Damnit_Delmar

I've seen so many do this, thought it was only right that I myself do one after all this time, so ask away.

The often referred to Delmar looks to the notice, a cackle erupting from the aged wildwynn, a boundless noise that radiated throughout the manor halls as he used the missive as kindling. "Oh, now this is funny, I've not used that name publicly in decades. Like finding a needle in a haystack- Or I suppose a grave in a graveyard." The proud bastard royal, continued to toss in the paper into the flames, mad laughter filling the grand halls as he continued on with his plans and schemes.

"Why this is troubling indeed, perhaps its time I give this Maor a warm welcome" The current Ithil pondered such, the man making sure to finish putting on the last of those silvered rings, as he began to prepare for the potential meeting.

I stick by the fact that removing Tawkin compatibility is dumb -1

A certain merchant looks towards the missive, an ivory guard passing it to him, as an ashen brow slowly lifts. "Well oh well, what have we here?"

I support any Noz post +1

The large and lanky form of that finely garbed wildwynn, floated upon the empty air, his bejeweled fingers clutching that notice. His lips where curved into a cruel grin, a smile of ivory presented as he began to dance upon the clouds. That missive soon finding itself flung into the old decrepit halls. "Well if my grandfather knows one thing, its how to put on a show!" The craftsman lowered himself upon the dusty bricks, hands coming to clasp together, as he made his way towards that abyssal workshop of his. For he had work to conduct.

A merchant scans over the missive, a brow lifting as he nodded his head in agreement. "While idiotic in their faith, I will agree with my kinsfolk on this single point. The Kazin'kuls, must indeed be Kazin'culled." A chuckle escaped the tanned Mali'dun, the merchant of the Sea going back to preparing that glorious coastal home of his.

A once Inquisitor of Kazimirs Inquisition hears the news, a prayer offered to Archangel Michael and Godan in hopes that his mentor fights honorably, and that his victory is secured.

A Grotesque Greeting The contents of these letters would be spread about the realm of Haensetti-Ruska, dropped off by various undead crows. Upon each letter, the sigil of a golden hydra could be seen, one differing to the common Xionist or Fifithist sigils. Greetings to you foolish nobles, wretched whelplings, and wounded knights. We of the Order of the Stygian Hydra graciously would like to extend our warmest welcomes to the citizens of the north. What would we be without the foolish flocks of mortals like yourselves? Like a wolf without sheep, we would starve, we would deteriorate, and our hunger would consume us. Yet it has not, for the weaklings such as yourself offer such gracious sustenance, offer such grand enjoyments of show and theater. After all, one cannot call that display of gore and cruelty last saints day to be anything but a show—a theater, a play, and most importantly, an introduction. Our creation still lingers in your woods, free from our shackles, for what fun would a bound beast be? Whether it attacks flesh or bone, friend or foe, such matters little, for we merely seek to start this play right; we’ve not even begun to reach the climax of this first act. So prepare, host your small forces, sharpen your blades, and focus on whatever foe you deem more pressing. Whether the skeletons amongst the hills or the undead amalgam lurking in your woods. We will be waiting and watching with a vested interest. As for those of the Fifth Lord, the Fifthists, if you will, let this declaration of battle also act as an olive branch. A hand of ivory offered to the fellow practitioners of our craft for any future endeavors involved with our most glorious art. Prepare, Ponder, and Plead For the Play has just Begun Gimilzor, Golden Fist of the Divine Tricksters, Ruler of the Black Sands, Arbiter of the Unholiness, The Primeval Serpent, Lord Commander of the Mistguard, Right Hand to Aurelion the Black. Icarian, The Crows Craftsman, Onyx Eye of the Divine Tricksters, Warlord of the Yen’Droch Rodi, Chief Architect of the Temple Daezmun,The Doctor, Ivory Blade of the Divine Tricksters, The Cursed Child of Malin, Bandit Lord of Almaris

A capitalist corpse crafter looks in both irritation, but appreciation in the use of the undead crows. "Curious indeed, I wonder if they shall send letter anytime soon- I do pray there is actual meaning in this endeavor" He murmured, speaking to himself and the two hulking giants of twisted bone and flesh. The newly blessed temple, acting to give inspiration to the scheming elder.

Good to see the Jokul added in. +1

One of those very same wolves looked to the missive, a grin coming to spread upon the mans withered features, his large form hunched as he looked to various forces around him. "He has done well, that student of mine." The papers would be flung into low embers, catching alight as he began to make his way to that tomb. "Let us see what the Bastard Butcher will bring them in these coming days." His ivory palms would rise, resting upon the heavy doors, before he slowly pushed them open. It was time for the Craftsman to create something new.

