Damnit_Delmar

Gravelord Kryndomere

Was once a mere Necromancer Merchant, The Delmar, now turned into Herald of Umbrage and Logical Lich. Works for big old scary Mordring, Dragaar Lich. 

Passing of a Poet

The world was spinning, his head felt as though it was pounding, the tightness in his lungs was growing. What was this feeling, that sharp claustrophobic emotion, that tugged at his chest. 

It took him mere moments to realize, that lack of air, that stinging pain, and that wet metallic taste in his mouth. They were the signs, the tell-tale understanding of one's own death. 

“You have established yourself upon the Ladder, now pray, pray to the Goat.”

“I. . ..pray to. . .none. . .but the Serpent”

“Than be devoured, be the consumed, for the Goat” 

“Right. . .makes. . .right”

He was only an acolyte, but he even knew that none but perhaps the serpent would save his soul. Perhaps that final offering, of death of the hellish dog, had served as a show of worth. Then again, all he had been in life was but a simple poet. 

A Poet, promised Princedom

A candle, snuffed before it could grow. 

Arise Bubba, its time to cause some chaos

6 minutes ago, Nozgoth said:

For dark mages/villains, there are numerous other reasons to commit villainy than to do it for some theological/philosophical reason that you’ve brainwashed your character into believing. Obviously it’s fine to roleplay theology and philosophy, I just mean to say it’s gotten real boring when literally EVERY character does it. Every character uses it as an excuse to drive their actions. PLEASE LET US FIND SOMETHING NEW. Emotions, history, personality, money, illness, etc.

This is so real though

This is why I prefer my niche of being an evil capitalist undead merchant. 

welcome to the company

The Gravelord looked down at the abyss below, next to him, that hulking rumbling mass of soul and bone stood resolute. Like an obedient servent, did that melding husk stay, still adjusting to its new form. A skeletal palm lofted towards the newly arisen child of the balance, that thing coming to rumble with with a hunger not yet satiated. A calming shush from that Lich of ivory and ectoplasm. 

"Calm yourself Bilneth, lest you break from your vessel. . .It seems a letter is to be made in kind to those I've broken bread with" 

The Gravelord lofted his skeletal palm upwards, adorned upon it, a ring of cracked Menhir stone. The Lich thought of that struggle, that fight in which they had subdued that which would sunder for the Sixth. 

"So Mote it Be. Rest Child of the Damned, so shall your suffering, save the lost."

I don't think you can OOC oversight blood magic guys

MC Name:

         ImThatLich

Character's Name:

         Gravelord Kryndomere

Character's Age:

         75

Character's Race:

         Lich

Link to your accepted MA:

        https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/233185-tawkin-fa-_vaasek/

What magic(s) will you be teaching?

         Tawkin

Describe this magic or a creature as a whole:

Tawkin is a more in depth craft, involving the mutation of the body. Considered occult by most, it involves toying with the body to enhance them. Creating as well new life, in the form of creatures or new vessels' to inhabit. 

Are there different sections or subsections of magic? Can those be elaborated upon?

In Tawkins there are three distinct categories found within it.

Transmutation 

This subsection of alchemy involves three distinct things, each involving the alchemical modification of flesh. 

Moulding

Moulding is the act of using Moulders tincture, and applying it onto flesh to shape and sculpt it like a mason would clay. Creating new disguises, and offering the chance to completely change ones identity.  

Grafting

Grafting involves the particular process of making Bogdan's Clay and making it to mold limbs and replacements for the individual. However, the more intricate the limb and graft, the more taxing it is for the wielder. A Descendent can have a multiple minor grafts, however they may only properly retain two Major Grafts. Anymore causing the individual to feel strained and sickly. Grafting however does not allow for appendages incompatible through the biology of a descendent. Such as wings or gills for example. 

Mutations

Mutations can be separated in two categories, lesser and greater. While Lesser mutations are purely aesthetic and serve to only make one the peak of their race, or to add variety such as changed eyes, hair, skin. Or even the aesthetic addition of changed eyes, colored blood, or scales upon the flesh. Greater Mutations seek to make such proper and tangible to the character, allowing them to achieve feats of strength and dexterity. At the cost of other areas, for example one with Heightened Dexterity would find themselves more fragile.  Lastly Greater mutations are locked purely to Klones and Homunculi. 

Homunculi

What most people consider a-moral, Homunculi are often stitched apart corpses, granted sentience and life. These two can as well be separated in two categories, bestial or descendent. Bestial Homunculi can be aesthetic pets and servants. The creatures holding monkey level intelligence. Meanwhile, the Descendent Homunculi are a creature that players can act as. Soulless alchemical husks, usually ordained with greater prowess in alchemy. 

