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    Adunian Most Likely

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  1. The bronze masked man would peer at the missive, having passed by the city in his recent travels, his gaze peering at the words carefully before he would shrug his shoulders. A sigh of silvered smoke leaving him, as he lowered that cigar to hang at his side. "Such entities shall just roam about inside more carefully, and in the shadows of the nobles. I hold doubt that this will do anything substantial" He would hum, enjoying his short break underneath the shade of a tree.
  2. The Adunian read over the letter, a blank stare given to the words, such news already known to the man. His gaze flicked towards the direction of those marshlands, knowing full well what lay within the muck and mud that bordered the realm. His leather clad hands would find themselves folding the letter, and placing it within one of his pockets on his person. "Rest well kid, rest well knowing you where better then your blooded kin." The man of bronze and gold, would raise a hand to one of his pockets, his mind recounting to that conversation in Celianor all those years ago. A sigh escaping him, as he found himself removing that plain faced mask, the man setting the glinting item next to him as he began to light himself a new cigar. His mind adrift as the man began to consider, who would push their next move upon the ever changing board that lay before them.
  3. A man with a face of expressionless bronze and gold, would look down at the center of the letter, his hidden oculars scanning the missive carefully. He read over them, every single word and sentence, over and over. "Thank you for raising me", it was a simple sentence, yet one the former Prophet was shocked to see. "This. . .This isn't how it's supposed to go" There was a hidden sadness behind that visage of his, the man took a seat upon the edge of that ship. He recounted the first time meeting the Herald, how he had taught him lessons in fighting and life alike. He recounted his teachings he had given, the advice on the Way of the Fifth. Yet one thing was clear and certain, one thing that truly saddened that Adunian. The Mali had died far younger then he should have, and that alone was a tragedy in of itself. Such thoughts, would leave the adunian into a depression, for would this be the only Mali'aheral that he outlived?
  4. Truthfully, I don't know If this is satire or if this is an actual post. But if you want honest critiques and advice for it to have a chance, start by looking at the other CA's in place. Look at how they are written, formatted, and built upon. Then, spend some time writing it, don't know how much you've changed the original formatting. But I can probably guess it was less then 12 hours. CA's and any type of magic writing, bar imo bestiary writes. Can take anywhere from a 1 week-6 months, in order to create something genuinely impactful and clean looking. Now, personally I'm gonna be blunt, the idea is stupid as of current. To have something just switch in and out of human and fox form, provides very little impact besides 'cool I'm a shape-shifting cutesy person'. Form a proper niche that actually provides something, and that isn't just taking from anime. If you look at Vargr, you can see very interesting ties to old folklore, I even consider their main niche of eating hearts, a potential tie in to the Beast of Gévaudan. Nephilim provide an interesting thing by portraying dragons who are true neutral entities more often then not, even fighting both fronts of 'good' and 'evil'. Even Darkstalkers and Eidola, two different types of undead warrior/knight are able to be different enough with their specified niches.
  5. *None of this is common irp knowledge unless you were there* Defiance of the Daemonic “You are no Master Deceiver, nor are you anything more, then a tool” It began where it had started, in the very depths of that dark and plagued marshlands. Both of its ‘disciples’ had made its way closer and deeper, both entities preparing to hold conversation with such a being. However it was one, the singular, that being of bone that chose to offer that orb of glass. It was he who had given such a creature, a being bound for the flames of damnation, a tool to kill their very enemies. Yet, he knew the truth, it would be a tool not of their own. A weapon to be used against Man and its ilk, a thing that would turn upon them. His body reacted to it, more than his own mind did, his hand reaching out and plucking that dark crystal from the hands of the skeleton. His gaze landed on the older magi as he danced backwards, the words exiting from his marred and hidden maw. Hand raising as he attempted to do the very thing that would lead to his downfall. “I always was great at playing the fool” The orb slammed down, however what occurred next was not as intended, for as it landed against the soft muddy ground. Eyes and mouths