A certain Craftsman received this vision, his form coming to jolt awake, as he looked towards the night sky. The distant sound of crows could be heard overhead, he rubbed at his aged visage , contemplating all he had just been witnessed to. "Balance will soon find itself restored, for if purity comes to grace us with its presence, so shall corruption soon follow it." The corners of his lips drew into a thin smile, the man slowly rising as he began to to assemble what he needed, the large ivory skull coming to rest upon the withered wildwynns face, before he left to inform the others.

Númendil adversaries look to the missive, confusion quickly turning to anger. "Of course! They are trying to weaken their bones!"

The Winemaker would still be pondering over the events he had witnessed in person, still shocked by the display of brutality and barbarism from the elven nobility. "May he rest well in the soul stream, perhaps one day he may find further vengeance." With his goodbye prayer given, the Winemaker would pop open an old vintage, and grab a small tray filled with yellowed powder. In front of him, rested various notes and posters. Something brewing within the Wildwynns wicked mind.

Seerdom Just go into the information broker business and make money, or you could just also pretend to be an expert on written languages. Could also just gaslight the world if you wanted to.

Xionism as a concept is a really unique and interesting thing, which I think its awesome to see all the things that have come to pass from it. Such groups that have taken inspiration from it, like the Ashen Faith, Sisterhood of Skjoldier, Shorewalkers, The Yen Droch'Rodi, Way of the Fifth Lord and many other various and hidden groups. The way its also been used to create interesting philosophical differences and stand points, has also been a fun rp aspect to explore both on my character and I'm sure many others. I think overall you've created an awesome resource and building block for the creation of a grimdark-fantasy cultures and rp, and its something that I as a player, would love to see a bit more of. In terms of seeing some more ST interest in using a lot of the old aspects of the lore.

Very dope

Boggens The Gluttonous Gravediggers Sepulcher Ghoul Magic the Gathering Art from Adventures in the Forgotten Realms Set by Jason A. Engle Culture/History Creatures from an age where Necromancers held more power and the mortals were more careless, Boggens are predators of both man and beast alike. Nicknamed ‘The Gluttonous Gravediggers,’ these beasts can be found throughout the lands. Whether in a mist-filled swamp or the hazy corpse-dredged battlefield, these beasts of the bog are nothing to trifle with. The story tells of how these creations resulted from foul Necromancy gone awry, causing the creation of this wicked and bestial undead to spread throughout Aeos and Eos. A simple scratch or a simple bite spreads plague among those afflicted, and soon the onset of a terrible desire to consume the dead fills them. Creature Summary A creature born for war and misery, these beasts of the damned often stand a bit taller than they were in life. Ranging from 5-7 ft in height, their bones have grown longer due to the necrotic tinkering done upon them. Their nails now resemble talons, and their teeth have become needle-like and thin. Their body would resemble a pale and preserved corpse, their hair falling out wholly or remaining in thin wisps. Their eyes now bearing an abyssal green-blue hue. Behavior Boggens are nothing more than a husk for hungry lifeforce. The soul of the individual is barely there, the only ingrained instinct and emotion being animalistic and cruel in nature. This is due to them often using the memories they acquire through eating the dead to lure in and trap the unknowing. These skilled predators use their acute control of mists to replicate the homes or visages of their victims. Abilities Mist Manipulators These foul dead hold the innate ability to manipulate mist and fog around them. Allowing them to cover themselves and attempt to feign life, they are able to mimic the appearance of anyone they have eaten, in addition to utilizing their manipulation of mists to cause the surrounding area to take on the shape of different areas they have seen. Redlines They may control an area up to the range of Shout, anything outside of that range will be able to be seen as fake and illusionary They can only mimic the appearance of the individual they are disguised as, being unable to mimic words, scent, or speech. The illusion is entirely visual. Should a Boggen attempt to disguise themselves as another individual, they would find difficulty in holding a true illusion. Still holding the inability to speak, as well as mask their scent. They cannot control mist while also attacking, at best maintaining a dense and hard to see fog in #Q range while also attacking. The Rotten Smog The dead are known for their horrid smell, often reeking of rotten flesh and viscera. The Boggen is no exception to their undead kindred. Coming off as a pale and sickly-smelling mist, like a mixture of rotten eggs and skunk spray, those that reside in the Rotten Smog will find themselves growing sickly. Those without protection from plague and malady find their skin growing horrid yellow-blue rashes. Warped Warts growing over their visage as those who had breathed in the foul concoction would find trouble breathing. All of these symptoms last for 3 OOC Days before diminishing and clearing themselves over time. Redlines The Boggen is capable of controlling this rotten smog, though the range of control extends to a maximum of 8 blocks around them. One has to be within the fog for 6+ emotes in order to be infected with the disease. The disease involves warts, shortness of breath, and peeling yellow-blue rashes that form on any area left exposed. This Disease can be treated with Deadmans Cure, Paladin Healing, or Farseer Shamanistic Blessings. The use of Hemo-flow will double the recovery rate, the disease running its course in 3 OOC days rather than a full OOC week. Those that breathe through Air Purifying Respirators, hold the Healthy Body Mutation, Necromancers and Undead will find themselves immune to the effects of the horrible odor. A person may opt to OOCly keep this plague permanently. Redlines Boggens are unable to be properly tamed and friendly creatures, always desiring to hunt or kill. A group of 4 T3+ Necromancers as well, through RO approval, may conduct a custom and free-form ritual in an area to raise a Boggen/’s in an area for creating a Player Hosted Event/Eventline. This may not be done to provide ‘additional’ forces to a necromancer, the Boggen/’s are still hostile and will still attempt to kill their creators once raised. This cannot be used for benefit of the necromancers in combat or active combat, and is strictly for player events. Boggens hold the strength of a lesser orc, however are limited to the use of claws and teeth Their bones, due to their oversaturation of lifeforce, have become far stronger in nature. Becoming as durable as iron. An individual is unable to capture the foul Smog of mist that lays around a Boggen, the stench soon leaving the rotten corpse once it is slain. Credits Writing - SilvertheDM Consultation - boughtabride References/Original Inspiration - Xarkly, The Lectorate