Klones

The final and most vital bit of information, Kloning allows for one who has mastered Tawkin to switch in and out of carefully prepared bodies. Often stored in large vats and libraries, the art of learning Kloning puts one on a PK clause upon learning. 

Can you give an example of a casting emote, of a spell of your choice?

Bogdans Clay

[!] The Lich looked towards the bowls before him, a bored hum leaving that charred skull as its boney digits clasped for the pile of Lard. Placing it in a bowl before him, he would begin to toss in two counts of poison earth sigils. Then he would toss in five Connection sigils, and mold and mix with a total of four life. The clay began to take on a grayish complexion, yet that was merely the start, as he melded together the plethora of symbols another four Growth would mix with three Endruance. "Very good, and then" The Gravelord would lift up a small vial, a single dash, and thus count of Grace mixed into the Bogodans Clay. "Done"

Can you give an example of a teaching-emote (interacting with another) of a spell of your choice?

[!] "Now then, today I shall be teaching you the the Moulding Tincture. It helped me avoid much of my many issues, in mortal life." The Skeleton cackled as it patted the alchemical table next to him, a small vial seen in front of him. As that student of blond hair looked to him, he would point to the former magus the ingredients before him. "You need a base of water, three symbols of water, so as to make such fluid! Then you need to mix in-" The Gravelord paused, tossing in five symbols, followed by four, and three. Each set explained as he mixed and melded the symbols together. "Five Grace, Four Reduction, Three Purity and Clarity, and lastly two Balance and Peace. Once you mix thoroughly you will be left with a greyish liquid. Now be wary, for its effects are in the flesh. Not unlike our venerable craft, except such molds the living flesh." 

Say your student powergames during or after teaching, how do you reprimand that?

Speak with them and handle it through explaining what they did wrong and talking with ST

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

         N/A

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

         Yes

Have you applied to teach this magic on this character before, and had it denied? If so, link the app.

         N/A

Welcome to the company

The Recently crowned Lich comes to hear of these deaths, a cackle resonating throughout its ribcage, as tenebrous smog leaks from its form. With understanding of soul, and mastery of bone, the Gravelord knew it was only right to summon forth those soldiers. 

"Our accord has been struck, and a deal is to be completed. You shall rise once more, Radmir"

A young 'thill and poet was out and about tending to business. He had been busy, keeping to himself, and attempting to find inspiration within the muted and dismal realms. Though the news of that lliran of his, though distant, still impacts him all the same. Though he had changed much since his youth, a look of remorse still filled that weary visage of Len'ii Acal'turii

"Rest well, my friend"

A certain Gravelord with a golden tint to his being, thought of the marketing campaigns to come. What other grand tours would Gravelord Kryndomere do next?

The ports of Minas-Mordren came to fill the harmonic hymns of the damned, the long thought anguished spirits, singing in revelry and joy of the ascension of the new Herald. 

"Let us see if this one can learn to respect the ways of Lifeforce, as any other Gravewalker might respect such"

So to, did that Gravelord of Umbrage; Kryndomere. Come to scan over a missive, a solemn nod of approval offered, before the recently risen Lich began its work. 

https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/236604-arch-lich-ca-_vaasek/

Conjurer Subclass will be done for this

MC Name:

         ImThatLich

Character's Name:

         Gravelord Kryndomere

Character's Age:

         74

Character's Race:

         Lich

What magic(s) will you be learning?

         Mysticism

Teacher's MC Name:

         TheWightWolf

Teacher's RP Name:

         Barrowlord Vorztrok

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

         N/A

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

The Gravelord sat upon his throne, the upper castle of those lessers of his, scavenged and attacked. An annoyed huff leaving the now eldritch figure. Gravelord Kryndomere looked about the ports, an annoyed sigh escaping the lord. 

"A Duel or a Tourney? Whatever shall they decide?" 

An Abyssal Ascension

*The Events of this are not public, those there may properly respond to the events*

Held within the frail digits of that Delmar, rested a blackened ivory elven skull. Aurum lined its crevices, as though it was light trying to break from the dismal dark. Implanted within the sockets, rested two fiery gems. Much akin to that old elfs aura, it instead was but a distant reminder of the potential that had been lost. 

“I slaughtered all of Mordrings finest Wraiths, and this is what he brought instead?”

The words of that wielder of shadowed light hung heavy in his mind. A bubbling broiling thing, coming to befall the Lord of Minas Mordren. The cold waves of that ocean sea before him, acting as something to sober him from his lucid thoughts. 

