Damnit_Delmar

So, while I think this is a dope item, don't get me wrong. It does feel a bit strong, considering you have an item that not only harms all undead.[Which a lot of CAs/Magics involve undead], but you also have it last for 10 emotes, when a lot of stuff does not last that long. My solution Make Charging the flame: Three? I'm not certain if it is already, wording for it is odd Make Weapon Enhancement: 6 emotes max, 4 if you keep with every strike nulling the ability to cast magic Hitting mechanics: In regards to the flame, is it direct contact with the skin? Or is it if it just hits their being? For example, say you've got a Frost Witch in armor. Are they still prone to the effects of the flame if they get hit in armor? Or, do they have to actually be cut/burned by the item physically? As for the wounds, how is it extra damaging? Does the fire stick to the wound? Does it make it harder to heal from? Maybe adding a bit more to that stuff. I'll look through the re-write a bit more, but it seems cool, I like it.

The Events Depicted are not common knowledge. 𝓐 𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓹𝓱𝓮𝓽𝓼 𝓣𝓪𝓼𝓴 The priest had been wandering those hazed woods, for many a night had he not seen rest, a part of his blessing from the Angel. To roam the woods and lands, free as a wolf who shepherded the fearful sheep, he had been haunting those roads. Perhaps waiting for someone, or something, such was a mystery upon his muddled mind. However it was upon that travel, did he begin to hear it, the toll of bells. A constant hum and ring that refused to lessen, bearing directions from the west, east, south, and north. It called as one would whistle for a dog, goading him into the woods, to search further and deeper. To take call of his destiny perhaps, for as he ventured further into the woods. So did those trees began to warp and shift, their brown bark blackening, their green leaves quickly falling. Replacing into long arms of a warped and charred wood. Black ash, soon began to fill his lungs, as his feet sunk further into the mud and muck. His gaze began to linger further into the landscape, wrought on by the blessing, the truth! For in the distance, did he see it, the long dark towers that rose from the ground like obsidian obelisks. How grand they where, how ruinous, a true depiction of the end wrought from truth of his prayer. In the distance, enwreathed in flames, was there a brilliant mote of light. A tree, akin to the Ashwoods of the north, enwreathed in brilliant hues of orange and red. Like a Moth to flame, did the man begin to make his way forward. Fear clung to his soul, yet more importantly, did his zealousness trump that emotion. For he was in the domain of the dark, the shadow. He was granted a sight of the days to come, and so with every fiber of his being, would he force himself to draw nearer. "All converges into one. One, converges into all. Time fades, time intertwines. The flesh of wood, the flesh of man, the flesh of lion. To grant my vessel" "Devoted. Defying of the Deific. Break the Chains. Grant my Vessel" The words came from the ground, the earth, the tree. Like a choir, it rang through his psyche like an ever persistent hymn. Feelings long since held, returning, as he remembered his first encounter with the choir. So, did he stare at the tree, frantic words exited from his scarred maw. "Who are you?" The thing of yore almost seemed to twist and bend towards the man, the priest, the Blackfinger! In its many bodied tone, did it answer that question, with a truth. A testament to its being and holiness. "I am the first, I am the last. The eternal flame is snuffed when I have burnt to ash." The mans eyes, those of a gray hue currently, bore witness to what he had only though to see in visions. "The Eldar Flame?" Its silence spoke volumes, before that choir grew in volume. Spreading its faith, its truth and goal, to the man in front of it. "To show the dreams of the eternal mass, one shall grant my vessel. To rebirth beyond the memories of the world. To birth upon the flesh of the descendants, to grant clarity, to grant timelessness. To grant, all." "Devote to the breaking of chains, and all shall be revealed." Then did it give one last sermon, one last gospel for the prophet of the tower to bask in. Though as it did, a gnarled branch would extend forth, in doing so would it drop. Creating his crook, his guide in a sense, for the flock. "The Husk of the Aspects. To meld at my place of rebirth. To then fuse a lion into the flesh of my tree, shall awaken my roots to flow through wherever I stand. To break through the constraints of mortality. to grant you guidance." Slowly did he lower himself down, amongst the muck and mud, did he find that branch of gnarled make and eldritch runes. His fingers, gracing over its design, before the leather clad digits poked at the pointed stake. His head merely nodding as he saw such things, before his gaze looked to the Eldar Flame, to the one that had guided him. "Then so shall it be done" Upon such utterances, did the trees and choir grow, almost in glee. His head thrumming and mind breaking, as he felt his head hit the tough road. He was there, perhaps minutes, hours, days even. Yet upon him standing, did he find within his grasp, that occult branch. His staff, his crook, his guide for the lost sheep. So, did he begin to walk, and walk, and walk! Until his feet grew blisters, and his skin grew pale and pallid. Until the dyes of his hair fell through, and the shock of silver was made clear again. Through turmoil and travel, did he bear semblance once more to his true visage. The one that was dead, yet not, the one that had learned all he needed. The one that had failed his Kingdom and Lordship. Yet despite it all, did he travel, far and fast, until he found the blackened keep. His hands going to those iron gates, no longer as merely a man, but instead as the Ashen Prophet

