Damnit_Delmar

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*

"Yub Yub, Bestaz Friendz" A purple skinned olog would state

MC Name: SilvertheDM Discord: SilvertheDM Image: Description of Image: Murkwater Merchant Company Logo Dimensions: 1x1

A druid of greed and gold, sits in the center of the sun filled patio, various pillows and gilded cloth surrounding him. Various gems of shining hues and colors, scattered amongst his abode. A pile of treasure and wealth, looming behind the merchant. "Let us see the web you shall spin, Young Spider."

An adunian merchant and group of like minded capitalists , began to rally their group, the Murkwater Merchant Company starting to plot their first course of action in regards to helping the sailor and salesmen

A graying Harrenite merchant would give a most joyous smile, stamping an official Murkwater stamp of approval upon many of the fliers, in support of one of his most favorite clients!

A Farscryer of Fortune would bolt upright from his desk, powders and green toppling to the floor, as his bloodshot golden gaze shifted around the room. It took him a few minutes to realize his breathing had quickened, sharp rasps of air filling the hollow room, a noise he soon quenched with aid of Highlander Whiskey. "Another day, another dream, another new customer in store."

An Adunian reels forward in his desk, having partly dozed off, and yet also still processing the odd vision. His mind ever curious as to the origins and meanings of these cryptic visions.

So did that Harrenite lounge upon the top of that tower, his golden hue placed upon that dark and brine filled jar. His mind pondering upon whether or not his friend would suffer or find salvation.

Feel like this is a very odd thing to add, considering how necromancers are made and our connection to the Heith-Hedran. There is a lot I have read, and a lot of personal critiques I've got with the rewrite. All in all, it feels very bogged down with mechanics, and lacking in the lore department. Though I will applaud on the Heith-Hedran interactions, one of the few things I like with this rewrite.

