Damnit_Delmar

"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”

How sleepy orcs and ologs be

The Diplomat of ages past, looked in pride at his friend as he joined briefly through, nothing but a nod given in passing. Perhaps a sign that he had indeed, been watching over him all those years, and within a flash to whatever after-life the former Rex would go, the blind adunian would vanish, his sentence still having yet to be served in the eternal wastes.

The line of the Countess, found the wayward missive, a hand going to his stubble as he pondered such for a moment. Foot tapping lightly against the ground, for while he was a Delmar, the blood of the Redfist Clan did flow through his veins. "Oh what to do, oh what to do." The blindman did muse, a grin slowly growing as the wheels spun and turned in his brain.

A long dead adunian, of near a century past, greeted the halfling with a weary smile. A blindfold still ever present across his features, as he offered a wave in his direction. "Come old friend, we've much to discuss"

A Soulless thing toils and twists within the vat of liquid. Though he would not know for years to come, a twisted grin did grow, for the Sinner had been slain.

A Single Gaze *These Events are not public knowledge, only those who experienced or are told, should know of such* Art Credit - Ivan Aivazovsky It had been a year, a year since his sight had been ripped and stripped away by his own hands. A year since the dark had graced him, and a year since all he could see was that murky abyss. At first, that nothingness had been a comfort for him, for it granted respite from the lingering shadows. From the creeping figures that taunted his vision, from the faces beneath the waves, and even from the sickening bodies in the deep blue. Yet the peace was a deceit, it was a fallacy from the start, a lie to lure him into a false sense of comfort. For just as soon as he had grown accustomed to that lack of sight, did the nightmares once more arise. For every day of respite and rest, did a night's worth of horror and anxiety creep into his gut. The moment his head rested upon that silk, that creeping terror started to build. For what was worse, was not the ability to see the horror around him, but being unable to view that which lurked around. His ears would pick up on the whispers and slight creaks, his nostrils picked up on the scent of brine and blood, and his fingers often felt the damp remnants of whatever passed by. Yet tonight started differently for the Delmar… Just as he had done everyday, for the last year, the Harren'hil placed his cane by the doorway. His hand extended out to use the wall as a guide, before pulling him partly closer to the bed. Taking a seat next to it, his gaze panned to the wall, his mind still reeling from the events of the day. “It would be easier if I told you what he wasn’t involved in, he was a man of many secrets” “He had eyes, hosh eyes, weird eyes, nub eyes. Worms where in them, he cut them out and gave them to Ixris” “You remind me much of him” A sharp knock drew him out of his stupor, the noise coming from the crimson glazed window, followed by an abrupt meeting from the Mali’aheral. A matter about an egg, one vibrant in hue, yet hidden amongst the woods. The Mali’dun merely waived such off to over-caution, despite his recent encounters with the odd things that lived in the wilds. Yet it would be a lie if he said his mind was fully invested in the conversation, instead it drifted it off. Focused upon the conversation he had been in, only hours prior. After a few questions, only spoken due to reflex, his own thoughts managed to escape him, and so the ‘aheral grew curious “Meditate for what?” “To get some answers” The Adunian took a deep breath, his mind clearing as he sat on that bed of silk, breath slowing down as began to mutter a slow prayer. His words at first stalwart, yet soon did those syllables become shaken, that newly gained nervousness kicking into each word. “That which lurks in the deep, I pray unto you for guidance in those darkened and false waters, I pray and apologize. For my arrogance and for my outrage. I pray forgiveness and I pray for repentance, to return that which I so foolishly gave without true thought. For a chance, to see as my forefathers saw.” Silence, followed by a soft weight and pressure around his skull, his head flicked around nervously. Though such was futile with the inability to actually, and truly, see what was around him. After what felt like centuries, the once slightly crazed tone of the ‘aheral resounded out once more. His tone, holding an ominous and knowing tone to it. “So your sight shall return. Sleep Reynard, and the blessing from the selfish shall come in time.” “The Selfish?” “Yes, for even the selfish give away their blessing, but not without payment.” “Then so shall payment be given” Just as he spoke, a yawn exited from him, his head growing lighter and lighter as he felt the weight of the day start to crash upon him. His mind drew deeper into the abyssal pool that was his psyche, the rhythmic breathing, slowly creating a soothing beat that caused the praying pirate to slowly enter the dominion of dreams… Art Credit- Keid-89 It was that overwhelming smell that drew the corsairs attention, his eyes opened in what felt like forever, and he was greeted to the scene around him. He was not in the water, but rather on it, his feat grounded upon the wet wooden boards of a long galleon. Sails of crimson Rh’thoraen red blew in the stormy breeze, as water washed above the sides. From what he could see on deck, not a soul resided upon the ship, not even one controlling the wheel. The ship crashed and shook throughout the murky waters, as the Harren’hil used the mast for support. The sound of the bird drew his attention upwards, his gaze landing upon a crow, eyes of what looked like black ink. Staring dead into the Adunian, before it flew off, landing near the entrance to the bottom deck. “Well. . .at least I'm not drowning.” The young man attempted to use his own humor to combat the slowly growing dread within his gut, the corsair taking tentative steps forward across the slippery wood. His gaze, or what he perceived of it, looked about the area in a mixture of shock and horror. The corners of his vision, continuing still see images, not blurred shadows. But tendrils of writhing mass and flesh, that threatened to tear away at whatever was granting him this sight, this glimpse back into what could be. He drew closer, nearer to the doorway, before a gloved hand reached out. Pulling open the door, and revealing to him the stairway down. Shadows clung to the corners of the staircase, the flashes of lightning, only granting brief respite from the dark. Taking a shaky breath in, and then a shaky breath out, the adunian slowly began his descent down the stairs. His gaze sweeping around, before he entered the second deck, hues catching onto the brief flash of purple that swiftly descended down to the next floor. “HEY! COME BACK HERE!” A sharp caw, alerted his attention to behind him, his gaze catching sight of the black feathered crow, soaring downwards from the stairwell. Flying past him, only to land directly where the purple coated figure had traveled to. “This. . .isn’t suspicious at all.” The sharp crash of lightning, caused him to hurriedly make his way across the wooden floor, his gaze flicking to the cannon openings. Another flash, and he stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening as he gazed to the blackened ocean sea. “No. . .No it can’t be-'' He walked over, a gloved hand shaking as he extended it outwards towards the water logged wood. Before his gaze shifted downwards, towards that dark murky water. At first, he saw nothing, the sea froth and foam, covering what lay beneath the rampant and chaotic waves. Ease settled into him, his head shaking as he went to turn his gaze away. When suddenly, another flash erupted from the heavens, and to his horror did it reveal the truth behind the waves. Bloated bodies, bound in chains of algae and barnacles, shifting throughout the water. The pirate stumbled back, his breath ragged and heart racing in fear as he looked to the entrance that lay before him. He quickly scrambled and clawed his way up to his feat, rushing towards the door, and slamming it open. Revealing yet another set of staircases, these ones he leaped down, near crushing into the wooden wall. Yet still he managed, his gaze flicking about as he remained on the floor, before finally landed upon something. A figure, bearing dark hair, and wearing what looked to be a blindfold. His visage turned to greet him, a smile splaying over his features, before he slowly dipped into the waters of the hull. Bubbles spewing to the surface, before nothing else occurred. He took a moment to gaze at the dark waters, before he slowly stood up, the man taking a few tentative steps forward to get closer to the waters. With every step, a queasy feeling graced his stomach, something sickening and foul. Once he drew near the water's edge, he slowly peaked over the side, gazing into that reflective pool. Yet, it was also the first time he saw those eyes of his. Shimmering orbs of watery ash, dripped with foul water, faux tears dripped down his face as he gripped his cheeks. Fingers gripping around the eyes, as all he could do is yell in both shock and terror. With the sharp noise, did a lumbering sound resound from the gullet of that ship, and tendrils of writhing white flesh tore through the saltwater. Grasping onto the Delmar, and dragging him in. His body tense, expecting pain, torture unlike anything he could ever conjure. Yet, such never arrived, the only thing of terror being that infinite expanse of murky darkness. It was only after what felt like centuries, did a voice finally echo throughout his psyche. A single phrase, for the Adunian to ingrain into his mind and memory. Art Credit - Diana Franco “See through the drowned, Delmar” A single eye, a hundred eyes, a million eyes. It was like viewing through a hundred different operas, all in a singular moment. What should have been hours of listening, experienced in a singular second. Yet this sight, this feeling, was all but temporary. It did not, but drew a focus upon that crow. The every watchful bird turned to gaze at the deep blue sea, it’s wings stretched outwards, before it slowly lifted itself from the railing. Soaring upwards, higher and higher, before it looked down and dived towards him. Just as he waited for it to crash into the waves, his vision distorted, replaced by an ever hungry orange eye. The likes of which peered into the adunian greedily. He awoke in a pool of his own sweat, breathing ragged and harsh, as he gripped his eyes. A harsh pain resting in his empty sockets, as a nauseating feeling gripped his stomach. His mind reeling over the events, and images of that ever important dream. It left him with many a question, a hundred different thoughts running through his mind. After a moment his hand parted away from his visage, the hundreds of questions, diminishing to tens, and then dozens, before finally focusing upon a singular query. What would be the price, he would have to pay?

