Damnit_Delmar

We love easier to do nomad rp +1

Look beforehand

The Split Sea

The sound of rocking tides sung true within the night, the white frothy waves crashing against the banks of that dark stoned cliffside. Seated upon the ledge, sat that fel prophet, adorned in all his dark finery; except for that sole wicked mask of his. The damned tool of dread, sat upon his lap, his dulled blue-gray gaze resting upon the crow's skull.

“Is this what I am to be? A being, deprived of that, which could bend fate?” The question rang aloud in the open air, yet the only audience was the cold northern air. Not a shriek of frosted wind, nor the rustling applause of the leaves, would answer that maddened Mali’dun. So he merely sat, his aged orbs shifting to gaze at his palms, those which were adorned with ivory plates and claws. He knew fully well what lay beneath the garb, a withered form, a decrepit being that had languished in self sustained agony now for decades, a mistake he should never have made in the first place. 

His gaze lifted from his cursed palm, to instead gaze upon the vast ocean before him. The rolling tides crashing down below him, his sights focused upon the water below as he merely leaned forward. He thought of what was to be done, what he had done, and for but a moment he felt himself give a sigh of relief. For he knew now that any ire or tragedy that befell them, would be not through his own doing, but rather any stupidity that they themselves attempted to try; and so the man's eyelids began to flutter shut, as the rare call of sleep took ahold of the man.

His eyes opened, yet they did not see the vast and sprawling ocean surface, nor did they see the branches of the dying frosted trees. Instead he felt heavy, as though finally the bodies of all those killed had begun to drag him down. With every breath in, he felt the choking sting of saltwater, and the briny taste of it too.  His gaze upwards, gave to a shimmering perspective, the rippling belly of the water's surface, seeming to almost refract and reflect the storm that could only be presumed to be shouting overhead. 

“For one so dark, you do tread awfully close to that freeing light” A garbled tone rumbled from the murky depths beneath him. His gaze, tinged in pain from that blue water, looked down to see that shadowed speaker. His heart seemed to stop in his very chest, a tightness in his gut, as he bore witness to that remnant visage of his. Hands of a rotten kind clung to the form of the drowned Delmar, his face bearing that once common scar, a blindfold of decayed cloth draped over his gaze. A grin spread from the old  teeth, as bubbles drifted towards the sunken son of Sarai. 

“For one so demanding of power, you took so little” The words left him, a tinge of anger laced in the mostly neutral tone of the man. 

“We both know why that was, and look where that brought you, look what you shall be.” The arrogant tone of that merchant hummed out, clawing his way closer to the beggar. While the current, aged man that was Reynard, rested in pallid clothes and tarnished jewelry. The rotten and youthful, yet decayed corpse, of the Delmar still swam in those fine silks and clothes. “You wanted a legacy, yet all it did was make you lost.”

“We both know, that matters little now, in the grand scheme of what is to be.” A sigh escaped the man, his hands clasping together as he looked to the tarnished digits of his, a resolute nod slowly coming to be seen from the drowning and sinking man. His form only drifted closer to the younger and decrepit Delmar. “We both made a mistake in our youth, did we not?”

“You would call your gift a mistake?” 

“I would call it a shackle.”

“You would call the very aspect of crafting death and life at your whims, the power to raise monstrosity, summon legions, and sow plague. You would call that a shackle?” A laugh erupted from the decayed Delmar, a cough that let a few rotten fishes float to the surface. 

“Do not forget of its maladies upon the body itself, the corruption of our soul, the tie to that hellish place.”  The older adunian looked down in disgust at that creature, knowing fully well the irony in such an action. 

A solemn pause was given, the silence deafening in the dark waters that surrounded that demised duo. The only thing to offer respite from the crushing solitude of silence, being the occasional shift and movement of water. Yet after what felt like hours of nothingness, the voice of the decayed Delmar would speak. “You realize that all you see is but a reflection of who you are. I am the mirror into that dastardly soul of yours, I am the wealth you bear, the power you hold, and fate you are bound to.” 

“You are the mistake of a greedy child, who only understood the power that he had grown up with.” The solemn tone of the son of Sarai rang out, his gaze now level with the long dead corpse before him. The only thing to barrier such eye contact, being the old blindfold that rested over those eyes. “A mistake, I must live with, a mistake I must try to fix.”

“We both know that is not the whole truth.” The corpse cackled in mad glee, the jeweled and skeletal hand, grabbing the shoulder of the solemn Farscryer. Its digits dug into the flesh as it leaned on forward.  “Though if that is what you truly desire, then what you need is simple really.” 

The old adunian paused, slowly his head tilting to the side as he felt his body start to spin around, his gaze still locked with the half skeleton before him. “How is it so simple?”

“Because whether you wish to accept me, or not, you will always be seeking a new kind of power. Until that ravenous appetite is filled, you will not find peace. For you may reject my very being, yet you  fail to comprehend that we are but one.” The words cascaded forward in a torrent of briny bubbles, choking the Delmar as the stench of rot and decay filled his lungs, that pain that had clung to his shoulder only growing for but a momenta as he whipped his form frantically about in search of that Decayed entity. Yet as the bubbles dispersed, so did he find himself merely in the emptiness of the waves, the darkness slowly tugging on in. It was a familiar darkness, one that he had found himself lingering in as of late. A comfort, to the decrepit soul that was him. 