Barbog based +1

The man, marred with the sapling of madness, would find himself within those cold and hallowed woods. With difficulty and pain, did he find himself carve into that flesh of his, flesh cold and blackened from frost. The crude and holy symbol of the Angel, his breathing grew ragged as he leaned himself up against a tree. "Praise be to the Ylk'Mesh! Let its blood act as the river, to guide us towards salvation!"

The Blackfinger Captain would look down upon his stump of an arm that he now bore, a hand going to press the once whole arm. A mortal man, having fought side by side against the Maleficar worshippers. "GOD, has put trial and challenge for me this day and time, to test my will and strength. I pray that upon my next encounter, those of the Angul of Xan shall pay twicefold for the injuries they have done onto me." It was with that, he began his prayer in that slowly freezing tower, a prayer of repentance and failure for his actions that day. But with each utterance, did prayers of wroth and wrath, grace in between those lines. Prayers that asked for failure, of those who bore the Light of the Lion.

Sucks to see you go man, you where pretty chill with the few encounters I did have, stay safe and have fun

The Adunic Lord and Prophet would read the missive with vested interest, however he also read it in approval, upon the mans declaration of following the steps of his kin of old.

I actually really enjoy this lore, pretty well written, love the more visceral and gritty vibes. Always a fun of the more shizo lore +1

"A mighty leader, and truly, a kind friend to the adunians. I only hope that he may find peace." The to be Lord of Cartref Mor would nod his head, a frown upon his scar littered features, before he rested the note on his desk. Curious, as to how the next several years would entail for his people.

+1 from me, only comment of actual use is I would suggest changing the time from 10 minutes, to 15. But that's just a personal opinion if anything. Otherwise, I'm happy with these rules, it will make doing villainy a lot more realistic and fun. Considering a lot of the encounters, on a ooc level are happening hours, but irply that stuff is taking minutes at most.

An old acquittance of hers would meet her on the other side, a spectral grin gracing that semi scarred visage of his. Blindfold long left gone, as as spectral arms greeted her to the soul stream. "I am saddened that you did not stay longer, but, it appears your duty as an ancestor has come. Let's join the others, shall we?" Vesryn would give a warm smile, as he waved for Coral to follow him, to where the souls of the other adunians resided and watched over their kin.

That gray skinned goblin would raise his spear of gold and bone in the air."Diz iz da whay, da whay ov da Throqugrizh!. Da whay ov da Heartbeat!"He would then go, to scry into the Grizh.