A certain Winemaker hears of the news in passing, what with his home being in close borders with the realm of Helios. So does this Winemaker ponder, mulling over his previous interactions. "So a man dies. . .yet his spirit, well, he did always foster an interest in the arcane" The Winemaker would slowly stroll over to a book shelf, his hand rising to the old weathered tome, his interest now far greater then it had been prior. His lips curling into a cruel grin, as he hopped and skipped in the laboratory. "I suppose my first test subject has been found!"

Honesty this seems like a dope rewrite, glad to see it becoming more of a main magic, and seeming less of a side thing. I've got no complaints, +1

The occult craftsmen would gaze upon the letter, lips curling into a smile as his gloved digits gripped upon the parchment. After a moment of reading, the paper would soon find itself tossed into a nearby flame. The mans hands clasping together as he pondered upon the contents of the letter. "Not all of us combine our powers with the Void"

How does it feel to be an automata icon

*The entirety of these events are not public knowledge, unless there or told, do not meta this knowledge* 𝕱𝖎𝖗𝖊 & 𝕱𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖞 “Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from religious conviction.” ― Blaise Pascal, Pensées The day was sunny, peaceful even, the Merchant of Murkwater having gone to the capital of Urguan with many of his so-called ilk and companions. His items, which he had recently re-acquired, were firmly hanging from the belt. His grandfather's cane of old Crackadonk bone used to guide him toward the city's entrance. It was all so cheery and so merry, why he even had time to converse with the Grand King of Urguan. Time to speak and spark trade, time to create contacts, and time to gain…. "Pharamir Delmar, come with us peacefully. You are under arrest for suspicion of being aligned with the Necrotic." The Delmar would stop, his mind and heart racing as he found himself soon surrounded by various Templars and Paladins. His hand was clasped tightly by the famed Dragonslayer, unable to escape from such. "Necrotic? Now I know my kin have not had the kindest of reputations. However, this is surely something you are overreacting about?" Just like he had done countless times before, yet this time, his silver tongue was not proving to be of help. Instead, they would continue with each one growing closer and another wary brow shown. Yet the lies did flow, criticisms given back, and comments about departure made. Yet despite that, the minor inconsistencies were not enough. “Weh shal du an interrgatoh upun dis Darkspawn.” No matter the lie or excuse, he was dragged forward to the long dark pit. All he could do was curse himself and his lack of preparation and foresight, despite his many gifts for such. Yet, surely they would not kill him; at best, he could lie. Perhaps not about being pure of soul, but certainly, about others, contacts he could gather. Anything to let him escape the dreary and dark prison. Yet, it mattered not; he was placed inside the dark pit. His golden gaze shifted about the area, waiting for whatever interrogation to begin. Click, Click, Click… The sound of gears shifting and whirring cogs could be heard, the Mali'dun looking about the place as he watched the pit slowly open. Shock first embraced him before fear began to ball in his stomach. The man frantically pushed himself towards the walls, attempting to find leverage, anything to aid his survival. Yet, nothing lay about the area. Instead, he felt himself falling into the pit of flames. The fire licking at his silk-garbed form was such a beautiful thing, and yet such a shame it had to burn away. Soon his body lighting, the various oils and dyes, and even the charcoal he used to maintain the dark coloration in his hair. All of it lit ablaze, his skin bursting and burning as a horrid scream of agony erupted from his charred vocals. The flames only allowed such suffering to show for seconds before his withered frame was brought to fall. His burnt and withered hand was raised in pleading agony—something to cause that terrible, horrid pain to stop. Soon his prayer was answered, pain giving away to darkness, and darkness revealing a hellish fall... Pharamir Delmar SA 104 - 136 *These events are not known public knowledge*