Slowly, he shifted his gaze up, his long graying hair spread far throughout the waves. His eyes, a dull gray-blue color, lingering towards the sole radiant spotlight. Drifting throughout the waves and water, drug down by the heavens itself it seemed, was that torn strip of cloth. The old frayed fabric, slowly spiraling down, its length laid bare to rest above the bridge of his nose. Before all remained dark, that suffocating vacuum claimed him once more, he saw above him that lingering decayed visage. Its eyeless gaze, and mad grin, only displayed in knowing truth. A final set of words, leaving the fleshless lips of the revolting thing. 

“We are one in the same”

The Craftsman awoke upon the cliff, the skull resting next to him, its eyeless gaze focused upon the withered weaver. A tired sigh escaped the man, his form gently lifting upwards, a grimace splayed as he felt the dull ache of his bones. A calm breath was given, before he slowly stood up, his form gently coming to drift above the soft grass. Slowly, he plucked up the skull, placing it once more upon the top of his head as he gazed from the ocean than to the vast forests behind him. 

“Rest shall only take me so far.” Murmured the delusional Mali’dun, the man starting to gently make his way with the small troupe of the damned.  His mind made clear once more, of that ritual that had to be done.

Yes, bring back the Blackfingers +1

The sound of bored humming could be heard within the cave, the seated Craftsman working away at the weaponry, large lines of skeletal bone craftsman working upon the variety of armaments'. "A Delmar always makes good on his deals." So did he, that deplorable and damned Delmar, continue to work upon those wicked and bastardized weapons of ire and plague. 

The Delmar looked to the missive, his head tilting as he read over the response several times, his dulled gaze squinting for a moment. "Hmmm, so he wants a tribute, does he?" His cracked lips twisted into a grin, the man strolling over to the cauldron, his head rolling about, as he began to fill the iron mixing pot with water. "Then tribute he shall have."

Yes, accept this

3/3 The last piece has been placed upon the board

2/3 Another pawn has been made

The Delmar looked towards the notice, his gaze scanning over the letter, mumbling and muttering over the words before he tossed it into a nearby flame. The old wildwynn taking a deep breath, the Farscryer pondering for a moment over the news, before his hands thrusted up into the air. A plethora of other papers flying about, as he began to stroll out from the room. "This, is why we make Contingencies, a shame you merely relied on my own ideas. Rather then grow your own. Though, at least your death offers me a few clues." A new letter penned, a plan changed, such was within the common day of the Farscryer and speaker to the damned. 

2 hours ago, Wizzar said:

What gets you most excited to RP? 

Has the server been more or less enjoyable over time?

Mostly the Story building aspect is most enjoyable, also challenging and seeing what can be grown from the improv aspect of the server. Since I always enjoy the more hands on interactive aspect of the servers story and world, when it gets shown. 

As for whether it has been more or less enjoyable over time? Depends, a lot of days it feels stale and repetitive, but there are other aspects that can bring some enjoyment. 

3 hours ago, Markisstreaming said:

What was your favorite RP scenario on the server?

What's your opinion on necromancers ALLEGEDLY killing human nobles? (utter lies)

That would honestly have to depend, I would for sure have to say one of the top ones, was the battle of Serheim, where it was like 20v20 crp battle against the paladins. Was pretty dope over all, though another favorite of mine was when my character Aurelion ended up becoming a Prophet for the 'Widu'. 

As for Necromancers killing human nobles, just a matter of supply and demand, Necromancers gotta get arts and crafts supplies and there is an abundance of human nobles. Simple business 101. 

Fear, Flesh, and Fortune

The Delmar awoke in a cold sweat, his withered digits curling into a tight fist, a cough wracking his withered form. His mind alight with the imagery, of burning buildings, of scorched earth, and crimson skies. They where sights that he often tied to the Infernal, to the howling damned Undead, and the bloodthirsty Vampyre. "Three Pillars" The man slowly rubbed his dulled orbs, the man blinking for a moment, as the faux hues focused upon the book upon that rested upon the top of his desk. The black leather of the Keys, coming to almost shine from the still flickering candlelight next to it. "Three Free Races" 

The Farscryer took in a deep breath, readying himself out of a bed, wizzened digits lingering towards the shelf. Slowly creaking it open to reveal the dangling crow orb. The mans fingers slowly floating and drifting with abyssal smog, and ebony feathers, as he began the arduous task of contacting those fellow foul. The bastard royal, taking this as a clue, a first step perhaps towards freeing himself. 

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

Based Infernal Vampires, here we go!

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

MC Name:

         TheDelmar

Character's Name:

         Reynard Delmar

Character's Age:

         48

What feat(s) will you be learning?

         Automata Crafting

Teacher's MC Name:

         exogens

Teacher's RP Name:

         The Ancient One

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

         Yes

Have you applied for this feat on this character before, and had it denied? If so, link the app:

         No

Are you aware that if this feat is shelved, it will be unavailable to use?

         Yes

3 minutes ago, femurlord said:

Bro, you don't even need to need to MArt a Draugar for them to learn Naztherak, you just need to have access to their phylactery

New Naz lore sadly makes it incompatible for Draugar and Naz to be a thing atm

Blessed be the Great Crow +1

Based

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

Hello, I helped make this one

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

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.