Standing upon the docks of Haelnor, a figure adorned in dire wolf pelts and furs, would stand. Cowl raised up to hide that scarred visage of his, as blue-gray eyes stared onto the slowly growing frozen wastes. A cold tone exited from underneath that cowl of his, as leather clad hands raised to begin his sermon. "Let this Heralding of Ice and Cold, be the first bouts of the Glorious coming of GOD and his disciples. Let their icy gaze, fall unto those, pitiful sons of Malin. Their frost tinged words, aided in action by GOD. Blood to snow, and bone to soil, this is but a taste of the Age of Darkness" It was with that, a laugh could be heard, a glorious bout of noise escaping that Blackfingers lip

A goblin cackled at the destruction and markings of the Throqugrish he had left, his wretched voice screaming out "GRIZH U HUL, GRIZH U FLOW"

A man would reside in the woods, hands adorned in the pelt of hunted beasts, gracing his fingertips. Calm blue-gray eyes scanning over this tome of knowledge and wisdom, committing such noble and enlightening teachings, into his mind. The pot boiling and steaming, as he extracted the nutrients from the bones of the dead blasphemer. "Such devout teachings, these must be the writings of a brother. Perhaps a man should speak to such enlightened scholars and savants of knowledge. Indeed, a man could learn much from them still"

Was a bit apprehensive at first, took a read, and this is some solid lore. +1 on my end, awesome job!

That small gray skinned goblin would approuch the feasting pits, in one hand he held a bucket full of blood. In the other hand he held a skull with a slab of EarthEater skinned. A bloody palm stained into the hide, as the disease had long left it. "I offa da zkin ov da Worm mi and zome otherz klomped. I offa da grizh, ztolen from the da piritz whi zlayed. And laztly, mi offer mi own grizh." Setting the blood down, he would dig his clawed fingers into the palms of his hands. Letting the blood flow into the large bucket. The darker shade of blood, mixing with the long preserved blood from the pirate fight.

Name: Taegen Syltris Race: Half Mali'fenn/ Half Valah Age:28 Gender: Male [[OOC]] Username: SilvertheDM Discord: SilvertheDM#9022 Timezone: CST

The soft sound of clattering hooves, meeting dry earth, would fill the evening air. A man clad in furs and pelts, could be seen atop the white stallion. His visage covered and shaded by the hood of his cloak, as he slowly strolled to a stop at the carriage. A light click of his tongue, could be heard from behind the hood, before he swung off the stallion. Patting it's side as sign to leave, before he slowly made his way inside. Hooded eyes viewing the menagerie of items and objects, before his hooded eyes gazed down onto the Fortune Teller. "Hmmm, a man bears....curiosity, of this wagon and it's wares. Do tell, what exactly is it you offer?"

The Zurgrizh reads the missive with a big sharp toothed grin. "Da Elzyiunz hav nub pride, their grizh iz da grizh ov COWARDZ. Dere wallz where fun tu klimb do"

As the ker entered the otherside, she would see briefly in the stream of souls, a familiar adunian figure. A shit eating grin adorning his features, as he no longer bore the blindfold that had plagued him in life. "Well sh*t kid, didn't expect to see you here so soon, sadly I don't think your gonna see me long so." He would toss her over a bottle of booze, a thumbs up being seen from the dead adunian. "Let's have a little chat, one last drink with your friendly, Simple Blindman"

[Disclaimer this is not my art, credit goes to the actual artist] As the rain began to descend upon the realm of Almaris, a lone goblin would slowly exit the cave, his steps guiding him away from the Alter of Throqugrizh. For as he stepped outside, and saw it's bloody light, did he truly begin to look in awe and wonder at the pools of blood. A horrendous maw opened, letting the unknown sanguine escape past his lips. A revived look filling those crimson eyes as images of horror and devilry filled his mind, thoughts of murder and rampant violence, that already filled his mind and soul. A twisted 'blessing' already given to this twisted form, as his gaze shifted to the quickly forming puddles of blood that where filling the ground. Clawed hands slowly moved down, tracing over the ever shifting ripples of the blood , as he began to read into it. His reading accompanied by the fast paced beat of his heart, for wicked and vile images filled his mind, images stirred on by this unknown blood. The ever lingering question as to where this blood had come from, crossing his malformed mind, before it hit him. "Mi Peep it, diz, diz Grizh. It haz alwayz been here. It iz da grizh dat waz zoaked intu da ground, grizh dat whaz zpilled in da zandz and zoil, ov murder and pain. Diz grizh, holdz da tainted memoriez ov thoze who hav fell. Fell tu battlez previouz, and fell tu battlez prezent, and it will hold the grizh of thoze who will eventully fall." The cultural haruspex would splash the blood into the air, watching as globs rised up, creating a splattering of random yet destined choosing. Those blessed eyes, looking upon the spattering in awe and wonder. For he saw it, he saw what must be done. So the goblin began, to gather more buckets and basins, urns and tubs of all kinds as he furthered growing the supply of blood. "Da bond ov Grizh muzt grow further, Throqugrizh haz zent da grizh az a zign, and whi muzt rezpond tu it"