began to open and show, a look of hunger showing, as one of those tongues latched around it and forced it into its maw. So did the brand around the Prophet's neck begin to coil and tighten, restraining him limb from limb as he was forced to his knees. The cacophony of laughter from both dead and demonic alike, would ring out as he was forced to hear the whispers. Those mocking his attempt, and those whispering at his failures. Before one voice above the rest, one clear cut message resounded throughout his mind and ears. “Why have you defied me Prophet?” He thought back to such things, to the origins and start of this path of his. He thought firstly to when he had first picked up the branch, in his state of delirium and madness. How such had begun to wane and lessen, and how his psyche had cleared. Perhaps it was a random occurrence, that such had ended. His memories then did shift to the first time he had been ordained, when he had viewed the very depths of the Heith-Hedran. His mind scoured endlessly through the memories, searching and digging, for some kind of answer. Before it clearly began to form in his mind, the truth of the encounter, the reasoning for his betrayal against this entity. A noise escaped his helm, a noise that only began to rise as it followed in tandem with the cackle of the cadavers. This noise only began to boom, louder and louder, before the manic laughing rose to a crescendo. His voice, warped in its own eldritch tone, rang out in truth to that old and eldritch thing. “Because you are Afraid. Iblees. Because no matter what you do, you will not be SAFE!” Fear. It was something he had learned, something he had controlled, and something he knew all too well. While others aim to rid themselves of it, the Prophet, the King, the Adunian. He knew it all too well, he had been all too familiar with it, and he had made his own Fear his weapon. While Templar aimed to rid themselves of such, Shamans aimed to suppress it, and Paladins aimed to triumph over it. That very fear had become a part of him, and it had guided him to this point. Yet when he looked at that gigantic old thing, despite that face of steel and alchemical make, there was one thing behind his eyes. Defiance He looked at that old thing, that mocked and chastised him, that made an insult to the very path he tread. Yet, he did not listen, he did not care, for in this very moment he defied the very thing that had claimed to give origin to them all. He defied the very thing that had taken hold of his soul, that had rooted itself into the material. Pain began to wrack across his form, as he felt something get ripped out, something stolen from him as he was forced to the darkness of his own mind. Memories flashed past his eyes, projections of all that he had done, from when he was a boy of no older than eight summers. Witnessing the dragon fire scour the white bricks and stones of that elven city. Images of when he was ten summers old, when that arrow had pierced the skull and visor of that man. It soared forward, he was sixteen now, and had become that warrior of the north and cold. His twenties, and soon, thirties. Merging into a playback of his life and past, from ruling that old lordship, to the end of such. His time in the occult, to his time as Prophet, it all blended until he was within this singular moment. Something he knew, would not only be a turning point within his own history, but would also be the turning point of many individuals. “You shall be nothing more, then a Husk of yourself” Those final words were all that was left, as he felt his body get lifted by someone, his frame dragged and carried to that old and derelict town. For now, he was no longer a Prophet, yet he was someone else or rather. He had become something else, a unique abomination of this world, one whose own soulless flame had begun to spark and grow.
  6. The Weaver would look over the missive, scoffing and cackling as he pat his creature of the damned, Bumba upon his newly stitched on boar head. A brow raised as he scanned over the missive once more, his cigar burning on the point where it spoke of no connections. "To think that they offered you such a fanciful stone to bring about more, if only I had plagued those pilfered potato's, no doubt they would all be sickly by now" The weaver at that hummed, preparing himself, though with such forces having consisted of a child. He held little to no worry of them.
  7. From a cave, long and decrepit, did a gray and withered form begin to stir and shift. His nostrils, flaring, as the long steady beat of the heart in his mind stopped. That thing of Goblin descent, shifting and rolling about as he began to claw his way to the entrance of that hidden cave of his. A dried, and raspy tone, exiting from the fanged maw of the bear skulled Haruspex. "Grizh u hûl, Grizh u Zna, Grizh u krimp-" He knew his brothers and sisters would do right, he knew that they would do what he could not, for now he meditated.