Not at all, I just took note of it being the only real necro modification that doesn't have a drawback. If you look through the other modifications, all hold a certain drawback, and its specified in the lore that they should have one. Mummification for example, gives life but slows them down Durgrmail gives communion with the dead easier, while holding an inability to talk normally Ghoul Flesh allows you to plague touch things easier, at the cost of risking infecting others. If you look at the lore itself it even states "Blinded to life, but capable of seeing the woes of death, a seer wields the power to see how much lifeforce a living being has." Wouldn't you agree then that it makes little to no sense to have one be able to see things that hold zero Lifeforce?

With the nature of Modifications, they do become permanent to the character. Talked a little with Zarsies about it, however he mentioned so long as it just had it pick up on Lifeforce it should be fine. Though for the most part, it is redundant with for example, if a Necromancer becomes a MA Seer. All in all, the amendment is made to actually 'blind' rather then just give a slight boost to ones vision, and it still allows for said flavor of being blind and being able to pursue Seerdom. Should one desire to go down that route.

Original Lore: Purpose Modifications are supposed to hold a cost, however out of all of them, Corpsevision only gives while not actually taking anything. So I would like to suggest a modification to the current redlines Original Amendment

Inside of that long glass tube, did the once adunian rest, his mind in a deep slumber. Unaware, now and perhaps forever, of the Shepherds fall.

The Delmar would sadly not know, perhaps not now, and perhaps not ever. A shame the two would not be able to smoke anymore green ever again.