The sound of wood, beating against earth, would resound in the cave system underneath the Goi of the Iron Ugz. A beat, a rhythm, one constant and persistent as a being began his prayer, his respect to that which leads the Blood Faith. Down at the bottom, where large bones of long dead creatures adorned the walls, where the hearts of descendants rested on a alter, stood a grey skinned goblin. A large skull of a Morko Bear, covered his visage, as crimson eyes rested upon the alter. To his left, resided a basin of thick crimson blood, the liquid viscous and reeking of the heavy stench of iron. To his right however, resided an urn of warm sand. The grains still radiating the heat of the dry and hot sun, as the dim torchlight caused the grains to radiate with an almost crystalline light. A deep and guttural growl, one akin to more of a beast then sentient being, escaping dry lips as the Grizh Whisperer spoke to the emptiness. "Grizh, Grizh bindz uz, Grizh tiez uz, but mozt importantly, Grizh ztartz from within uz. Zince da ztart of our lives, Grizh haz bound uz, tu our bruddahs and ziztahs. Tu our clans and ancestors. Tu even our enemies and foes. Grizh, bindz uz all. It tiez uz, tu our ztoriez, tu our path, tu da whay" The goblin would slowly lower himself, picking up the urn of sand, hefting it up with relative ease before he looked down towards the ground. Slowly, he tilted the clay urn, letting the grains of white sand spill from it's top as moved about. His steps matching the rhythmic beat of his heartbeat, as he poured the grains into a shape. Several small shapeless lines, extended out in five directions outwards. Yet as he walked, as his clawed and bare feet danced. He did not pass through a line, did not smudge, for every line it seemed eventually met another line which led to another line being connected. Until each and every line, formed into a large circle near the steps of the stone stairs. "Zand, it iz what guided our ztepz in the beginning. It iz what binded our grizh, for our azht proper grizh waz zpilled in da dunez. Our ahzt bond waz da dunez. Zand iz da veniz, dat not only bindz our grizh, but bindz uz further tu our Ancestor Krug." The goblin would slowly set the urn in the center of the shape, nestling it as it's centerpiece, before he slowly picked up the urn of blood. In holding it, his steps would change, his heart racing and thus the tempo of whatever this prayer was, increasing. Blood flowed out in sprays, like an artist flicking paint from a brush, he created this representation. This symbol of Throqugrizh, and when he was finished and the urn was dropped, it would reveal a bloody handprint upon the ground. Further viewing, revealed the once white sand lines, acting as the veins that tied together the bond that connected the fingers to the hand. "Together, with grizh and zand, whi find da whay. For da zandz are da veins of our Anceztor Krug, that flow throughout diz world, and da grizh. OUR GRIZH, iz what fill da veinz. Mi blahz diz, becauze in da end, grizh bindz uz all tu Throqugrizh. For without da veinz, da grizh cannot flow tu da heartbeat, which guidez our ztepz. Juzt az how without grizh, our veinz remain empty, making our bodiez unable tu move tu da rhythm." The goblin would slowly extend his hands out, sharpened claws digging into scarred palms, to draw forth blood as he danced in rhythm. The rhythm of his heartbeat, and blood, as flicked bloodied palms onto the hand. Soon the rhythm of his heart would increase, doing so caused the goblin to pick up his staff, shaking and waving the charms as he chanted over and over the mantra he had learned all those times ago. "Grizh tu flow, and Grizh tu Bond "