“Did you feel the fear of your ancestors?” 

The words of that letter still ran red in his mind, that anger of his starting twist, malform and grow into something caustic. A fabled fury he seldom displayed, as he made his way back in through the ports. He knew what was to be done, what was to be gained, and what was to be lost.

"PAMPO PERA! KING BENEATH, MORDRING! SHOULD MY WORDS REACH YOUR EARS, I BESEECH FOR MEETING!” 

It was a wicked thing, the empty silence that followed, not unlike that of what had occurred in the lands of the Abyss. His fury only bubbled over, for as the gates slowly rise, so too did his steps quicken. It was almost too quick, his steps almost causing him to stumble over the blackened steps. Another ragged breath taken in, as he felt the common aching of those old bones of his. 

“Damn It, Curse it all, this body of mine.”
 

He would huff, though he knew very well why he remained in it, despite its deteriorating state. Just from his time in the abyss, he knew that his bones were slowly becoming weaker. He hated it, with every fiber of his being, he reviled the thought. Years of harsh conditions had led it to gain imperfections of its own. 

It had all become so much

The Emissary of the King Beneath had come, and more so had learned of what was to occur. The summoning of that blade, the reveal of what the warrior of light wielded. It was all so peculiar and so enlightening. Yet it was also infuriating, time after time had they been lacking, their risks leading to little return. So he spoke, he told that great dark lord of his ideas, of where to expend his resources. All was discussed, and all was promised, until conversations were paused. A command given to the old Mortal Gravelord. 

“Follow Us” 

The merchant paused, surprised at the request, but not at all unwilling. The two of them, mortal and exalted undead, side by side through the frozen landscape. They made their way to the home of the Xionist sect of Ember. His steps slowly trending upwards into the upper loft of the church, being guided to the tower's ritualistic communing room. The communing artifact, laid upon a pillow of black satin, ready for him to grasp. 

So he grasped it

He felt himself falling, departing and tumbling into a realm of darkness. His hands splayed across the pitch black sands, as he arrived upon the pillar of Aegisan stone. A great voice of death and decay, rumbling forth for all to hear, and most certainly that Delmar. 

"What brings you here”

The adunic merchant slowly lifted upwards, struggling to stand, though he feigned strength towards those undying around him.His voice a thing of harsh and ashen tone, strained by wheezing breaths. He explained then, in baited breath the plight of their time in his realm. The slaughter of students and allies. He explained the proposition of pooling his power into the few, rather than the many. He explained it all, how to funnel strength, to hone that which could grow through his facilitation. It was all so hopeful, the bastard royal hardly thought that he would listen, and perhaps offer a laugh. That was until that offer sprung forth from the King Beneath. 

“We cannot offer you boons of greater undeath, not in your current state Delmar.”

The words hung heavy in the air, yet what came next, perhaps was what truly shocked that Mortal Gravelord. 

“If given the chance, would you claim your Birthright?” 

The undead chanted, the cries to claim his place amongst them made manifest. The conflict that bore in his mind, of taking that spot of ascension. Yet he knew the truth, of what was to be done, and what had to be done. 

He had to Ascend

“Only by your hand shall I accept such a change. If Fate motes you to mold me anew, then Mote it Be!” 

The words had spoken, another travel planned, one much more swift. A trek back to a home of frozen oceans, and aurum walls. A home that he had built with his own two hands, of calloused flesh, and tanned skin. A realm he had built, as a dynasty for the undying. 

It was only right, he had cultivated the tree. 

It was only right he was allowed to enjoy the fetid fruit. 

It wasn’t until the moon showed high in the sky, and the halls of Lumbridge shook and shuddered. It wasn’t until the mountains shook, and the northern peaks trembled. With the fabric of space torn itself apart, he felt that breach of mortal might make itself manifest. He felt the call, the realization of what he was to do. Lost in his own thoughts, the voice of the Lich Wight spoke to him from across those long pews.

“Do you, Reynard Delmar, hold any last words?”

That dastardly dealer of the damned, scryer of the beyond and cuthroat merchant. He had long feared the change, long sought out ways to prolong it. Yet in such actions, he had drawn closer to his own death day. The pain of his being, had long entered his being. The accelerated age and constant toil in faux mortality, making him all but a mockery to mortal life. His gaze of two golden coins, turned back one last time to gaze upon those who watched him take the first steps. Each gaining an inkling, an understanding of what was to be. They all looked, bated breath about them. Each face, an inspiring soul for that long living mortal. His gaze slowly turned to look upon the Lich-Wight. A smile, grand and welcoming, gracing the undead.