*The events of these dreams are not public knowledge* A Thane's Promise The Adunian sat next to the banks of white sand, the grains slowly slipping and falling from his palm, mixing and merging with the dunes beneath his feet. He knew it was close, the time when sands ran red, and the waters filled with the dead. His dreams had changed, no longer clouded, but instead imparting a sense of direction for the Farscryer. “I suppose it is time to get ready then” He slowly stood, making his way back once more to the gates and into the ruined city of San Luciano. His clouded gaze shifted to the surrounding area, watching at the repaired structures that descendent kind had all united in fortifying together, watching as the Brothers of Brev worked to heal their injure and guard the gates, and watched as those who did not know what to do ideally chatted with one another. The Adunian merely chuckled, head slowly shaking as he felt another wave of lethargy wash over him, the sun certainly not helping him stay awake. “Just a bit of rest-,” His mutter would be interrupted by a swift yawn, his head slowly nodding, as his head of grayed hair would come to rest against the warm red cloth of the table. His head would lower, face planted against the surface, as he felt the warm embrace of sleep take over. His mind drifted, guiding him down that same path he had been viewing for the last several months. . . He awoke as he always did, in a puddle of murky water and waves, his hair floating upon the saltwater as rested there upon his back. Slowly, he began to lift himself up, the Adunian looking about the ruined stone keep. Towering walls of ruined marble, and crumbled columns decorated the once grandiose keep. Torn banners of the once proud Delmar Clahn, flying within the aged Adunic home. His head slowly turned about, golden hues affixed to the rotted door, the worm filled wood holding a peculiarity to it. An untarnished handle of silver, glinting in the early morning sun. With a deep breath given, he would walk over, opening it up to reveal the cracked stairwell. The sound of water rushing and flowing, entering his ears. Taking careful steps, he began to slowly descend down into the deep cellar. The sound of the water, only growing louder and louder, the stones beneath his feet slowly shifting. The carved brick of the castle, shifting and morphing to form a darker and more natural rock. With every step down, the noises grew, from the sounds of the sea did another noise erupt to life. The sound of screeching bats, and slithering serpents, a multitude of yellowed eyes peering from the crevices. A dark shape, flying past his head, only to give light to the path behind him once more. “Ten,” The amount of times he had managed to catch that swift thing within his vision, and the amount of seconds it took, before he felt that odd distortion. The world seemingly shifted, spinning, and hurdling, before he managed to catch himself against the stone wall. The rough cracks and shaping, and the slick moisture that trickled down, hinting at his arrival at the cavern's entrance. “Four.” He pushed himself from the slick surface, stumbling towards the gray light that spilled from the entrance, his feet meeting not the rough surface of stone. But rather, soft and cushiony grains of sand, his movement slowed as he entered that old and ever shifting ruins. Pillars rising from the waters, barnacles and algae spreading across its surface like an aquatic canvas. Centered amidst the dirtied waters, and old stones, sat an old skeleton, a blindfold of a purplish hue upon its rotted visage. Yet sprawled nevertheless, upon a throne of colored Anorum. He felt that familiar heaviness, the caution that warned him to step back, that tingle that told him to run up those worn steps and hide. Yet he did not listen, instead choosing greed, over his fear and caution. HIs breathing grew heavier, as he stumbled to the ratted cloth, his steps causing ripples to form in the shallow water. The sound of dripping, only growing louder, as he extended a palm out to grasp onto the blindfold on the visage of the old corpse. The rotted threads, almost sinking into the man's flesh, a sharp pain filling his golden palm. Once more, silence entered the occult ruin, before the head of the skeleton lurched forward. A skeletal palm shooting forth, and grasping onto the Delmars face. Pulling him back into the elden throne, his body sinking and falling through the crystalline structure… His body tugged downwards, a tightness about his lungs, as his golden eyes opened to view his new surroundings. He was drowning, being tugged to the depths of the ocean floor, and having nowhere to escape to. Dark waters surrounded him, the only spot of color, being the long vines of kelp that grew from the ocean floor as he struggled against the tides, attempting to gain some control and swim to the surface, yet it was all futile. After a few moments, he realized what had to be done, realized his purpose in being brought into those dark waters. He closed his eyes shut, his mouth parting open to let the water in, choking for air as the salt filled his lungs. Soon he saw white spots, a stinging pain filling his lungs, as he continued to descend down into the depths. These spots soon started to shine with a different light however, the white becoming gold, and the dark being replaced by shapes. The feeling of dampness soon left his body. His eyes shot open, a raspy cough erupting from his vocals, as he fell to the ground with a splash. His golden gaze stared down, focusing upon the ripples that distorted and shifted, revealing guidance to the still adjusting Adunian. The first to be revealed would be those dark oceans, those bodies he often had seen in the seas, the drowned who never fully departed from this realm. Bloated palms crawling towards the surface of the dark Rh’thoraen ocean, seeking escape and clemency from the dark depths. Yet none arrived, instead their knowledge remained buried, their endless life of undeath made worse by their aquatic surroundings. Yet soon their despair shifted, no longer did the screams or cries for help, but instead a song with all the fury of a warband. From the deads fury, arose a construct of flesh and wood, a thing of illdyic might. One that he guided in its making. Yet soon the dark waters shifted, tones of yellow slowly spilling from the occult construct, and soon washing away the image in the pool. The waters turned golden, and from the liquid mirror, did the coffers of treasure and fortune reveal themselves. Coins began to spill forward, descending down to form into a slope, the pile of wealth causing him to slowly rise up. With careful steps, he began to climb, his fists digging into the gold and gems. The precious gems and metal, flying in piles behind him, and yet, slowly did he rise up higher and higher. Coins slowly shifting to form golden steps, and jewels encrusting themselves into the stairs, a golden light showering upon him as he stumbled up the stairs of wealth. With every step, a new phrase was etched, and for every phrase did a mountain of knowledge imprint itself into his mind. His gaze flicked throughout the mass horde of wealth, and knowledge, searching and finding a new avenue and path. Yet none appeased him, none called out to him like the steps that truly rose before him, and so he climbed upwards. He rose higher and higher at a steady pace, yet nothing seemed to get him closer to the top. He continued to run upwards, until his feet gave out on him from the endless running, and forced him to crawl. Yet the crawl did not help either, even as he steadily pulled himself up another step, his palms were in far too much pain to continue helping him up. The corners of the gilded stairs, having long cut into his palms. So he sat there, gaze drifting now to the rippling pool of red, and it was in his own blood he saw it. Images of that scepter of old, and that long forgotten spirit, all was revealed within the Adunians bond and blood.”I will reclaim, what has been lost, Grandfather” His head slowly lifted, and for a moment he thought he could see that distant figure. Yet as he blinked, all he saw was the distant flight of a crow, the bird flying off into the night sky. Until a horrendous pain overtook his head, the Adunian went to scream, only for it to be caught in his throat. The flashing image of that many tendriled thing, seeming to open its cavernous maw around the Adunian, about to devour him. He felt horror overtake him, his body attempting to move, only for a thunderous pain to overtake his form. A look of horror spread on his face, as he felt his upper body topple to the side. Finally, a scream erupted from his throat, terror overtaking him as he attempted to lurch forward, to move at all… He awoke in a cold sweat, the one eyed clutching his head, as another migraine started to hammer away. He had awoken in the caves, his mind awash in confusion before he recounted the events of yesterday. He remembered then how he had awoken, and how swiftly after he had helped protect the beaches. He remembered how he had fought side by side with the others, and had fended off against the Mori on the beaches. How they had swiftly fell back, and exited once the tunnels had made their presence clear. Most importantly though, he knew how they currently resided in the abandoned caverns that the Mori had once occupied. A shudder ran down his spine, as he slowly stood up, the man leaving the cottage he had decided to occupy with a few others. His golden gaze, coming to look upwards at the ceiling. How long would it be, until they where once more within the light?