A written letter would be left out, made for all to see and hear, a precaution in case the adunian known as Vesryn Otellio Delmar died suddenly. "Hello there everyone, I know this is an improper way to start a letter. But I've never been much of a proper indvidual, I'm a lying conniving bastard, that somehow won the grandest prize in life. To think that a peasent like I, managed to become nobility, riches, and gain a loving family. To think that I would rise the way I did, and attain what I did, I mean like I said. I'm a right and true bastard. But I digress, I would like to make a small message, for those I knew and those I interacted with semi often. I thank those that genuinely gave me a chance, that trusted my decisions, and put faith in me. I thank you those that guided me, and those I could call fellow brothers and sisters in arms. Most certainly, I thank those that accepted me as an equal, regardless of my Adunian heritage which I am proud of. To some of you, I will leave behind a personal letter, however for others I shall either thank you or curse you out here. Borok you where a right Orc and fun hunting buddy, I hope you achieve all that you are looking for in the way of Grizh. To Ahng, you where a cool Brotha to hang out with. To Yarrow, You gave out really good Cactus Green. Ellathor, you where a bit of an idiot, but you had a kind heart. Do right by the Rangers and the rest of Elysium. To Aiyeis, you where an amazing soul, and I wish you nothing but the best in life. To Coral, I wish you and Edward the best. To the Vanari's, I personal would like to flip you all off, but you have the arm of my favorite flipping off hand. To Alona and Togrim Vanari, you are the exception to the prior flipping off. It was an honor to work with you both. To Strange Incantations, you where one of my favorite book shops. To Adem, good luck on your ventures. Avery I hope you continue on with your reading studies, your doing good. Prince Amaesil, I still hold that grudge on you not paying me for the arm. Aech, stay short and fearsome. Rina D'avre I will meet you in the pits of Moz. Rylanor, you where a good proud dwede, and I thank you always for the hand you gave me. Cypress, you where an idiot who talked shit about my wife, **** you. Kane, you where cool, good beard. To all the vampire covens in Almaris, **** you, I can kill you with seasoning. To the Inferi of Almaris, **** you, you fed my soul. *******. To all Voidal Mages, besides the select handful I like. **** you, for bringing about the hollow, you fuckwits. To the mystics of the realm, I don't know you that well, hope that Specter I sent is okay. To the Necromancers of Almaris, some of you where *******. To the druids of Almaris, you had some good people in your groups I respect it. To Lotis however, **** you for trying to kill my wife that one time. But thank you for the cool sword. To the pumpkin duchess, I will meet you Stroz, you round pumpkin *****. To the entirety of Oren and it's people, **** you for killing my people and it's culture, you genocidal scumbags. To the Paladins, **** you you pompous little *******. To Yong Ping, you had a rat problem, I now hate rats because of you. To Sions extended family, why didn't you like me? To the O'Roukes, some of you where good people. To Auden, I'm sorry I could have been better. To Elysium as a whole, your city was good, the people where somewhat shit though. To Hexers, you where shit monster hunters. To the Lectors, thank you for the arm. Lastly to round it all of, to the entirety of Cartref Mor. Though I was here from the start in physical form, I will sadly be unable to progress and see how you grow and flourish in the physical. But, my spirit shall remain, guiding as an Ancestor from above. To always help point to the right direction in life, and to always scheme you out of a situation. " Signed - Vesryn Otellio Delmar, The Viper, Head of Diplomacy in Cartref Mor, Far Scryer of the Adunains. Sent out in private, would be letters for Six Indviduals. Labled [@Setsuko_] Edward Thuri-Elendil, [@Sciencepants2] Sionnach Delmar Redfist, Velen, [@Braydben] Bryan, [@BloodyZarios] Feo, [@DrHope] Lord John OOC Notes