“Why waste my time on last words, when the first are what to come?”

The Gravelords hand was lifted upwards, a blade of blighted steel seen, a dagger presented before the mad merchant. His two golden eyes looked upon it, a shaky breath given. Shaky breath, it was a wonder to truly think, the last breath that filled his long aged death.

“So Mote it be”

The Emissary gathered the reagents, the flickering tones of occult light shining before the grouping of Mystics, Necromancers, and various undead. They all hung upon the actions of that adunian, that withered old merchant. Where perhaps fear, or anguish, should have escaped the merchant of Mali’dun people. Instead, a single smug phrase was returned in kind. 

“So Mote it Be!” 

It was the stench of iron that filled the air. The lingering moments of a pained existence, as the memories of his life as a living man flashed before his eyes. He saw that of his once partner, the woman that had shown a chance for a new life. He recounted his son, the child that would perhaps lead to his clan's downfall, or continued grace. Yet none grew more fervent, then the faces of his enemies. The ones that had scorned him, the ones that had made their bed  with the likes of the Light. They all showed upon his mind, and each held a place for what was to be. 

A merchant, a royal, a bastard. 

Killed was that mortal soul

Yet risen, a figure of auric lifeforce, and blackened bone. 

A spirit of bone, that was exalted in soul

A Lord of Blackened Sun & Eternal Sight

A Gravelord crowned with the name

Kryndomere

OOC Note

MC Name:

         _Vaasek

Character's Name:

         Gravelord Kryndomere

Character's Age:

         74

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

         Adunian

Transformed form:

         Arch-Lich 

Creator's MC Name:

        Meteor_Dragon, Zarsies

Creator's RP Name:

          The Snake, The King Beneath

Briefly explain the lore behind this construct or creature:

Archliches are creatures of the occult that are the ascended version of Necromancers. Undying and never tiring. Archliches gain 1 slot back from Necromancy, making it from a 4 slot to a 3 slot magic. In addition, Archliches gain an additional necrotic modification, and gain the Infallible curse. Allowing a lich to revive within 30 minutes, only ever to be truly killed through sealing them away. Lastly a Lich may create a corpse for communion, using the Heith-Hedran as a site to speak through.

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

Fashioned  from the guiding and masterful hands of Mordring himself, the once Delmar has been ascended into a reviled Arch Lich of towering proportions. Bearing regal finery that was of necessity in his past life, and adorned in occult jewelry. His form is that of twisting blackened bone, shrouded by smog laced with aurum. Two sockets of frothing gilded lifeforce, seeping from his eyes, the once Gloomgazer, now locked out of his divination 

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

         N/A Seer will become Dormant however

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

         Yes

Are you aware that if this creature is shelved, your character may be given the option to revert or be indefinitely shelved?

         Yes

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:

         N/A

He had seen it, before his very eyes, the Delmar had seen the like of that swift and brutal kill. It had been easy to run, harder to run away knowing what prize had been lost. "Your death shall not be in vain, my acolyte." He prepared, the letters, the communion, the seances that where to be. He readied for the war that had begun, the battle for that blade had begun. 

*This letter would be distributed out amongst the likes of the  Murkwater Merchant Company, Sixth Synod, or wayward Allies*

A Wildwynns Welcome

8th of the Grand Harvest, 178 SA

A Sole Grave Day

That was the allotted time I waited before I received word from the former Herald, who to the fellow artisans who tread upon our path of Umbrage, relinquished his holdings in Lumbridge and titles. The title of this enkindled path, now passed properly onto myself. 

To Malag the Reborn,  in particular. The former Herald of Umbrage, let me make it perfectly known to the world within this letter; that I bear respect to your choice in this matter. Should you ever seek scholarly insight, work of worth, or merely desire a duel of deals. Know that your presence is welcome within my halls of gold and umbral fire, and your wisdom on how to not repeat past mistakes, greeted with open arms.

With this new title, comes a new vested power, and a required task of myself to uphold. The task of unification. For as the start of this Renaissance began with Soul and Bone, so shall it continue to be such. Thus I cordially invite all who share this same path, to my dominion of Minas Mordren. Whether you seek to understand my ideals for the future, challenge the prospect of my claim, or merely satisfy the curiosity as to who I am. I welcome you all to my halls of gilded stone, and unhallowed flame.  

Radiant is the Black Sun, and Enlightening is the Grim Renaissance

Signed

 Reynard Delmar, Lord of Crows, Herald of Umbrage

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

https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/225791-necromancy-ma-silverthedm/?tab=comments#comment-1979785

He will rise once more