  8. [!] The contents of this post are not public irp knowledge "You have only just started" Zechariah's eyes opened to the thick gray haze that lay about him, his head slowly lifting up from the soft bedding of grass that lay beneath him. His aged and withered features, looking about the desolate realm. A sense of familiarity filling him, for he had been subject to the ruins of this realm, once prior. He looked down at himself, a hand lowering as he dusted off what muck and mud clung to his attire. His gaze, flicking back to the expanse of sickly grays and the light green hue that seemed to pulse through the air. That pulse, slowly starting to grow and swell, as though it was the steady beat of a heart. His head swiveled to the right, and there was nothing but brush and brambles. He looked then to the left, his glazed gaze now greeted to the sight of bubbling muck and mud. The occasional glint of ivory, showing through the brown and red. His head then flicked forward, his eyes landing upon that horrendous wooden merged cadaver. His feet, guided him towards the tree, and as he did so the steady beat of the heart grew closer and closer. With every step, the pulse and thump grew louder, so much so that earth quivered and shook and his ears swelled with the thunderous noise. Pain wracked his mind, his body, even shaking what felt like the borders of his soul. However, the adunian relented, for as he stepped forward. His gaze would lower, watching as from the center of its chest, an ichor began to ebb and flow. Veins popping and sprouting, as from the center of its chest, showed a true and beating heart. "We must speak, Prophet" The thunderous boom relented, that ear aching pain and shifting movement stopping. A hot fire, almost akin to molten iron, burnt through his chest and forced the man to a knee. As his gaze lowered, so to did he come to realize there was throbbing beating heart. Made not of flesh, but wood, moss, and leaves. A sharp pain, entered his neck, and he was forced to the ground. Pain wracked his form, starting from the tip of his toes and rising throughout his body. As it did so, his body felt as though it was sinking into the ground. Rooting with the world, it was only until the pain went to just at the base of his neck. That the pain swiftly ended, a loud jolt felt throughout his body as he lurched forward... SLAM! His head would hit one of the beams on board, a sharp pain wracking both head and neck, as a hand moved to check for injury upon his neck. His breaths would exit out quickly, as he rubbed at his old and withered features. Eyes closing for a moment, attempting to regain his composure from the dream. Or more fittingly in this case, the nightmare...
  9. When my character drank Sheeps Blood from a spooky goblet, had some spooky schizo rp for the next week or When I first met one of the Monks
  10. Got no clue where to find that in corrupted lore, though then again I don't often look at dragon lore, just saw this and thought I would skim it over. So if you have a quote or something you could show, that would be dope, but yeah I just don't see why a potion would be able to realistically do this. WIthout use of life-force that is, since anything undead related, usually more often then not holds life-force. So unless you added liquid life-force within it, I just don't see it feasiblly working. As for the naming for the smoke one, just a random name that I thought of, but Serpents Story could work. As for too many Aether Reagents, I hear you on that, could always work on changing the Nephilim blood from an AetherxFire, to instead maybe a WaterxFire since I don't think any of those exist. Could be wrong though.
  11. Its an interesting lore piece, though truthfully the Bone Dance one is the only one I've a gripe with, considering I don't see why a azdrazi or corrupted azdrazi would raise and animate skeletons. Just feels likes it intruding upon Necromancy cantrip branding, with no theme and thematic about it besides. "Glowing fire skeleton." Saw the above post as well, and thought I should submit one of the correct snippets of Cantrip Branding. "By using branding, a necromancer is capable of raising embalmed corpses and skeletons to work as their assistants and janitors outside of combat. There are tools for different tasks, as a few undead rats will be quite useful in retrieving bone matter and viscera from a gutter- but a full sized human will not. As these animations are purely non-combat, anything relating to combat including traps, pit falls, etc are unable to be constructed by these undead. In addition, if combat is to ever start in the vicinity of a risen cadaver, it will immediately fall inert as the Necromancer’s attention is then focused on their oculus, or on a branded combat animation. Cantrip branding may be used in tandem with oculus bound undead, up until combat starts in their vicinity. Anything larger than a descendant is unable to be risen by the cantrip, requiring the handling force of an oculus to restrain the creature. As for miniscule creatures, ‘swarms’ of risen insects may be no larger than a human’s head, whereas rodents and other small fauna may range in their numbers, but are limited to the mass of a human. Notable as well is that swarms of creatures operate in a hivemind, unable to work as individuals in any regard." Though I'm always a fan of aesthetic potions like the Smoke Horrors, I feel like it should be re-named to something more dragon themed. Considering the name does not at all entail what it does, at least reading it. Likewise the Dragon Dreaming and Hoarders Embrace are cool potions, honestly don't have much to say about them. Something I would suggest, is changing Aurum flakes from just earth, to also making it purely Aether or a EarthxAether mix. Considering during the alchemical extraction process, you utilize aurum tools to extract Aether reagents. Other then that, like to see more reagents and reasons to go Dragon Hunting for parts, and seeing how those ingredients could shine in potential future pieces.
  12. Not even a dragon boi, and this is actually pretty cool and dope +1
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