I knew it looked familiar, and I thought I was crazy, big yikes tho

*This post is not common knowledge, only those present may know what is going on* The Bloodied Basin “Yet these answers do not come free,” The Adunian sat there at the edge of his bed, that brown cloth still covering both of his stitched hues, hands folding one over the other as he pondered over the words of the masked figure. “You will ache with pain, you will suffer, you will walk till you can no longer walk. When you beg for the hands of death itself to take you from this cruel and unforgiving life that you live. . .that is when you will get your answers.” “He cannot possibly mean IT. . .can he?” He stood, mind racing with a hundred different thoughts and plots, a multitude of questions swarming through that jumbled psyche of his. Thoughts of the drowned bodies, thoughts of the glistening sickly orange eye, thoughts of the flying crow. It all led him to pace, his steps anything but subtle, as he walked back and forth. Anxiety brewing within the weak willed man, that true and unruly man of vice. After a few moments of pacing, he would stop. His gifted, or perhaps cursed, gaze came to rest upon the arm of his. How vain he truly was, the pigment shining with all the glamor of gold, yet still in a slightly weakened and shriveled state. For a moment, all he could do was stare, pondering what had led him to even making such a choice. Yet, he did not have to think long, he knew that reason for the golden glint within his palm now. Just as he knew one of the reasons for his pursuit of this path. For it was all in the pursuit of his own mortal greed and ambition, the ever hungering mortal, craving for further sense of gain. His golden digits, furled into a true and proper fist, nails biting into the weakened palm and yet even still. They would manage to burrow, the lifeblood of such just barely spilling onto the clenched hand. He grimaced terribly, the ever visible ivory of his teeth, glinting in the low candle light. He felt his thoughts, his mood, shift like ever present waters, glee turning to irritation at the thought of doing the task. Yet even with such anger, even with such ire slowly building, the words of another who guided sprung back into the thoughts of the man. “Yes, for even the selfish give away their blessing, but not without payment” “Is this my price?” His covered gaze slowly turned in the empty room, towards that small bowl of water. Slowly, he stumbled to it, a palm grasping at the basin's edge. Yet when he turned to look into those murky depths, he could not help but feel choked of breath. Horror growing upon his features, the waters reflecting once more that grinning dead and drowned Delmar, a palm seeming to rise out of the depths and latch onto him. Pulling him deeper and further into the pools. All the while, the dead Mali’dun’s reflection chuckled with glee, eager still to pull the struggling Harren'hil to the depths. His last thoughts, being a mumbled phrase, barely discernible from the lips of the departed and drowned. “AGH!” He bolted upright from the bed, hand pushing to his eyes, as he felt a splitting pain throughout his head. His ears, tingling from the last words he heard, his breathing coming out in big heaving waves. His head whipped about, gray curls bouncing across his face as he looked about anxiously in his room, all seeming fine as he started to slow his breathing. Before he gave a slow nod of his head. “Everything is fine, everything is just fine” He paused, his hand feeling damp, and so he looked down to it. Shock filled him, and swiftly too did the pain, the inside of his palm wet with his own blood. Grabbing a nearby bandage, he slowly wrapped the golden palm, before he slipped his leather gloves back on. He took a moment to ponder, and think. The man slowly stood, a cautious gaze upon the pool of rippling water. Yet nothing more stirred, nothing more came to occur in that room, except for the single thought. The question of to leave or to stay in this ruined sanctuary, in safety and mediocre health. So he sat, idly grabbing his belongs and placing them near the edge of the bed. His mind wandered for seconds, minutes, hours… It took some time before the door to the stolen room slammed shut, causing any of the paintings that were still there, to shake and shudder. He walked to the entrance of the ruined castle, his steps stopping as he made his way to the old ruined road. To his right, rested the path to the square of Savoy, and towards the ever inviting tavern and people. Yet, to his left, sat the ruined iron barred entrance. The rusted metal, inviting him outside towards the desolate dunes of the south. He paused in that moment, unsure and anxious as to what to do in that moment. That was, until he heard the ever present noise, the sharp caw of a bird, alerting him to its presence. He looked towards it, and it was there he saw it, the black winged bird staring at him from the banners. Before he had time to even properly react, the bird once more looked at him, and cawed. Before it flew off the banners and into the direction of that blurry gate. The man merely stood there, mouth agape in shock. Then, slowly, a noise began to emit from his throat. At first, slow and soft, though swiftly growing into a mighty chuckle. His cane tapped forward, and so he started to walk down the path, towards the ever-damned desert “That is when you will drink the waters, granted by my Almighty”