted or torn off. Otherwise, looks fine, ig.

The favored mad merchant would stumble across one of the aformentioned notes, his lips twisting into a sickly grin, as he clapped his hands together. "How very amusing, and annoying." The dastardly Delmar hummed, nodding for a moment as he departed down the roads. "Time to make an addendum to our deal."

The Delmar comes across such a missive, his gaze scanning over the writings. "They've now taken half the fun out of it! Oh well, I suppose those four nations shall be grand grounds to sell to." With that, the foul and eccentric merchant, began to ponder a discount for the remainder of the coming years, to those who might seek some sickly safety, from the foreseeable tide of purist cannonists. All for the coin, of course...

A Gilded Greeting [!] Throughout the lands of the coastal elves, various plagued and undead creatures would arrive at their doorstep. Dried parchment held tightly upon the ghastly undead familiars, some akin to snakes, others rats, and others being half rotten crows. All of which would be stamped with the following sigil. Greetings Amathine and Kaethul It is with great delight that we, the Murkwater Merchant Company, offer forth a grand welcome to your kin and kind. We pray that you’ve enjoyed the delights of our dreaded entertainment, these specimens have not graced descendent kinds in a very long time, after all. Boggens are only legends in the minds of the young descendent, a story to warn the world not to leave your dead about. Of course, I’m sure that is not the only delight you’ve witnessed or heard about. The attacks upon the Merchant City of Kaethul, the occasional attacks upon Ilivara ages past. All such attacks were done by my great company. With that said however, we are not mindless, we are not enacting some petty violence upon your people for little reason. Nor do we bend the knee to pitiful demons and their slaves. We are the working damned, where coin cut deals are much better than a blade. Which perhaps makes you wonder, why do we care to enact such brutality to you elven folk? Simple, because we were paid too, and because of our payment. We shall continue to do so for the foreseeable future, that is, unless you wish to do something about it? Like I’ve mentioned, we have risen the damned, and employed our own creations to attack. But that does not mean we aren’t willing to strike a deal. The choice is yours, payment or plague. Signed M.M.C